I close my eyes now

  and find his face

  somewhere safe inside my saat,

  right behind the rib (wherever that is)

  where my light will keep him warm.

  For as long as I live.

  —Berdorf, E. Poems of a Wingless Princess. Unpublished manuscript, Summer.

  The shack was exactly what it looked like, small and tired. A narrow bed sagged against one wall, a table and two mismatched stools crowding the centre.

  The sink overflowed with dirty water, dishes stacked like relics and pots buzzing with flies and ants walking in line along the counter.

  Two doors broke the space: one behind her and another in the far corner that she guessed led to a bathroom.

  “You can use the washroom,” Jericho said, dragging one of the stools across the floor. “Or change here, and I’ll wait outside.”

  He sat, uncorking a half-empty bottle.

  Eura stood still for a moment, eyes darting around the cramped space. She glanced toward the bathroom door but couldn’t bring herself to touch the handle. From behind her came the scrape of the stool’s legs dragging across the floor again.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Jericho said. “Shout if you need help.”

  “I do need help,” she blurted, turning around.

  He froze, eyebrows lifting. “What is it, kid?”

  Her voice came out small. “I… I can’t reach the buttons. The corset, too. I usually have the maids to—” She stopped, eyes fixed on the floorboards.

  The bottle landed back on the table with a dull thud. Then footsteps.

  “Okay,” Jericho said quietly. “Turn around.”

  Eura did as told, stiff as a board, hands knotted at her sides. The air between them felt too close, and for a heartbeat, she wished she hadn’t asked.

  She felt the buttons loosen one by one, each click of thread giving way to a cool sensation against her skin. Then came the tug of the corset, and then it stopped.

  Silence stretched.

  Eura turned. Jericho was staring, his expression unreadable, caught somewhere between thought and surprise.

  “Is everything alright?” she asked, breaking whatever trance held him.

  “Yeah… yeah,” he said quickly, looking away. “Just wasn’t expecting it to be so—” He paused, searching for the word. “Big.”

  Her brow furrowed. She reached behind her back, fingertips brushing the raised line of an old scar she’d almost forgotten.

  “I’ve had it since I was a baby,” she said.

  Jericho’s gaze flicked back to her. “That so? And what did they tell you about it?”

  She shrugged, the motion faint. “Nothing. I never asked.”

  “You’re not curious, kid?” Jericho asked, stepping back. “Go on—bathroom’s yours. Try out your new wardrobe, princess.”

  Eura clutched the front of her dress. “Why’d you say that?”

  He looked over his shoulder, pretending not to follow. “Hmm?”

  “You said I should want to know.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You implied it!”

  That earned a small, crooked smirk. “That’s a rich word for a ten-summer-old.” He pointed toward the door, leaving no room to argue. “Go change.”

  Eura hesitated, then gathered her dress and the new pile of clothes against her chest. Without another word, she slipped into the small room, the door closing with a tired creak behind her.

  The bathroom was cleaner than she expected — small, but neat, smelling faintly of soap.

  As she unfastened her dress, layers of satin whispering down her arms, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Turning slightly, she saw it — a big scar branching across her back in the shape of a Y.

  He’d been right. She’d never wondered about it before. But now the sight rooted her in place. What had happened to her? When?

  The dress slid down and pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it carefully, pulling on a white shirt that hung loose around her frame, then the pants — a little long, a little loose around her waist, but hers.

  When she looked again, the mirror showed someone different. No longer a cupcake princess, just a girl with plain clothes, bare feet, and diamond-bright hair tumbling over her shoulder.

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  For the first time, she almost recognised herself.

  When she stepped out, Jericho was still there, seated on the stool, bottle in hand, the liquid inside now lower than before.

  “Let me see,” he said.

  Eura gave a small, uncertain turn, fingers brushing her shirt hem.

  “It fits you, Sunbeam.”

  “Thank you,” she said, beginning to gather her things.

  “Do you want to see something really cool?”

  “No…” Her voice wavered. “I should go. My friend’s waiting—”

  “What if it’s magical? After all, I promised you trinkets.”

  She hesitated but saw, surprised, that he was holding something now. A pendant shaped like a sun clasping a crescent moon. The metal was a dull gold against his scarred fingers.

  Eura frowned despite herself. “What is it?”

  Jericho rose slowly, circling her. The pendant dangled from his hand as he slipped it over her head. She felt the cold brush of metal against her collarbone, then the soft click as the clasp tightened behind her neck.

  He stepped back, sinking onto the stool again, bottle resting between his knees. “Now,” he said, “close your eyes. Imagine being someone else. A girl you wish you were. Not someone who already exists, but someone new. A new you. How would she look?”

  Eura frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “Try,” he urged. “Close your eyes. Imagine.”

  She hesitated, then obeyed. A breath later, she opened them. “So… what now?”

  “Turn the moon around the sun,” he said.

  She lifted the pendant in her hands. Up close, she saw it wasn’t just carved, but it was built. The sun was a small gear, the moon fixed to its edge. When she twisted them together, the shapes locked with a sharp click, forming one seamless circle.

  Eura blinked. “So… what now?” she asked again.

  Jericho watched her for a long minute, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Go look in the mirror.”

  Eura hesitated, then stepped back into the small room. A beat later came a gasp.

  “Oh—oh my! No way! I can’t—!” Her voice cracked into a delighted squeal.

  She burst out of the doorway, eyes wide, laughter spilling over her words. “I… I look like—like I’m someone else!”

  Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Zozo?”

  “My hair—it’s short! And it’s red!” She spun in a circle, dropping her old dress where she stood. “Look at me! I have freckles!”

  “You do,” he said, almost smiling.

  “I can go anywhere,” she said breathlessly. “Do anything. Nobody will know who I am!”

  “You can, kid.”

  She froze mid-spin, the realisation hitting her like a stone. “Why are you doing this? I don’t even know you.”

  Jericho leaned back on the stool, eyes glinting. “True,” he said softly. “But one day, you will.”

  “You’re so strange.”

  He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  Jericho bent down, collecting her scattered clothes from the floor with surprising care. “Well,” he said, glancing at the mess, “it could be worse.”

  Then he straightened, eyes scanning the room as if something had gone missing.

  Eura tilted her head. “Did you lose something?”

  He didn’t answer at first, still pacing, hands brushing over furniture. Just when she was sure he was pretending, he crouched, reached beneath the bed, and grinned. “Found it!”

  She blinked. “What’s that?”

  He held it up between two fingers, a thin, hollow stick.

  “What does it look like?” he asked.

  “A… bamboo stick?”

  “Exactly.” He pressed it into her hands. “Told the others I had trinkets. Can’t have you leaving empty-handed. Because that one around your neck should not exist for anyone besides you and me.”

  “So… a bamboo stick?”

  Jericho only smiled. “Depends who’s holding it.”

  Jericho crouched until his eyes met hers. “Can you imagine gliding through the air, standing on something this fragile?”

  Eura frowned, taking the stick from him. “There’s no way.”

  “Would you like to bet?” he asked, a spark of mischief in his amber eyes.

  “I don’t have anything to bet with,” she said quickly. “Lamar gave me the coins for clothes. It wouldn’t be fair to waste them on a bet.”

  Jericho nodded slowly, as if weighing her answer. Then his smile shifted — not sly this time, but tired, almost kind. “All right then. Let’s make it easy. In a few summers, we’ll meet again. You’ll be tired, defeated, and starving by then. Just promise me that when that day comes, you’ll let me buy you a proper meal, and in return, I want to see you fly on a stick.”

  “Why would I be starving?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes drifted past her, somewhere far beyond the shack — as though he could already see the summers waiting for her.

  It was a question only time would answer.

  Jericho reached for the pendant at her chest, his fingers brushing the chain. With a soft click, he turned the moon and sun back to their original places.

  “And there’s one more thing,” he said.

  Something in his voice changed — lower, heavier.

  Eura blinked. “What?”

  “That fat stinky boy outside,” Jericho said, eyes steady on hers. “He’s not your friend.”

  She straightened, frowning. “Hex? Why would you say that? He’s been nothing but kind to me. Why wouldn’t he be my friend?”

  Jericho’s mouth curved, but there was no smile in it. “Because his name isn’t Hex.”

  Her breath caught. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s Xendrix,” he said quietly, each syllable calculated.

  Eura’s face went pale. “That’s why you brought me here? To tell me lies?” Her voice cracked with anger, though fear trembled beneath it. “Hex would never trick me—he…”

  She stopped, unable to finish, the word never already sounding fragile in her mouth while she felt wind brushing her face.

  Jericho grabbed Eura suddenly. His hand closed around her wrist. His grip wasn’t cruel, but firm enough that she felt the pulse of her own panic beneath his fingers.

  “Eura,” he said. “Listen to me.”

  She tried to pull back, but he held steady, not to restrain her, but to make her listen.

  “The way you act on what I’m telling you will change everything,” he said. “I’ve walked farther than you can imagine, to the end of time itself, and I promise you that fat boy will use you. And when he’s done, he’ll kill everyone you care about and love.”

  The words fell like stones, impossible to doubt.

  His tone softened, almost pleading. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m not lying to you. I’ve waited for your birth… for the day you’d take that throne… and for the day you’d return to us. And we are still waiting...”

  His eyes caught hers — scared, weary, but there was something that almost looked like recognition.

  “I know you,” he whispered.

  “Do you know what I’ll say next?” she asked, hand still on the door.

  Jericho smiled faintly, the kind that seemed to carry both sadness and pride. “I do. Unfortunately. But it’s also why so many will follow you, Sunbeam — and why some will die for you.”

  Eura swallowed. “I’m leaving now.”

  He nodded. “Then do me one favour. Say hello to Lolth and Jaer for me.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Just tell them I’m all right,” he said softly. “That somehow, Jericho made it from that spell of hell.”

  For a moment, neither moved. Eura lingered in the doorway, watching him — half his face burned and rough, the other soft and unguarded, eyes the colour of warm amber.

  She didn’t know why, but she wanted to remember that face.

  Jericho the Wise.

  She promised herself she would not forget him, and she didn't. He was a friend.

  

  The boy known in these early records as “Hex” appears throughout the archives under that alias.

  Contemporaries accepted it. Historians repeated it. No one questioned it.

  It is remarkable how long a lie can survive simply because it is convenient.

  His name was — and remains — Xendrix Kaspian.

  As of this writing, Mr. Kaspian is a public figure campaigning for the presidency of the Democratic Republic of Keblurg.

  I note this without commentary. The irony is self-evident.

  —The Hexe – Book Three by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer.