Aurora stayed frozen for a few moments, grappling with her thoughts as Amy turned, moving further away.

  The moon hung high above the palace roof?ridges, its pale light draining the color from the wooden brackets. In the great courtyard of the eastern wing, where a narrow stream of water wound between pines and lantern?lit terraces, Aurora moved with measured steps, chasing after her daughter. The night air was cool and tense.

  “Amy—wait!” Aurora called, her voice echoing just a little too loudly in the hush of the courtyard. The sound startled one of the lanterns, its flame flickering.

  Her daughter had turned a corner, beneath the carved wooden arch of a pavilion roof, and stopped. Servants in dark silk dresses stood along the corridor like statues. Aurora slowed. Her chest felt heavy, her boots crunching softly on the stone.

  “Amy, I’m… I’m trying to fix things.” She exhaled, and the words tumbled out softly. The courtyard glowed pale in the moonlight; the stream sloshed past ancient steps worn smooth by decades of court footfall.

  She lifted her gaze and scanned, her powers informing her of Mel’s spies. Anger bubbled into irritation. “You know, I have magic. I can sense you there!” She whipped around, staring at the rooftop that hid the men. “Tell Empress Mel I demand some privacy.”

  The spies—figures in dark cloaks half?hidden in the night—hesitated, then dissolved back into the shadows. Two remained, silent and still. Aurora sighed. They would not get complete privacy. But she learned to choose her battles long ago. So she let it go. She instead looked at her daughter, who turned to face her.

  “There’s… no other way to stop Samantha. They have power — magic. This continent has nothing. What would you have me do, Amy?” Aurora pleaded, voice low. She looked as though she’d carried a lifetime on her spine.

  Amy’s reply came in a voice that cracked. “I know.” Her eyes glistened with pain, memories of the grave—of Kristo—fresh as wet stone. “I know there’s no other way. But your methods are wrong! I just can’t stand by them. I can’t stay here.”

  The wind swept through the courtyard, rustling the pines and sending a ripple across the stream. A dragon?scale tiled roof clacked softly in the night breeze.

  Aurora feared this. But it was so obvious. Even Amy could leave.

  “Then leave,” Aurora said simply, voice as quiet as a falling leaf. “You can help us with your dark magic, but—”

  “No!” Amy screamed, clutching her head. Then, her shoulders relaxed as she swallowed and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Whenever I use my magic, someone dies. Thomas died because I hit him! Libbet… might have died too. And I crushed Bennet’s arm when I got angry!” She looked at her trembling hands, as if seeing them for the first time in the moonlight.

  “Amy—”

  “I won’t! I won’t use my magic anymore! You can’t make me!”

  Silence stretched between them. The current of the stream echoed like a soft lament. Amy — the girl with the power so terrifying she feared it — collapsed to her knees. Aurora’s chest tightened. She had stopped crying years ago; tears felt alien on her face now.

  But she knew it wasn’t the case for Amy.

  She knelt beside her daughter. In the quiet, she thought: Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ve become what I once feared. What I’ve always hated.

  Aurora swallowed, teeth gritting. “Samantha kills people for fun,” she said, voice low and quiet. “People thought I was the mad, crazed woman because they didn’t know what a real one was.” She looked at the ground. “Now I want to create a world that is safe for you. I’ll do anything.”

  The words hung, trembling between prayer and threat. Amy sobbed—and in that sob, Milo’s voice threaded through, low and familiar.

  Don’t mistake peace for safety, Amy. The world kills gently, too… If you won’t strike, then learn to protect. But choose. The world doesn’t wait for you.

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  Amy pressed her hands over her ears. Aurora was taken aback by the words. “Get out of my head, Dad!” she begged — the word “Dad” bruised the air. She folded inward, the tears sliding down under the moonlight. Aurora put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, stiff and awkward.

  “I don’t know how to help you.”

  The words felt foreign on Aurora’s tongue, a confession she’d never dared to make. She always knew, or pretended, that she knew how to do anything. The night carried them away, dissolving into the sound of the stream.

  Amy didn’t answer. Her shoulders shook once, then went still. For a long while, only the wind moved, brushing her hair, rippling the water, sighing through the pines.

  Aurora’s gaze softened, thinking of Kristo. Maybe you’ll be the first one to see this hopeless situation… and just leave it.

  The thought wasn’t cruel, only aching, a wish that her daughter might escape the weight she herself could never set down.

  Something in Amy’s posture changed, small but certain — the tilt of her chin, the way her breath steadied. When she finally rose, the moonlight caught her eyes.

  “You said we still have time before Samantha arrives.”

  Aurora blinked, startled by the calm in her daughter’s voice. “A month,” she said slowly, watching the moonlight fall across Amy’s face. “To consolidate loyalty, seize the army, and wait for your dark magic to fade.”

  “My magic?”

  Aurora nodded. “Yes, Amy. It took a month for Cerceras’ magic to fade out of me.” She raised her arms, which glittered in the moonlight. A shard of crystal was seen lodged into her skin. “Light magic is all I have left.”

  Amy hesitated, then looked at her mother in a way that made Aurora’s heart skip. “I see.” She looked at her own hands. If we have a month…Then maybe there’s still time to change how this ends.”

  Aurora raised her eyebrow.

  Amy shook her head, laughing softly. “You know, I learned all my life that Empress Mel is a goddess. Merciful. Beautiful. And it’s true. But goddesses are cruel. That’s what I learned after meeting Samantha. But meeting the Empress, I’m not offended she didn’t acknowledge me. I’m just a kid, after all.” She looked at Aurora in a way that made her freeze. You didn’t have to include me.” She paused, then gave a small, rueful smile. “But I’m glad you did. And I’m glad I got to meet you and that you’re here now. Thank you.”

  Aurora swallowed, eyes dropping. She felt the weight of decades in that moment. Amy stepped forward and embraced her. Aurora froze at first, the fear of losing her daughter again surged. Her hands hovered, uncertain, before wrapping around Amy.

  She whispered her daughter’s name.

  ***

  Later, in their private quarters of the palace, the hall lined with lacquered panels, carved with phoenixes and waves, the moonlight glinting through paper?paneled doors—no summons came from the Empress. Instead, a feast was laid, as if Mel offered an apology to Aurora, a powerful ally. Cushions on woven mats, low lacquer tables, dishes glimmering with rich sauces and unfamiliar spices to Aurora. The gardens outside stretched silent.

  “I don’t think she’d poison her allies,” Aurora muttered, lifting a bowl of clear soup. “At least not while she still needs us.” Her sarcasm in the half?smile made Amy look at her with new respect.

  Amy nodded and picked up chopsticks, the scent of grilled fish and herbs making her appetite return. Aurora ate slowly, tasting each flavour as if it were a memory. Amy, who had barely eaten in days, ate with hunger. Aurora’s eyes softened as she watched. The food probably reminds her of time with Kristo, she thought. Memories of her old friend saddened her.

  “It’s delicious,” she said at last.

  ***

  That night, the palace was silent. Amy’s fell into a long, troubled sleep.

  Until a scream shattered it.

  Aurora burst into Amy’s small sleeping chamber, half?in muffled moonbeams and half?dark.

  “Night terrors,” Aurora said quietly. “From Kristo’s death.”

  Amy nodded, hugging her knees. “And Karl’s chains. And Samantha’s threat. And… the whisper of the dark god.”

  Aurora asked, softly: “How’s… Cerceras?”

  “He still whispers to me,” Amy admitted. “But…I don’t hear him as often as I used to. It’s like he’s fading.”

  Aurora placed a hand on her daughter’s hair, still in disbelief that she could do such a thing. “It takes about a month for him to go away,” she murmured, remembering her own night terrors after Christopher had taken him. Her voice was tired.

  “What… does Milo say?” she asked warily.

  Amy buried her head on Aurora’s shoulder. “He told me he doesn’t want to be revived. That to him the thought is awful.”

  Aurora exhaled, relief mingled with guilt, and a small, aching tenderness. Of course, she thought. To him, living again and again would be excruciating. Not to mention he’d call it ‘devoid of meaning.’

  Then, they both stilled.

  Because beneath the palace, somewhere far below the tiled roofs and silent corridors, Aurora felt something stir—a tremor in the air, subtle but unmistakable. A ripple in the magic currents of the court.

  “Amy,” she said, standing abruptly.

  Her tone reminded her of the urgency in Kristo’s voice the day he…

  Amy sprang to her feet. The lantern’s flame behind them shook.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Magic users…” Aurora said, voice tight. “But something’s wrong. Something very wrong is happening.”

  Magic users in Sunji?

  “Is it our allies?”

  Aurora paused a moment and shook her head. “Princessa and the others are sleeping. It must be Samantha’s men. Scouts, most likely.”

  The moonlight flickered through the paper doors. Outside, the pines whispered secrets. The stream in the courtyard echoed like a distant heartbeat. Aurora’s mind prepared for long nights ahead.

  The game was moving again. And this time, mother and daughter stood side by side in the moonlit hall, ready to face the threat together.