The night had not yet ended in the desert.

  The wind had changed—no longer carrying screams, only a heavy silence that smelled of blood and iron.

  Irsa was the first to approach the body. The woman lay half-buried in the sand, still breathing—barely. The wounds had left her almost unrecognizable.

  —How did she get into the capital? —Zayrah asked, her face tight. Her eyes swept across the dunes, searching for traces of magic or prints.

  Mahtani watched in silence before answering, her tone low and measured.

  —Eiswacht has technology we do not fully understand. For them, crossing borders might be as simple as breathing.

  Irsa frowned.

  —Then what do we do with her?

  Mahtani leaned slightly closer, studying the faint rise and fall of the stranger’s chest.

  —We contain her. No one touches her until Luma decides what is to be done. Move her to the lower sanctum. I want seals on every entrance. If one of them managed to get through… there could be more.

  The other two nodded. But Zayrah’s gaze lingered on the battered figure longer than it should have.

  —It was the foreigner, wasn’t it? The girl from Seravenn… Lyssandra.

  —It seems so —Irsa replied quietly—. Ahlia said she was badly hurt too. Nearly lost her entrails, she said.

  Zayrah shuddered but said nothing more.

  The wind rose again, lifting a thin veil of sand over the unconscious body. When it settled, the woman’s breathing was still there—weak, but stubborn, refusing to die.

  Mahtani raised her eyes toward the distant lights of Sel?nrah.

  —Let this be a warning —she murmured—. War is never as far away as we like to believe.

  The first rays of sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a soft golden hue.

  The city still breathed that sacred air of early morning, and for a moment, everything seemed calm.

  It took effort to move. Every muscle protested as if it still remembered the battle. My abdomen—healed but tender—burned beneath the new fabric of my sleepwear. I touched the spot instinctively; there was no wound, only the echo of one that still seemed to pulse there.

  I heard Neyra’s footsteps first. She was always the first to wake. Her steps were precise, silent. From my bed, I watched her move toward the kitchen, barefoot, wearing her black shorts and the gray top she always slept in. She prepared coffee in silence, as if the world depended on that cup.

  Caelia sat up soon after, at the edge of her bed. Her hair was tied up carelessly, a fresh bandage wrapped around her forearm. Her sleepwear was modest—navy shorts and a shirt she could easily wear outside. Even half-asleep, she still carried that impossible composure that was so hers.

  —What time is it? —I asked, my voice rough, still fractured.

  —Seven —Neyra replied without looking back—. The others should be here soon.

  I nodded. I felt whole, but not unbroken—held together by a strange calm that wasn’t rest.

  Then Velka emerged.

  —Ugh, what a terrible dream… I dreamt I was stuck in a hot place surrounded by intense people—oh wait —she yawned, dropping onto the couch—, that was real life!

  The joke didn’t sound like her.

  She wore a short top that left her stomach bare, her hair a mess, and a dark bruise spread beneath one eye. She avoided our gazes. Velka’s jokes usually lit up a room; this one flickered out before it caught fire.

  Caelia raised an eyebrow. Neyra glanced from the kitchen. No one said anything.

  —And those circles under your eyes? —Velka teased weakly—. New fashion trend or local adaptation?

  —Didn’t sleep much —Caelia answered with a faint, tired smile.

  The silence that followed was brief, but heavy.

  Velka moved quickly, pretending nothing was wrong. She poured herself some juice, straightened her hair, and forced a grin.

  —So, what are the odds the Al-Rahad girls make us run under the sun as a ceremonial punishment?

  —Only if you wear a flower crown and bow at every corner —Neyra shot back.

  —Deal!

  The laughter gave the room a little air again—but not truth.

  While we shared bread and fruit, while Caelia quietly went over what needed to be done before meeting the guardian sisters, Velka’s image lingered in my head.

  She smiled. She laughed. She moved.

  But something in her… wasn’t there.

  It took us nearly half an hour to leave the residence and make our way through Sel?nrah’s crowded avenues. Dawn carried a dense heat, and the desert dust still clung to our clothes—a quiet reminder of the night before.

  Zayrah was driving this time—silent, steady, her composure carved out of stone—while Mahtani checked each crossing, her eyes sharp and precise. From the front seat, Irsah offered us the occasional reassuring smile, the kind that tries to soothe tension without naming it.

  —How are you feeling? —Mahtani asked after a long silence. Her tone was tempered, authoritative, but not cold.

  Velka answered first, her head leaning against the window.

  —We’ve been worse —she said with a half-smile meant to sound light. The dark bruise under her eye said otherwise.

  —The recovery was quick —Caelia added, keeping her usual composure—. But not painless.

  —And you, Lyssandra —Irsah asked, turning slightly toward me—. Can you stand on your own?

  —Yes… more or less —I replied, avoiding her eyes. My abdomen still throbbed as if the wound were there, invisible but alive.

  None of the guardians said anything else. But the silence that followed wasn’t pity—it was respect.

  The vehicle stopped before the gates of the Golden Citadel—the living heart of the capital. The pillars looked carved by both desert and sea, the stone gleaming under the newborn sun.

  Inside, the air smelled of incense and cool water. What Seravenn would call a palace was, here, a living sanctuary: domes of ivory marble, golden reliefs, ancient verses etched into basalt. Silk veils hung from the ceiling, swaying with the warm breeze that crossed the inner gardens.

  Velka let out a low whistle. Neyra muttered something about vantage points. Caelia walked ahead, back straight, trying to look unshaken.

  Zayrah stopped us before a bronze arch engraved with inscriptions—praises to the Sultana, Mother of the Moon and Guardian of the Line of Sand.

  —Beyond this point —she announced—, show respect. The Sultan Azhara Qamar al-Sel?n will receive you personally.

  It wasn’t mere diplomacy. It was an evaluation.

  The hall held no throne, only a vast space layered with woven carpets, incense drifting like mist. At its center, reclining on raised cushions, awaited Azhara Qamar al-Sel?n.

  She had the poise of a star fixed in the night. Her hair, black as the void, cascaded down to the floor. Burnished gold bracelets coiled around her arms, and a sheer veil covered part of her head, hinting at a crown as thin as light itself. Her eyes—dark, liquid, ancient and alive—settled on us without blinking.

  We knelt. Or tried to. Velka did it with exaggerated theatrics that, on any other day, would have made me laugh. Neyra only bowed her head. Caelia was impeccable. I lowered my gaze, feeling beneath my clothes the faint pull where the wound had been, as if the skin still remembered the blade.

  —Shadows of the Crown —the Sultan said, her voice so soft it hurt to hear—. Daughters of steel and poison… yet I see something more in you. Women. Not just weapons.

  She did not say “welcome.” She didn’t need to. Her presence was both greeting and warning.

  Her questions were direct, never cruel. She asked why we served Seravenn when we could have fled—why we obeyed the crown, and whether we had ever doubted. Velka bit her tongue until she couldn’t anymore.

  —Why do we serve? —she said—. Because no one’s offered to pay us better, your majesty.

  Silence fell at once. Neyra snorted. Caelia disguised a cough. I just bowed my head, stifling a laugh.

  When the Sultana’s eyes met mine, a chill ran through me.

  —Because this bond cannot be broken —I said—. It isn’t obedience. It’s… family.

  Azhara inclined her head slightly. Her gaze dropped, for just an instant, to where the mark of the Blood of the Crown rested beneath my clothes. For that moment, I was certain she saw more than she should have.

  Finally, she rose with the grace of a rising tide.

  —May the sand embrace you, and the moon guide you. You have passed my voice. Now pass that of the land that shelters you.

  And so, through curtains of incense and reverent silence, we began to depart.

  We were about to leave the hall when the Sultan’s voice reached us.

  —Lyssandra Velcrux.

  My name sounded different in her mouth. The guardians stopped instantly. Even Mahtani, already turning toward the door, frowned with a trace of surprise.

  I froze as well, uncertain. The Sultana hadn’t risen from her seat, but her gaze alone was enough to stop the air around us.

  —I wish to speak with you —she said simply.

  Mahtani stepped forward.

  —Your Grace, I can accompany—

  —That will not be necessary —the Sultan interrupted with a soft gesture of her hand.

  Silence fell like a curtain. Mahtani met her eyes for only a second more before bowing her head.

  —As you wish, my lady.

  I could feel the uncertainty behind me. Even Velka, who never kept quiet, said nothing.

  I followed the Sultan through a long corridor that opened into an inner garden. The sound of water surrounded us at once. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering across the ponds and marble mosaics.

  Azhara stopped beside a fountain, studying her reflection in the rippling water before speaking.

  —Ahlia told me what happened —she said, without preamble—. With the foreigner who attacked the city.

  —It wasn’t a fight I wanted —I replied, standing still, my hands clasped behind my back—. But there wasn’t another choice.

  —I know. —Her voice was calm, but every word seemed weighed, deliberate.— I’m interested in how you defeated her.

  —I didn’t do it out of pride. She would’ve killed me. It was just… survival.

  The Sultana nodded. Her gaze wasn’t judgmental—it was analytical. Yet, as she studied me, I felt something shift in the air. A vibration. As if something within her resonated with something within me.

  I stiffened. That feeling… it wasn’t new. I’d felt it before, standing near another magical girl. But here, there was no one else.

  Or was there?

  Azhara stepped closer—not threateningly, but enough for the air itself to change. The light in the garden warped slightly, as though it bent around us.

  She felt it too. I saw it in the subtle lift of her brow, in the faint hesitation in her breath. A spark of recognition—so brief it almost wasn’t there.

  Neither of us spoke.

  Finally, the Sultana composed herself and turned her eyes back to the fountain.

  —You may go, Lyssandra. Rest. Your body still remembers what your mind tries to forget.

  I bowed slightly.

  —Thank you, Your Grace.

  When I turned to leave, I could still feel her gaze on my back.

  Not of judgment… but of something else.

  Something that smelled of moonlight, sand, and ancient power.

  When I returned from the inner garden, the Shadows and the guardians were already waiting in the courtyard. The sun was rising over the domes, turning the veils of the towers gold. The air smelled of incense and warm sand.

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  I felt every gaze on me. It wasn’t rude curiosity, but something tangible—expectation. Neyra raised an eyebrow. Caelia studied me quietly, measuring my steps. Even Velka, who rarely stayed silent, only crossed her arms.

  Zayrah was the first to speak.

  —The Sultan rarely asks to speak in private —she said in a respectful tone laced with restrained surprise.

  Mahtani added, standing beside her:

  —Sometimes the moon chooses whom it sees. Not always those who seek it.

  I didn’t know what to say. I simply nodded and climbed into the vehicle behind the others.

  The engine hummed to life. Sel?nrah slowly disappeared behind us, swallowed by the heat shimmering over the asphalt. Inside, the air was thick—a blend of dust, sweat, and the faint incense that had clung to our clothes since the audience.

  No one spoke at first. Velka toyed with the sheath strapped to her leg, tapping it idly against the seat. Neyra stared at the rearview mirror, as if searching for answers in the reflection. Beside me, Caelia breathed deeply, arms folded, her silence saying more than words could.

  The Sultan hadn’t stripped us bare with her gaze.

  She had disarmed us.

  And me… she had seen. Through skin, through silence, down to the mark I never chose.

  As if she remembered a woman named Lyssandra.

  As if she knew… the story wasn’t over yet.

  I was the one who broke the shell of silence.

  —What do you think? —I murmured, watching the desert stretch beyond the window.

  Velka gave a humorless laugh.

  —I think if that woman wanted to, she could’ve swallowed us whole without lifting a finger.

  —She didn’t need to —Neyra replied dryly—. What she did was open us, one by one, like she was reading a private diary.

  Caelia didn’t answer at first. Zayrah, sitting at the front, turned slightly, her profile as rigid as steel.

  —Her Majesty doesn’t need to read —she said with quiet reverence—. Azhara Qamar al-Sel?n feels. It doesn’t matter where it comes from… sorrow, anger, fear. She’s always heard it all.

  Velka clicked her tongue, amused.

  —Always? What is she then, a goddess in disguise?

  Mahtani answered before Irsah could.

  —She’s no goddess. She’s Al-Rahad. That’s enough.

  Irsah turned a little, her expression calm—almost maternal.

  —Not all are born with the burden of being heard by millions, Lyssandra. But she was. If you felt her looking into your heart, it’s because she did. And even so, she blessed you with her trust.

  My hands clenched on my knee. I felt the tension in the scar beneath my uniform. All this time I thought I understood what it meant to be seen. But she…

  She had looked into what I keep as fury and scar. She had understood, without words, that I’m not only anger—

  I am everything I swallow just to keep from burning.

  Caelia finally spoke, her voice steady.

  —I don’t know about you, but it’s comforting to know we’re not just pieces to be traded. Today I felt… respect. And that’s not something easily earned.

  Velka snorted, half smile, half grimace.

  —Almost makes me forget we’re heading into a cursed exclusion zone full of things even Seravenn doesn’t understand.

  Neyra nodded, her tone measured.

  —If our Queen treated us half as she did… maybe…

  She left the thought hanging. Zayrah finished it without turning around.

  —Maybe Seravenn wouldn’t need goddesses who bleed for her.

  Silence returned, heavier but not uncomfortable. The red earth stretched endlessly before us.

  And for the first time, I knew that whatever waited for us ahead… we would face it carrying something new within.

  We were no longer just Shadows of the Crown.

  We were women.

  And under the blessing of that gaze—black as a new moon—we were allowed to be.

  The car stopped in the middle of nowhere.

  Sand stretched to the horizon. Cracks split the ground open like wounds, breathing faint, shimmering vapor.

  The silence was so heavy it drowned even the engine’s final rumble.

  Zayrah stepped out first. I watched her press her palm against the sand and close her eyes. Something in her lashes trembled, as if she could feel a pulse beneath the earth. Behind her, Mahtani and Irsah descended with the calm of people walking into their own temple.

  We did not.

  It took us a few seconds just to open the doors.

  —Please, step down —Zayrah said, turning to look at us. Her voice was soft, almost floating. Here, every word seemed to belong to her.

  I set my boot on the ground… and a sharp pain pierced my temple.

  I wasn’t the only one. Velka let out a small grunt, Neyra clenched her teeth, and Caelia inhaled sharply, her body going rigid.

  The heat was different. It wasn’t just from the sun—it was as if the earth itself breathed through us… and didn’t know how to pass through our skin.

  —What is this…? —I whispered, feeling my hands tremble. Blood of the Crown pulsed inside me, as if trying to answer, but it didn’t.

  Mahtani stood with arms crossed, watching us without mockery. It was her way of saying endure it.

  Irsah came closer. With an elegant gesture, she lifted a small cloud of sand between her fingers and let it fall slowly.

  —The magic here is not like yours, Shadows of the Crown —she said, her voice so calm it blended with the wind—. It cannot be forced or bound. It flows… or it drowns. For you, it’s like trying to breathe water.

  Velka gave a short laugh, raw and uneven.

  —Beautiful… anyone bring aspirin?

  Neyra said nothing, just closed her eyes, clinging to her own rhythm. Caelia stayed upright, too composed for it to be natural.

  Zayrah approached me. Her eyes held that strange depth—sunlight mirrored in water, warm and unreachable all at once.

  She placed her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t feel relief, but I felt… direction.

  —Focus on letting it pass, Lyssandra. Don’t fight it. The earth knows who blocks it and who honors it.

  I inhaled slowly, just as Reia once taught me: hold the anger, use it as a channel, not a wall. The burn of the scar flared—then softened.

  When I opened my eyes, the guardians moved in perfect harmony, breathing at the same rhythm as the ground.

  And my sisters—Velka trying to joke with dry lips, Neyra holding herself together through sheer will, Caelia so tense she looked carved from marble.

  The contrast was unbearable… and beautiful.

  Zayrah stepped aside and pointed toward the horizon.

  —Walk. Don’t stray. This place is not ours, nor yours. It belongs… to what came before.

  Each step hurt a little less, yet grew heavier.

  As if the sand itself had decided to live inside our bones.

  The first few meters felt like walking inside a sleeping creature.

  Everything breathed—the hot sand under our boots, the cracks exhaling amber vapor, even the wind twisting above our heads as if it were alive.

  Zayrah led the way, leaving behind footprints so precise they seemed to glow for a heartbeat before fading. Mahtani guarded the flanks, her eyes calculating every movement; Irsah closed the formation, so silent I couldn’t tell she was breathing until I saw her exhale.

  We—Velka, Neyra, Caelia, and I—stayed close, shoulder to shoulder. Every step weighed a little more. Velka tried to make a joke, but it died on her lips when a jolt of pain twisted her mouth. Neyra clenched her jaw, her breathing sharp and controlled. Caelia carried tension like armor—perfect, unyielding, brittle.

  —Want me to carry you, sweetheart? —I murmured, low enough for only her to hear.

  Velka glanced at me, her smile crooked.

  —Give me five minutes, Velcrux… and I’ll carry you instead. Promise.

  Caelia muttered, ever vigilant even with her head pulsing with magic:

  —Stop talking. We’re standing on a ruin… that’s breathing.

  Neyra reached toward a fissure. Between her fingers, a tiny spark flared—then vanished, swallowed by the ground.

  —It’s like the earth is speaking in a language I don’t know how to pronounce —she said quietly.

  Irsah turned her head slightly, voice calm as sand shifting in the wind.

  —You don’t need to understand. Only to respect.

  I crouched beside a hollow in the stone. Inside, something glowed—throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat. When I inhaled, it seemed to inhale with me. The scar across my abdomen burned with that dull fire Ahlia had left behind: the wound was gone, but its echo still lived under my skin.

  —Lyss…? —Caelia’s voice startled me. She was close enough that her breath touched my shoulder.

  —I’m fine —I lied, though the pain pulsed like recognition.

  Zayrah raised a hand.

  —Here. —She pointed at a faint circle carved into the rock, surrounded by cracks spreading like veins.

  Velka stepped forward without hesitation.

  —What the hell is this…?

  —Don’t touch it, Velka. —Mahtani’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

  Velka tilted her head, her smile sharp but trembling at the edges.

  —Don’t yell at me. —Her tone was playful, but her fingers shook.

  Mahtani took a step closer, forcing her voice to stay level.

  —This place is a womb of magic. If you defile it… it will consume you.

  The silence that followed hit like a physical blow.

  Then came the sound—deep, groaning, like bones breaking under the earth.

  Irsah pressed her palm to the sand, her expression shifting.

  —They’re waking up.

  —What’s waking up? —Neyra asked, her voice cutting the air.

  Zayrah turned to us, her calm so absolute it almost hurt.

  —Stay together. No matter what you hear or see. These things were not born to be seen. They were born to remind the living they don’t rule this land.

  My heart pounded in my ribs. The blade inside me trembled, calling wordlessly for release. Velka grabbed my wrist, her grip strong but unsteady.

  —If you’re going to fight, Velcrux, don’t you dare leave me behind. —This time the joke sounded like a plea.

  —I wouldn’t, Velka. Not even dead.

  Then the ground truly moved.

  From the cracks, sand and stone fused together, shaping twisted limbs, gaping mouths without teeth, bodies that mocked the human form.

  Constructs, born from the womb of the earth itself—guardians of something too ancient to be spoken aloud.

  Mahtani murmured to Zayrah, her voice low but steady:

  —Protect the foreigners. Alive… or the Sultana will bury us here.

  I swallowed hard. Rage bubbled up with the heat in my veins.

  Let them come.

  Blood Crown was already awake.

  t began with a dry shriek, like glass shattering inside my skull.

  The crack beneath my feet lit up—a pulse, a heartbeat.

  The first one emerged roaring, a shapeless torso of stone and dim magma. It turned its “head” toward Neyra, as if breathing in her fear. Its movements were jagged, mechanical—stuttering like rusted gears trying to remember how to turn.

  —Back! —I shouted, throwing myself at her and dragging her away.

  Velka didn’t hesitate. She summoned her crimson blade and drove it straight into the creature’s chest. A metallic crack… nothing. The construct didn’t even flinch.

  —Go to hell, ugly rock! —she spat, jumping aside just before a blow struck the ground and left a crater.

  Beside me, Caelia raised a dome of blue energy. Two of the creatures slammed against it, bouncing off with a sound like steel colliding with steel. Her arm trembled; the barrier flickered, fissures crawling along its surface.

  Zayrah appeared next to me, a whisper of sand beneath her feet. She raised her hand, and the earth obeyed—golden rivers of dust coiled up the creature’s legs, holding it fast as if the desert itself refused to release it. The construct fought back with stiff, spasmodic motions, every movement learned and forgotten in the same instant.

  —Caelia, keep them out! —I yelled.

  —Protecting, not forever! —she answered, her voice steady as thunder. Her barrier burst outward in a shockwave, vaporizing half a stone torso—only for it to rebuild itself, snapping and grinding like clockwork.

  To my left, Neyra conjured illusions of ourselves—flickering mirages swirling through the haze. One construct caught a false Neyra… but another didn’t hesitate. It clawed through the smoke and struck the real one, hurling her across the rocks.

  —Neyra! —Velka turned. Mistake.

  A stone fist slammed into her stomach. The air left her lungs in a rasp. Still, she plunged her blade point-blank, remorse magic crackling like sick lightning.

  Mahtani moved in before the next blow could crush her. From her extended arm erupted a wall of light so bright it seared my eyes. The impact struck, ricocheted, spraying shards of rock. With a wordless growl, she redirected the energy forward, splitting the creature’s jaw in two.

  I… had to move.

  Blood of the Crown burned inside me. I drew the blade, anger roaring through my veins like molten metal. One step—my abdomen screamed—another—and I slashed. A clean cut split the creature before me. It collapsed… but its shadow crawled toward another crack.

  —They don’t stop! —Velka gasped, glancing at Neyra, who staggered up with her eyebrow split and her arm limp.

  —Analyst! Don’t you dare die yet!

  Up front, Zayrah was a storm made flesh. Sand wrapped around her body, blazing gold; she spun, and the desert itself howled. Three constructs burned to ash in a single strike. The rest twitched backward, jerky and confused, as though remembering fear.

  Mahtani glowed like an eclipse—shields of light spiraling from her hands, intercepting blows that would’ve shattered us. One flared to life just in time, deflecting a strike meant for my neck with a hiss of molten sparks.

  Irsah closed her eyes, haloed in soft blue. For an instant, I could breathe again.

  —Endure… —she whispered, her voice more prayer than command.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  She knelt, palms to the ground. A pulse rippled outward—gentle, heartbeat-slow. One of the constructs froze mid-charge, its body vibrating as if it doubted its own existence. Caelia didn’t hesitate: she hurled her shield like a divine hammer, shattering it to dust.

  Another, towering twice my height, loomed before me. Its motions were disjointed, puppet-like, as if some invisible hand tugged on rusted strings. I raised my sword, knowing I wouldn’t block in time—

  —and then Caelia appeared, a blue comet. Her shield crashed through its skull, splintering stone into shards. She pivoted, flinging it into two more.

  —You don’t touch my sister, trash! —she roared.

  Velka laughed between gasps.

  —That’s the spirit, Queen Paranoia…

  We didn’t celebrate. The ground roared beneath us, a brief, deep quake. The crack blazed once more—then contracted, like a heart calming after a spasm.

  The constructs froze mid-motion, their limbs half-raised… and crumbled, one by one, into dust and silence.

  Silence.

  Only our breaths, our blood, our exhaustion.

  Zayrah, still shrouded in sand, clenched her fists. Mahtani lowered her shield, her hand bleeding where it met the light. Irsah inhaled, fragile, ethereal.

  We looked at each other—sisters of flesh and scar.

  We had survived.

  —Anyone else up for a desert vacation? —Velka laughed, spitting blood between her teeth.

  I couldn’t help but laugh too, my sword still burning in my hand.

  —Shut up, Velka.

  And we stayed standing.

  We knew this wasn’t the end.

  Only the beginning of something deeper.

  Something alive.

  Something breathing beneath the sand.

  I was still gasping when the last spark of pure magic faded into the crack.

  The desert wind blew heavy, mocking our exhaustion.

  My knees trembled; the sword still pulsed in my hand, alive and unyielding, as if Blood Crown itself were breathing hard, hungry for one last cut.

  Around me, there was only ragged breath and floating dust.

  Velka—hands stained with her own blood, lips pressed shut to hide the pain—looked at me with that forced smile I’d long since learned to read.

  Neyra leaned against a wall she’d rebuilt with her borrowed magic, wiping sweat from her forehead; her gaze darted from crack to crack, searching for the next threat that refused to come.

  Caelia remained standing, but her shields—those perfect shields—flickered for the first time, as if even Distrust herself was no longer sure she could hold.

  A few paces away, Zayrah gripped her makeshift spear, sweat tracing her jaw, eyes burning with that unshakable desert calm: firm respect, and silent concern.

  Mahtani had one hand over Irsah’s shoulder, whispering a prayer that shimmered into a faint glow of peace.

  Irsah, serenity made flesh, exhaled slowly; her aura still rippled like disturbed water refusing to settle.

  No one spoke at first.

  Something heavy lingered between us, as if the crack we’d sealed had left an identical one inside each of us.

  —Everyone… still breathing? —Zayrah began, her voice cracking before she cleared her throat—. Intact?

  Velka laughed, hoarse, mocking her own pain.

  —Intact? I’m as intact as someone can be after getting her ribs tenderized by a chunk of living stone…

  Neyra grunted in agreement, arms crossed.

  —This —she pointed at the ground, still pulsing with thin fissures of light— …wasn’t in the report.

  Caelia stepped closer to me.

  Her gaze lingered, confirming I wasn’t about to collapse before she checked herself.

  —This isn’t a mere fluctuation zone —she murmured—. It’s a bottomless well of something even Seravenn couldn’t tame.

  Zayrah nodded; a thin spiral of sand rose around her like a sigh.

  —No one was meant to see it this raw —she said. Her eyes moved across each of us—. Now you understand why our Sultan guards herself so fiercely. And why you… —she paused, searching for the right word— …are not like fighting soldiers or machines.

  Velka scoffed, shoulders slumping.

  —Great. Nice to know that after we almost died. —She sighed, and when her gaze met mine, there was something new in it: a small fracture of doubt, of real fear.— What the hell do we do if they rise again?

  Mahtani stepped forward, voice steady and warm.

  —Don’t dwell on the next time. What happened here… is rare, even for us. But now you know. —Her hand touched Velka’s arm gently, a gesture almost maternal.— Now you’re not alone.

  That word struck something deep. Not alone.

  Our eyes met—Velka, Neyra, Caelia—and each took that phrase differently: one embraced it, one resisted it, one simply breathed it in.

  I closed my eyes.

  The desert wind brushed my face, hot and constant, almost human.

  Sometimes a crack closed. Sometimes another opened.

  But now I knew something new.

  It didn’t matter what roared beneath the sand.

  As long as we stood together, the world would keep breathing with us.