The world became a dizzying blur, a carousel of colors. Glimmering azure lights pirouetted around them, pulsing larger and smaller like the slow breath of the sea. An undulating wash of emerald chased in their wake, crowned in the distance by a fervent flare of sun-kissed orange. As the chromatic spiral persisted—blue, green, orange; blue, green, orange—Ellia remained the singular anchor amidst the riot of hues. Sunlit strands of her hair, swept up in a playful bun, danced with their movement.

  They were spinning—hands clasped tightly, one wrapped in worn leather, the other bare and breathless in the open air. Ellia, older and stronger, had taken the lead, twirling Mimi around with an effortless rhythm born of joy. Laughter spilled from both of them, untamed and electric, their joined hands the axis around which their world revolved.

  Mimi got a rare sight: the stoic captain, usually all fire and discipline, now lit with an infectious glee. Her ebony eyes, typically razor-sharp, sparkled with mischief. The corners crinkled with delight, unburdened by duty or sorrow. Their laughter became a shared rhythm, a little symphony of mirth that built with each spin.

  But as the euphoria peaked, a flicker of something dark crossed Ellia's face—a hitch in the joy, like a half-remembered nightmare brushing the edge of her thoughts. In that instant, the glove that had clung to Mimi’s hand slipped loose, and the tether between them faltered.

  Clinging with all her might to the one hand she hadn’t lost, Ellia was yanked off balance. Their circular momentum—once joyous—lurched into a hiccup of catastrophe, like a planet nudged off its orbit. Dizzy, slightly intoxicated, and still buzzing from the sacraments, the two girls toppled, tumbling in a tangle down the grassy embankment behind the temple.

  BLUE, GREEN, ORANGE. BLUE, GREEN, ORANGE. BLACK.

  They landed in a heap. Mimi twitched beneath Ellia, who lay sprawled across her like a discarded cloak, her back arched as if trying to catch the last stars in the sky. Alarm flashed in Ellia’s eyes as she felt Mimi’s tremors. She shifted quickly, rolling Mimi onto her back—

  —only to get hit square in the face by a mist of spit-laced giggles.

  The sheer horror on Ellia’s face triggered a new gale of laughter from Mimi—loud, wheezing, absolutely feral. Karma struck instantly as her cackles collapsed into choking spasms, her breath hitching mid-giggle, caught somewhere between a cough and a dying flute. Ellia broke too, laughter spilling from her in bright, ringing bursts that carried across the quiet hush of dawn.

  The corners of Ellia’s lips tugged higher, forming a broad, unguarded smile. She rose with practiced grace and extended a hand toward Mimi.

  Though the earth beneath her felt like the last stable thing in a world still spinning from their tumble, Mimi took the offered hand after a moment’s wobbling hesitation.

  Behind Ellia, the temple loomed—its flames still dancing in ethereal hues of blue threaded with molten purple. Even from here, the sight murmured of what they’d endured. It had been a night unlike any other.

  Mimi rubbed her eyelids, trying to corral her scattered thoughts. Memories flickered back to life: sacrifice acknowledged, radiant beams converging, the obelisk’s strange silhouette etched into her sight, and those flames… bewitched, undying.

  Before she could fully resurface, Ellia held out a waterskin, nudging it just far enough into her field of vision to pull her from the haze. The worn leather gleamed with condensation, droplets sliding down its sides. Inside, the liquid sloshed softly, promising the kind of relief Mimi hadn’t realized she needed.

  Ellia said nothing. She didn’t have to.

  “Thanks,” Mimi rasped, voice sandpaper-rough. She lifted the waterskin and took a cautious sip—then a deeper one. Thirst surged, overwhelming, and she drank greedily. Water spilled from the corners of her mouth, trailing down her chin and throat. One final squeeze drained the skin, leaving her breath fogging the morning air. When she handed it back, Ellia accepted without comment, the same crooked smile still tugging at her lips—an expression Mimi could count on one hand.

  Mimi squinted at her, feigning suspicion. “No shade, but… that smile’s been glued to your face all night.” A beat. Then, mock solemn, “Didn’t even know you had that many in stock. I’ve seen you smile more tonight than in the entire time I’ve known you.”

  Ellia’s grin widened. She draped an arm over Mimi’s shoulders and tugged her gently close as they began their ascent up the hill—temple light flickering behind them, dawn’s first blush just starting to swallow the night.

  As they climbed, Mimi finally looked around. The temple’s placement struck her as odd, almost deliberate. Nestled deep within dense woods, it sat at the heart of a lush green plateau—like the earth itself had cupped it gently to keep it hidden and safe. One side rose into the hill they now climbed, nature tucking it in like a blanket. Beyond the crest, the land dropped away into a sheer cliff, jagged rocks warning off any approach from the sea.

  The whole place felt… intentional. Not simply built, but placed. Cradled. And something deep in her gut whispered that this wasn’t just any temple. It was sacred in a way even silence dared not disturb.

  Her thoughts vanished when a wisp of smoke curled past them, carrying the sweet scent of roasted corn and the mouthwatering aroma of charred chuchukah meat.

  Almost at once, both Mimi and Ellia paused, noses twitching.

  Mimi’s stomach growled loud enough to echo.

  She swallowed hard. Her mouth flooded with saliva.

  They hadn’t eaten during the celebration—too much fun to stop for food. And Ellia had sworn the grill only got better once the boys had “a few rounds at the helm.” Well, morning had arrived, Mimi’s stomach was staging a revolt, and her tum-tum wanted some yum-yum.

  She drifted right, nose leading the way—until Ellia’s hand tightened gently on her shoulder, halting her.

  “Much changed tonight,” the captain murmured. Her grip was warm, steady—comfort disguised as command. “And thanks to you, I can finally share the flock’s responsibility with someone.”

  With that, she turned and continued toward the sea cliff.

  A crease cut between Mimi’s brows. “Someone who?”

  Ellia paused at the hill’s crest and glanced back. That grin—soft, unguarded, infectious—glimmered beneath eyes she kept carefully unreadable.

  “You, silly.”

  Every scrap of levity drained from Mimi’s face. Her breath snagged in her throat.

  Me?

  The word thundered in her skull. She was the youngest in the flock. Half of them barely took her seriously unless she was dangling upside-down from a window frame with loot in hand. What made her worthy of sharing responsibility? What could she offer that the veterans couldn’t?

  Her thoughts tripped over each other, but the only sound she managed was the lamest syllable imaginable.

  “M-Me?”

  Ellia took her hand and resumed walking. That lasted approximately two-point-four seconds before Mimi tripped over absolutely nothing. Ellia caught her with a wry smile and slung an arm over her neck, pulling her in.

  Ellia was older, yes—but Mimi wasn’t far behind in height. Or, according to some, looks. Mimi didn’t buy that nonsense for a heartbeat. Not when she stood next to her.

  Ellia’s hair was a radiant cascade of white-blonde, sun-kissed and forever tousled by wind. Mimi’s was straight and black as void—flat and heavy in her eyes. Who would pick her over a walking sunrise?

  Blonde was warmth, summer, light.

  Black was shadow and silence. The color of mourning. It reminded Mimi of everything she’d lost.

  They approached a lone boulder perched atop the hill, endlessly surveying the sea below. Apollo’s golden chariot was climbing the horizon, streaking the sky with molten gold. Ellia inhaled deeply, releasing Mimi only to stretch her arms wide and close her eyes.

  “Ahhh,” she sighed, bliss dripping from the sound, “how I love the salt air.”

  With another breath, she gestured for Mimi to sit. They plopped down together, backs pressed against the warm stone. Before Mimi could form the question burning through her thoughts, Ellia cut her off with a knowing smile.

  “We have a lot to discuss. The only question is where to start.”

  Mimi raised her hand like a student begging the gods for permission. “Can I take the lead?”

  Ellia nodded, giving her the floor.

  “There’s so much I want to cover—the shared responsibility, the weirdness last night, everything. But first…” Mimi leaned forward, earnest and intense. “I need to understand why you approached the situation the way you did.”

  Ellia blinked, tilting her head like a curious bird. “What do you mean?”

  “Okay, so like—the fires went all weird colors, and then the raven just straight-up morphed right in front of us! Then those crazy beams of light did their thing on everyone, and don’t even get me started on that soul-bond thingy between us. But you…”

  Mimi trailed off, eyes darting, lips pinched as if trying to snag the right words out of the air.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “That speech was straight fire. The way you chilled the flock’s panic? Mad props. Everyone was super glued to your every word—I totally was! But after all that epicness… ‘let’s get flying?’ Seriously?!”

  Ellia’s laughter bubbled up, warm and embarrassed. “The speech surprised me too. I swear something was speaking through me.”

  A small shiver rippled through her at the admission. She smoothed her palm over Mimi’s thigh—anchor more than gesture—before her gaze drifted toward the blooming horizon. The early light softened her features, dimming that perpetual grin into something quieter, reflective.

  “I can’t quite explain why I handled things the way I did,” she said, voice gentling, “but let me paint you a picture from my past.”

  Mimi blinked. Ellia sharing stories from before the flock was like getting a secret treasure—rare, gleaming, delicate.

  “Growing up, I was sandwiched between three brothers and two sisters. Being second in line meant wrangling the younger ones while my eldest brother helped our parents in the grove. We owned a sea of olive trees—as far as the eye could see.” Her smile softened with nostalgia. “Oh, how I wanted to be out there with them. But home duties called. And those youngsters? Madness in human form.”

  Her fingers tapped twice on Mimi’s leg—just hold on.

  “From those days, I learned something important: kids aren’t all that different from grown-ups. Both groups thrive on distraction.”

  Mimi tilted her head, puzzled but listening.

  Ellia’s tone sharpened with the quiet authority she rarely unveiled outside the council chamber.

  “Consider this: if you give power to a problem, it becomes a problem. A little one takes a tumble—if their parents laugh it off, the kid laughs too. Learns resilience. But if a parent swoops in panicking, fussing, chiding—‘be more careful’—the child learns fear instead. They start hesitating. Stop taking leaps.”

  She brushed stray strands of blonde hair from her eyes, her gaze settling on Mimi with warm conviction.

  “And grown-ups? Not so different. If they find humor in their missteps, they don’t go chasing other distractions. The ones that leave deeper scars.”

  Mimi’s brows crinkled. “Deeper scars?”

  “Drinking. Smoking. Pleasure houses. Anything to drown discomfort. I believe everything deserves a try—experience shapes us—but moderation is key.”

  “Moderation…” Mimi echoed, still squinting. “So you reacted the way you did so the flock wouldn’t be afraid? You’re… not worried?”

  Ellia gave a small, thin smile. “Between you and me, little bird? I’m scared shitless.”

  Mimi wasn’t sure Ellia realized her hand was still on her thigh—and squeezing like she was trying to juice an orange. Ellia must’ve felt Mimi tense, because she suddenly released her and folded her hands, clearing her throat.

  “Apologies.” Her lashes fluttered in self-reproach. “Maybe talking about it together would help.”

  Mimi studied her. Really studied her.

  This wasn’t the confident, fire-forged captain she’d known for years. This Ellia was raw. Exposed. Letting Mimi see her cracks instead of hiding them beneath duty and steel.

  And the strangest part? Mimi could feel it—Ellia’s fear, her composure fraying at the edges, the weight she carried. Not just read her posture. Not guess. Feel.

  It was like some invisible thread had tethered their inner worlds together.

  Mimi sat back, trying to organize her swirl of thoughts. The night had been a storm—temple mysteries, beams of light, people collapsing while others remained standing. A raven turning into something else entirely. And then the bond—whatever that meant—between herself and Ellia and the creature.

  Should they gather everyone who fainted? Compare experiences? Investigate the temple? Rally the whole flock to unpack what happened?

  No. Ellia wouldn’t want to expose her fears to the group.

  She’d hide it. Pretend she was fine. Protect everyone but herself.

  Mimi palmed her forehead. Dumbo. What did Mom always say?

  “You can’t help others if you can’t help yourself.”

  Talking about their memories first—that was the place to start.

  Especially because Mimi had glimpses she didn’t understand. A burning village. Treetops. The screams of people she’d never met—yet mourned anyway.

  She inhaled.

  “Hey, captain?” she said softly. “Did you… have a memory surface last night that wasn’t yours? Something you don’t actually remember living through?”

  Ellia straightened, spine peeling from the boulder. Something in her posture shifted—attention narrowing, breath steadying. She drew her knees close and turned fully toward Mimi. The younger girl mirrored her without thinking, the two settling knee-to-knee, eyes locked, as if the world had funneled down to the small space between them.

  Ellia inhaled slowly. Her features tightened, the weight of memory crowding behind her narrowing eyes… and then she closed them.

  “I saw a woman,” she began, voice wavering. “A mother.” Her brows pinched as if the memory pulled taut strings behind them. “She was speaking to a boy—not my brother, but… whoever’s eyes I was seeing through. And when she looked at me—” Ellia swallowed. “Her lips moved, but the words drowned under everything else.”

  Her breath grew shallow.

  “The backdrop was chaos. Thunderous booms, like cannon fire. Explosions. Screams and shouts and… gods, the pain in those voices. But through it all I heard her say: ‘We are all beasts of the same jungle.’”

  “Our own jungle,” Mimi corrected softly. Then, firmer: “We are all beasts of our own jungle.”

  Ellia’s eyes snapped open. Understanding flickered there. Shock. Connection.

  “Is that…?” she whispered. “Your mother?”

  Mimi’s smile faltered. She nodded once, then reached out with trembling fingers. Ellia met her halfway, their hands threading together as the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon.

  “I saw a village burning,” Mimi said, voice thin as rice paper. “Flames everywhere. Dense woods around it. I was farther off—running. Someone was with me. A man.” Her breath hitched. “The memory felt like it didn’t belong to me, but I… felt it. Tangible. Real.”

  The scent came back to her so vividly she flinched—the cloying, choking mix of burning wood, crumbling homes, and flesh. A scream cut short by a rifle crack. Her body recoiled as if she’d been struck.

  “I stopped,” she whispered. “Because someone I loved… was taken from me.”

  Her chest seized. Tears spilled freely, hot and relentless.

  “I wanted to run back. I needed to. But the man stopped me. And when I looked at him—” She shook, shoulders trembling. “He was hurting the same way I was. Regret everywhere in his eyes.”

  The memory surged again, merciless. Mimi’s breath stuttered, her voice breaking as sobs shook her small frame.

  “He kissed my forehead. Like he always did. A goodbye. And then… then he—”

  Her words severed as something sharp jabbed the side of her neck. The memory cut to black.

  Before Ellia could speak—before she could chase her own buried ghosts—the dawn touched them fully.

  A tingle sparked across their forearms.

  Both girls froze. Their eyes snapped to each other, mirroring a single thought:

  What just happened?

  The sensation intensified—tiny pinpricks racing along their arms, then flooding their bodies as if their blood had stopped and restarted all at once. Their backs arched violently. Then—

  It stopped.

  They collapsed forward, panting.

  Ellia let out a shaky laugh. Mimi did not.

  “DUUUUUUUDE…” she breathed, eyes wide.

  The universe did not wait.

  A pulse slammed into them—an explosive, throbbing shock that ripped a scream from both their throats. Their nerves lit up in violent waves, oscillating high and low until the frequencies blended into a single unbearable burn. Heat flooded them, searing like embers clinging to flesh. Every place that burned expanded, swelling into deeper, unimaginable pain.

  They didn’t need words to agree on what it felt like:

  Their blood was boiling.

  Their cries tore across the hilltop, raw and primal. Ellia seized Mimi’s wrist; Mimi latched onto Ellia’s in return. Together, they writhed, bodies no longer their own. But through the torment—through the arching backs, the curling toes, the spasms—they dragged themselves closer, clinging to each other as their last tether to sanity.

  Their foreheads nearly touched when it happened.

  A flicker.

  A glint.

  Not from the dawn—

  but from within.

  Mimi’s eyes widened. Ellia’s followed. Both froze, breath caught mid-scream.

  In each other’s irises shimmered something new—something impossible.

  A tiny dual radiance.

  On one side of each iris, a molten orange spark pulsed like a fragment of the sun. On the other, a celestial white glimmered, tinged faintly with blue—as if moonlight had been distilled into a pinprick.

  Not a reflection.

  An awakening.

  For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

  The molten-orange spark on one side of each iris, and the moonlit-blue gleam on the other, pulsed faintly—alive, intentional. Not dawn. Not exhaustion.

  Awakening.

  Each eye held a dual luminescence—

  a sun’s ember and a sliver of winter moon—

  as though Apollo and Artemis had left fingerprints upon their souls.

  A tremor of understanding passed between them.

  Ellia and Mimi—soul-bound beneath the Raven of Apollo, marked under Artemis’s eclipse—felt something inside them settle. Not peace exactly, but alignment, the quiet click of a lock turning. The pain that had ravaged their bodies moments earlier sank into a charged undercurrent, humming beneath their skin. They were not victims of whatever force had seized them.

  They were conduits.

  Unaware of the full truth, sensing only its gravity, both surrendered.

  They let the divine storm move through them—shape, temper, redefine them.

  And as they yielded, the weight forcing them into the earth began to lift—slowly, grudgingly, as if gravity itself reconsidered them. Hands found hands. Fingers locked tight. Together they fought the invisible pressure, knees tucking beneath them, backs straightening despite the tremors. Shoulders shook. Teeth grit. Inch by inch—

  —they rose.

  When they finally sat upright, breathless and shaking, a delirious grin broke across both faces.

  Then—

  A sharp, needle-like prick struck each of their forearms.

  Both gasped.

  The swirling static that had assaulted their bodies earlier now spiraled inward, pulled toward two separate points—one in each arm. Like twin drains tugging the last of the water into mirrored vortices. The energy whirled faster, tighter, until the very air shimmered around their skin.

  And then two things happened at once.

  A narrow ray of sunlight broke over the cliffside—

  while on the opposite horizon, the moon still lingered, a ghost-pale crescent refusing to yield to dawn.

  Sun to the right.

  Moon to the left.

  Heat seared one arm.

  Cold crystallized the other.

  Two forces—equal, opposing—collided through flesh and bone, tempering each other like molten metal quenched in winter water.

  The vortexes stopped.

  Energy slammed inward—

  —and sealed into two marks.

  To Ellia, it looked as though lasers etched sigils into their flesh, the way her childhood tag had burned into being—but these were not scars. These were alive, silver-bright and divine.

  The right arm bore Apollo’s mark:

  a radiant sun, stylized in a nest of spiraling rays, warm to the touch.

  The left bore Artemis’s:

  a crescent moon carved in luminous silver-blue, cool enough to raise goosebumps.

  When Mimi and Ellia lifted their arms into the newborn light, the two sigils glinted—sun answering sun, moon answering moon.

  Separate.

  Perfect.

  Balanced.

  Silence fell around them. Thick. Reverent.

  The storm of power that had threatened to tear them apart dissipated, settling like dust after a quake. What felt like an eternity had lasted only moments; dawn had barely crested the sea.

  A warm breeze swept the cliffside, stirring their hair, brushing trembling limbs. When their gazes met again, both froze.

  The twin sparks in their irises remained.

  Permanent.

  Then—

  A voice drifted across the wind.

  Soft. Cultured.

  Two tones perfectly layered—one feminine, one masculine.

  “In darkness and light, the twins guide your flight.”

  The last syllable faded—

  —and the world snapped still.

  An invisible force crushed them downward. Their bodies—moments ago buoyed by resolve—collapsed beneath the sudden weight. Mimi’s mouth opened three times, forming nothing but silence. Thoughts knotted. Breath evaporated. Her gaze flicked to the new sigils burning on her skin.

  Her hands trembled.

  Her chest tightened.

  What just happened?

  Before an answer could form, shouting erupted from the woods below, from the lower plateau, and from within the temple. Alarm. Confusion. Fear.

  Ellia and Mimi lurched upright instinctively.

  Their flock.

  Something was wrong—

  —but their exhausted bodies betrayed them.

  The shouts stretched, warped. Their vision smeared into darkness. Weight surged through their limbs, dragging them back to earth.

  With a hollow thud, the world vanished.

  And the void claimed them.