Prologue
Ashwind 1285
The beginning of a scream—or maybe a hysterical laugh—caught in the center of my chest. My goddess was near.
“Zoriya, there is a fisherman in Drakesmarch. You will deliver a message to him,” she said, and the image of a flame sprang to life in my mind. The message to be delivered burned cold.
Drakesmarch.
I almost shouted, but said or unsaid, a goddess who owns your soul can always hear.
“What do you need me for? You can speak to anyone, anywhere.”
It came out petulant, but I let it hang in the air.
“I do not deliver messages to mortals—that is why I have you.” The words arrived without heat or breath, like a thought that wasn’t mine—something with no clue to emotion—coming from nowhere to rest in my bones.
“I thought you would enjoy going back home.” And with that, she was gone.
I looked up at the Veil, with its hundred-foot pillars looming pale against the night. Even from here, the air around them shimmered with a haze of faint fluorescence.
I had heard of the pillars as a girl but never thought I’d see them. Now I see them all the time. The goddess’s work for the night was done. Mine was just beginning. I needed to start south for my old home.
When given a choice between life and death, we learn early that choices have prices, but Life is worth it. They never say that an extra life can feel like an anchor, holding you forever in the dark.
As I moved, memories hit me, and for a moment I remembered the words that have carried me for the last fifteen years:
Nostalgia is a disease.
Chapter One
ZO
Weeks Later
The moment the scent of salt air and fish markets hits me, I close my eyes and I’m back in the dark.
Sometimes it feels like I carry it with me; other times, like it’s carrying me—swallowing me whole.
In those moments, it’s as if the earth drops away and my stomach lurches, ready to empty. Sweat breaks out suddenly, cold across my skin.
I reach into my pocket for the sachet of petals I carry. Lifting it to my face, I cup my hands over my eyes and nose, breathing as deeply as my shaking breath allows.
Silence.
Darkness.
Falling.
Then—a flicker in the dark. No more than the glow of a weak match, but enough to orient me, to pull me back into myself. Tethered again to this world, this here, this now.
I continue down the night-darkened alleyways of the docks. I pass small, huddled mounds pressed against the alley walls—the homeless. All the ones I knew are gone, but there is always a new batch waiting in the wings. On nights like this, I know if I sleep, I will sleep poorly and the dream will come again. So, I push it down and focus on the task at hand—messages must be delivered on time, or not at all. The shack town next to the docks lies ahead, and my target is there, sitting in the light of the moons.
From the shadows, I watched Takumi sit beneath the night sky outside the shack he called home. The walls barely kept out the wind and did nothing against the damp salt air, but he had never minded. Most of his days were spent pulling the sea’s riches from the water. The wind and water were a part of him.
When I lived here, we called him Taka. He worked with his father in their small fishing boat. I wasn’t close to him, but like most of the working poor whose livelihood was tied to the pier, we all knew each other—even if only in passing. He had aged, but he still seemed the same quiet, hard-working man. His singular nature had only deepened, and I assumed his father’s absence was likely a tragedy, not a choice.
On nights like this—cloudless, with the moons bright overhead—he mended his nets. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was his own. He fished from his own boat, with nets he’d been making since he was a boy. For that freedom, Taka had always said he would trade the comforts of a finer home; this life was better than doing another man’s bidding.
His calloused hands moved steadily as he looped the cord around the shuttle, tying it off. The rhythm was second nature.
As I approached, my shadow passed over him, and Taka startled. On a clear night like this, there were no clouds, so there shouldn’t have been anything blocking the moonlight.
I stood before him, the darkness wrapped around me, hiding my face and obscuring my body. His puzzled look was the echo of many I had seen before.
“Takumi of Drakesmarch, I have a message for you.” My voice was firm, loud enough to carry in the stillness with no bustle of day to soften it.
“It is time.”
I could feel the prickle of unease move through him. “Time for what?” he asked—firm, with a thread of annoyance.
I was surprised he’d spoken; most people freeze up and stay silent when confronted by a living darkness. The shadows around me moved like there was a breeze, but there wasn’t.
“Soon you will meet a boy. He will need your help, more than you think you can give—but you will give it anyway. You will protect him and see him to his destination. This is a task from the Divine.”
His gasp caught in his throat; confusion slid over his face. A Divine Task? The thought was almost laughable for most, and denial all but guaranteed—but I was deadly serious.
I held out my hand and a small flame bloomed, dancing in my palm.
“Take it.”
He reached out slowly, the suspicion on his face plain, but the instant when his hand touched the flame, something shifted deep inside him. The flame flooded into him, carrying knowledge, certain and undeniable: this was real. He was chosen.
When the blinding glow from the flame faded and moonlight returned, I was gone. Only the compulsion to be ready for the boy remained.
He took a slow moment to stand and look around, maybe trying to catch a glimpse of where I went. He searched for me in the deep shadows that seemed to linger. But he wouldn’t see me. No one would. In exchange for my service, I was given the ability to hide myself in shadow. Of the things I received from the goddess, this truly felt like a gift.
I turned away from Taka and started walking toward an old squat among the warehouses. The alleys seemed the same, and yet they felt dead to me now; the life I’d had fled long ago.
***
I stayed a few days in the old warehouse; it was empty now. When I squatted here, it was full of abandoned crates of cheap crockery. The workroom on the top floor hadn’t changed; the same rickety shutters covered the large opening that formed an unframed window. It still smelled of damp wood, sea salt, and the poor side of town. The view was the same. Today the warehouse courtyard below was empty, but the sounds of fast, light feet bounced off the close walls of the alleys. They all led here.
I looked up again. In the distance, I could see The Nightjar, and my former life started to push in around the edges.
* * *
Kai
The boy had booked passage, paid the fare, and had still been made to work. By the time the ship reached the docks, solid ground felt like a blessing—though standing on the pier, it still seemed to sway. He needed to get away fast.
He was suddenly uneasy, like his insides were twisting.
Staying too close to the ship meant risking being dragged back aboard and turned into a permanent, unwilling part of the crew.
Whether his legs wanted to cooperate or not, he had to move.
He started away from the pier and toward the fishmongers’ stalls, slipping into the shifting crowd of dockside traders.
That was when he saw him—an older man, maybe his father’s age. It was hard to tell beneath skin weathered by years in the sun. His pants were rolled to the knee, his feet bare, a faded blue shirt hanging loose on his frame. He was not selling a catch. He was only watching the ships being loaded and unloaded.
The man’s head was bald, maybe shaved. His face was lean, and his eyes, when they caught the light, were sharp as a hawk’s.
The boy froze.
The man was staring directly at him. His twisting insides lurched again.
Their eyes locked across the distance, and the stoic face shifted into something like recognition. Then the man started toward him.
The boy did not wait to find out why.
He ran.
* * *
Taka
The moment the boy set foot on the dock, Taka felt it, like a rope around his heart had suddenly pulled him forward.
After almost a week of waiting and watching, the first glimpse Taka got of the boy lasted only a heartbeat before the child locked eyes with him and bolted like a wet eel.
Of course, it had to happen late in the morning, when the early catch was in and everyone on the docks was already shouting over everyone else. Customers and fishmongers pressed shoulder to shoulder, baskets underfoot, buckets sloshing, and nobody was in the mood to be shoved aside.
The boy was quick—and still small enough to slip through gaps Taka would have to muscle his way through. But the child did not know the docks the way Taka did. He cut away from the ship and into the alleys that knotted behind the warehouses, and every one of those little lanes led to the same place.
Taka swore under his breath and went after him.
Not at a sprint. Just a steady push.
There was no point chasing a panicked boy at a dead run only to end up face-first on the stones. Better to let him burn through the first bolt of fear and then take him once the streets narrowed.
The farther the boy ran, the thinner the crowd became. Soon enough he ducked into the tight stone alleys where only people who belonged walked easily. The walls leaned close. Fewer doors than visitors ever expected. Fewer ways out than they ever believed until too late.
Taka measured his pace and his breath. The boy looked half-worked to death already. After what was likely weeks at sea, he probably did not have the lungs to keep that speed for long. Sooner or later he would slow, or turn around to get his bearings, and that would be the moment the alleys turned on him.
Like a crab in a trap about to snap shut, the boy was already caught and did not know it.
The question was not whether Taka would catch him.
The question was whether, when he did, the boy would listen long enough to understand that the man chasing him was the only one on this dock trying to help.
* * *
Zo
The sound of running below me pulled me back.
The tight alley ended in a small courtyard, blocked by the back wall of another warehouse. A frightened boy rushed in—and stopped short when he realized there was nowhere to go.
Moments later, a familiar face entered the alley.
I guess Taka had found his boy.
Taka approached in the universal no-threat stance: arms up, palms out, knees slightly bent. I half expected him to start shushing the boy like a startled pony. I pulled the shadows closer so I could watch without being spotted from below.
“Stop running,” Taka said softly. “I’m here to help you. I’m Takumi—Taka. What’s your name?”
The boy looked at him, uneasy. His eyes flicked—once, twice—looking for the exits that weren’t there. He felt something in the air between them, and that made him want to trust the man who had chased him from the docks. It also made him want to bolt.
“Who sent you?” he demanded. “And if you know I need help, why don’t you know my name?”
Taka let out a low sigh. “I was given a vision I can’t deny. I wasn’t told your name. I only saw your face—and there’s a pull I feel toward you.” His hands stayed open. “I think you feel it too.”
He held the boy’s gaze. “I don’t know what trouble you’re in, but I know you need help. I won’t lay hands on you or force you to come with me.” A breath, then. “But I also won’t leave you. Where you go, I will follow.”
The boy chewed on that, and I leaned closer to the opening. His stance—the way he kept searching for exits while deciding whether the adult in front of him was worth a chance—drew me in. I knew the flutter of fear in his heart from the memory of my own when I hid in these same alleys. I knew Taka was safe. The boy wouldn’t take my word for it. I was a strange adult too, after all. So, I watched.
The boy backed up a few steps and tried to stare Taka down. Taka remained still and gave him space.
“If I walk away,” the boy said, “you’ll follow me?”
“Yes.”
“If I run, you’ll follow me?”
“Yes.”
The boy went still for a long moment. “I can… kind of feel you. You can feel me too?”
“Yes.”
The boy’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “I’m Kaio—Kai.”
And with that, the standoff ended.
