“Shut the fuck up.”

The words just spilled out of me as I stared unblinkingly down at the call-stone. The marking that glowed from within it resembled an angular, stylized flower…sort of. I recognized it from the tiny book of name-markings the other Zia had left me, even before the translation kicked in. It was Seri’s mark.

But there was no way it could truly be her.

Is there?

Again, the stone emitted a lilting laugh.

“I know this is shocking, Zi. But—”

“Who is this, really?”

There was a pause.

“Zia, I’m so sorry I can’t tell you more right now. I just…I wanted you to know that I’m alright. I wanted you to know, to really know this time, that everything is going to be good. You don’t have to fret about the Rend. Everything is under control.”

“Under control?” I snatched up the call-stone. “Under control? There are hordes of undead ravaging the countryside! They’re saying we’re at war, and—”

“They’re just taking Gems right now and establishing a hold around the Rend,” said Seri. “And when the time is right, you’ll understand why. Hear me, Zi. Trust me. This is for the best of all.”

“What kind of prank call is this?” I demanded. “Whoever you are, you’re a monster. Couldn’t you have at least waited till proper morning to ruin my day?”

The pendant sighed.

“I have to go. I love you, sister. Please, just…try not to fret. You’ll understand, in time. I promise.”

And then the marking vanished, and the call-stone was silent.

“Wait, what? No!”

I squeezed the stone.

“Call Seri,” I ordered. Nothing happened. “Return last call!” Still nothing. Growling with frustration, I stomped over to the bookshelves where I’d put the smallest of Other Zia’s books, snatching it and flipping through its pages until I came to Seri’s symbol. Scrunching my nose, I considered my options. Then, on a hunch, I pressed the stone to the page, right over the top of the marking. At once, the call-stone glowed as a reflection of Seri’s mark bloomed within it. Then it began to pulse, and a faint trilling issued from the stone. Once, twice, eight times it sang out. But no one answered.

Seri’s symbol faded, and the stone went silent.

Gods damnit. Sticking the tiny book back on its shelf, I scowled at it as I tried to decide what to do. There was no way I was getting back to sleep, but I didn’t think there was much chance breakfast was starting any time soon, either. I was just beginning to consider the possibility of sneaking out to explore when there was a tapping at the glass of my window. I froze. Every hair on my body raised on-end.

Aside from heights, this was one of my greatest fears. Something unknown, tapping at my window in the darkness. A window that should be too high up for any normal person to ever get to. I tried to look, but my muscles seemed to have petrified. The tapping continued. Finally, almost painfully, I jerked my head up and to the side.

And there, clinging to the sill with one hand and rapping at the glass with the other, was Keshry.

My mouth dropped open. Relief, fury and terror washed over me in turns as I rushed over to fling open the window.

“Oh my go—Keshry what in the…in the depths are you doing?”

The tiny Jade squeezed through the narrow frame easily, wiping her hands off on one another as she stepped past me. But though she was damp from the rain, she was polite enough not to shake herself dry.

“I live just above you,” she explained. “I was dreaming, sleeping on my stomach, and I peered through the Between and saw your restless spirit. What is wrong? Can you not sleep? Is it your Moon bothering you?”

I blinked.

“What’s wrong? You almost just gave me a heart attack is what’s wrong. What if you’d fallen?”

“I wouldn’t have,” she said simply, looking around. “But what troubled you before that? You can tell me if you don’t wish to say, and I’ll go.” At once, and perhaps for the first time I’d seen, she seemed very self-conscious. The scales along her cheeks and around her eyes darkened.

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“I am sorry, but I was worried for you,” she added in a rush. “And I didn’t want to disturb your coven-mates by knocking at the main door.”

I sighed.

“No, you don’t have to go. You really want to know what’s wrong?”

She nodded eagerly, perking up at once.

“It’s not my Moon. I think I’m starting to come down from that, a bit. No…my sister Seri just called me. Or someone claiming to be her. I guess you could say that kind of shook me.” I coughed up a dry chuckle. Keshry tilted her head.

“Claiming to be her? But how? Was it not her mark?”

“It was, but…”

“Then it was her,” said Keshry.

I balked.

“Really? But how is that possible?” I ran a frantic hand over the fur of my right ear. “I’ve been reading through all of original Zia’s journals, and she didn’t really kill Seri! It was all set up. Seri practically threw herself off that roof. Her friends made a sigil to work against her name, made everyone doubt and suspect her. But as far as I know and everyone else says, Seri definitely did die. So how—”

“Breathe, Ashri-an,”

“You can call me Zia,” I said through grated teeth, dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor and slumping forward with my head in my hands.

“Breathe.”

I tried. It came fast and uneven at first, but as I fought my mind to silence, it steadied.

“Do you…do you know any way she might be doing this?”

Keshry was silent for a moment, thoughtful. Grim.

“She may have bound her spirit fragment here, given it ways to communicate through the Between,” she said. “Or perhaps…”

I let my hands drop into my lap as I peered up at her.

“Or?”

“Or, perhaps, someone has found a way to bring her back. The Rend is open, after all.”

For several moments, we were both silent. I was the one who broke it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s the link between the undead and the Rend? I read and heard things about…about unknown subtypes of Gems…and all of it has something to do with something called the Corrupted, doesn’t it? What even is that?”

Keshry shivered.

“The Unseen Isle is in another world. They have many Gems there, including subtypes we don’t have. Powers we don’t have. Powers like raising the dead.”

“And the Corrupted?”

“I…I do not wish to talk about that right now.”

That took me back a bit.

“Er, ok, fair enough. I’m sorry.”

“It is alright.”

Sighing, I pushed myself once more to my feet.

“I’m restless. I don’t want to sit here and just stew in…in everything right now. Wondering if Seri will call again and dreading it and hoping for it and obsessing over what’s going on with her…no. I’m going to go wander around until whenever breakfast starts. Get a feel for this place. Want to come? Or do you want to go back to sleep? You must still be tired.”

For some reason, Keshry shuddered.

“No, no more sleep,” she said. “I think I will go with you.”

And so we crept quietly out of my room, through the common area of the suite, and out into the corridor beyond.

The halls were dimly lit and quiet, though occasionally we passed a guard on patrol. They paid us little mind, though, as this time I was smart enough not to yank at any mysterious doors. There were, however, several less-mysterious doors. Ones that were not warded against incursions, or were clearly labeled for student use. The greenhouses were perhaps my favorite of everything we found—chambers lit almost entirely by large, powerful sigils and packed to the brim with exuberant alien growth. There were mushroom caves, too—and though they stank in the earthiest possible way, I was happy to cover my nose with a hand and tough it out as I wandered through its clumps and clusters of colorful and preposterous fungi.

At one point we neared the kitchens, and the captivating scent of food-in-progress nearly had me turning on my heel to follow it.

“It’s still too early,” said Keshry. “Let’s go this way”

Reluctantly, I let her tug me down an adjoining corridor, where we came upon a broad arched opening that lead into what looked like a sort of enormous common room.

“Ooooh,” said Keshry.

Peering up and out at our new surroundings, I agreed.

The ceiling was high—really high. The lanterns were huge, as were the sigils above—though their light was very dim right now.

As Keshry wandered off in one direction, I meandered in the other, barely aware of my own movements as I drifted toward the most eye-catching part of the whole place.

There were moss-scoops and seating stones, fountains and bathing pools and even some actual furniture—all over the place, in fact. Great curving ridges of stone lined the walls from floor-to-ceiling at intervals, coming together at its peak. At the base of each was carved a dragon, their eyes set with glittering jewels. Between each dragon was an alcove, and above every alcove a smooth expanse of stone. About a third were blank, unadorned.

But the others were interesting, decked with murals—or perhaps something more like elaborate graffiti. Images in varying degrees of relation to one another flowed from one to the next, each unique in its style and subject matter. I guessed that every one of them had been painted by a different student, and closer inspection confirmed this. Between the images were squeezed glyphs. Names, years…generation upon generation of students had left their mark here. But there was one piece of the whole in particular which called to me.

A highly stylized kobold, almost jagged…in a beautiful sort of way. Her fur and scales were pearly gray, her face was radiant with joy. And behind her back—though she was very clearly a deepborn—was a set of magnificent wings. They had a hazy, translucent quality to them, as though they were meant to be made of light rather than flesh and bone, and lovely twisting patterns flowed all across them.

But despite the beauty of the image, all of those around it had an angry, messy quality to their style—several of them overlapping the lovely gray kobold and obscuring her edges. Strangely compelled, I placed a hand to the stone, over the cold surface of the stranger’s painted foot.

“Oh, it’s her,” said Keshry, padding up behind me as I squinted around at the glyphs, trying to find a signature that matched the image.

“Huh?” I wondered absently, eyes catching on one name that was half-covered by the straying lines of someone’s else’s work.

Ajhadi of Clan —

“Who?”

“Your mother,” said Keshry, craning her neck back to peer up at the winged figure. “She was beautiful.”