HER SMILE WAS like sunlight. Like water in the desert. She was a creature not only from another world, but another order entirely. I felt like a dog before her—like a rat. Low and fearful, and desperate in my ignorance. Yet the knowledge that such beauty and grace existed somewhere, anywhere in this tortured abyss was soothing, calming.

“I am Zeniel,” she said, holding out a hand to me. “You must be confused. Terrified. Come, let me give you rest and succor.”

Feeling guilty, filthy, I reached up and took Zeniel’s offered hand. Even as she lifted me to my feet, I felt light flow through her. Weariness fell away like great stones lifted from my shoulders. I was weaker than I’d realized, but now I felt… capable. Restored, in some way. I stood a little straighter. Saw a little clearer.

“You were very close to true death,” she said, guiding me back to the altar by the hand. I must have seemed like a child beside her, for Zeniel was easily half again as tall as me. I had to crane my neck to look into her face.

“You were stone when I arrived,” I said, feeling stupid.

“Indeed. Long has it been since a Cinderborn came through this hall.” She knelt again by the side of the altar, folding her wings and legs carefully again. Even sitting still, she was full of elegance, like light captured in a crystal. I’d seen that somewhere, on a forgotten adventure. Light in a crystal. I recalled holding it up to the sun wonderingly as other hands grasped for it.

“Cinderborn?” I said, bringing myself back.

“Those like you,” Zeniel said. She touched the wound in my chest, where the light shined through the filmy fabric of my stolen tunic. “Your kind all bear a Cindermark like yours when they climb out of the pit, seeking. That is the wound that killed your mortal self.”I touched it, sensing the truth of her words. “By your Cindermark, I can see you’ve found a Silver Tear. I pray it brought you good memories—something to soothe your soul. A balm against the pain.”

No, I thought sadly. I had remembered war, and the cruel uses of iron. “Will it grow?” I asked, looking to Zeniel.

“As you remember more, yes,” she said. “The greatest of the Cinderborn were said to be brilliant with light. Beacons against the dark, the fire within a crucible against corruption.”

“You said they climbed out of the pit,” I said slowly. “What do they seek?”

She looked at me. I felt her judging me, almost like fingers brushing against my mind. “Once, they were legion. But as the years have worn thin, and the worlds grew darker… It is different, now. Some seek for answers. Others for peace. And there are a few others, like you. But it is a dark and sad path you have set your feet upon. But one way or another, you will likely die if you do not seek radiance.”

Hearing that from her was hard. I sensed that Zeniel could no more tell a lie than she could harm me. That meant it was true: I would likely die. “I died once before,” I said to her.

“That is true.” She closed her eyes, and for a long moment was calm. “But true death will not come, so long as you maintain a spark of radiance. Of the power in blood. You Cinderborn, and the others like you, can claim that power. And use it for many things.”

I raised my hand to the Cindermark on my chest. The light cast strange shadows on my hand. “It can make me stronger.”

“Among other things. But the secrets of radiance are for you to discover. For you to master, Cinderborn. That is your path to salvation.” She sighed, and her beautiful face fell. “This place has grown worse. The voices of my kin are further than ever. And the songs of those who came here, like me, are silent now.” An edge entered her voice I did not like. “The fires are rising. Licking the very walls of the universe, I think. Threatening to burn it all down.”

I took that in, but understood little of it. “There are others like you?”

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She nodded, but her eyes were distant with worries I could not fathom. “Three of us. The Seraphim. Though, your people called us the Velkyrim.”

“Velkyrim! Then you are an angel?”

Again, Zeniel nodded. “Sent here with a message for the Old Liar. But we saw what had become of the chasm. We decided to stay.”

“Why?” The question ripped out of me, quicker than I could think about it. “Why would you stay here?”

Zeniel took my hand again. “Because we felt your pain. The damned. The doomed. The lost. This is not what was intended. This place is infested with hate and pain. Those cast down here did not perish. They thrived in the dark, where even starlight hesitated…” She hesitated. “But you are not lost, little soul. I can guide you, in my way. So can Irien, and Rephilen, my sisters.”

“The Velkyrim carried men to heaven,” I said. I looked away, fearing to see the answer I might glimpse in her eyes before I mustered the courage to ask the question in my heart. “Can you carry me out of here?”

“No.” The word had the ring of a hammer on an anvil. Absolute, irrevocable. “The powers sent you here for a reason. It is not my place to gainsay them.”

“Powers? What powers?” I grew angry at her rejection. “Can you feel the pain? The crushing agony? My family is up there!”

Zeniel squeezed my hand. “We three are cut off here from the stars, too, little soul. Without starlight, we fade to stone. Your blood revived me, for a time. Just as you must revive my sisters, if you can find them. But I cannot do what you ask. My task is here, for now. And there are laws I cannot break. Laws even older than the stars.”

I hung my head in shame, for I knew she could not lie.

“But I say a third time, you are not lost. And there are other, older paths to the stars, Cinderborn.” I looked up, and saw she was smiling. Bright tears ran down her face. Silver, I thought. Almost like the sphere the vicar had given me. Smaller, though.

“The blood you fed this altar, the light, it will remember. Once, this land was dotted with sanctuaries for the dead. Long, long ago. Find those altars, and you may recall some of the strength of the blood you’ve shared.” She lowered her head to look me in the eye. “But beware, Cinderborn—this place is starved of light. It will drink of you all you can give. You must take care Give it no more than you can stand to lose.”

I nodded. The bowl had nearly bled me. Twice I’d nearly killed myself, simply by being a fool.

“I died once,” I said. “And I awakened again in a cavern deep below.”

Zeniel sighed. “You have known agony. And learned the truth of this place. Time flows differently in the Way Between Worlds. The roots remember things differently, and the patterns shift and ebb. This is why the damned become the Faded. They die and die, until there is nothing left but the memory of death, and the fear of death.”

“The Faded?”

“Those you encountered below. The true lost, who walk on the very brink of oblivion. Grieve for them, for they are victims of a plot they cannot conceive.” I didn’t know what to make of that, but I sensed the truth of it. I’d seen the despair myself. Felt it with every step, though in Zeniel’s light, I felt stronger. Better.

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I cannot,” she said. “I ward this mouth of the pit. Here, Cinderborn like yourself climb toward what awaits them. Here, I can comfort you.”

I looked back toward the dark mouth of the stairs I’d climbed. Up had been right, I reckoned. Old instincts playing through, even past the veil of death. “Are there many like me?”

“No. Few souls can hold such fire. Can ward off the darkness of this place for long. Despair is easier. To become Faded is easier. Do not give in, Cinderborn. You must not let yourself fade.” The passion in her voice drew me around again. There were tears in her eyes again. Anger, perhaps, or wrath. “You must walk the path the rest of us cannot. You must.”

I nodded and rested my hand on the hilt of my sword. I was not ready to leave Zeniel’s light. She was beautiful to behold, but more, she was safe. I had not felt an ounce of comfort since awakening amidst those bones, but were I to linger, I knew I would never leave.

“Which way?” I asked.

She pointed toward a door in the wall. “Follow that road. It will lead you down to a dark river. There is a boat there, but beware. It is guarded, Cinderborn.”

“All right,” I said.

“Take this.” She handed me the white knife. I stared at it. My blood still glowed faintly on the blade. “Spare some radiance for the altars you find. Should you die again, their light will guide your soul. Now go, little soul. And may you find starlight.”