Callum lay prone surrounded by Grimwood Healers garbed in billowing robes of bronze and green, their cuffs embroidered with the marks of their station.

Steph was intercepted by a cluster of Rangers standing nearby, watching the proceedings with a grim set to their mouths.

Penelope clipped across the hall towards Steph, stopping shy of the frenzied activity so as not to impede the workers. She heard snatches of rapid conversation from the Healers and gathered Rangers.

“—spirits aren’t taking, they’re slipping away—”

“—weren’t enough left, not after the dragon—”

“—need to move him to the sigil casting, we can’t lose anymore—”

Over the clipped chatter, Penelope heard Steph’s panicked questions directed at the Ranger clasping him by the shoulder.

“Why is he coughing blood? What’s happening? Is he going to be alright? He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?” Though Steph’s voice was desperate, he stepped aside as the Healers moved through the crowd carrying Callum on a cloth litter.

Penelope, Steph, and the small group of Rangers trailed behind as the Healers stepped towards the centre of the ballroom where sigils continued to glow across the marble.

Penelope watched in horror as Callum was laid out on the floor within the lines of fiery runes, grunting in agony.

“He bit his tongue,” the Ranger by Steph explained in quiet tones. “The Healers are working to restore the spirits the ferrifae tore from him… but most of them were lost amongst the dragon’s lights. We… we aren’t sure there’s enough gathered to restore what was taken…… they”—the Ranger pointed at a group of Rangers and robed workers crowded around the crucibles of collected spirits—“are trying to find Callum’s spirits, but…”

The Ranger trailed off, though Penelope could see the task was nearly impossible; sparkling mists of all colours swirled together within the crucibles, dragon indistinguishable from man.

Nonetheless, the workers were efficiently grouping them by colour, quickly clustering the oranges, blues, and golds together.

“The runes will stop his spirits slipping away through the floor as they work,” the Ranger continued. “Even so, they don’t seem to be reabsorbing…”

A Healer hunched over Callum’s side and used a thin wand of polished quartz to coil up a stream of light from a crucible by her knee. Twirling the crystal rod, she lay a shimmering line of spirits along his shoulder and down his arm. The misty light flared and sparkled, sinking into Callum’s form as he groaned through clenched teeth.

The Healer knelt back, assessing with a hopeful gaze, before her brow furrowed. Callum twitched and shuddered as the mist reappeared, spilling from his limb to pool on the floor beside him.

The audience clustered in the balconies murmured in growing alarm as they watched.

The King and Queen were conversing with another robed figure, exchanging looks of sorrow. The King gave a sharp nod and the figure strode from the room through an archway beside the throne dais.

Ethan was overseeing the crowd sorting through the crucibles, tersely waving away the Healer attempting to treat his burn.

Moments later, more robed figures poured into the room, approaching the half-sorted array of crucibles with hurried steps. They relieved the Rangers from the task and began examining the crucibles with instruments of copper and crystal.

With nothing more to do but wait, the Rangers clustered into a tense guard around Callum and the Healers.

Penelope strained to hear what the Healers by Callum’s side were saying.

“—finally, the Alchemists—”

“—they need to work faster—”

“—too much has been lost too near to vital tissue, the spirits aren’t holding together…”

“—not much time, could we—?”

“No! No, he’s going to be alright!” Steph slipped from the Ranger’s hold and dashed to Callum’s side. He knelt down, grasping Callum’s hand as tears tracked down his cheeks. The flowers of Penelope’s dress fluttered with helpless misery as she could do nothing but watch.

“You’re going to be fine,” he breathed, over and again. Penelope recognised Marni standing on the other side of the circle, knuckles white as she gripped the hilt of her holstered club.

“Steph, ‘s’lright…” Callum’s speech was soft and slurred, but Penelope could hear the smile in his voice. “…be alright…”

“Can we get him some privacy at least?” Steph demanded of a nearby Ranger, glaring up at the crowded balconies and the audience watching on with macabre fascination. “A tent or… or something?”

“Naah, give’m a show. ‘S’the whole point,” Callum gave a weak chuckle, choking back a groan. “It’s ‘lright… ‘s’fine… knew the risks…”

“What were you thinking? What’ve you been doing, messing around with all this, Callum? You weren’t— You shouldn’t’ve—” Steph’s voice cracked.

Callum lifted his free hand to cradle Steph’s cheek and Penelope’s heart broke at the fear in Steph’s eyes.

“Can’t you just use those ones?” Steph asked of a Healer, eyes wide and wild as he pointed a shaking finger at the crucibles of blue and orange spirits being set aside.

“Your Highness, we need time to sort them out properly. We can’t use just any spirits… they carry the memory, the experiences, of the original sinew! They need to all fit together, exactly, or his body will reject them… at best.”

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“At.. At worst?” Steph’s eyes were desperate, pleading, while Marni paced in sharp, impatient strides behind him.

“They will kill him faster,” the Healer said with callous severity as she tilted the crucible towards her companion for better access.

“Sister Hazel—” the other Healer hissed as she pressed another line of shining colour to Callum’s neck.

“They will,” Sister Hazel asserted. “We can’t simply pick this or that spirit for injuries this severe and hope for the best, it doesn’t work like that. The threads of connection are too complex, too nuanced in their organic patterning and spectral composition, it’s… it’s impossible to just—”

“Please,” Steph interrupted. “Please try?”

Steph sounded so lost, so forlorn and hopeless. Penelope pressed her hand to her trembling lips as she watched the exchange, her stomach sinking as the hope in Steph’s eyes waned.

“That is what we are doing, Your Highness,” replied another Healer with clinical calm.

“Hush… Let’m do their work, fl’wer,” Callum slurred with a fading smile. “S’been fun, eh?” Callum’s eyes fell shut, his breathing laboured, and Steph swallowed another sob.

Penelope wished she could help, wished she could do anything other than stand idle at the edge of the circle while Steph’s closest friend died. The Rangers around her shifted on restless feet, clearly feeling much the same. Penelope couldn’t help but feel she was intruding on their distress. She was out of place here, standing amongst soldiers as they prepared to mourn their brother in arms.

Penelope glanced around the hall, looking for some task she could help with. Yet the activity was marshalled with a strict sense of order despite the atmosphere of panic, and Penelope knew her efforts would be more hindrance than help.

A ripple of agitation, a feeling almost like a breeze, fluttered through her chest as her flowers twisted on her gown. A presence grew within her mind, dripping thought and feeling into her awareness like ice melt.

Help… help him, we can…

Penelope twisted her fingers together.

We can… help…

She drew an unsteady breath. How? How?

An image of butterscotch light pouring from a flower bud into a steaming mug of tea filtered through her mind. The echo of Marmalade’s words…

Spirits are the essence, the substance, of life. Of magic.

Yet what did Penelope truly know of magic?

Another wisp of memory; strangling vines and a bellowed plea, a command. Penelope’s own words echoing through the dark of a haunted forest… YOU WILL HEAL HIM… please…

Hope swelled within her, building like pressure before thunder.

Shards of memory of earlier that day, of Callum’s charm and kindness, splintered into her thoughts like sunlight through chips of glass.

Help him…

Rangers standing either side of Penelope eyed her with caution as her flowers fluttered as though caught in a rising gale.

“He’s fading, the spirits aren’t threading together—”

“Out of time…”

Now now now now…

“No! Callum!”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness. We did all we—”

“CALLUM!” Steph hunched over Callum’s limp form, shoulders wracked with sobs, and Penelope stepped forward with purpose.

Startled, the Healers drew back, and Penelope crouched in the space they made. Lights rippled and shimmered as spirits began to leak from Callum’s skin, slipping from beneath his eyelids like tears.

“No,” Penelope whispered, her tongue laced with the crackle of a wildfire, her lips burning with all the heat of midsummer. “Stay…”

Guided by instinct, ancient and deeper than lightless caverns, Penelope placed her hand on Callum’s chest and closed her eyes.

At the edges of her mind, Penelope sensed within Callum the ragged lines of an emptied landscape, like dried creek beds keening to be replenished. She had felt this in fallen trees, in eggs that failed to hatch, in the fragile silk of a dead moth’s wings.

Please, she begged within her mind, thumbing a caress along the petals of her flowers, please, heal him. Please…

“Heal him…” Penelope whispered aloud; the wish tasted of nectar.

Penelope tilted her head, listening to the eager bee-hum of magic as a flower along her waist flared gold. She felt the song of the magic shift of its own accord, rising to a needle-thin whine as it seemed to quest for the proper cadence. The proper shape…

The hue flickered; pale… bright… bronzed… Not quite the gold of a freshly budded leaf in winter… no, the soft gold of a fawn’s coat as the sun sets beyond the treeline…

Penelope felt as the colour slipped from the carnation, melting into a spiralling line along Callum’s arm. Beneath her fingers, Callum’s pulse thrummed to life, a quiet drum that rang with the pain of hollow spaces.

“Try again,” Penelope instructed the Healers, her voice gravelled as shale. “Again.”

Penelope sensed the Healers jump into motion as they drew their wands slowly over Callum’s still form, regathering his spirits and laying them like gossamer shrouds across his face, arms, neck, shoulder…

Another blossom flared with colour. Orange… but not quite the orange of a spring-grown tulip… no, the burnt orange of dry, churned earth slipping between small fingers.

The colour spilled down to twine with its brother, settling along Callum’s nerves with a ripple of content.

Colour after colour, flower after flower, flared like the last star of morning, tumbling, slipping, spilling into Callum, rebuilding his ghost piece by impossible piece.

Penelope ignored the Healers’ gasps of disbelief, the swell of curious chatter from the audience above, Marni’s clipping bootsteps, Steph’s whispered pleas of try try try.

When Penelope felt the final drizzling light of ocean-froth-cold blue snap into place along the back of Callum’s knuckles, she at last opened her eyes.

Blinking through a tranquil daze, Penelope met Steph’s tearful eyes before Callum stirred. She rocked back on her haunches and withdrew her hand from Callum’s chest as he sat up and looked around, gaze momentarily confused before his expression cleared.

Callum stretched out his arm and shoulder with slow, hesitant movements, flexing his fingers as he stared down at his hand in awe.

The Healers watched with academic fascination, tracking his movements with clinical appraisal even as their mouths fell wide with shock.

The eldest Healer, a woman with plaited silver hair and deep bronze skin, was the first to recover. “How do you feel, Ranger Callum?”

“It feels… strange. Good! Definitely an improvement, ha. But… it’s sort of like snakes beneath my skin… Tickles a bit.” Callum chuckled.

The Healer paced him through an examination. “Range of motion… excellent… sensation… responsive… dexterity…”

Penelope climbed to her feet, stepping back while the Healers worked. Flowers fell from her dress and scattered across the floor, petals waxen and ghostly grey. Penelope stifled a sudden urge to sob, her chest bruised with grief for her flowers.

Not gone… Just changed, she reminded herself, marvelling at the miracle of Callum’s recovery.

She became aware of eyes on her and looked up. The King was staring with open wonder and the Queen’s lip was quirked in a pleased smile.

She felt a thrill of unease as she locked eyes with Prince Ethan, his gaze hard and intense. She felt momentarily frozen under his scrutiny, and released a breath as he turned away to address an approaching Ranger.

As Callum climbed to his feet, swaying on unsteady legs and leaning on Steph’s shoulder for support, the crowd began to applause. Scattered and hesitant claps became rhythmic thunder as Callum raised his arm in triumph.

The sound dispelled the last of her haze and Penelope’s senses became clear and sharp. She lifted her face to the audience, seeking out the Sisters. They stood still as carvings, staring down at her with hands pressed to their cheeks. Penelope spun to look at her family.

Clarity grinned down at her with an exuberant wave. Bewildered, Penelope lifted her hand in return. Her father was beaming, face shining with pride. Her mother stood tall, a smile on her lips, her face the picture of victory.