It had taken days of crawling.

The blood trail was wide and obvious. It smelled tangy in his nose—even more powerful than the smell of the swamp, more powerful than the scent of the gathering. But that scent was still there. It was enough to draw him.

He couldn’t die here. That would be oblivion. The loss of everything.

Centimeter by centimeter, he dragged himself through the water.

When his hand reached the pool, he could feel them swirling around his fingers—a cool glaze of life. His eyes were failing with the rest of his strength, so when the sunlight filtered down through the trees, the shine of it off the silver-white water looked like a cluster of stars.

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The galaxy was open to us.

His arm twitched. He pulled himself forward again. He stopped his halting struggles only when he could feel them moving around his face. They glided in and out of his open mouth, teasing his nose as he breathed in, testing his eyelids.

He felt one coming and exhaled at last. It was over now. He opened his eyes one last time to look at the stars in the water, and it slipped inside him.

Long after the sun had set, the stillness of the pool was broken when something rose from the water and formed the figure of a man. He was on his hands and knees near the shore, panting, pearl water dripping from his hair. After he caught his breath, he looked at the body of Ivan Rurik.

Putting a hand on the stiff shoulder, he said, “You did well.”

The man stood up on shaky legs, looked around, then looked up at the night sky.