Chapter 2

In the Eye of the Beholder

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest, such a wee little thing,” a tiny voice tickled Callahan’s ear, faint and distant, like the memory of a dream. He couldn’t make sense of the words; his consciousness was still clawing its way back from what might have been oblivion.

Gradually, his senses began to stir. A soft, honeyed breeze caressed his face, carrying with it the rustling of grasses and the creaking of distant trees swaying to the wind’s tune.

His eyes rolled behind their lids, sluggish at first, as if weighed down by cold, steel blankets. Then, suddenly, they felt weightless. They shot open, and he gasped, drawing in a deep, desperate breath. His lungs, once wracked with searing pain, now felt whole again. The suffocating grip of fluid that had strangled him was gone. His vision, blurry at first, slowly sharpened, until everything came into crystal clarity. The mask that had obscured his sight was nowhere to be found.

His mind struggled to piece together what had happened, but his eyes were now flooded with sights so strange and wondrous that they left him awestruck, unable to fully process it all.

Far above him, the dark velvet canvas of the sky came alive. Bright, colorful stars shot across the heavens, crisscrossing in erratic paths. Some moved in graceful pairs, like dancers spinning in tandem, flinging their partners across the cosmos in dazzling arcs. Others collided in cataclysmic bursts, their explosive deaths splattering the heavens with vibrant nebulae, painting the void in hues he couldn’t name.

Giant celestial bodies of gas and stone hurtled across the sky, swelling to unfathomable proportions as they approached. For a moment, it seemed as though they might collide with whatever strange place Callahan had found himself in. But then, as if obeying some unseen cosmic rhythm, they shrank and drifted past the horizon, vanishing into realms unknown.

He sat up, overwhelmed by the cosmic spectacle that had unfolded above. Yet, as he looked out onto the field where he lay, this strange place became ever more wondrous. Flowers—countless flowers—stretched out endlessly, their sharp, triangular petals catching the light in dazzling fractals. With every slight movement he made, their hues shifted, a kaleidoscope of ever-changing color.

At the heart of this infinite sea of blossoms lay a body of water—a perfectly circular lake so vast it might take days to cross or circle. Its surface was unnaturally still, a flawless mirror reflecting the celestial dance above, as though the heavens themselves had descended to rest upon it.

“It’s…” The words barely made it past his lips. Even whispered, they felt heavy, uncertain. He hadn’t fully collected himself yet—still unsure of where he was or what had happened—but the sights around him were unlike anything he’d ever imagined.

“Marvelous? Grand? Or are you simply left speechless by its display?”

It was that tiny voice again. He glanced quickly in its direction, but there was nothing—just empty air. A giggle danced past him, light and quick, flitting from one side to the other.

“Trying to catch a peek! What would your mother say?” The voice darted around him again, always just out of sight. He spun, looking one way and then another, but no matter how fast he turned, he saw nothing.

Whoever—or whatever—it was, it seemed to enjoy teasing him. There was a playful lilt in every word. “Are you going to sit there stupefied forever, wee one? Why don’t you get up before you grow roots? Come now, let’s have some fun!”

“What do you wa—” He called out, his voice sharp with frustration, but as the sound hit his ears, confusion took over. The tone was higher, thinner—so unfamiliar it made him pause. It wasn’t a voice he recognized. At least, not for many years.

“Hello... hello?” He threw out more words, his pitch rising in a tentative test. “Aaaaaaah... oooh...” The sounds rolled out awkwardly, his throat tightening as if to reject them. Instinctively, his hand rose to his neck, searching for an explanation, but his fingers brushed against something soft. A scarf.

Not just any scarf—it was old and familiar, wrapped snugly around his throat like an echo from a memory. His breath caught. “Ma?” he whispered. “How did this even get here?”

He looked down at himself, his confusion deepening. The gear from the ship, his journey clothes—everything was gone. In their place, he found himself drowning in Rowan’s old hand-me-downs, the fabric hanging off his frame just as it had when he was little.

He stood up, the ground so much closer than it had been in years. He really was smaller. His arms, his legs—everything felt different. His hands rose to his face, and he froze. It was smooth. Clean-shaven. That patchy beard he’d been trying to grow out—the one Rowan endlessly teased him for—was gone.

“Admiring yourself, are we? How very vain!” The voice cut through his thoughts, light and teasing. “You’re not that impressive, you know.”

Callahan froze. Something was tugging at his hair. Whatever the source of the voice was, it had landed on his head.

“And you’d be a fool to think you’re better looking than me, that’s for sure. Prettiest in the land, I am—have been for centuries.” The voice droned on, rambling and completely full of itself. Callahan stayed still, letting the creature prattle on, his patience wearing thinner by the second.

Finally, in one swift motion, he swiped at his head. The little voice gave a yelp before it was muffled under his grasp.

“Oi!” it shouted, its tone shifting to something between indignation and amusement. “Quick, aren’t you? Caught me off guard too. Bit rude, though, letting me talk all that time and then interrupting when I was just about to get to the good parts!”

“What the hell are you? Did you do this to me? Some weird curse or bend? Where the hell am I even?” Callahan tried to sound commanding, authoritative—but the squeaky pitch of his childish voice only made the strange creature laugh.

“Oh, so many questions! And why would you think I have the answers?” the voice teased, dripping with mockery. “I’m just a poor damsel in distress, cruelly squished in the palm of a giant’s hand! Please, oh mighty giant, have mercy! Don’t squash poor little Nyve!” Callahan’s grip tightened just enough to silence the creature’s dramatic wails. He sighed through gritted teeth.

Whatever this thing was—Nyve, it called itself—it was already grating on his nerves. Rowan could be a pest too, but at least his brother knew when to stop pushing. This thing? It seemed like it enjoyed testing his patience.

“Look,” Callahan sighed, trying to stay calm despite the creature’s relentless mocking. “I get that this might be fun for you, but I really need some answers.”

His grip loosened as he finally laid eyes on her. She was no taller than his index finger, with a dainty frame and butterfly wings that shimmered like the flowers in the field, their colors shifting in fascinating fractals. Her hair was the same red as Rowan’s, and her tiny eyes gleamed green, just like his. She stood in his palm, hands on her hips, giving him a mockingly stern look.

“Well, that’s no fun,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You want answers, but you let me go so easily! Where are the threats, the violence, the torture? Why should I tell you anything if you’re so soft? You didn’t even make me scream, wee one.”

Callahan sighed again, louder this time. If he had to play along, so be it he thought to himself.

Before she could react, he pinched her wings gently between his fingers, lifting her from his palm. He jostled her in the air—not enough to hurt her, but just enough to knock her off balance. “Talk,” he said, deepening his voice as much as his squeaky, childlike pitch would allow. “You’d better start talking, or…” He hesitated. What am I even gonna do?

Nyve, dangling from his grip, laughed hysterically. “Oh, what a fate!” she cried, flailing dramatically. “Caught by such an ugly, foul giant! Help, oh noble heroes! Save poor little Nyve before her wings are plucked, her tiny limbs ground into dust to season his food!”

Callahan gave her a small shake, partly to shut her up, partly out of petty retaliation. “I just want to know where I am,” he said through clenched teeth. “Or if I’m dead. Or how I can go back.”

“I guess I’ll give you a little smidge. You’re a terrible actor, but at least you’re trying,” she giggled to herself, disappearing from his grip with a small blink of light.

“You’re not dead, my sweet little Callahan.”

He was shocked—only slightly, though—that this strange creature knew his name. Everything so far had been bizarre, and this was the least of it. Relief washed over him at her words. It was good to know he hadn’t fallen to the mire’s Wailers, but another question raced to the surface in his mind.

How much time had passed?

He began to worry anew. Rowan… how long has it been? Is he still fighting down there with the Wailers? My bend would’ve disappeared by now… There were still so many.

The worry was plain on his face, but even if it wasn’t, Nyve would know. “Rowan, the large and mighty. A giant of giants, one might say,” Nyve had blinked back into existence, her feet gently digging into Callahan’s shoulder. “We can’t have much fun if you’re constantly worrying about him now, can we?” She poked into his shoulder with her toe.

“Go on. One more little gift from gracious Nyve. I’ll tell you if you ask politely.”

He looked over to her, an unnerving feeling knotted in his belly. He still had no idea what she was, why she acted the way she did, or why he was small as a child once more. But the most important question, even more than confirming whether he was alive or not, was whether Rowan made it out too.

If he hadn’t, and he wasn’t here now, Rowan would rot in the mire.

Whatever had saved Callahan from that fate might not have saved his brother.

“Is Rowan okay?” A part of him wondered if he even needed to ask. She knew his name, his brother’s, and about the battle with the Wailers. She probably knew these very words would be the next ones out of his mouth.

“Mighty Rowan, hands of hammers and a kraken’s might,

Sure would give Wailers quite the fright!

Smash and bash, battle galore,

A better brother no one had seen before…”

She danced on his shoulder gleefully. She wouldn’t let Callahan know it yet, but she was having the time of her life.

“What a wicked turn the scene would take—

Rowan’s mighty kraken arms began to abate,

Without the sea beast’s limbs to crash and shake,

It would seem Rowan would be soon headed for his wake…”

She spun around on her tippy toes, a pirouette at the end of her little jingle.

Callahan went white, his skin paler than snow.

“Stop,” he choked. “Stop—I don’t want to hear it like this…”

He felt ill, cold, his stomach churning, an empty, stinging feeling in his heart. It brought him to his knees, his hands shielding his face, fingers digging deep into his brow.

“Why would you tell me like that?” His voice shook—a mix of anger and grief. “You’re a little monster…” The rage began to overpower every other feeling. This pest, this flittering little nuisance. The mocking had been barely tolerable before, but now she mocked his brother’s death?

With quick hands, he grabbed her again. She let out a quick giggle as he plucked her from his shoulder. Without a hint of playfulness, he began to squeeze.

“You think it’s funny?” His face flushed red, tears welling in his eyes.

Nyve didn’t seem to struggle under the pressure of his grip. Instead, she seemed more annoyed. “You didn’t even let me finish. How do you know how it ends? So emotional, Callahan.” Again, in a quick flash, she disappeared. Her voice danced on the wind.

“As I was saying…

One last stand Rowan would make,

Before those fleshy tendrils would begin to break!

That darkened home of the Wailers’ make,

Would come crashing down under the kraken’s weight!

And so, heroically, Rowan would take—

A dashing, manly, hero’s escape!”

“Oh… piss off. Really? That’s what you’re gonna do?” he screamed, that childish voice so full of anger. The wind giggled in reply.

Fed up with the teasing and mocking, he began walking in an aimless direction. He didn’t know where he was or where he was going, but anywhere was better than here, listening to this annoying little creature make fun of him.

"Ooh, come now, Callahan. I was just having a bit of fun," Nyve said, blinking back into existence. She flew quickly to match Callahan’s stride. He swatted at her, but now she displayed an adept agility he hadn’t seen before, dodging his every strike.

"No, really. Piss off. I’m not humoring you anymore." He was livid. Not once had Rowan’s teasing ever strayed to something so cruel. What kind of bastard would joke about something like that?

"Going sightseeing, then? Hadn’t had your fill? Well, I’d highly recommend the lake—it’s always been my favorite place." Her tone still jingled with that sing-songy playfulness, and it annoyed Callahan to no end.

"If I get my hands on you again, I’m going to drown you in the water," he growled, not even giving her the courtesy of a glance.

"Oh, huff he ho hum, the giant looks so rather glum! The fairy princess under his thumb, drowning in the water till her face goes numb!" He tried several times to outrun her, but it was pointless. She could fly fast and blink to him faster, disappearing and reappearing wherever she pleased.

The water soaked his toes now. Whatever clothed him didn’t deem to give him shoes. The cold bit at his skin, the ripples he made the only motion breaking the water’s smooth surface.

"Well, now you’re here. Nowhere else to go. Have a drink if you’d like—it was quite the little show."

She hovered slightly out of reach. Callahan wasn’t sure if she was being cautious—as if he could pose any real threat—or if she was still being playful.

He remained silent, gazing over the water and out past the horizon. There was no end to this place. Just an endless expanse of flowers, their vibrant colors stretching into infinity, with trees scattered randomly like forgotten sentinels. The water beneath him reflected the sky like a perfect mirror, a surreal stillness that made him uneasy.

“Look all you want,” Nyve’s voice cut through the silence, airy and teasing. “You won’t find a way out. I’m afraid, dear Callahan, that is something I’m sure of. I’m your only source of help.” She flew in lazy circles above the water, her wings catching the light, and then skipped across the surface like a stone, sending ripples cascading outward.

Callahan’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. There was a rhythm to her movements—a predictability, almost as if she wanted him to notice. He wasn’t sure if it was a trap or a mistake, but he decided to test her. He planted his feet firmly, muscles tensing in his leg as he gauged her next hop. There. She tumbled briefly with gravity, a moment of weightlessness. He kicked hard, sending a shattering wave surging across the water. It struck her mid-hop, throwing her into the current.

“Oi!” Nyve squeaked, her voice drowned out by the crash of water. The ripples dragged her down, and she disappeared for a moment beneath the surface. Callahan smirked, satisfaction tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Little pest,” he muttered, kicking more water for good measure. “Soaked and wet—how funny is it now? I’m not your pet.”

As he mocked her with a poetic jab of his own, the water broke. Nyve emerged, her tiny head bobbing in the rippling pool, hair plastered to her face. Then she grinned—a wide, toothy grin that irritated Callahan to no end. “You really are so much fun, Callahan!” she chirped, her voice bright with glee.

Callahan scowled. He had hoped she’d at least be annoyed.

With a sudden burst of motion, Nyve shot up into the air, hovering inches from his face. Before he could react, she jabbed a finger into his eye.

“Ow!” Callahan recoiled, covering his face with a hand.

“I think we’re a bit more even now,” Nyve said smugly, her hands on her hips. “In fact, your attempt to drown me far outweighs my little joke, don’t you think? The debt is probably in my favor.”

Callahan gritted his teeth, glaring at her through his uninjured eye. Nyve bit her tongue playfully “Fiiine. Maybe I’ll give you another answer?”

Nyve floated backward, twirling gracefully. “Buuuuut,” she began, drawing out the word with exaggerated flourish, “I’ll give you an answer only if you ask nicely. Ooh, maybe two answers if I like your question!” Her head tilted playfully. “Come on, you’re dying to know. Where are we? Why are we here? How do we leave? Curious Callahan and his courteous queries, unlocking endless possibilities!”

He sighed heavily. A part of him wanted to stay mad at her, to figure this out on his own somehow. But he knew he couldn’t. This place was too strange, and she was the only one who seemed to know anything. “Fine,” he muttered. “Where are we?”

Nyve clapped her hands, her wings buzzing with excitement. “Oh, what a question! Where indeed!” She spun in the air before stopping abruptly, pointing a finger at him. “You, Callahan, are in Gwyndadoraoralaeolye!”

His brow furrowed, “What?”

“Gwyndadoraoralaeolye,” she repeated, rolling the name off her tongue like it was a melody. “That’s the shortened version, just for you. If I said the whole thing, we’d be here until you fully grew!”

Callahan opened his mouth to speak, but Nyve wagged a finger. “Ah-ah! I’m not done yet. Interrupting me caused quite the fuss last time, didn’t it?” She flew higher, spreading her arms dramatically. “This is the heavenly realm of the great Lughren!”

Her voice echoed for a moment, and then she froze, her expression a mock gasp of surprise. “Oops. Did I give too much away? Oh no, now you might already know what to ask next! What will I do?” She covered her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers with narrowed eyes.

Callahan rolled his eyes, his hand whirling in an impatient gesture. “You already know what I want to ask...” Nyve grinned wider. “Well, if you must know, you’ll need the key to the door you’re standing on. But, oh dear, you left in such a rush when you arrived that you must have dropped it!”

Callahan scowled, his gaze sweeping the mirrored water below. He had not a clue what she could be meaning, there were no buildings, at least none that he could see. “You really just like to hear yourself talk don’t you, all of it nonsense, all the time…”

Nyve’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, you’re so rude,” she said, her voice mockingly wounded. “Especially to your good friend Nyve, who was so brave and kind that she managed to keep the key safe, even when Callous Callahan crassly tried to leave her behind.”

With a snap of her fingers, something began to form in the air—a silver ball, etched with cerulean lines, its center an intricate iris that shimmered faintly in the light. Callahan’s breath caught as he recognized it. “What… How did you get that? Why is it even here?” The metal sphere hovered in the air, and as he reached out to grab it, the weight and cold texture sent a shiver up his arm. It felt real. Too real.

Nyve’s voice softened, just slightly, her usual playfulness tinged with something else. “Maybe you should ask Lughren why you’re here, Callahan. He’s so close to you now. You just have to open the door.” Callahan’s gaze snapped back to her, suspicious. “I don’t see a door,” he said coldly. “No keyhole. No way out. Can you please just explain it?”

She zipped around his head in a quick blur, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. “I don’t remember poking you in both eyes, Callahan. Your feet are quite literally sinking into the door as we speak!”

Callahan looked down into the water below. There was nothing—just the endless expanse of rippling reflections, those flittering stars dancing across the surface.

Nyve landed gracefully atop the eye, her wings giving one final flutter before she settled. She tapped her foot against its cold, silvery surface, and he could feel the faint vibrations as he held it in his hand. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Callahan,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t think I’d need to spell it out for you. You’re going to owe me so many favors for this!”

Before he could reply, the eye slipped through his fingers like it was made of air. He reached out instinctively, scrambling to catch it, but Nyve darted forward, her tiny arms clutching it with ease.

“If it means your debt to me grows bigger,” she called, her grin practically audible, “I’ll gladly do it for you.” She shot off in a streak of light, her destination unmistakably the heart of the lake. Callahan staggered after her, water splashing at his feet. “What do you mean, favors? Why would I owe you anything? You’ve been a complete nuisance this whole time!”

His voice rang out across the still water, sharp with frustration. He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the smug smile, the laughter that almost certainly spilled from her lips as she disappeared into the distance.

The silence was a small relief, fleeting but welcome. Since he’d arrived, Nyve had done nothing but fill the air with cryptic answers and relentless mockery, her voice ringing in his ears like an annoying hum he couldn’t swat away. Now, though, as she buzzed off toward the center of the lake, there was only the wind again.

He stood there, staring into the waters. The surface rippled faintly, distorting the reflections of those flickering stars, but otherwise, it was still. He didn’t know what he was waiting for—if he was even waiting for anything at all. Yet, some part of him refused to move, held in place by the expectation that something was about to happen.

The breeze that had followed him throughout this strange place began to wane, its constant presence faltering until it stilled completely. The wild, colorful flowers that swayed so freely moments ago now stood motionless, frozen in the absence of its touch.

At the heart of the lake, a small light flickered to life. It was faint at first, a pinpoint of cerulean that matched the eerie glow that had lined the walls of that horrid amphitheater. But it began to grow, its radiance intensifying until it dominated the horizon.

Callahan’s breath caught as the light swelled to a searing brightness. Then, with a sudden, deafening burst, it exploded outward. He barely had time to shield his eyes, his arm thrown over his face, but it was no use. The light melted through his closed eyelids, a blinding brilliance that swallowed everything—him, the lake, the flowers, the endless expanse of Gwyndadoraoralaeolye itself.

As quickly as it came, the light began to dim, receding back to the heart of the lake. When that burning color finally faded from Callahan’s vision, he blinked hard, struggling to make sense of what he saw. Everything had changed.

The rushing, dancing stars in the sky—the hurtling boulders of gas and earth—had come to a sudden, eerie halt. The cosmic play had ended. The wild, colorful flowers that once painted the landscape were now stark white, their petals drifting in the embrace of a newly minted breeze.

The lake, too, had transformed. It no longer reflected the dark heavens above but revealed itself as a window to what lie below. The lakebed was littered with standing stones, their surfaces carved with intricate figures—men frozen in all manner of poses and forms. Together, they wove stories, tales etched into the stone that Callahan couldn’t hope to decipher.

He could see a path ahead, a narrow break in the standing stones that seemed to lead straight into the heart of some deep, unknowable place. “Okay, well… now what?” he muttered to himself. His voice felt small against the vast, eerie stillness. “I can’t hold my breath forever!” he called out, hoping Nyve might still be nearby.

But there was no answer. The only response was the faint ripple of the lake and the weight of the silent stones. He stood there, once again completely at a loss—'stupefied,’ as Nyve would’ve so eloquently put it, he scowled, glancing around for any sign of her.

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“So much for spelling it out,” he grumbled under his breath,

He waited a few moments more. Maybe Nyve would come back? Surely, she didn’t expect him to swim all the way. Then a thought crossed his mind—a scene, really. He could almost hear Rowan’s boisterous laugh, see that mischievous glint in his brother’s eye. If Rowan were here, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d dive straight into those waters without a second thought.

Hell, he’d probably throw me in first, only to leap in after and splash me in the face just to rub it in. A faint smile tugged at his lips. When their world wasn’t falling apart, there was nothing Rowan loved more than teasing him. And then, with a sinking feeling, Callahan imagined the absolute horror of Rowan and Nyve meeting each other. Oh no. They’d be fast friends. I’d get it from both sides.

A tiny spark flared in his chest—something distant from the worry, anger, and irritation that had been gnawing at him since this strange trek began. It was a laugh, buried deep in the thought of them both laughing at his expense. He could picture it too clearly: Rowan tossing him into the lake with a grin while Nyve egged him on, her sharp wit chiming in with every splash.

“It’d be horrible. I’d hate it,” he muttered, lying to himself. He let out a long sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Oh, they’d be the worst.” For a moment, he stood at the water’s edge, the smile fading as the stillness returned. He stared at the path ahead, the waiting unknown, and took a deep breath. “I guess we’re swimming then,” he said to no one in particular.

Backing up from the water, he braced himself for a jump. “Might as well try to have fun with it.” With a running start, he leaped as far as he could, his form clumsy but earnest—a boy attempting to break the water with purpose, however imperfect.

He closed his eyes as he fell, bracing for the cold rush of water and the sharp splash that would follow. The water broke—but it wasn’t what he expected. There was no resistance, no liquid chill. It was like falling through air disguised as water, a mirage that betrayed his anticipation. Before he could react, the plunge became a freefall, and then—

Thud.

His face met the sand below, and his body sprawled out flat against the grainy surface. For a moment, he just lay there, stunned. Then, more laughter erupted from his chest. It started small, a single muffled chuckle into the sand, but it grew. His stomach heaved with the effort, his laughter rolling out unbidden, free and unrestrained. He couldn’t stop himself, nor did he want to.

A part of him wanted to be angry—this whole ordeal had been nothing but frustration. But he was exhausted of that foul emotion. too tired to be upset anymore. Instead, he let the laughter take over, a fleeting moment of release in the absurdity of it all. For once, he didn’t feel the weight of this long journey weighing down on him.

He just wanted to feel something pleasant, and for now, this was enough.

“Fine, you got me! Your one clever joke!” he yelled, his voice muffled as he lifted his face from the sand. He wasn’t even surprised anymore that he could breathe down there, beneath the surface of what should have been water. The strange, the wondrous, the downright infuriating—this place seemed to be all of it at once. Still, Nyve had given him something, even through her irritating antics. Rowen was okay. That, at least, was worth holding onto. Whatever lay ahead, no matter how many antics or jokes she threw his way, the goal was clear now: Get back to Rowen. Get back home. And with the Eye in tow, maybe—just maybe— His time in Onoria could come to an end.

He passed innumerable standing stones on his way to the heart of the lake. Still, no sign of Nyve. Was she even watching him anymore? Did she see him face-plant into the sand?

It was quiet without her. The wind, ever-present above, didn’t seem to reach below the water’s surface. Down here, the silence was nearly absolute, broken only by the faint sound of his bare feet shifting the grains of sand beneath him. Should I call out to her? A shiver ran down his spine. No, that’d be horrible. She’d definitely get the wrong idea.

As he walked, the center of the lake grew closer. The men on the standing stones—just like those he’d seen in the amphitheater—seemed to be moving toward the center too, locked in their eternal steps. they all shared that same frozen purpose: a silent march toward something unknown.

As if from nowhere—once again—she appeared, even more exuberant than before. She twirled in the air, water? He wasn’t sure what to call it, with arms spread wide. “I loved your dive, Callahan! You really put your all into it. And oh! That landing—magnificent!”

“So you were just being quiet for fun?” Callahan scoffed. “Didn’t think that was physically possible for you. Guess the joke wouldn’t be on me though if you told me about your little trick with the water.”

“I’ve already answered so many of your questions,” Nyve huffed. “Then I even opened the door to this wonderful place, and now you want me to carry you through the threshold too? You’re such a needy boy. No wonder you look like that in here.”

Callahan’s brows furrowed. A curious thing to admit—another answered question, though he wondered if she’d done it on purpose.

“So… you didn’t bind me this way?” He had expected her to be the culprit, the weaver of this magic.

“Of course not.” She scoffed. “I don’t meddle with the Accord. Your appearance is all your doing. Here, in Gwyndadoraoralaeolye, your heart is laid bare before Lughren. It’s easier to judge you that way.” She floated ever closer as he walked down the path. Callahan eyed her, turning over her words in his mind.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” She waved a hand dismissively. “If you really put your little mind to it, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Why would sweet little Callahan be a baby boy despite his age?”

She grinned as he glared.

“Don’t worry too much about it, though! You’re not dead! You’re not here to be judged. Nooo, much more exciting things are about to happen!”

“Well, if this Lughren guy is anything like you, I’m sure I’m in for something. Don’t know if I’d call it exciting, though.”

His tone was half-hearted, mocking. By now, he doubted there was anything he could say to shake Nyve from her wild theatrics. But for once, his words actually seemed to irritate her.

“Again with the rudeness,” she huffed, her airy twirls slowing to a near halt. “Lughren is your sovereign! Your spark—a gift from him! Do your elders teach you nothing anymore?”

She peered at him, sharp-eyed, but the puzzled look on Callahan’s face was all she needed to know. “You really don’t know, do you?”

The whimsy drained from her voice.

“I know it’s been a long time… but I thought, since I was still here, things couldn’t have been so dire…” Her gaze lingered on him, searching. For once, there was sincerity in her face, something untouched by mischief.

“So then… what do you believe in the living world?”

At first, Callahan had wanted to tease her, maybe get a little revenge for that awful poem she’d sung earlier. But something in her expression struck him—some deep, quiet ache he didn’t even realize he carried.

“Well…” He considered his words carefully. “I only know what they teach us in Rye.”

He walked past her as he spoke, she floated onto his shoulder, intent on hearing every word.

“They say that, long ago, our islands were drowning in the mire. The stagnant anima of our dead kept building up in our graveyards, our pyres. No matter what we did, our souls wouldn’t rest. Then one day, Onorion priests came to our shores. They cleansed the mires, gave us back our land. They told us we were a people abandoned by our god… but that we could find salvation in theirs.”

Callahan shot her a glance before continuing. She was focused, quiet—astonishingly so.

“I don’t know much about what came before that,” he admitted. “My ma said her great grandpa used to tell stories about some great war. I think she’s got a few weird keepsakes from him, things he told her to keep away from any eyes not of the Rye. But that’s all I really know.”

Nyve dug a heel into his shoulder, expectant. Waiting.

But Callahan had nothing else for her.

“What? That’s it.” He shrugged. “They might’ve cleansed the islands, but that’s about all they did. Rye’s not exactly big on academics. You’re either a sailor or a fisherman—no room for historians.” He gave his shoulder a shake, trying to dislodge her, but she clung on like a particularly stubborn barnacle.

“That great gilded bastard—” an unexpected fury took hold of her voice. It sounded unnatural, as if anger was an emotion she had never expressed before. “Lughren… we would, all of us, we would never—”

Before she could finish, they arrived at the center of the great lake—the heart of the mystery.

A massive throne of solid gray stone stood before them; its surface crisscrossed with swirling patterns carved into every inch. It sat dead in the middle of the space, surrounded by towering monoliths, each bearing the image of giant men etched deep into the rock.

in front of the throne stood something different.

A statue. Unlike the throne or the standing stones, it depicted six figures, their arms outstretched, holding what seemed to be the world itself. Four of them had a single open eye, each a different color—red, white, blue, and bronze—all staring steadily at the planet in their grasp. The other two were… different. One figure had been robbed of sight, its eyes plucked from its head.

The last had two blazing golden eyes, feverishly locked onto the world. The color burned hotter than the rest, searing into the stone with an intensity that felt almost alive.

Callahan once again found himself in awe—this place still had wonders left to show him. But Nyve, was silent. He had expected some grand introduction, some playful flourish. She had been so eager to come here. So why wasn’t she saying a word? She drifted toward the throne, her movements slower, more subdued. Something somber swayed her flight.

“Nice statue,” Callahan muttered, eyeing the figures. “Bet those jewels in their heads are worth a lot.” He wasn’t sure if they were jewels—or valuable at all—but it was strange, unsettling even, to see someone as taunting and obnoxious as Nyve suddenly so quiet. He had seen this before. Rowan, too, liked to be loud, full of jokes and jabs. It was only when something really weighed on him that he fell silent.

Callahan followed Nyve toward the throne, passing beneath the grand statue. He watched as she came to rest gently like a flower’s petal in the palm of a giant —a true giant, not just someone Nyve might teasingly call one.

The figure slumped back in his throne, his massive eyes reflecting frantic images: some familiar, like stars wheeling in dance, planets hurtling through space—others vague, unknowable. His face twisted in horror, frozen in some silent agony. His body was thin, ragged, like a man who had not eaten in months. A stagnant aura clung to him, thick and heavy, reminiscent of the amphitheater’s mire.

Nyve kicked her feet against the giant’s palm, as if trying to shake him from his trance. “It’s been such a long time, you old fool! I’ve brought you a special guest and look at you—you’re a mess! He’ll think Gwyndadoraoralaeolye is the realm of slobbish buffoons!” Her voice carried its usual flourish, but Callahan could hear the strain behind it.

“What’s wrong with him?” Callahan wasn’t sure what to make of the sight before him. Every god he had ever seen depicted was a grand, towering figure—strong and powerful, or, if not, a beautiful goddess, grace and glory woven into every portrayal. But this… this was Lughren? Sickly. Frightened. He knew what that looked like too well. It was the same emotion he had worn too many times before. Nyve began to flutter once more, her eyes locked onto her god,

“A chaotic mess, the beginning was—the whole universe fickle, never wanting to stay in one place or one way. It was uncertainty manifest!”

She landed atop one of the figures, the one with the single red eye. “By some miracle, though, something formed from that chaos. A thought, at first, random like the rest of the universe. But it didn’t fade—it didn’t disappear!”

She hopped to the next in line, the statue with a snowy white eye. “At first, it was alone—sad and confused, with no idea what it should do. But then it was joined. Another thought grew. A friend, a brother, a sibling true!”

She danced to the next statue, its eye blue like the ocean. “Four more would join them, a godly crew—a steadying force for this cosmic stew! Their eternal vision would tear the chaos through, and order, as they saw it, would be made new.”

Her feet now graced the bronzed-eyed statue. “With the whole cosmos steady, their work might have been done, but this new order could soon come undone. Their energy stagnant, this order was wrong! Chaos was how it should’ve stayed all along.”

Another hop—now she stood on the blinded figure. “They would not let the rot darken their days. Instead, they caught such a beautiful gaze. A rock that floated in this endless maze, teeming with something that left them amazed.”

She leapt to the planet the six gods held. “Tiny creatures, thoughtless and crude, their existence trivial and mute. But as one fell, another rose, an endless cycle of chaotic throes.”

Then she looked right at Callahan, making sure he was still listening. “A miracle happened, one might say. The gods granted those creatures a gift that day—thoughts, a voice, a divine buffet. And in return, on their final day, a fresh spirit would fill the gods’ tray. That was the bargain, the deal, the play, forever keeping god and man to this day… That’s how he told it, every time he was bored. A recollection of his memories—the creation of The Eternal Accord.”

She took a bow, her tale finished. Callahan was dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say.” Nyve rose from her bow, and again, that strange sincerity clung to her voice.

“Oh, sweet little Callahan, I wouldn’t expect many to know what to say.”

She paused, glancing back at the giant—Lughren. “He’s been like that for a long time. Many of us—countless souls, other minor gods like me—we tried to wake him, but he’s still stuck in that dream. His eyes, exceptional even among the gods, could see that endless chaos that the six of them could never keep stable.”

Callahan waited for her to undercut the moment with some lighthearted remark, but she didn’t. Instead, her voice remained somber. “That uncertain future… at first, he described it like every decision happening at once. He told me he’s seen me tell every joke I could’ve ever thought of all at once, every day, in every which way.”

She shook her head. “He could never just stay focused on the present, no matter how hard he tried. Then, one day… something changed in him. This strange worry crept over him. Always. He ignored all of us. He built this place, buried it under the waters, and spent his days recording what he saw on the stones. And in solitude, he stayed, lost in his dream—watching the unknown, uncertain futures.” Nyve floated back to Lughren’s hand, kneeling in his palm. Her tiny hand pressed against his.

“There was one time,” she murmured, “he was desperate. He told me what troubled him—he saw every decision, every thread of fate, twisting toward one point, one final end. And then… all of it, all of time, burst apart in an instant.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There was nothing past that moment. No vision. No future. Just the end of all things.” She looked up at Callahan, sorrow thick in her eyes. “One day, he came down here for the last time. He never resurfaced. I don’t think he meant to leave us forever—he loved us. He loved you. But he was a man obsessed with solving problems. And while he searched for an answer, I watched as my friends, my family, all of Gwyndadoraoralaeolye… slowly faded away. Without the cycle, this whole realm will fall apart.” She let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I’m honestly surprised I’m still here. But sometimes… I wish I wasn’t.”

Callahan never had the right words for situations like this. He felt stuck again, just like with Ollie and his unsaid dread. What was he supposed to say? What could he possibly offer to ease something as massive as this?

He swallowed hard. “Is there… something I can do to help?” His voice came out uncertain. “I mean, you’re a pain. You’ve caused me a lot of grief, but…” He exhaled sharply, trying to push past his own awkwardness. “If you can get me back to Rowan, then maybe I can help you wake up Lughren?”

Nyve’s lips curled into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, wee one,” she murmured. “Just bringing you here was supposed to stir him. Or at least… I thought it would.” Her voice wavered, barely above a whimper.

Callahan stepped toward the throne. Maybe if he was closer, Nyve would feel a little better. Maybe she’d tease him again. He could take it.

Now that he knew how long she’d been alone… it made sense. That cruel poem, the way she spoke—it must’ve been easy to shape such bitter words when there was no one left to hear them. His foot caught on something. A glint of silver. The eye. The ‘key’ to the ‘door.’

He crouched, fingers closing around the cold metal. He wasn’t leaving without it—not after all this. Maybe once Nyve felt better, she’d even let him go. A strange chill shot through his spine at the touch, sharp and sudden.

He straightened, rolling the eye in his palm, reclaiming it as his own.

“Sorry. Didn’t want to lose this again.” He glanced at her. “You know, we could try waking him by—”

Nyve didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

She was completely still, frozen mid-motion, like time itself had locked her in place. A creeping unease settled in his chest. “…Nyve?”

She didn’t move. Nyve remained frozen in the giant’s palm, stiff as stone.

“…Alright,” Callahan muttered, shifting uneasily. “Is this another trick? You want me to faceplant into one of these monoliths?” He poked her. Nothing. No reaction. Then— His eyes caught something. Lughren. His head moved.

A slight twitch at first. Then—snap. His skull jerked unnaturally, locking into place, staring straight at him. Callahan’s breath hitched. Those eyes—dark, writhing, filled with shifting nightmares. In each socket, a hundred fractured horrors played at once—wars, plagues, screaming figures torn apart in ways his mind could barely grasp. A voice—Lughren’s voice.

Thick with dread, heavy with something deeper than pain. "HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE IS DOING." The words crashed through the chamber, louder than the wailer’s cry. Callahan staggered back as the sound hit him like a cannon ball tearing through his body. The voice came from a mouth blackened with decay, his breath filled with the reek of rot and ruin.

"I BEG YOU. YOU MUST STOP HIM. YOU MUST WARN THEM."

His knees hit the ground. He was lost in the dark again. The panic crawled up his throat, choking him. Lughren moved. His massive palm curled into a fist. A single finger extended—slow, deliberate—toward Callahan’s forehead. "YOU MUST KNOW. YOU MUST SEE."

Callahan couldn’t move. His body was locked, every muscle petrified in place. He wanted to scream, to scramble away, but his limbs refused.

When Lughren’s finger touched Callahan’s head, the world split open.

A flood crashed over him, drowning him in sight. He saw it all—the story Nyve had sung for him, now unfolding before his very eyes. And everything after.

It was too much.

Time blurred, images tearing past him in chaotic flashes. And then—grander figures began to form.

The golden-eyed god from the statue stood before him. He and his brothers watched over the world; their faces bathed in a soft glow. In those early days, they were together, their influence rising and falling like the tides. The wars of men shaped them, bent them, but for a time—there was camaraderie.

Then the fractures began.

A war. Larger than any before it.

The bronze-eyed god pushed the golden one to the brink. His influence withered; his voice became nothing more than a whisper. His form began to fade.

Callahan saw his desperation. He saw the silent plea as the golden-eyed god reached toward his brother. "Why…" Before that final light could be snuffed out—two others stepped forward.

The green-eyed and white-eyed gods took a stand. Together, they pushed back their bronze-eyed brother, shielding the golden one from oblivion.

Time shattered, years vanishing in an instant. An uneasy peace settled between bronze and gold. Their people scattered, retreating to the corners of the world.

But something had changed.

It didn’t come naturally. Not at first. But over seconds that stretched into centuries, Callahan saw it—the shift. A dark, unknowable force took root within the golden-eyed god, twisting into a profound and terrible want. He would be the only one. Time surged forward.

The green-eyed god was blinded by shadow, something unseen pulled over him like a veil. Without their sight, the golden one struck. Callahan watched as the green-eyed god’s lands were purged—his people scattered, their homes sieged and burned. The connection between god and man grew thinner, fraying with each passing year, until it was little more than a whisper.

The golden-eyed god knew now. It was possible.

The first domino had fallen. The rest would follow.

His gaze turned next to the white-eyed god. It was only fair, in his twisted, wretched mind, that the first two to fall would be the ones who had once saved him.

Callahan saw her lands suffocated beneath a choking, unnatural fog. Her people stumbled through the dark, gasping for breath, their voices fading into nothing. One by one, they withered, until not a single soul remained. Then the blue-eyed god took a stand. A final defiance. A war that burned for two hundred years. A battle fought on endless fronts. But even they could not last forever. Slowly, their radiance dimmed, flickering into history like the others. The red-eyed god tried to hide. His people burrowed deep into their jungles, covering themselves in shadow, burying themselves beneath webs and soil, waiting. But the golden one found them. And when he did—he razed them. Root and stem. There would be no one any longer.

Each conquest made him stronger. Now, with only one god left, he was unstoppable.

With cold, patient satisfaction, he knew—he had saved the best for last. Every unholy ‘mercy’ his people could devise, they unleashed upon the Bronze-eyed god’s lands. Famine. Pestilence. Fire. War. They would suffer. Although his one true goal was to be the only one, he savored this vengeance. Callahan watched—ten thousand years of horror burned into his mind. A slow, deliberate slaughter.

No divine intervention. No salvation. Only suffering. The light faded from the eyes of Bronze, just as it had from all the others. And now, there was only one vision. The Accord was rewritten, its words now watched by one god alone. The golden-eyed god. His people alone would rule.

But he wasn’t alone. Something dark, something familiar, rose from the planet he now solely watched over. Callahan knew this thing.

That demon from his dream. It clawed its way up from the world below, black talons curling around the golden one’s throat. He fought. He resisted. He was the sole ruler of the universe—he would not be chained. But then—he saw them. a small group. He barely recognized them as his own. They turned away. Abandoned his kingdom.

And they followed the demon. He watched, helpless, as darkness twisted his people against him. They were turned; their love stolen. Taught to hate him. Taught to despise themselves. They gave themselves freely to this new dark god. The cycle had been broken. Just as he cut off his siblings from their people so too was he severed from that renewing bargain.

Cut off from his people. He would rot away; stagnancy would take him. He would endure the slowest death of them all. And the dark god laughed. The golden one had birthed his own undoing. He drowned, suffocating in his own rot, just like his brothers and sisters… Millennia passed. War. Disease.Degeneracy. Decay. And then—Silence. Not chaos. Not ruin. Worse. Nothing. The universe had no eyes to see itself with anymore, it died, unwatched, unloved, unwanted.

Lughren lifted his finger from Callahan’s forehead. It was a gentle motion, but Callahan still jerked back, his stomach twisting as bile rose in his throat. Then came the pain—splitting, unbearable. He hit the ground hard, his body seizing, his eyes darting wildly, trying to process what had just been forced into him. Thousands—no, millions—of lifetimes burned through his mind in an instant, flashing faster than thought, too vast, too much.

"Please." Lughren’s voice was ragged, worn thin, but still, he tried to be soft. “I ask a great deal of you. I have no right.”

Callahan barely heard him over the pounding in his skull, over the nausea and the lingering echoes of suffering that weren’t his own.

"It was my fault that you were the first to fall.”

Lughren slumped back into his throne, his gaze distant, locked on something beyond the present, still witnessing horrors Callahan couldn’t see. His voice wavered. “I must continue watching… I must force a brighter future through my vision. I must focus.” Then, finally, his tired eyes settled on Callahan.

"And you—" A pause. A breath. "You must be my knight on the living stage."

Callahan spat bile onto the stone floor, his whole-body trembling. His stomach twisted, his head pounded, but he forced himself to speak, the words raw and garbled.

"Are you insane?" He coughed violently, the taste of vomit still coating his tongue. Every word was forced through gritted teeth. “I only came down here because I thought your stupid fairy was going to bring me back home, and then you force-feed me this horror show. And now I have to be some sort of hero for you?" He let out a bitter, breathless laugh, wiping at his face with a shaky hand. "I’ve got my own problems—my mother, my brother. My family needs me."

He pushed himself up onto unsteady feet, still small, still just a kid, but when he spoke again, his voice took on the hard-edged certainty of someone far older.

"You’re right about one thing—you have a hell of a lot of gall asking me this. Back home, we don’t even know you exist, and we don’t ask your cock-headed golden dipshit of a brother for help either. We get on by all on our own."

With a sharp swipe of his sleeve, he flung the remaining puke off his cheek, letting it splatter against the stone of the Accord. Disrespect, deliberate and final.

"You’re awake now. I’ve done enough. Whatever you’re doing that’s freezing us together in this awful company, end it. Nyve got what she wanted you’re awake—now it’s my turn. Send me back home."

Lughren didn’t respond. He sat silent, his presence dimmed, as if whatever force had roused him had faded. He was as he had been when they arrived—watching, waiting.

Callahan’s vision blurred, the world around him melting into formless light and shadow. His body sank, weightless, as if he were being dragged into the quiet pull of sleep. Finally… finally, I’m going home.

The thought barely settled before it was ripped away. His back hit the stone again, the breath knocked from his lungs. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes snapped open, and frustration roared through his chest.

Nothing had changed. He was still on the ground, jerking in his own vomit, his limbs weak, his head pounding. It was as if his entire outburst—his rage, his defiance—hadn’t even happened. A voice—soft, rasping—broke through the haze.

"Callahan… oh, sweet Callahan."

Nyve drifted above him, her wings shimmering faintly, her voice hoarse—like she’d been calling his name for a long time. "You’re finally awake, wee one… I really thought the visions were going to take you too..."

He sat up, a quiet rage building inside him. He wanted to grab the biggest rock his tiny form could carry and beat away at the giant god. He was sick of the plays and tricks, the jokes and poems. Even the dream-like sights meant to inspire imagination only made him sick with anger. His breath heaved in his chest, vision blurring at the edges—he was seeing red.

Just as that rage was about to explode, something soft brushed his cheek. Nyve’s little hand. She touched him the same way she had touched Lughren.

"You’re right to be angry, Sweet Callahan…" Her voice was thick with melancholy. It had been so long since she teased him that he’d almost forgotten what a nuisance she was when they first met. "Neither of us should be asking you for favors."

She floated back, her touch lingering for only a moment. Her eyes held his. He met them, the fury still shifting inside him—but something in her gaze settled it. His eyes darted away. He didn’t want to look at this sad little woman, once so proud and full of vigor. "Did you see what he showed me?" His voice was low, tired.

She shook her head slowly. "No. I just watched you. Your eyes turned black like his, then you started shaking... I can imagine what you might have seen, though. It’s a dreaded fate—one he’s been trying to stop."

She glanced back at Lughren, still as stone, as if he had never moved at all. "It’s not so easy, even for someone like him. To sift through all of creation, searching for an answer..." A small glimmer of light returned to her face. "But the fact that he deigned to speak to you—there’s a bit of hope—"

"No." Callahan cut her off, his voice firm. "Just like I told him, I’m not getting involved in whatever this is. He’s a god—he can get off his throne and fix it himself. I’ve got my own problems, Nyve, and it’s not like either of you have been all that helpful to me."

"It’s not so simple, sweet Callahan. The gods don’t mingle like they used to—their forms shift, bent to the wills of their people. And Lughren... he doesn’t have the strength anymore. His anima still goes out into the world, giving souls to new life in the wombs of your women. But that energy never comes back. It’s a one-way funnel. And eventually—" she hesitated, her gaze heavy, "there won’t be any anima left to create souls."

Callahan groaned, his fingers digging into his hair. "Why!" he yelled. "Why me? I know you know things about me—you’ve seen how useless I am!" His hands locked around the back of his neck,

“I’m a trump card at best—something you throw in when things get bad. But in the thick of it, I’m a weight.” The memory of the bolt missing the wailer flashed through his mind. Then the battle at the amphitheater—how he hid while Rowan fought, how he couldn’t even use his bend at first because his vision had been obscured.

“There are so many people out there with stronger, more impressive bends than mine… I told Rowan this all the time. I don’t understand why he insisted I come.”

He looked at Nyve, pain sharp in his eyes. “And now you…”

His gaze drifted to the towering monoliths around them. The carvings, once unintelligible, began to take shape—countless depictions of war, suffering, and ruin. Endless strife, witnessed again and again in Lughren’s dream.

“I can’t stop this. I don’t think anyone could. The things I saw… the things he told you about.” He shook his head. “Just send me home. Please, Nyve. I’m done with the games. If you don’t, I’ll just sit here quietly until you do, or we both fade away.” He slumped where he sat, limbs curled in tight, head buried in his arms.

“Have it your way then, sweet Callahan.” Nyve floated around him, white petals drifting from her wings, settling softly around where he sat. “Thank you for the company. It was fun while it lasted.” Her voice was sincere, somber. The petals shimmered, fractal colors blooming across them as Callahan remained silent, saying nothing, slowly sinking into the color.

“Don’t weep, little Giant. We’re not disappointed—you really are too hard on yourself!” Her tone lifted, playful again. Whether she forced it or truly felt lighter, Callahan couldn’t tell. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. “I hope we see each other again! We could have even more fun together!” By the time her voice faded, Callahan was gone, fully swallowed by the color. That sacred place was empty once more.

Nyve watched the colors shift and churn in the light, and she thought to herself, how many more millennia will I be alone? She snapped her fingers, intending to close the portal—an end to such a wonderful moment in her excruciatingly long life. But it stayed open. She snapped again. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Oh, come on now, don’t be teasing me like this.”

Then—behind her—a sound. A shifting creak, low and slow. Something she hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

“Nyve…”

That ancient voice. Aching. Pained. Tired.

“H-e-l-p him…”

A single finger outstretched, beckoning her forward.

Nyve scoffed, turning, hands on her hips. “Oh, what do you want, you old fool! I can’t even be happy you’re finally talking to me after all this time. You made my sweet boy Callahan cry! Only I was allowed to do that, don’t you know?” She was back to her old self—or at least, she pretended to be. Maybe it was a front. Maybe it was just for herself, if no one else.

A weary groan came from the ancient figure—familiar, as if he had expected Nyve to be haughty even now.

A force stronger than gravity pulled her toward him. His finger pressed against her forehead.

A burst of green light erupted from the contact.

Images flooded Nyve’s mind. Her wings fluttered wildly, excitement stirring in her chest—she hadn’t felt this kind of thrill in so long.

“You really mean it, Lughren?” she asked, hesitant but alight with anticipation. “You’re gonna let me do this?”

“Only… you…” His voice strained under the weight of unknown aeons. “You deserve this…”

“Oh, you lovely, lovely idiot.”

She spun through the air in tight, joyful spirals.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay? When we get back, I’ll have so many souvenirs for you!”

She darted forward, pressing a playful, affectionate kiss to his cheek—then, without hesitation, dove into the portal she had summoned for Callahan.

“Oh, he’s going to be so mad when he finds me,” she mused, grinning to herself. The thought tickled her pink. “You’ll be a hero yet, my sweet little giant.”