Fae sat in a circle with the girls: Olivia, Sonya, Mercury, Jupiter, Neptune, and Madeline. Toryu and Ciel sat outside the circle, watching and listening but remaining silent.
“Ow!” Jupiter suddenly yelped, her hand going to her head. “Come on!”
“Hey, it’s a nice change of pace,” Mercury said, chuckling at Jupiter’s glare. “Usually you’re the one thinking too loud.”
“Not funny,” Jupiter said, shaking her head. “We’re all supposed to be piping down and relaxing here.”
“Not exactly,” Neptune said. “We’re supposed to be harmonizing. We can’t just stay quiet.”
“Yeah, but —” Jupiter started, then yelped as Mercury elbowed her in the ribs.
“It’s okay to mess up,” Fae said, maintaining a façade of calm on her face even though Mercury’s sudden mental outburst had caused her a rather intense amount of pain. The pain from mental feedback, she’d learned, was unique and sharp, but it also tended not to linger once the source abated. “Neptune’s right. ‘Harmonizing’ is the best word for it. We can’t just be quiet. And we can’t say everything that goes through our minds; that’s going to become impossible really fast. We have to get used to each other, or we’re never going to last outside of this place.”
“And we can’t complain,” Mercury said, casting a meaningful look Fae’s way. “You’re the one who gets hurt the most by any mistake. Any hurt that hits us… is —”
“Is still hurt,” Fae said. “Stop trying to baby me. And don’t try to ignore it when things hurt. It’s going to hurt all of us sometimes, and if we’re going to get used to this, if we’re going to make this work, we have to be honest with each other.” She let out a long, heavy sigh, and then let her thoughts and emotions open up, soft but clear to all those bonded to her.
It was heavy. It was all heavy. This bond, this struggle, was so much to bear. And for her especially, it was so hard to let herself open up like this. To let people in — the thing she’d avoided all her life.
And now it was her life. So she let that heaviness, that struggle, be as clear as day to her friends, to these wonderful young women who had helped her through so much.
Because she was grateful. And she didn’t want them to not know that.
I’ve always been really, really terrible at showing or telling how I actually feel. I’ve always held back.
And my instinct, with this bond, with all of you, and how much it can hurt… is to hold back even more. But we can’t get anywhere like that.
And… if I can’t trust the six of you… who can I ever trust?
Fae didn’t just send out her own thoughts and emotions — she felt theirs in response. Six minds, six hearts, bonded to hers, holding together a body that couldn’t survive otherwise. Occasionally, a sharp burst of loud, frantic thought shot through and caused pain, but…
They were all learning. To speak softly. To be cautious, but also vulnerable.
And Fae was encouraged to see similar trepidation to her own in all of them. The one she’d least expected it from had been Mercury, but after what she’d dubbed “feelings hour” had broken her down in tears, she’d started to understand Mercury better than she ever had.
All of them had their own hang-ups and insecurities. All of them had parts of themselves they didn’t want anyone to touch. All of them had fears and secrets.
And each of them, one by one, was trusting the other six with those inner fragilities and vulnerabilities.
Mercury and Jupiter, as expected, were the noisiest. They weren’t nearly as noisy and rambunctious as they were when they weren’t baring their souls so openly, but they still had the most to say. Olivia and Sonya were as quiet as Fae expected. It wasn’t just their instinctive resistance — they were also both instinctive listeners. They took a lot in, and were slow to let anything of themselves out. For Olivia especially, Neptune’s use of the word “harmonizing” to describe their goal had struck a chord and helped her be more receptive to the process. Fae and Madeline were very similar to each other, in that they were just instinctively resistant to letting their guards down, instinctively cautious and wary around others, even those they considered close friends.
And Neptune… was fascinating.
She’d always been the quietest of her sisters, and Fae had often felt a sort of kinship with her. Neptune thought deeply, made thoughtful and wise decisions, and had the maturity and confidence to be able to corral her sisters when their mischievousness or rambunctiousness got out of hand. Even though Mercury was the front girl for their band, the one in the spotlight, Neptune, in many ways, was the leader of the triplets.
And now Fae could feel Neptune’s heart, and she realized just how amazing the blue-haired Star sister was. She had a small amount of resistance to this bond, to this inescapable openness, but that was swiftly fading. More than anything, her heart seemed to glow. She was fascinated by this, amazed by it, and was taking everything in with awe and reverence.
She yearned to know her sisters better than she already did. And she yearned to know her newest friends on a deeper level. But she didn’t push, didn’t press, didn’t try to force what wasn’t freely given. She was patient, trusting, and she responded kindly and softly, letting her own thoughts and emotions step into this bond and bring a sense of calm and peace. She was a powerful, soothing presence in a process of fear, uncertainty, and anxiety.
But she also didn’t take over. She recognized Fae as the leader, she recognized that Fae’s attempts to lead this process was difficult and yet deeply important.
Fae needed to run the show here, so to speak, in a way that she hadn’t realized herself. But as she saw that through Neptune, she began to understand, as if it had been right in front of her this whole time.
It was deeply uncomfortable for Fae to step forward, to lead and guide the others. And yet, in doing so…
She was also helping herself. She was finding a calmness and peace that hadn’t been there before. When she made the painful effort to decipher and share the right path forward, she learned things about herself she couldn’t realize in any other way.
What struck her again, and again, and again… was how much she’d changed. How she’d changed in ways she’d never, ever believed she could change. This journey hadn’t gone at all how she’d expected or even imagined. Things had gone right that she never would have believed could go right for her… and things had gone horribly wrong in ways she shuddered to think back on.
And yet…
She wasn’t who she’d been at the start of all of this. And who she was now…
Astonished her.
And that astonishment made her even more self-conscious, because it felt like she was praising herself, like she was bragging, and she knew that those feelings, that amazement at herself, was flooding out to the others.
But that amazement came from a realization. It wasn’t simply that she’d changed. What amazed her the most was…
She was still her. She was still Fae Greyson.
The leadership, the calmness, the growing confidence… all that she’d accomplished, all that she was doing now, all that she was still doing…
These qualities didn’t belong to someone else. She hadn’t metamorphosed into a different person.
She’d always had this capacity. She could trace that strange, unpredictable, unbelievable line of her life, and she understood more than ever why she’d been so frightened, so resistant, of the changes as they’d been happening.
She’d been afraid that she’d lose her identity. That had come into starkest, most painful focus, when she’d had her own body piloted by the Sojourner, instead of herself. Could she still be Fae Greyson if she wasn’t even allowed to pilot her own body?
But now, here at the Orphan of the Dawn, in this most safe and beautiful place… it all became clear for her.
She hadn’t lost Fae Greyson. She was still, top to bottom, inside and out, Fae Greyson.
And she always would be.
She let out a long, slow breath, and bowed her head. “We’re really starting to get somewhere,” she said, a small smile creasing her lips. “Everyone… thank you.”
“Harmonies are complicated,” Neptune said. “They don’t come easily to everyone. And when it’s with voices, it isn’t a simple matter of aligning notes in an acceptable manner. The tone, the resonance, the timbre, all the distinct and unique qualities of each singer’s voice, have to be taken into careful consideration. You can’t just understand yourself, or understand music theory. You have to understand each other.”
“That’s why we harmonize so well,” Mercury said with a grin, pulling her sisters into side-arm hugs.
“Harmony more than melody can’t be timid or holding back,” Jupiter said, nodding. “But you can’t overpower your fellow singers, either. It’s all about matching each other, while doing different things, singing different notes.”
“Complementing each other,” Olivia said. “Magnifying each other’s strengths; bolstering each other’s weaknesses. Creating something together that could never be created alone.”
That last word hung in the air, holding a powerful significance for Olivia, Sonya, and Fae.
And it made that definition of harmonizing all the more perfect for what was happening now. This was what they needed, more than anything.
There was also an undercurrent of nervous energy, both anxious and excited. They all understood…
They couldn’t stay here forever.
“There’s… only so much we can do here, right?” Jupiter asked, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I just… look, I know I’m impatient in general, but…”
“No, you’re right,” Fae said. “We’ll have to get going eventually. And… I don’t know.” Slowly, she stood, gazing out across the golden fields. “It feels like… we’re almost out of time.”
“Very perceptive of you,” said the Orphan of the Dawn, her voice filled with a deep sorrow. All of the girls stood, turning to look at the golden tree. “Your time to leave is nearly upon you. I… will be sad to see you go. But I am glad to have been able to finally meet you, and finally help you as much as I can.”
Fae felt a soft warmth against her chest, and slowly pulled forth the amulet of the Orphan of the Dawn, the one that had contained the Sojourner, that small fraction of her soul. It still hung around her neck, and for a moment, she’d felt a warmth from it, though now that warmth faded. “I… is there still part of you in here?” she asked.
“Ah,” the Orphan of the Dawn murmured softly. “A part… perhaps. Something smaller, infinitesimally smaller, than the Sojourner.”
“Then I should give it back to you,” Fae said, holding out the amulet.
“Please, keep it,” said the Orphan of the Dawn. “It will help to protect you. And you may find a use for it elsewhere, one day.”
“Cryptic,” Jupiter muttered.
“It’s all right,” Madeline said, shaking her head. “Lots of things on your journey have come with riddles and uncertainty at first, right? But you’ve always found the answer eventually.”
“Don’t talk about it like you’re not part of the journey,” Mercury said with a wry grin.
“But I joined you all last,” Madeline said, bowing her head. “You’d already done so much when I arrived.”
“You weren’t the last,” Sonya corrected. Olivia nodded in agreement.
“I… know,” Madeline said slowly. Impressions of uncertainty, of not really belonging, filled her connection with the others.
“You belong here,” Fae said.
“Don’t ever doubt that,” Neptune said.
“Thanks,” Madeline said softly.
“So then,” Fae said, looking back up at the golden tree, “I’ll keep it. And trust you.” She tucked the amulet back beneath her shirt. A faint pulse of warmth flowed from it, just for a moment, and then faded once more. Slowly, her eyes drifted towards the space where the door to Hugo’s studio could be found. Currently, the space was empty. “Will… will I get another chance to speak with Emmeryn?”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” came Hugo’s voice. The door to his studio appeared, and opened inward on its own, revealing the warm yet dim interior of Hugo’s study. “Your words — and a very brief conversation with me — had the desired effect. She has departed.”
“She left?” Fae asked. “Without saying anything?”
“Well, she couldn’t enter the Orphan of the Dawn,” Hugo said. “It’s… complicated. But more importantly, when she made her decision, she wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Before she lost her nerve. She goes now to find your sister, and see what aid she can offer her.”
Relief flooded Fae’s heart, and spread to the other girls, and she felt them reciprocate. “Thank you,” she said.
“Oh, you ladies did most of the work,” Hugo said with a soft laugh. “I simply gave her the final little nudge she needed.”
“It’s more than just for that,” Sonya said, picking up on Fae’s gratitude, because she shared it, too, as did Olivia. “Thank you for your gifts. We still don’t… understand them. But there’s hope that we will.”
“Oh, I know you will, in time,” Hugo said. Fae could just barely make out the glint of his amber eyes as they narrowed in a smile. He tipped his hat. “Farewell. Perhaps we will meet again, one day.”
“Though you doubt it,” Olivia said. She adjusted the strap for her viola’s case.
“Perceptive of you,” Hugo said. “But I am not certain. None of us can be. If we do meet again, let it be when all is at peace, and when Fae’s body is rightly restored, hmm?”
“Do you really think —” Mercury started eagerly, and then stopped herself. But the unfinished thought came through silently to the others.
“Oh, I do,” Hugo said with a soft laugh.
And then, the door to his studio closed and vanished.
“Wish we’d gotten to talk to him,” Jupiter said with a bit of a pout. “I kinda liked him.”
“We’ll just have to hope we do meet again, then,” Neptune said.
“Sorry,” Mercury said, bowing her head. “I…”
“I think we’re all worried about it,” Fae said. “I… none of us knows how my body can be restored. So… we’ll just have to hope.”
“Right you are,” Toryu said, puffing on his pipe. “We’ll all have to hope, and do our best to find a proper, permanent solution. The universe is vast and full of strange and unbelievable things. An answer will, somewhere, someway, somewhen, reveal itself, so long as we do not give up in our searchings.”
“I wish I could have been of more help,” said the Orphan of the Dawn. “I am sorry.”
“You saved me,” Fae said. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“Oh, do we really have to leave?” Mercury suddenly asked, surprised at her own frustration. “I just… this place is so peaceful, so good. And it feels like there’s so much more to see and do, like we… like we’ve barely even started, and we can just take things in stride here, and —”
“We have to leave,” Fae said, smiling because a part of her felt the same. “Delilah’s counting on me to help her turn the Key of the World, so we still have to find the Key that’s ‘through the glass.’ And… some of us have family and friends waiting for us.” She looked at Olivia and Sonya. “And I want you two to meet my family. To see Grimoire, in peaceful times.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Sonya said. “I love this place. But places of healing, of rest, are for a moment, not forever. Not as long as we still walk this mortal road.” She smiled, then. “I’m still scared, of a great many things. But I want to see this journey through to the end. And… I would like to see peaceful times afterwards. I want to know what our friendships will look like when danger isn’t knocking on our door.”
“I’m sorry,” Mercury said, bowing her head. “I didn’t… I just…”
It feels like home.
That thought came from Mercury to all of them, soft and timid.
“Like home?” Madeline asked.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jupiter said, turning in a slow circle, taking the vast golden space in. “As soon as we got here, it was like… it kind of felt like the Silver Star Sanctuary, in a way, but… warmer. Kinder. Like there was nothing but good here.”
“And like we’d been here before,” Neptune said. “But that can’t —”
Fae suddenly gasped, and her surprise was felt through the bond, and mirrored by Olivia and Sonya. They’d all remembered the same thing.
“The first Echo of Truth,” Olivia said softly.
“What about it?” Mercury asked.
“Three reaching for three,” Fae murmured.
“Three reaching for three?” Jupiter asked.
“It was the mural,” Sonya said, opening her notebook and flipping to the right page. “On the floor, three young women, about our age, reaching from darkness. And on the ceiling, three young girls, standing in the light.”
“Golden light,” Olivia said. “A place that looked very much like this.”
“But did you see who the girls were?” Jupiter asked.
Fae shook her head. “They were silhouetted by the light, so we couldn’t make out any details,” she said.
“Are you trying to say…?” Mercury started. She, Jupiter, and Neptune all looked up at the golden tree.
“It is not for me to say,” said the Orphan of the Dawn.
“But… but our memories were stolen!” Mercury cried out. “We got some of them back, but I don’t remember anything about being here!”
“Just a feeling,” Jupiter said. “Like so many of our memories before we got a lot of them back.”
“Like a distant echo from the past,” Neptune said. “Orphan of the Dawn… are you certain you cannot tell us?”
“There are some mysterious occurrences that I cannot speak of,” said the Orphan of the Dawn. But there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “So I certainly could not speak of three girls, bereft of both parents, being called here and coming running, hand-in-hand. I certainly could not speak of the song we wrote together, all four of us — a song that still lives in their hearts, a song that no devourer of memory could steal away. I could not speak of such things, even I wished to. I am sorry.”
Amazement and understanding lit up the Star sisters’ eyes. Mercury opened her mouth to say something, and Jupiter too, but then they slowly looked down, saying nothing. “Thank you,” Neptune said softly, smiling at the golden tree. “I’m sure they will cherish that song.”
“It is my sincerest hope,” said the Orphan of the Dawn.
“But why can’t you… speak freely about it?” Mercury asked, hesitantly, the desperate hope in her voice flooding the bond the girls shared.
“It’s all right,” Neptune said in a hushed, wistful tone. “I think I understand.” She smiled as her sisters looked at her, while keeping her own eyes on the golden tree. “Let’s talk all about it… after we leave.”
“I think… it’s time,” Fae said softly, suddenly feeling the pull that some of the others felt, too.
A part of her didn’t want to leave. It really was peaceful here, and beautiful.
But…
“It is,” said the Orphan of the Dawn.
There was still so much Fae wanted to say. And yet… there was something in her heart. A hope, an earnest hope, that one day… she would be able to say all that she wanted to say.
This wouldn’t be the last she’d see of the Orphan of the Dawn. Why she felt so certain of that, she couldn’t be sure. But that certain hope gave her the strength to turn back, to lead the others, as the Orphan of the Dawn opened the exit.
And they all paused just before passing through. Because there was one in their group who hesitated more than any other.
Toryu lingered. He still wanted to stay with the Orphan of the Dawn, and…
“You would be most welcome, my dear friend,” said the Orphan of the Dawn, a smile in her voice, but also…
Understanding.
“And I would earnestly desire it,” Toryu said softly, so Fae only barely heard him. “But… I do believe the rest of the world still needs me, if only for a little while longer.” There was his characteristic good humor in his voice, but it couldn’t mask the melancholy. He puffed at his pipe once, twice, then removed it from his mouth, twirled it, and bowed with an elegance and grace Fae never would have expected from the elderly tortoise-Dragon.
And then he joined them. One last, longing look at the Orphan of the Dawn, and then they all went, through the exit, taking them…
To Grimoire.
Fae had nearly forgotten that this was where they’d come from, this was where they’d all last been before coming to the Orphan of the Dawn — beneath The Gate. And all of a sudden, Fae felt what she hadn’t felt in an awfully long time.
She was bitter cold.
Grimoire’s old, familiar winter wind whipped across the Bay, and Fae hugged herself, shivering.
But she also found a smile spreading on her face. Because she could feel it.
“Still good to be in your body,” Madeline said, smiling at her.
Fae smiled back. “Yeah,” she said, and meant it with all her heart. And then…
Something clicked in her mind. For her, and…
For all seven of them.
“Whoa, whoa, wait, is that it?” Mercury asked, spinning on her heel, breathless with anticipation.
“Is that what?” Sonya asked, not understanding. Because this was something that had come to Fae when it had been just her and the Star sisters, and was something the four of them had been waiting for for a very long time.
Fae reached into her bag, and pulled out the locked book, the final gift the Fates had given her, along with the key from Oliver.
She could feel it with every fiber of her being. It was time. Time to open the book. Time to learn what secrets it —
And then, suddenly, a lance of pain shot through Fae’s head. Voices, voices, loud and quick and speaking over each other, inside her head. Not just her head — her heart, too. Emotions, feelings, memories, hopes, dreams, fears, all of it, flooding through, crashing down on her, and it was all so heavy, so heavy, too heavy…
She dropped to her knees. The book fell from her hands, but she barely registered that. Vision was failing her. She just couldn’t bear up under the weight, under the pressure, under the pain.
She fell, and was unconscious before she hit the ground.