The cave had become a cathedral of repurposed machinery.
Cecilia had cleared its center during the last hours. Now the translucent runic plates she had inscribed floated in concentric rings around her, each one humming softly with the white-violet warmth of rebirth magic.
Every glyph was written in the curling circular script of Ephyrael, meant to mirror the Cycle. Beginnings feeding endings, endings feeding beginnings.
Ten orbs drifted within the innermost circle. Ten trapped souls, flickering like half-remembered dreams. One pulsed a familiar pale blue.
Helen.
Marya stood beside Cecilia, close enough that their shoulders brushed when the light flared too brightly. The girl's hands trembled as she held the bowl of rebirth resins, the mist of them rising in a thin ribbon.
Jules and Ephyrael held the perimeter. Jules with his sword unsheathed, boots wide.
