**Chapter 54 First Day of Forever**
September 1, 2029 – 6:03 a.m., the ridge road down from the mountain**
The sun is just clearing the pines when we reach the truck.
Remy's old Chevy (red paint peeling, coyote sticker still crooked on the back glass) sits exactly where we left it last night.
The tailgate is already down.
Someone (probably Kayo) lined it with blankets and strung fairy lights through the roll bar.
We don't speak.
We just climb in the bed like we've done it a thousand times (because we have).
Remy and I in the middle.
Seras sprawls across our laps, armor dismissed, hoodie sleeves over her hands.
Lucian sits against the cab, wings folded tight so they don't catch the wind, Seras's head in his lap.
Kayo curls up with her tails as a pillow for Rowan, who's already asleep with his glasses crooked.
Remy starts the truck.
No one asks where we're going.
We just drive.
Windows down, radio off, only the sound of tires on gravel and six heartbeats that learned how to beat in the same rhythm.
We pass the city limit sign.
We pass the high school.
We pass the WELCOME TO HOT SPRINGS sign that still has the bullet hole from sophomore year.
And we keep going.
North on 7, then west on 270, then whatever back roads feel right.
The marks on our wrists glow soft every time the sun hits them (like the sky checking in).
At some point Seras starts humming the stomp-dance song from Remy's graduation.
Lucian joins in low harmony.
Kayo adds soft foxfire chimes.
Rowan taps the beat on the side of the truck bed with his pen.
Remy's hand finds mine over the gearshift.
I lace our fingers (ring to ring, mark to mark).
He doesn't look away from the road, but his voice is steady.
**Remy:**
"Coyote Club rule number four:
When the world tries to put you in boxes,
you steal the truck and drive until the boxes run out of road."
I grin so wide it hurts.
**Celeste:**
"Where are we going?"
**Remy:**
"Everywhere."
Behind us, Hot Springs shrinks in the rear-view mirror.
Ahead of us, the sky is wide open and waiting.
We have no classes tomorrow.
No dorm assignments.
No prophecies to fulfill.
Just a full tank of gas, six impossible teenagers, and a year we already named ours.
The sun climbs higher.
The marks on our wrists flare once (bright, proud).
And somewhere above the Ozarks, thunder laughs like it's been waiting for this exact moment since the day we were born.
Summer is over.
The sky?
The sky just got started.
The Sky Court Sends an Invitation**
September 3, 2029 – somewhere west of Amarillo, 2:14 a.m.**
The sky cracked open at 2:14 a.m. and started bleeding auroras.
Not metaphorically.
Actual green-and-violet fire pouring down like silk ribbons, pooling on the highway in front of the truck until the asphalt glows.
Remy slams on the brakes.
The Chevy fishtails, stops sideways across both lanes.
Nobody screams.
We've seen weirder.
Seras is already out the door, armor flaring to life around her like she was born in sunrise.
Lucian's wings snap open so fast the back window spider-webs.
Kayo's tails ignite in nine different colors of foxfire.
Rowan just sighs, closes his grimoire, and mutters, "Of course the Sky Court picks Texas."
A single figure steps out of the aurora bleed.
Tall.
Too tall.
Skin like moonlight on snow, hair made of actual clouds, eyes the exact color of the moment before lightning strikes.
He wears armor of living wind (plates that shift and whisper when he breathes).
And he's holding a scroll sealed with a drop of frozen starlight.
He bows (perfect, ancient, terrifying).
**Sky Herald (voice like wind chimes made of knives):**
"Storm Queen Celeste Valentina Morau and her unlawful court.
You are summoned."
Remy growls low, half-shifting without meaning to.
**Remy:**
"She doesn't do summoned."
The herald doesn't even blink.
**Sky Herald:**
"Refusal is not offered.
The High Aerie has watched you bind oaths beneath its gaze.
You have claimed the sky without permission.
Come willingly before the equinox moon, or the sky will come take you."
He flicks the scroll.
It floats through the air, lands in my hand, and burns cold enough to frost my rings.
I unroll it.
One line, written in lightning that keeps rearranging itself:
You kept the summer.
Now the sky wants it back.
With interest.
Below the words, a date: September 22, 2029.
And coordinates that point straight up.
Rowan reads over my shoulder and whistles.
**Rowan:**
"That's the floating citadel above Everest.
They're not messing around."
Seras's armor flares hotter.
**Seras:**
"Let them come."
The herald smiles for the first time (it's worse than the bow).
**Sky Herald:**
"They already have."
He gestures upward.
The aurora ribbons snap into the shape of a colossal bird made of stormclouds and starlight, wings spanning the entire horizon.
It screams (no sound, just pressure that makes our ears bleed).
Then it's gone.
The highway is dark again.
Just us, the truck, and a scroll that's still trying to freeze my fingers off.
Remy looks at me.
I look at the pack.
Nobody needs to vote.
**Celeste:**
"Road trip."
Kayo grins, tails spinning like helicopter blades.
**Kayo:**
"Finally.
I've always wanted to punch a cloud."
Lucian cracks his neck, wings mantling.
**Lucian:**
"Try not to set the atmosphere on fire, sun girl."
Seras just laughs (bright, sharp, perfect).
**Seras:**
"No promises."
Remy puts the truck in drive.
**Remy:**
"Coyote Club rule number five:
When the sky sends you a death threat disguised as an invitation,
you show up early and bring friends."
He floors it.
The Chevy roars west, headlights cutting through the dark like claws.
Behind us, the aurora bleeds one last message across the sky before it fades:
19 days.
We have nineteen days to reach the top of the world.
And remind the Sky Court who really owns the horizon.
Game on.