"Hail Valhena!" a voice calls, not in the tongue of the Gods, but in mine. My mind flinches at the thought. These thoughts…

"Hail Helios!" another voice shouts—Orange, commanding. Blue joins in, then more, with Greens weaving their chant. "Hail Oyá." The syllables start the same, then twist into something monstrous, a song of praise that my mind can recognize yet cannot fully grasp.

Only fragments remain—Valhena from the resounding shouts—Oranges, though they are fewer than the others.

I do not question it anymore. Not why these names burn through me, nor why this knowledge feels lodged deep within my chest, as if I've carried it my whole life. I am already dead, even if this body still breathes.

There is no control here, no command over flesh that is not mine, and no escape from the void that waits at the edge of consciousness. Soon, I will dissolve completely, more spirit than body, and even in this borrowed flesh, I will vanish.

The screams rise to a deafening roar, stretching across the island. Torches arc upward, flames leaping toward the heavens in defiance of gravity. The sound, the chaos, is so vast, so absolute, that even the moon itself could not hide from it.

My legs shake, bare against the rocky surface, teeth clattering from tension, but slowly, my body steadies.

This body draws a shuddering breath as the crowd's screams diminish, though the din is still thick enough to cloud thought.

None of them mimics the signs Harmon or I make. They only scream, only stare upward at the hologram of blood that now dissipates into nothing.

I turn. Vis collapses nearby, Green blood spilling from his mouth and eyes, irises glowing like emerald fire, pupils gone.

Amber remains seated near the children, watching the scene unfold, all eyes drawn to Harmon and me—except Elena. She keeps her eyes shut, her tiny hands pressed lightly over them, small enough to fit over the tip of a finger. I—this body—Eriksson smirks faintly.

Lenny leaps to Vis, hauling him upright, pressing a bottle of water into his lips with a grin stretching deep across his green-flecked cheeks.

"We did it!" he shouts, voice low after the second word, directing his smile first at Vis, then at me, finally at Harmon.

Following the gesture, Harmon stands at the chasm. His eyes are locked on the Golden Moon, at its zenith. Soon, it will bleed Crimson. It must.

A faint exhale escapes this body as Harmon chuckles, muttering words I cannot understand. His silhouette, now solitary, lingers before me; shoulders curve inward, hands grasping at air as if pulling the heavens closer.

"Has the time finally come?" His voice is low but slices through the wind. "I cannot continue…" his hands reach for the moon, "this act…"

My throat tightens. Goosebumps crawl across my back, but the words do not settle in my mind as they should. Still, this body moves toward him, muscles and joints alien yet responsive, each step absent and vivid at once.

"What do you—" Eriksson's lips close.

"Selina… soon, I'll be with you."

My throat constricts, a scream caught in my chest as Harmon's body slackens, head dipping low. The calves of this body tear with every stride, the rocky ground beneath yielding to the strain.

"Don't!" I manage, voice rough as I surge forward.

Harmon kneels at the chasm, rocking slightly, yet he does not fall.

Not into the abyss hundreds of meters below, nor into the flames that rise enormous from the sea.

"The flood will come," he murmurs, Vis wheezing behind him.

Harmon lifts his arms, palms open to the sky, face darkened beyond anything either of us has ever felt, as he turns to me—to Eriksson. Tears streak his cheeks, glimmering Golden.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

I hesitate, confused, suspended in the weight of the body I cannot control. "For what?" This body asks, my palms sweat,

"The flood will rise, deep in the colors of those we've ought to save." Tears flow freely now, dark Orange in hue, mirroring the moon above, if so slightly. The blaze in his chest flickers, nearly extinguished, yet he offers a faint, fragile smile.

"Do not forgive me…"

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