I stared down at a large room, finely adorned with expensive metals and ornate paintings. Crooked walls boxed in my periphery, and the ceiling scraped the top of my vision. Rubber-lined metal bars crisscrossed the gaping windows, revealing tiny triangles of the azure sky.

When I adjusted to the disorienting change, I realized that I knew this room: I had passed through it on the way to the dining room where I first met the Queen and King. I was in the palace. But when I tried to hold my hands up in front of my face, I saw nothing.

I wasn't really here.

Below me, a small boy sat at a wooden desk. Raven-black hair spilled over his forehead, swooping over amber eyes. His small fingers clutched a yellow crayon, though he soon dropped that crayon and picked up a green one, humming all the while.

Then I drifted in deeper and became the boy I was watching.

Now I could feel the cool breeze drifting in through the window and the damp moss beneath my bare feet, but my focus was on the sketchbook in front of me. My tiny pale hand darted across the paper, adding details—a line here, a loop there. Surveying the finished product, my chest swelled with pride.

"Mommy, look at what I drew!"

A reply drifted from the adjacent room. "I'm busy, sweetheart."

I focused on the doorway, which was dark. "But I drew really good this time, Mommy. You'll love it."

"I'm busy. Why don't you go find—"

"Listen to that," another voice interrupted, someone near my mommy but much different from her, much angrier. Dad. "Listen to how weak he is."

"Keep your voice down! He can hear you."

The doorway grew darker.

I refocused on the drawing. Mommy and Dad, holding hands, with a small child between them. All three had two pinpoint eyes, straight arms and legs, and smiles that touched both sides of their circular heads.

Once they see the picture, they'll smile at each other, and they'll smile at me, and then we'll all...

"I don't care." Dad's voice dripped venom. "Do you think coddling him will make him stronger? Do you think he can ever—"

"Duchess?" Mommy called out. "Where are you? Can you come get Isalio?"

"You always ask for her," Dad spat. "You always try to shelter him. You have to know that if he only sees the Duchess, he'll never be able to summon a beast stronger than the Rogabeast. He'll never be strong."

His words squished my heart, a harsh enough sensation that I almost dropped the crayon to press my palm over where it hurt. Drawing a breath, I gripped the crayon harder, as if the strength of my grip could steady the wobbly parts in my tummy.

Mommy broke the silence in a quiet, hesitant voice. "But maybe..."

I cocked my head toward the door, listening harder, chest alight with hope. Did Mommy still believe in me? If they just gave me time, I would show them what I was capable of. If they just gave me time...

"Maybe we'll have another child," she finished.

This time, I really did push my fist against my chest, but it didn't help the squishing sensation in my heart, and it didn't help the way the paper blurred in front of me—transformed by tears from a picture of perfect happiness to a distorted nightmare.

"We've been trying for eight years," Dad said. "We only agreed to marry because we thought we'd have a High Princess. We thought we could produce an heir who could change everything."

"Isalio still could."

I wasn't sure what was worse—the way Mommy's voice choked, or the way Dad hissed in response.

"He's seven years old and still drawing stupid pictures," Dad said. "You really think he'll ever rule the night?"

I grabbed the black crayon and began to scribble a new pattern over the top of my previous drawing.

The voices from the other room continued, but I didn't hear them anymore. I needed to keep drawing, just keep drawing. The window near me darkened, and the wet moss chilled my feet.

"Isalio?"

This was a different voice, much closer—and much kinder. Glancing up, I saw concerned amber eyes, unruly silver-streaked black hair, and creased black leather. She smelled sharp and smoky and wonderfully familiar.

"Yes, Aunty?"

"Honey, what are you drawing?"

I looked down at what used to be a family portrait, now scribbled out beyond recognition. What was I drawing? What was even worth drawing?

"I'm drawing the night," I said.

Everything blurred, and my consciousness shifted once more. I was no longer the boy; instead, I again looked down upon the room. I saw the gaping window, the curtains fluttering with the beginnings of a storm, the intricate paintings clattering against the wall. The silver-haired woman furrowed her eyebrows, but the raven-haired boy remained focused on the drawing. Tears glimmered in his amber eyes, his teeth pinched the corner of his lower lip, and the crayon wobbled in his tiny fist.

Then he glanced up—not at the silver-haired woman, but at me.

He looked so familiar, and yet so different: a rounder face, fluffier hair, a sweet little nub of a nose, and wide, innocent eyes. Eyes willing to beg me for something that the adult Isalio would never request.

Help me.

My heart clenched. I wanted nothing more than to help this little boy, to show him he was worthy, to show him he was the answer and not the problem. But could I even speak? Could this boy actually hear me? And what could I tell him that would make any difference?

The whirl of color blurred the edges of my vision once more, slowly overtaking the room. Desperation seized me. Isalio had invited me into this moment, and I couldn't leave it without doing anything. I grasped for anything meaningful to tell this little boy before we lost contact.

"You're the strongest person I know, Isalio." I heard my voice somewhere, but I wasn't sure which version of reality my words were entering. "You'll gain powers, but that's not what makes you strong. You're resilient, and you're determined, and you're..." My voice choked. "You're something better than strong. You're good."

The little boy tilted his head, amber eyes studying me sharply, but I wasn't sure if he couldn't hear me or if what I said confused him.

A half-second later, the swirls of color choked out the rest of my vision. When I could see again, trees sliced the backdrop like the black scribbles on the paper, and a much different version of Isalio stared back at me.

His face was as sharply drawn as the trees and his eyes were as bright as the moon. I once might have found that sight scary, but now I exhaled a sigh of relief.

There was no crimson in his eyes.

"Isalio, you're back."

"I'm back? What do you mean? What just—uff."

Whatever he was about to say was muffled when I tugged him toward me. "Don't ever leave me again," I demanded.

"I still don't know what you're talking about," he murmured into my shirt-collar.

At the same time, a very different voice muttered an ominous promise: 'We'll meet again.'

I shivered, but when Isaiio focused on me, I neutralized my expression.

"It doesn't matter, as long as you're back," I told him. "As long as we're together, we can beat every fucking..." I released Isalio and scanned the forest and sky, squinting. The beasts still undulated in circles at the edge of the forest around us, but not even a cloud—much less a gigantic beast—marred the cerulean sky above. "Where did it go?"

"Maybe it was afraid that together, we could beat every fucking..."

"Every fucking, what?"

"I don't know. That was your sentence."

A laugh swelled in my chest, but I cut it short and pulled him into my chest once more. "It's so good to have you back."

Before he could respond, darkness swallowed us once more.

Hot breath gusted over us, and Isalio and I lashed out simultaneously: my mace glinted in his blast of electricity. The Morgabeast flinched back for only a second before diving toward us, legs and feathers flattening against its torso.

The jaws crashed toward me first, and it crashed into whatever bubble of invincibility Islaio's lifeforce had granted me. The impact knocked both of us back. My palms smacked the dirt behind me as I caught myself, but I kept my gaze focused upward to watch the Morgabeast. It reared back and wiggled its lower jaw, eyes burning with fury.

I assessed the damage: a few fallen trees, but not a single scratch on my body. However, the lifeforce Isalio gave me had dwindled with the blow, from a full shield to a bare flicker of protection. And the beast recovered quickly. All too soon, its blazing blood-streaked eyes fastened on me once more.

My muscles tensed with the knowledge of what was about to happen: the attack was coming fast, and this time, the shield from Isalio's lifeforce would not be enough to stop it. I needed to think fast and act even faster... but I didn't. Instead, I manifested the very thing I most feared.

I froze.

Internally, I screamed at myself: do something, do something, do something! But with each scream, my muscles stiffened further, disconnecting from my mind.

The beast dove toward me, legs folded in again, its body a slippery streak of black. My extra lifeforce only prolonged the moment, forcing me to watch in full detail as it bared its claws. A thousand daggers raked the air with a shrill whistle, ready to shred me apart.

A blast of light stole my vision, and energy pulsed in my eardrums. This time it wasn't my own forceshield—this came from Isalio. The claws scraped over a barrier once more, and the beast's body followed, slamming into the hemisphere of chaotic energy. Meanwhile, the light blazed outward, scorching treetops and sending the beasts scampering back into the forest.

The forceshield around us withered, but the beast had already pulled back. Its feathery legs beat the air in a blinding blur, ripping the leaves from the trees and purging the Center Stone of all debris.

Beside me, Isalio's knees thumped the stone.

Fighting the howling wind, I staggered toward him. I grabbed one of his hands, looped my other arm around his back, and pulled him to his feet. We exchanged a glance and mouthed something, but our voices were lost in the chaos. Still, I was pretty sure I knew what he was saying because I was saying the same thing.

'You ok?'

In lieu of answering, we both pushed lifeforce toward each other.

The swirling rush of our exchange was a different kind of wind, one that also took my breath away. A second later, we stood up straight and tipped our heads back to glare at the Morgabeast. This beast was far stronger than anything else in existence, but we had a secret power that it lacked: we had each other.

Bring it, I told the beast. We're ready.

But the beast was already far out of reach, and the next blast of air carried it even further away. Up, up, up...

As the centipede-like beast weaved upward, the clouds parted, and the sky ruptured. A sizzling black streak sliced the sky, carving a narrow channel that hummed with colors I'd never seen before. Beasts swooped over the portal, forms incomprehensible until they reached the channel. Wings and claws and teeth scraped near, threatening to emerge, then retreating.

The Morgabeast shot toward that slit in the sky, slipped through the crack...

And disappeared.

The entryway sizzled closed, leaving no trace of its existence. Cerulean skies shone down on us once more, at utter odds with everything we had just experienced.

I turned toward Isalio, who looked as baffled as I felt. "Is it..." My words rang awkwardly loud in the sudden silence, and I lowered my voice before continuing. "Gone?"

He furrowed his brow. "I don't know."

"We saw it leave, didn't we?" I squinted above us, where not even a cloud marred the bright expanse of blue, no hint of the Morgabeast or the black streak that had sliced open the sky a moment ago. "It must have returned to the Sky Realm."

"That's what it looked like, yes, but don't you think that felt too easy?" When I arched an eyebrow, he modified his statement. "Ok, definitely not easy, but I don't understand why it left when it did. It still could have beaten us."

"Can you still feel the beast?"

He shook his head slowly. "We're not connected anymore."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But Rem..." He drew a shaky breath, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Look around us."

I swung a glance at the circle of trees surrounding the Center Stone. Silence pressed down all around us, deafening; not even a bird or squirrel dared to ruffle the leaves. All of the beasts now lay flat on the ground, dead still except for expanding and deflating chests. They seemed completely uninterested in us now; their eyes were all fixed above. Just watching... waiting.

A chill scuttled down my spine. "What are they waiting for? Why aren't they attacking us?"

He shrugged one shoulder and shifted his jaw as though chewing on something. "Feels wrong, doesn't it? For the first time in fourteen years, I feel totally free, and that should feel good, but I can't help thinking that..."

"That, what?"

"That when I became free, so did the Morgabeast."