I was drifting when a bump startled me awake. Mom glanced up at me, looking through a pile of papers. I shifted, before remembering that Syrin was draped against me. I’d filled Mom in on everything that happened. Then she’d told me her tale: finding Ivorin, sending him to us, then snagging a thick envelope from Syrin’s abandoned workstation. I’d fallen asleep around then.

  “How long have I been out?” I muttered.

  Mom didn’t look up from the page she was studying. “Maybe forty-five minutes?” She set the sheet down. “I would have woken you up soon. We’re getting closer, and we need to talk.”

  “What’s on those pages?” I asked, nodding to them.

  Mom grimaced. “Notes.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Notes?”

  A sharp nod.

  “About?”

  She picked up another sheet. “Apparently, Syrin keeps extensive notes on all the nobles he knows.”

  I blinked. Some people journal. Some people hoard recipes. Syrin apparently profiles the upper class. “Why?”

  Her lips twitched up. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  I frowned down at him. Patterns danced along his skin as his glow shifted with his dreams.

  Notes about nobles. Why would Syrin want—

  Oh.

  “You’re trying to figure out who did this,” I said quietly.

  “Yes,” she said. “But there are a lot of candidates. You saw that ring, but you weren’t the one wearing it, correct?”

  I had to stop myself from flinching. “Yeah.”

  “So, we know that house likely isn’t the one behind all this, though they could still be involved.”

  “We know they’re probably part of the Closed Hand, right?”

  Mom hummed. “Yes. From Syrin’s notes at least, a lot of the lords on the council are. It doesn’t exactly narrow it down. It’s a fairly popular political movement.”

  I rubbed at my eyes with one hand, trying to push away the sleep. “So, we have nothing?” I finally asked.

  That would be on brand. I get dragged into a shadow vision, and the only useful information I get is “Member of the Court.”

  “Not nothing, just not as much as I would like,” Mom said.

  A knock sounded from the front of the carriage. Mom stiffened, then started to pile the pages up. “I asked him to warn us once we hit the warehouse district.”

  I shifted again, trying to adjust Syrin’s weight against me.

  Mom let out a long breath. “Trina, the plan Syrin and I put together… It hinged on him being awake. He knows this contact. I don’t.”

  I went still. “So, we go somewhere else?”

  Mom shook her head and gestured to Syrin. “He’s too recognizable for an inn. If he were awake that’s one thing, but… he’s a common enough face around the city. He knows the districts where he’s spent the most time. I don’t.”

  I glanced at Syrin again. The spiraling patterns had shifted again, copper and bronze curling in with the gold. The patterns weren’t new, but I’d never seen them quite so… active.

  Hunted in his own city. How were we supposed to hide someone who glowed like this?

  “So no inn. What do you want to do?” I asked quietly.

  Mom sank back against the seat. “We don’t have any ideal options. I know where his contact lives. We mapped it all out, but… the carriage can’t take us all the way there. I told the driver we were going to an inn nearby. We can unload him there, but after that? The streets are too narrow. We have to walk. It’s hard to judge from what Syrin drew out, but it might be as far as a half mile.”

  I grimaced. “There’s no way. Carrying him at the zoo was hard enough, but through the city streets? And won’t that be suspicious?”

  Mom nodded. “I know. The inn might be our best option, but… it’s not safe. If someone in the Tower starts looking for us, inns will be the first place they check.”

  I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “So, we go to the contact. We have to wake him up.”

  Mom gave a very tired nod.

  “We might not be able to,” I said softly.

  Mom sighed. “We have to try.”

  I nudged Syrin, but he barely stirred, just let out a little sigh. I sat up further, shaking his shoulder lightly before pushing him upright. As soon as I let go, he collapsed against me again, curling up slightly. I bit my lip and looked at Mom.

  “Syrin,” I said sharply.

  No response.

  I tried again, shaking him.

  He moved, suddenly sitting up ramrod straight. Relief shot through me. “Syrin?” I said softly.

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me. Was he… sleepwalking?

  Mom stiffened. Syrin’s head tilted towards me, and I saw why. His eyes were gold, not in the usual way where only his irises changed. They were pure undiluted gold. No whites, no pupils, and they were staring straight at me.

  I froze. Was this something from the healing? Had he somehow been infected by the shadow, but in some corrupted way? His arm lifted and swung, but the rest of him didn’t adjust. No shift in balance, just an appendage windmilling straight at me.

  I scrambled back, but there wasn’t far I could go in a carriage where Syrin had just been curled up next to me. His arm touched mine, and a wave of pressure barreled through me like a freight train. A familiar warmth unfurled inside. The one that had been holding back the shadow for hours, only this time, it wasn’t loaded with heat. This time it was with anger.

  The emotion burned through me. It felt almost like someone was shaking me for a moment, but… I wasn’t moving. I yanked away, pressing myself against the wall.

  “Trina!” Mom said, worried, but as soon as she moved, Syrin’s glow absolutely blazed to life, and she froze.

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  For a second, no one moved. We all just breathed. Then Syrin shifted forward, those golden eyes staring at me.

  His hand landed lightly on my wrist, and an image that felt wrong and right all at once shoved into my head: Syrin curled against me in the carriage, accompanied by a deep sense of worry and almost… abandonment. The sort of thing I’d felt as a kid when my parents had gone to the village for food and left me at the cottage. A worry that they might not come home.

  “Trina?” Mom asked, voice worried.

  I stayed frozen. “I think… I think the Light is trying to talk to me.”

  Mom raised an eyebrow, but then said in a voice that was way too calm, “Then you better figure out what it wants or we’ll all be in trouble.”

  The image just hovered there in my mind, and the emotion pressed deeper, almost insistent. The image shifted. This time the perspective was wrong. It was of me. The first image had been from my perspective, like a screenshot taken from my own mind. Almost memory-like.

  This one was like looking at a picture of myself. I felt the ghost of sensation across my scalp like someone’s hand in my hair, and a vague sense of approval before the image slipped to something else. I was looking down on myself supporting—

  Oh lights, were these Syrin’s memories?

  Another image pushed into my head. This one was definitely not mine. I stood in what looked like a city square. People were gathered around a little stage where a puppet show was taking place. A mix of emotions rushed in. I couldn’t quite make sense of them: pride, insistence, determination.

  “What?” I stuttered out.

  Annoyance rushed in. Then the images stopped. For a few moments, the only sound was someone yelling outside the carriage. Then Syrin lifted the arm not clutching mine, almost whacking the ceiling, and lowered it. That feeling of insistence barreled back in again.

  Mercy. Was the Light suggesting… puppeting Syrin? It would move him for us?

  A vague sense of affirmation filled me, and Syrin’s head tilted while the rest of him remained eerily stiff.

  I frowned, and a sense of disappointment mixed with concern bled in. A sense of exhaustion suddenly hit that made me want to collapse under the weight of it. Was this how Syrin had felt?

  The exhaustion pressed harder against me, sinking into my limbs until even breathing felt like an effort. Then suddenly it was gone, replaced by a sense of almost… pleading?

  Then there was an image of Syrin’s eyes fluttering open from earlier. It… didn’t want to wake Syrin, so it would puppet him?

  I pictured shaking Syrin awake, just as a test, and anger flashed through me, then a sharp pang of exhaustion slammed in again.

  I imagined Syrin following me with the creepy glowing eyes, and warm affirmation flooded through me, all the way down to my toes.

  “It wants to control Syrin’s movements without waking him,” I choked out. “It seems to think it can basically walk him around.”

  Another flash of warmth, but at the same time, the Light felt almost indignant.

  “It doesn’t like that I’m unsure,” I said. “But… we can’t just—”

  I cut off as another feeling slammed into me. Abandonment. Then, a hazy memory floated into my mind—a door opened and Dad stepped through. The joy that rushed through me was like a wave. I winced. It’d been a happy moment. Mostly because Dad had been gone for months that time. I didn’t like the implication.

  An image of Syrin flickered into view, awake and laughing. Then a sequence of images flashed: sun, moon, sun, moon, sun, Syrin.

  I blinked. It flashed again. “Two days?” I whispered. “He’ll wake up in two days?”

  The warmth rushed in again. Then an image of Syrin with the glowing eyes and a deep sense of sadness.

  It wanted Syrin back too. It was just trying to help, but… it felt so wrong, like we were using him without his permission.

  Mom let out a long breath. “We’ll have to be careful, but it will attract less attention than carrying him.” Her fingers tapped against her knee. “But if someone notices, it might be worse. It will look like he’s possessed.”

  I flinched. Because he kind of was. “Is this… is this wrong?”

  Mom grimaced, looking at Syrin’s rigid posture for a long moment before answering. “Right now, we don’t have a lot of good options. Not accepting the Light’s help might put us all at risk, and waking him—”

  That sudden anger flared again, and I stiffened. “No waking,” I promised.

  The anger dispersed, though the Light still felt slightly… suspicious, like it didn’t quite trust us not to try.

  My back was still pressed to the wall. “Could you… back up a little?”

  Syrin shifted awkwardly back, and that second awareness disappeared from my mind. I blinked. Could I only hear it when I was touching him? I shifted back to a more comfortable spot and then carefully rested a hand on Syrin’s arm.

  That second awareness flared back to life inside my mind. I took a deep breath. “Even if we let it walk him around, his movements are pretty creepy. Do you think it will be too obvious?”

  Mom frowned, eyeing Syrin. The Light tried to make him wave, but it was weirdly jerky. And it just looked wrong. Not Syrin. Empty.

  “We may not have a better option,” Mom muttered.

  The Light tried again, turning so fast that Syrin practically fell into my lap.

  I stared down at him. The pure golden eyes stared back up, unblinking, but he also wasn’t glowing. Not like he normally was, at least. Instead, it was like it had all gone to his eyes.

  I blinked. Well, that did solve one problem. Maybe this could work. Creepy, but practical.

  The Light pushed back upright as if Syrin was at sea during a storm.

  Or not.

  The carriage jerked to a stop. I flinched. Mom’s head whipped towards the door. Syrin didn’t move, just stared eerily forward. I lunged forward, pulling his hood low over his eyes.

  The carriage bounced for a moment, and a few seconds later, the door clicked open, revealing the driver. The smell hit next: salt, fish, and smoke. Lanterns glowed along the street. Workers shouted somewhere down the block. Crates scraped stone off somewhere in the distance.

  “We’re here,” he said. “Told you I’d get you as close as I could. Inn’s just across the street.”

  Mom forced a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  He glanced at Syrin, then me. “Your brother alright?”

  Brother? Right. Mom had said something about that.

  “Yes!” I said. “He’s fine. He’s—” I looked at him suddenly unsure how to finish as he turned sharply to face the driver.

  “Seizures,” Mom said briskly. “They leave him exhausted.”

  The driver grunted sympathetically. “There’s a healer’s station two streets over if he worsens.”

  “We’ll manage,” Mom said.

  I passed him one of the lower denominations of coins I’d grabbed earlier. He looked at it, then counted out some change from the purse at his side. I nodded in thanks, clicking the coin’s grooves together, and slipping them into my satchel.

  The driver tipped his hat and stepped back. Then he watched us, waiting for us to get out.

  My breath caught. I grabbed Syrin’s arm, dragging him with me. Just be normal, I thought at the Light. Go limp if you have to.

  I scrambled out of the carriage first, towing Syrin behind me. It was not graceful. I winced at every movement. It was like watching someone who’d just watched basketball all their life suddenly try to play. Honestly, we were lucky he didn’t just topple out of the carriage.

  Mom followed, holding Syrin’s other arm. The driver watched us for a few more seconds. Mom smiled at him, and he said, “Better get that boy of yours inside.”

  We just nodded, and the driver climbed back onto the carriage.

  We dragged Syrin along with us as the Light tried to figure out how to walk. The stumbling gait was awkward, but hopefully he just looked extremely sick. Or drunk.

  Either worked. Either would keep people away.

  We paused at the door to the inn. The driver gave us a wave. The sound of hooves shifted, then faded as the carriage rolled away down the street. Only when the noise dissolved into the general murmur of the docks did Mom exhale.

  “Well,” she said quietly. “This is the part where we pretend this is normal.”

  I glanced at Syrin. His posture was still too straight. He hadn’t blinked that I’d seen. I pulled him gently toward me. Just lean, I thought at the Light.

  It obeyed.

  A few passersby glanced at us and then away again. Travelers weren’t unusual here. A tired man leaning on his sister? Common.

  Mom let go, watching as if she were judging if Syrin could stay upright. He didn’t move at all.

  “Alright, let’s go,” Mom said.

  He walked, and it was… better than before. But the stride was fractionally too consistent. The pace didn’t shift with the rhythm of the street. When someone brushed his shoulder, he didn’t flinch.

  The Light simply recalculated and continued. Still, he was upright and moving, better than the alternative.

  “Left,” Mom commanded as we reached the next intersection.

  The Light adjusted Syrin immediately. Too immediately. He almost fell over, and I had to throw my weight forward to keep him standing.

  A little burst of frustration hit me. Not mine. The Light.

  “You’re doing fine,” I murmured under my breath. Mostly. For someone who’d never walked, it wasn’t bad.

  A flicker of something like cautious approval warmed the back of my thoughts.

  We kept going. One block. Then two. Once or twice, a passerby threw an odd glance, but no one stopped us.

  The street narrowed as the warehouse district began. Rope coils hung from iron hooks. Nets dripped seawater. Lantern light caught on damp stone. Voices echoed differently here, lower and rougher.

  Mom slowed. “Third building,” she said. “Green door. Cracked lantern.”

  I tightened my grip on Syrin’s arm. The Light tightened his posture in response. For a split second, I wondered what would happen if I let go, whether he would keep walking or simply stand there waiting for instructions.

  I didn’t test it.

  We reached the green door. Up close, the paint was peeling. The lantern above it was indeed cracked.

  Mom stepped forward and knocked. Syrin stood beside me, eyes hidden beneath his hood, posture perfect and empty.

  And for the seventh time since agreeing, dread settled properly in my stomach. Because walking him down the street was one thing.

  Explaining him to someone else?

  That was another.

  ?? Even gods need to be held sometimes

  What to Expect:

  - An epic, multi-book space opera with a large found family and multiple POVs.

  - A powerful but emotionally vulnerable protagonist with chaotic powers he struggles to control.

  - Strong, capable, and sometimes morally gray women.

  - High stakes, cosmic threats, and detailed world-building.

  What NOT to Expect:

  - LitRPG/System elements

  - Lone wolf power fantasy

  - A story that is only about romance

  This story contains mature themes, explicit sexual content, and graphic violence. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

  90+ Chapters in the first month

  500,000+ words already written and backlogged