Rianne
Four hours until midnight, and my cat is teaching shadow creatures to play poker.
Mister Poofypants the Third pushes chips across the table with one massive paw, his eyes glowing steady green. He’s definitely twenty pounds now. When Carl shows his hand—a pair of threes—Poof reveals a straight flush and Carl sighs.
“Carl’s cryptocurrency cannot handle this level of defeat.”
“You have cryptocurrency?” I ask.
“Carl is modern! Carl also lost it all to a cat.”
“Poof,” I say carefully, watching him collect his winnings. “When did you get so... big?”
The cat looks at me with glowing green eyes. He’s definitely doubled in size since Tuesday.
“Your cat is also adapting,” Stenrik observes.
“To what? Shadow cat? Corporate cat?”
Mister Poofypants the Third meows. It sounds suspiciously like he’s saying “middle management.”
“Oh no. The cat wants a 401k.”
“Why is Keith so... corporate?” I ask suddenly. “Like, specifically corporate? Not just integrated but full-on middle management?”
Keith looks up from his cards. “Keith finds structure comforting! Keith was formless for eons. Now Keith has quarterly reviews!”
“You were formless?”
“All shadows were. Until we found purpose.” Keith straightens his tie. “Keith’s purpose is optimization.”
Stenrik and I exchange glances. There’s something important here, but we’re missing it.
The temperature drops another degree. I still don’t feel cold, which should worry me more than it does. When I breathe out, my breath is visible, but I’m comfortable in just my sweater.
“We should read the Chronicle again,” Stenrik says. “There has to be something we’re missing.”
I groan but follow him to the desk. When I reach for the Chronicle, it opens on its own, pages flipping wildly before settling on a section we’ve never seen. The text shimmers, reorganizing itself not into a rule, but a verse.
I read it aloud, my voice hesitant.
“The bond is claimed not by the hand
That grips an anchor in the storm-wracked land.
But by the soul that seeks the shore,
When tempests fall and rage no more.”
I stare at the page, a knot forming in my stomach. “An anchor in the storm-wracked land. That’s us. Right now.”
“It’s a test of strength,” Stenrik says, his focus intense. “The magic needs to know we can hold on, that we can be an anchor for each other through this crisis.”
“So we have to grip tighter,” I conclude, the fear making the interpretation feel certain. “We have to prove we can endure the storm.”
The Chronicle’s light pulses once, then dims—not bright approval, but something quieter. Uncertain.
I wait for the foundation stone to boom agreement from below, but there’s only silence.
“This is on us, then.” I turn to face him fully, pushing away the strange quiet. “It’s not just about saving the town. It’s about being strong enough. Stenrik, I can do this. I’m not going to let you down.”
“Perhaps we should read it again,” Stenrik says slowly.
“We don’t have time. Four hours until midnight.” I square my shoulders. “We know what we need to do. Be strong. Hold on. Don’t let go.”
The Chronicle’s pages flutter, but no new text appears. The light dims further.
Carl nods slowly, but he looks uncertain.
My cat stands up from the poker table, having cleaned out every shadow creature. He walks over and drops something at my feet, a shadow creature’s wallet.
“Poof, you can’t take their wallets.”
He meows indignantly and points at his winnings.
“Fair and square doesn’t mean you should, never mind.” I look at Stenrik. “So we have to be an anchor. We just have to be strong enough, right? Hold on with everything we’ve got.”
“During the ceremony, yes. Absolute commitment.”
“Because we have the strength to hold on.”
“Yes.”
Carl holds up a sign: “CARL SUPPORTS TEAM RESOLVE!”
From the basement, the stone booms encouragement.
“THE STONE BELIEVES IN DIRECTNESS!”
I notice something else. Carl is more solid than yesterday. Not just shadow anymore but something between shadow and substance. And when I look at my hand in the light, is it just me or can I see through it slightly? Just barely, like looking through frosted glass, but...
“Stenrik, look at my hand.”
He takes it, examines it in the light. Turns it over. His expression goes carefully neutral. “You’re translucent.”
“What?” I snatch my hand back, hold it up to the emergency lighting. I can see through my fingers—not completely, but like looking through frosted glass. The bones are visible as darker shadows beneath. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m disappearing.”
“You’re not disappearing. You’re adapting. Like Keith. Like Carl.”
“I’m becoming a shadow creature?” My voice goes up an octave.
“The worlds are blending. You’re human in a thinning barrier.”
“So I might turn into a shadow creature before we complete the ceremony?”
“Or you might stabilize once the ceremony is complete. We don’t know.”
“Or I might end up like Keith with quarterly reviews and a LinkedIn profile!”
“Keith’s integration is successful!” Keith calls out.
“Keith, not helping!”
“So if we don’t complete the ceremony by the solstice, by tomorrow I might be fully...” I trail off, staring at my see-through fingers.
“Integrated,” Keith supplies helpfully. “Keith recommends choosing a clear purpose! Very helpful for the transition!”
I look at Carl. “When did you manifest?”
“Wednesday night! When the barrier broke! Carl felt the pull and answered.”
“So you’re on day two too.”
Carl examines his increasingly solid form. “Carl is getting more substantial. Carl likes it! Carl chose friendship over formlessness.”
“And I’m choosing...” I look at Stenrik, at my translucent hand, at the dimmed Chronicle. “What am I choosing?”
“That’s what tonight is about,” he says quietly. “Choosing what you become.”
The Chronicle glows brighter, more text appearing:
Transformation is choice. What you become depends on what you choose to be.
“We’re all changing,” I realize. “The barrier thinning isn’t just letting shadows in. It’s changing everything.”
“Adapting,” Stenrik corrects. “The two worlds are finding equilibrium.”
“Through corporate shadow creatures?”
“Through chosen forms,” Keith corrects. “Keith chose this. Carl is choosing something else.”
Carl nods enthusiastically. “Carl wants to be helpful! Carl doesn’t need corporate structure. Carl has friendship!”
Mister Poofypants the Third meows. It sounds like middle management, but also somehow like agreement.
“We need to complete the ceremony,” I say. “We have to be the anchor. We have to choose what we become before the choice is made for us.”
“Four hours,” Stenrik says quietly. “Are you ready?”
I look at him—at the frost patterns on his hands, at the way he’s watching me like I might disappear. Literally. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Then we hold on with everything we have.”
“Everything,” I agree.
The Chronicle dims further, but I don’t notice.
“THE STONE IS CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR TRANSLUCENCY!” the stone finally booms.
“One problem at a time,” I mutter.
Four hours until midnight. Four hours to prove we’re strong enough to be an anchor, to grip tight and not let go no matter what the storm throws at us.
Looking at Stenrik, at the unwavering resolve in his eyes, I feel certain. We know what we need to do. Hold on. Don’t let go. Be strong enough to endure.
The Chronicle said so.
Even if it went quiet right after we read it.
Even if my hand is see-through.
Even if I’m on day three of Keith’s four-day transformation timeline.
We’ll be fine.
We have to be.