Chapter 113
The inner chamber was smaller, circular, lit by floating star-lanterns. The Sentinel guided them to a low table, gesturing for Poppy to sit at the head.
Poppy blinked. “Isn’t that where one of you should—”
“No,” the Sentinel said. “You led the battle. You lead the account.”
Lysandra whispered, “I should marry him.”
Poppy elbowed her sister. “Stop.”
Mingxi took the seat at Poppy’s right, hand on her knee beneath the table. Lysandra sprawled on the left like she owned the place. Yunlian stood behind them like a silent goddess of judgment.
Councilors filled the edges of the room, murmuring until the Sentinel’s glare shut them up.
The Sentinel bowed his head slightly toward Poppy. “When you’re ready.”
She inhaled, steadying herself. “The moonwell was dying,” she began simply. “When we arrived, the shard had anchored itself to the core. The water was cracking. Everything, light, magic, life, was collapsing inward.”
Several Councilors leaned forward, quills already scratching.
Poppy continued, voice calm but sure. “We formed a ritual circle. Caelan stabilized the water. Lirrane held the boundaries. Yunlian anchored the flow. Mingxi shielded me. And the moonwell… reached for me.”
“It chose her,” Mingxi said softly, unable to stop himself.
The Sentinel nodded once. “Go on.”
Poppy swallowed. “The shard resisted. Hard. It fought extraction. I held the tether from the moonwell, and Mingxi burned the corruption away.”
Lysandra grinned. “He roasted it like chestnuts.”
“Lysandra,” Poppy hissed.
“What? It did explode.”
There was a ripple of horrified whispers.
Poppy pushed on. “When the shard tore free, the backlash nearly destroyed the basin. But the moonwell wasn’t gone. It was hurting. Afraid. And I could feel it reaching.” Her hand drifted unconsciously to her ribs. “So I reached back.”
The room went silent.
“It stabilized,” she finished quietly. “The moonwell is healing. The shard is gone.”
A long breath seemed to pass through the chamber. Then, a Councilor stood abruptly.
“This is impossible. A mortal cannot bond with a relic of that magnitude—”
Lysandra tilted her head. “She quite literally did, though. I saw it. Very sparkly. Very dramatic.”
“You have no standing to speak,” the Councilor snapped.
Lysandra sat up straighter. “Excuse me? I have excellent standing. Look at this posture.”
Poppy groaned, squelching the desire to roll her eyes. “Lysandra.”
“No. Look,” she insisted, stretching like a cat. “Perfect spine alignment.”
The Councilor sputtered in outrage.
Mingxi’s foxfire flared protectively. “Watch your tone.”
The Sentinel didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “She is correct. Her posture is exemplary.”
Another Councilor tried to speak. “The threat is clearly contained—”
“No,” Poppy said immediately.
All eyes snapped to her.
She leaned forward, her voice low, steady, chilling. “The shard was only a fragment.”
A shiver passed through the room.
Lysandra added, far too brightly, “Yes! A nibble. A sample size. An amuse-bouche of doom.”
The Councilor nearest her flinched.
Poppy continued, ignoring her sister entirely, “When the shard was destroyed, something… stirred beneath the moonwell. Something larger. Older. It wasn’t the shard. It was reacting because the shard died.”
“Reacting how?” the Sentinel asked, tone sharp.
Poppy hesitated. “It moved.”
The Councilors froze.
Yunlian spoke quietly for the first time. “The well itself trembled. As though something was waking.”
Lysandra tapped the table. “Waking or rolling over. Hard to tell. Might be both.”
A senior elder snapped, “You expect us to believe this thing still exists?”
“It does,” Poppy said. “It looked at me. Through the shard. It recognized me.” Her hands trembled in her lap. “And when it died… it remembered me.”
A cold murmur swept through the High Council.
Mingxi’s jaw clenched. “Poppy, why didn’t you say—”
“Because it didn’t make sense,” she whispered. “And I hoped I was wrong.”
“You were wrong,” another Councilor barked, voice rising.
“This is fear talking. The moonwell has been stable for centuries—”
“Oh, my gods,” Lysandra said, eyes widening with faux sympathy, “he’s stupid. Poppy, they let this one make decisions?”
The Councilor sputtered. “How dare—”
“That is enough!” another elder thundered.
“Lysandra, you will show respect in this chamber or—”
Lysandra slowly turned toward him, expression sharpening like a blade catching moonlight. “I’ve lived a million lives—beginning, middle, end, and everywhere in between,” Lysandra said, entirely unbothered. “I exist outside time. So forgive me if I no longer play by your archaic little rules.”
A Councilor whispered, horrified, “The Devouring One…”
Lysandra arched a brow. “Oh, please. Don’t say its name like you discovered fire. I’ve known that thing longer than any of you have been alive.”
Half the chamber recoiled, and the other half stopped breathing.
Mingxi’s foxfire flared so sharply the lanterns rattled.
Poppy’s heart slammed painfully against her ribs. “Lysandra—”
But her sister was already leaning back in her chair, composed, almost bored.
“It gnawed at my mind for years,” Lysandra said lightly. “Whispered futures in reverse. Showed me endings before beginnings. Annoying creature, really. No indoor voice.”
One elder choked on his own breath. “It spoke to you?”
“Oh, it never shuts up,” Lysandra said, waving a hand. “That’s what happens when you’re hungry across all of time.”
“Lysandra, stop,” Mingxi warned, voice low, eyes sharp with fear.
She smiled at him, sweet and unhinged. “Why? They wanted truth.”
The Sentinel cleared his throat softly, eyes flicking to the Council. “This chamber is not prepared for this discussion.”
“No,” Lysandra agreed, “they aren’t. But the Void is waking, and your existential crisis is coming on schedule, so perhaps now is the right time to stop pretending the Devouring One is a bedtime story.”