Season 1, Chapter 4 - Undertow

The line went taut in Shew's claws, then slack. They blinked, adjusting their gaze on the water just in time to watch the hook surface empty, the string snapped and trailing uselessly in the current.

"Ugh."

They reeled in the broken line with dazed movements, not really seeing it. Their mind was still in the storage hall, trapped in yesterday's argument. The shouting. The accusations. Flint's flames flickering at his temples while Wren tried to hold everything together with words that felt too thin for the weight they carried. Almost reactively, not with determination.

Why does it have to be this way?

Shew had sat in their corner during the meeting, watching everyone backing into corners. Watching fear turn people into strangers. They'd wanted to say something, offer some perspective that might help, but the words had stayed lodged in their throat. What could they say? That James burning his house down probably had a reason? That maybe everyone should calm down?

It all sounded naive even in their own head.

The broken fishing line dangled from their claw, pathetic and useless. Shew stared at it for a long moment, then set the rod down with more force than necessary.

"I should walk this off," they muttered to no one.

The village. The one they'd found with Iris, tucked past the mangroves with actual traders who didn't ask questions. They'd need string anyway to fix the line. And the walk would clear their head. Give them space from the camp's suffocating tension.

Shew stood, brushing off their poncho, and headed toward their small storage chest near the dock. They packed quickly: bread wrapped in wool, a water bottle, a handful of emeralds, a spare iron pickaxe in case they ran into trouble. The essentials. Nothing fancy.

On the way out of the dock area, they passed the animal pen where Marrow stood dozing in a patch of sunlight. The horse's coat was dappled walnut and white, well-kept despite Shew's tendency to forget grooming schedules. Marrow's ear flicked at their approach.

Shew paused, hand on the fence post, considering. It would be faster to ride. Easier, definitely. The saddle was right there, hanging on the fence.

But the village wasn't terribly far. An hour's walk, maybe two if they took their time. And walking meant more time to think, to let the rhythm of movement quiet the noise in their head.

"I'll walk," Shew said aloud, as if Marrow needed the explanation.

The horse snorted softly and went back to dozing.

Shew adjusted their pack and set off toward the treeline, boots crunching against the dirt path that led away from camp. The mangroves waited in the distance, a dark green smudge against the lighter blue sky.

Behind them, the camp stirred with a weakened morning activity. No clamoring, hushed voices, or the frugal sound of laughter.

The usual life was fading into a bleak turmoil.

Shew glanced back once, taking in the scattered huts and tents, the smoke rising from morning fires, the figures moving between structures with purpose or aimlessness depending on who you watched.

Despite everything, despite the tension and the fear and the sides forming, the camp was quiet. Peaceful, almost, in the early light. Like the storm from the other night had washed away the worst of it, leaving only the aftermath to sort through. Aside from the muddied dirt trails.

Maybe it'll be fine, Shew thought, turning back toward the trees. Maybe everyone just... needs time to cool off.

They didn't quite believe it, but it was easier to walk with hope than dread.

The forest swallowed them gradually, sunlight filtering through leaves in shifting patterns. The path was clear enough at first, well recessed from the rain. Shew kept a steady pace, letting their mind drift as the camp fell away behind them.

The mangroves would be different. Thicker, damper, harder to navigate, even with their gifts. But they'd managed it before with Iris's direction.

They'd manage again.

* * * The morning after the meeting was hard at first.

Callum woke with his skull feeling like someone had taken a jab at it, a dull throb settling behind his eyes and refusing to budge. The storm hadn't helped. Rain hammered his walls all night, thunder rolling through in waves that jolted him awake every time he'd almost drifted off.

He'd managed maybe three hours of actual sleep. The rest was just lying there, staring at the tent ceiling, mind circling through the same thoughts on repeat.

The meeting. The shouting. James in the rain, words cutting through Callum's defenses like they were made of sugarcane.

Watch them. Really watch them.

Callum groaned and sat up slowly, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. The migraine pulsed in response, a steady reminder that today was going to be miserable.

But lying here wasn't helping. He needed food. Something to settle his stomach and maybe take the edge off the headache.

He pulled off the bed and stepped outside, squinting against the morning light. The camp had already been awake around him with people moving between tents, light chatter carrying on the breeze, the smell of furnaces and cooking food drifting from the direction of the kitchen shack.

The kitchen. Right. That's where he was headed.

Callum started walking, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill that still clung to the air from last night's storm. His mind wandered as his feet carried him along the familiar path, thoughts tangling together in a way that made the headache worse.

James. The fire. The election.

Wren and Flint, running for leadership. People picking sides like it was some kind of game, except the stakes were real. The camp could split. People could get hurt.

And James was still out there. Watching.

You and I, we're supposed to look after each other. We're the same.

Callum frowned, the words echoing louder than they should have. Were they the same? Was James right about that? About any of it?

He didn't know anymore. And the not knowing was worse than any answer could be.

The kitchen shack came into view, a small structure near the center of camp with open sides and a roof to keep rain off the cooking area. Storage chests lined one wall, and a few crafting tables sat cluttered with bowls. Callum could already picture the chicken he'd cook. Simple, quick, filling enough to quiet his stomach and maybe give him the energy to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do next.

But as he approached, voices stopped him.

"...what do you want most?" Wren's voice carried from just beyond the shack, near the flower beds Rain had been tending.

Callum slowed, not meaning to eavesdrop but too tired and too hungry to care about going around. He leaned against the side of the shack, waiting for them to finish so he could slip inside without interrupting.

Rain's response was softer, harder to make out. Something about safety. About everyone feeling safe.

Callum's headache throbbed. He closed his eyes, trying to tune it out, placing a hand to his temples, but then Rain spoke again.

"...defenses," they were saying, and Callum's eyes snapped open. "People keep saying that. Safety. Defenses."

The word hung in the air, sharp and pointed.

Defenses.

James's voice crept back in, uninvited but insistent.

See who they protect and who they're willing to sacrifice.

Callum's chest tightened. He pressed harder against the wall, headache forgotten for a moment as his mind started racing.

Defenses. That's what people wanted. That's what Wren was hearing. Protect us. Keep us safe.

But who was "us"? And who wasn't?

He thought about the meeting. About how quickly people had turned on James, how eager some of them had been to declare him a threat. No questions asked. No benefit of the doubt.

Had anyone asked Callum what he thought? Had anyone checked on him after he'd walked out?

No.

He'd been invisible. Just another face in the crowd. Not important enough to matter.

Rain laughed at something Wren said, the sound light and genuine, and Callum felt something twist in his gut.

Were those smiles real? Had they ever been?

Or had everyone just been polite to him because it was easier than saying what they really thought... that he was dead weight. A human in a camp full of people with wings and claws and powers he'd never have. He was inefficient.

You work because you need to believe it matters.

James had said that. And Callum had wanted to argue, to prove him wrong. That he was someone that mattered, mattered to them.

But what if he wasn't?

He pushed off the wall, hunger forgotten, and started walking in the opposite direction. He didn't want food anymore. He didn't want to hear Wren talk about defenses or Rain talk about safety or anyone else talk about what they needed.

Because none of it included him.

Was James right?

Was he seeing something real, or was he just looking for it because James had planted the idea?

Callum didn't know.

* * * "You need to actually talk to people," Toni said, arms crossed, blocking the doorway of Wren's hut like a particularly determined guard.

Wren adjusted her glasses, not meeting his eyes. "I have talked to people. I talk to people all the time!"

"About leadership. About what they want. About the election." Toni stepped closer, expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. "You can't just win by default because you're not... Flint." He jabbed.

"Why not? That's a pretty solid platform."

"Mom."

Wren sighed, dragging a hand through her platinum pink hair. "This feels ridiculous. I'm not a politician."

"You'll be terrible," Toni said immediately, grinning. "That's why they'll vote for you."

Wren blinked at him. "That... Look I'm your gal for pranks, not politics."

"You already stepped up." Toni meandered aside, gesturing toward the door. "People care who knows how to campaign! They want someone who cares. Someone real."

"I'm not real..."

"You're the realest person I know!" He nudged her shoulder. "Come on. Start with someone easy. Rain's always nice."

Wren groaned but didn't argue. She grabbed her gloves from the table, tugging them on as she stepped out into the morning light. Toni waved from behind, practically bouncing with an energy she couldn't quite match.

"You're enjoying this too much," Wren muttered.

"Good luck!"

She found Rain near the flower beds, kneeling in the dirt with their hands buried in soil. Tulips and roses lined the path in neat rows, a splash of color against the camp's muted browns and greens. Rain's ashen hair fell forward as they worked, focused and peaceful in a way that made Wren feel guilty for interrupting.

"Howdy, Rain." Wren called out, voice awkward and too loud.

Rain looked up, blinking, and smiled softly. "Oh, hey Wren." They brushed dirt from their knees and stood. "What's up?"

Wren opened her mouth, then closed it. Glancing at the greenery.

"So..." She cleared her throat. "What do you want most? From a leader, I mean."

Rain tilted their head, considering. "I just want everyone to be safe..." They said it simply, like it was obvious. "That's all, really."

"Safe," Wren repeated, nodding slowly. "Right. That makes sense."

"Everyone seems to be talking about defenses," Rain added, glancing toward the edge of camp where Moss had been building fences the day before. "Building walls, setting up watches. That kind of thing."

Wren straightened suddenly, puffing out her chest and flexing her arms in an exaggerated pose. "Fear not, citizen! For I, your glorious leader, shall defend you with these!" She struck another ridiculous pose, biceps barely visible under her rolled sleeves.

Rain laughed, the sound bright and genuine.

"Very intimidating," Rain said, still smiling.

Wren dropped the pose, grinning despite herself. "I'll add 'muscular authority' to my campaign promises."

But Rain's smile faded slightly, expression turning thoughtful. They looked down at the flowers, fingers brushing the petals of a tulip absently. "I guess... I'm just worried James will do something worse. You know?"

The lightness drained from the moment like water through a sieve.

Wren's grin faltered. "Yeah. I know."

"I mean, he burned his house." Rain's voice was quieter now. "What if next time it's not just his house? What if he comes back and..." They trailed off, not finishing the thought.

Wren shifted, the humor gone from her posture.

Wren didn't have a good answer. She wanted to say something reassuring, something confident, but the truth was she didn't know what James would do. None of them did. That was the problem.

"We'll figure it out," she said finally, and it sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Rain nodded, but they didn't look convinced. "I hope so."

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy, until Wren cleared her throat again. "I should, uh... keep going. Talk to more people."

"Good luck," Rain said softly, turning back to the flowers.

Wren walked away trailing behind with doubt, the weight of the conversation settling over her shoulders like a wet cloak.

"How'd it go?" Toni offered, catching up after a moment.

"I'm not sure, honestly." Wren glanced back toward Rain, who was kneeling again, hands in the dirt but movements slower now. Distracted. "All I did was remind them to be scared."

"You didn't do that. Flint did."

Wren didn't respond. She kept walking, trying to shake the image of Rain's uncertain smile, the way their voice had gone quiet when they mentioned what James might do next.

But she knew she had to.

* * * Shew phased through another tangle of mangrove roots, their phantom form slipping between the twisted wood like smoke through a fence. It was easier than climbing, sure, but it didn't help with navigation.

They emerged on the other side and stopped, looking around at more roots, more water, more dense green canopy blocking out the sky.

"Where did I get off the path?" Shew muttered, turning in a slow circle.

Nothing looked familiar. The trip with Iris had been straightforward, relatively speaking. Follow the shore, cut through the mangroves at the clearing, keep the sun on your left. Simple.

Except Shew had been walking for over an hour now, and nothing about this felt simple anymore.

They'd definitely been in the thick of it longer than before. Way longer. The roots were denser here, the water deeper, the air heavier with humidity that clung to their poncho like a second skin.

Their tail flicked in irritation. Iris had teased them about it during their first trip here and Shew had waved it off because they'd been following her the whole time. Easy. Simple.

Shew sighed, adjusting their pack. "I should've brought the map. Iris has the map. Of course she does."

They tried to retrace their steps, picking through the undergrowth with less confidence than before. A frog croaked nearby, then another, the sounds echoing off the water in a rhythm that might've been soothing if Shew wasn't so turned around.

After another twenty minutes of fruitless wandering, Shew stopped completely. Turned back toward where camp should be, even though the trees and distance made it invisible from here.

"I should've ridden Marrow," they said aloud to no one. "This is exactly why I have a horse! Idiot."

But there was no point dwelling on it now. They were here, lost, and the only way out was forward. Or sideways. Or some direction that eventually led somewhere recognizable. I didn't help that every direction looked the same here.

Shew pushed deeper into the swamp, frustration mounting with each step. They passed a cluster of frogs sunning themselves on a log and gestured at them with both claws.

"You guys want to help? Point me to the village?" Shew asked, only half joking.

The frogs stared back, unblinking.

One of them ribbited.

"Thanks. Thanks fellas."

Shew kept moving, boots squelching through shallow water, tail flicking behind them in irritation. The swamp stretched on endlessly, roots and vines and murky pools meld together.

But then, slowly, things started to change as they moved through.

The air felt stale. Not bad, exactly, just... flat. Like it had been sitting still for too long. Shew noticed it first in the way sound carried differently, muffled and strange, like the swamp itself had gone quiet. The croaks they once were surrounded by, left them.

The branches overhead looked stiffer too. Less tangled. More rigid, almost geometric in how they stretched out from the trunks. And the undergrowth, which had been a chaotic mess of vines and moss and lily pads, was thinning out.

Shew slowed, looking around with growing unease.

The vegetation opened up ahead into a small clearing, the canopy pulling back just enough to let pale light filter through. In the center sat a shallow pond, the water so still it looked like glass.

And half-submerged in the pond was a boat.

Shew stopped at the edge of the clearing, staring.

The boat was old. Very old, maybe. The wood had rotted in places, holes eaten through the hull where water had seeped in and settled. But despite the decay, it was still intact. Still recognizable as a boat, even if it looked like it had been sitting here for decades.

The wood itself was strange. Pale, almost white, with a dull finish that didn't quite match anything Shew had seen before. Not oak, not birch, not spruce. Something else entirely.

Shew stepped closer, boots splashing softly in the shallow water. The boat tilted at an awkward angle, one side higher than the other, like it had crashed and never been righted.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" Shew murmured, running a claw along the edge of the hull.

The wood was soft under their touch, waterlogged and fragile. But something about it felt deliberate. Like it had been placed here, not washed up by accident.

Shew circled the boat slowly, taking in the details. No oars. No supplies visible inside. Just the rotted frame and the strange pale wood and the eerie stillness of the pond around it.

And then they saw it.

Tucked into a gap between two planks, protected from the water by some miracle of positioning, was a tattered book.

Shew reached for it carefully, pulling it free. The paper inside was moist but intact, the ink shimmering faintly in the light.

They unfolded it slowly, mismatched eyes scanning the text.

And the air felt just a little bit colder. The swamp's usual humidity leaving them.

* * * Moss's hillside bungalow sat tucked into the slope like it had grown there naturally, half-buried in dirt and grass with a rounded door that reminded Wren of something cozy and private. Normally the place looked welcoming, but today it was surrounded by construction.

Moss was crouched near the base of the hill, hammering fence posts into the ground with methodical precision. A pile of wooden planks sat nearby, ready to be assembled into a makeshift perimeter. Their movements were rhythmic, like they'd been at this for hours.

Wren approached slowly, Toni hanging back near the path to give her space. "Howdy."

Moss looked up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Wren. Up to anything new?"

"I wanted to ask you something." Wren gestured vaguely raising her hands. "About the election. And, uh, what you'd want from a leader."

Moss set down a fence and stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Just..." Wren adjusted her posture, feeling the awkwardness creep back in. "What do you want most? From whoever ends up in charge?"

Moss didn't hesitate. "I think we should protect ourselves if something happens. Nothing wrong with defenses."

Wren nodded slowly, glancing at the fence posts. "Right. Makes sense."

"I mean, look." Moss glanced at the half-built perimeter. "I'm not saying James is definitely coming back to burn the whole place down. But if he does, I'd rather have a fence than a prayer, you know?" He shrugged, his tone easy, matter-of-fact. "Flow with the river, prepare for the rapids. That's how I see it."

Wren tried for a joke, forcing a grin. "So you're saying I should promise everyone a fence? Vote Wren, free fences for all?"

Moss blinked at her, expression unchanged. "I mean, if you're offering, I wouldn't say no... honestly."

The joke fell flat, and Wren's grin faded. "Right. Yeah. I'll, uh, add that to the list."

Moss picked up the fence again, already turning back to his work. "You'll do fine, Wren. Just... don't overthink it." He loosened his arms and gave one look back at Wren, "We're all pretty unsure what to do."

Wren gave a weak wave and turned away, Toni falling into stride beside her as they headed back toward the main path.

"That went well," Toni offered.

"Did it?" Wren muttered. "I'm starting to think everyone just wants walls and weapons, and I'm out here giving terrible puns."

"People like puns."

"Moss didn't."

Toni didn't argue.

They walked in silence for a bit before Wren spotted the ravine in the distance, the treeline thickening as the camp's outskirts gave way to wilder terrain. Cheri's cave sat somewhere up there, tucked into the rocks like a secret.

"One more," Wren said, mostly to herself. "Then I'm done for today."

The climb wasn't steep, but it was enough to make Wren's legs burn by the time she reached the cave entrance. The opening was narrow, just wide enough for one person to slip through, and the interior was dim even in daylight.

Wren ducked inside, letting her eyes adjust. "Cheri? You in here?"

A muffled sound came from deeper in the cave. Wren stepped carefully over loose rocks and uneven ground until she spotted Cheri lying on a makeshift bed, a book held over her face like a shield.

"Cheri?"

The book shifted slightly. "What."

"I wanted to ask you something. About the election."

"No."

Wren blinked. "I haven't even asked yet."

"Don't care. Still no." The book stayed firmly in place.

Wren sighed, crossing her arms. "Come on. What do you want from a leader? Hypothetically!"

There was a long pause. Then, with a groan, Cheri lowered the book and squinted at Wren with her one visible eye. "I'd rather be left alone. But if I can't have that, I want whoever's in charge to not make things worse."

Wren chuckled at the indifference, the sound echoing off the cave walls. "That's a low bar."

Cheri sat up slowly, setting the book aside. "You'd be surprised how many people can't clear it."

Wren's laughter faded, and she groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Yeah... I'm starting to get that."

Cheri leaned forward, studying Wren with something that might've been curiosity. "I don't feel the need to ask, but I'm surprised you're bothering with this."

"You can tell, huh?" Wren slumped against the cave wall, letting the facade drop for a moment. "Who am I kidding. I'm only doing this because Flint is out for blood. I'm not a leader!"

Cheri didn't respond right away. She just watched, expression unreadable behind the mess of brown hair that covered her one eye.

"Then why run?" Cheri asked finally.

"Because someone has to." Wren pushed off the wall, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Can't say no to a challenge, right?"

Cheri snorted softly. "Sure. Whatever you say."

Wren gave a lazy salute and turned to leave, stepping back out into the daylight. The weight on her shoulders hadn't lifted, but at least she'd gotten through it.

Three people down. However many more to go.

* * * Shew unfolded the paper carefully, holding it up to the sunlight filtering through the clearing. The ink shimmered faintly, catching the light in a way that felt wrong, like it was moving even though the page was still.

Most of it was nonsense. Scribbles and symbols that twisted across the surface in a language Shew didn't recognize, patterns that almost formed words but never quite did. They squinted at it, turning the page sideways, then upside down, trying to find any semblance of meaning.

But then, near the bottom, something clear emerged.

A map.

It was rough, sketched in the same shimmering ink, but unmistakable. The mangrove swamp spread across the lower portion in tangled lines. An area marked with small squares that could've been the village sat to the east. And further north, climbing up the page, a mountain rose with sharp angles and careful detail.

At its peak, someone had drawn an image. A structure. Something deliberate and precise, standing alone against the blank space of the page.

Shew stared at it, mismatched eyes tracing the path from where they stood to where the monument waited.

"North," they murmured. "Up the mountain..."

They folded the paper and tucked it into their pack, glancing back at the rotted boat one more time before turning toward the edge of the clearing. The village could wait. String could wait.

Whatever this was, it felt more important.

Shew pushed back into the swamp, following the map's direction as best they could. The terrain shifted gradually, trees thinning out as the ground sloped upward. The humidity lifted, replaced by cooler air that bit at their exposed skin.

The wildlife disappeared first. No more frogs croaking in the distance. No animals calling from the bushes. Just grass, trees, and the quiet hum of the wind.

Shew's breath came out in visible puffs after another hour of walking, the temperature dropping steadily as they climbed. Their poncho did little to block the cold, and they wrapped it tighter around themselves, tail curling close.

The landscape changed completely now. The mangroves were long gone, replaced by sparse clusters of spruce and patches of snow that clung to the ground in uneven layers. The air felt thin, sharp, biting at the back of Shew's throat with every inhale.

And then, finally, they saw it.

The mountain rose ahead, its peak flattened into a plateau that stretched wide and empty. Snow covered everything, broken only by brittle tufts of grass that poked through like stubborn survivors.

And at the center of the plateau stood the monument.

A dark, symmetrical stone temple stood alone atop the snow-covered plateau. From where they stood, its thick, blocky walls and sharply angled roof gave it the air of a fortress. The air felt heavy here, still and untouched, as though the world itself had forgotten this place. Sparse tufts of brittle grass clung to the frozen ground, half-buried in snow, and beyond them the structure loomed. It was cold, silent, and perfectly preserved amid the long decay of everything else.

At the heart of the structure, just beyond the archway, stood a great chiseled frame. It seemed to drink in the surrounding air.

Shew climbed the last stretch slowly, boots crunching through snow, breath coming faster as exhaustion and altitude caught up with them. By the time they reached the entrance, their legs burned and their lungs ached.

The archway was wide enough for two people to walk through side by side, framed by dark stone that looked almost black in the dim light. Shew stepped inside, and the temperature dropped further, the cold biting through their poncho like it wasn't even there.

The interior was hollow, empty except for the frame at its center.

Shew circled it slowly, speaking aloud without meaning to. "What is this place? Why is it all the way out here?"

The frame was massive, easily twice Shew's height, carved from the same dark stone as the walls. Intricate patterns etched into its surface spiraled inward, drawing the eye toward the empty space at its center.

Shew stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly. Their claw hovered just above the frame's surface, tracing the air along one of the carved lines.

And then the frame ignited.

Not with fire. Not with light. But with something else, something that pushed away the air itself, taking color from the room like snow fighting it's way through an open door. The stone walls bleached pale. The snow outside faded to gray. Even Shew's poncho dulled, the vibrant blue muting into washed-out tones.

"W-What the..." Shew stumbled back, panic flaring hot in their chest.

But curiosity wins.

It always does.

Shew stepped forward again, this time activating their phantom nature, their form flickering translucent as they reached out. Their claw passed through the frame's center, hand disappearing through an invisible veil, and the cold hit them like a physical blow.

Ice cold. Bone-deep. Despite the shift.

"I can... feel it?"

And then reality peeled away.

The sun rays in the room shifted violently, the walls bending and warping as stone pillars erupted from the ground, growing upward and outward, transforming into something else entirely. The dark stone changed, smoothing into polished black surfaces that stretched infinitely upward.

Shew stumbled backward, claws scraping against nothing. "What, no, wait..."

Their boots, once crunching through snow, found themselves almost hovering now. The ground beneath them was solid but invisible, like walking on glass over an endless drop. Shew dropped to their knees instinctively, palms flat against the surface that shouldn't exist, breathing hard.

"Okay. Okay, this isn't real. This isn't..." They looked up.

The sky above, if it could be called a sky, was pale and empty. Not white. Not gray. Just... absent. Drained of detail.

And the pillars stretched up into it, black against the void, reaching so far they disappeared into nothing.

Shew's chest tightened. They tried to activate their phantom nature again, tried to phase back through, but nothing happened. Their body stayed solid, stuck, trapped in an unknown world.

"No no no..." Shew spun in place, panic spiking hot and immediate. "Where am I? What is this?" Their voice cracked. "How do I get back? I need to get back!"

They turned toward where the frame should be, where the temple should be, but there was nothing. Just pillars and void and that horrible pale emptiness stretching in every direction.

Shew's breathing came faster, shallow and uneven. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

Silence.

And then, softly, a voice.

"You are here, in The Beyond."

The words didn't come from a direction. They appeared, threaded through Shew's thoughts like they'd always been there.

Shew's tail curled tight in shock. "Who's there?"

A pause. Longer than before. Almost hesitant.

"We... do not know. Not entirely. We are here. We have always been here. But the why..." The voice trailed off, not with drama, but with a confusion. "You may call us Fate. It feels... correct, even if we do not know why."

Shew's claws flexed. "You... don't know your name?"

"We know what we are called. We do not know what we are." A pause. "Does that trouble you?"

"Should I be? Troubled?"

"Perhaps. But you came here anyway. That suggests you were meant to."

"Meant to? What do you mean, what's going on?"

"We do not know." The honesty in the voice was oddly comforting. "But we know this: you will change now. You have already begun. We will help you understand what that means, as we understand it ourselves."

Shew looked down at their hands. The tips of their claws were paler, drained of color, fading. "What's happening to me?"

"You are becoming what you need to be. We cannot explain it better than that. But we will stay with you. We will help you see. And perhaps..." The voice softened. "Perhaps you will help us remember."

Shew's chest tightened. They wanted to argue, to demand answers, to understand what was happening. But the voice, was just as lost as they were.

"What happens now?" Shew whispered.

"For now, sleep, Shew."

And the world went dark.

* * * Wren stood near the center of camp, mentally tallying the conversations she'd had throughout the day. Rain, Moss, Cheri. Then Nyla, briefly, who'd mostly just nodded along and said she trusted whatever everyone else decided. Iris had been more opinionated, going on about accountability and making sure James didn't slip through the cracks again.

But there was one person she hadn't talked to yet.

Callum.

Wren glanced around, spotting Toni near the storage hall organizing supplies. She walked over, tapping his shoulder. "Hey, I'm going to track down Callum. Can you whip something up for us to eat? It's getting late."

Toni looked up at the orange sky and nodded. "Sure. Mushroom Stew?"

"Whatever's easy." Wren adjusted her glasses. "I'll be back soon."

She headed toward the kitchen area, the small shack where most of the camp's communal cooking happened. It was quiet now, the dinner rush already passed, but she caught sight of a tall figure approaching from the opposite direction.

Callum.

He walked with his hands in his pockets, head down, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. When he noticed Wren, his steps slowed but didn't stop.

"Callum," Wren called out, closing the distance between them. "Hey. I've been meaning to catch you."

Callum stopped, meeting her eyes briefly before looking away. "Yeah?"

"I wanted to ask you something. About the election." Wren tried for a casual tone, the same one she'd been using all day. "What do you want most from a leader? What matters to you?"

Callum's jaw clenched. "Does it matter what I think?"

Wren blinked. "Of course it does. That's why I'm asking."

"Right." Callum's voice was flat. "Because you're campaigning. Checking boxes."

"I'm not checking boxes," Wren said, more confident now after a full day of this. "I'm actually trying to understand what people need." She was proud of it.

Callum let out a short breath that might've been a laugh. "People. Sure."

Wren frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Callum coughed. "It's just interesting, that's all. Everyone suddenly cares so much about what everyone else thinks. Just seems convenient."

"It's not about convenience," Wren said, keeping her tone steady. "It's about making sure whoever's gets the charge actually listens."

"To who, though?" Callum's eyes flicked back to hers, sharper now. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like people only listen when it's someone they already agree with."

Wren crossed her arms. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Callum took a step closer, voice dropping. "When's the last time anyone asked me what I thought? Before this? Before you needed my vote?"

"What? That's not..." Wren stopped, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. "Callum, where is this coming from?"

"I heard you earlier," Callum said, words coming faster now. "Talking to Rain. About defenses. About protecting people." His voice tightened. "Protecting your own, right? That's what matters?"

Wren's mouth opened, confusion flashing across her face. "That's not what I...!"

"And I get it," Callum cut her off, something breaking loose in his chest. "I'm just the guy who carries boxes and tries to keep up. I don't have claws or wings or fire. I tried helping Moss with the fences this morning, you know what he said?" His voice pitched higher, mocking. "'Unless you've got claws or something useful for digging.'"

"Callum, he probably didn't mean..."

"It doesn't matter what he meant!" Callum's hands clenched at his sides. "Because that's what I am here. Not useful. Not special. Just some guy who showed up and everyone's been too polite to say they don't actually need me."

Wren stared at him, words caught in her throat. She wanted to correct him, to explain what Rain had actually said, but Callum wasn't stopping.

"You got your answer," Callum said, voice dropping to something hollow. "I don't know what I want from a leader because I don't think it matters what I want."

Wren finally found her voice. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" Callum's voice cracked, and for a moment something raw flickered across his face. Hurt. Genuine, deep hurt that made Wren's chest tighten. "You know what, forget it. I'm not doing this."

He turned and walked away before Wren could respond, his long strides carrying him back toward the path, shoulders rigid.

Wren stood there, watching him go. Her mind spun, trying to piece together what had just happened. He'd misheard. He'd misunderstood. But he'd left before she could explain, and the hurt in his voice had been so real it made her own words feel inadequate.

Part of her wanted to follow, to chase him down and force him to listen. But another part, the part that had spent all day being patient and diplomatic and trying to hold everything together, felt the sharp sting of his accusations.

She'd been trying. She'd been asking everyone. And he'd thrown it back in her face like she was the problem.

"What's his problem?" she muttered to herself, rubbing her temple.

She turned back toward the kitchen, then stopped. Looked over her shoulder at Callum's retreating figure one more time.

Something was wrong. Really wrong. But she didn't know what, and right now she didn't have the energy to untangle it.

Wren shook her head and kept walking.

* * * Shew had woken in their own bed with no memory of how they got there.

One moment, the pale void and Fate's voice telling them to sleep. The next, sunlight filtering through the gaps in their hut's walls, the familiar weight of their blanket tangled around their legs, and the distant sound of the outside.

For a moment, they'd thought it was a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination brought on by getting lost in the swamp.

But then they'd looked down and seen their claws. Paler at the tips, drained of color.

And clenched in their right hand was the tattered book, slightly crumpled from their grip but undeniably real.

Shew had sat up slowly, staring at it. Then, without thinking too hard about what it meant, they'd tucked it deep into their storage chest beneath spare clothes and fishing tackle. Hidden. Safe. Something to deal with later when their head stopped spinning.

That had been an hour ago.

The sun broke over the horizon in shades of orange and pink, painting the ocean in a vibrant display. Shew sat perched in the branches of a tall spruce at the camp's edge, legs dangling, one hand gripping the trunk for balance. They'd woken early, unable to sleep after everything, and climbed up here to watch the world wake up.

Below, the camp was awake again. Smoke rose from morning fires. Voices carried faintly on the wind.

Shew stared at the water, lost in thought.

You are troubled, Fate observed quietly in the back of their mind.

"I'm fine," Shew muttered aloud.

Down below, near the center of camp, Iris's voice rose sharp and animated. Toni stood across from her, gesturing with both hands, clearly in the middle of some debate. Probably about the election. Everything was about the election now.

They are afraid, Fate observed.

"I know," Shew whispered under their breath.

Iris's head snapped upward, wings shifting as she scanned the trees. "You backing me up, Shew?"

Shew blinked, caught. "No, no, it's all you. Just talking to myself."

Iris squinted at them for a moment longer, then turned back to Toni with a shrug.

You will need to be more careful, Fate noted. They cannot hear us, but they will notice you speaking to no one.

Shew grimaced. Right. That was going to take some getting used to.

They turned their gaze back to the horizon, where the ocean glittered under the rising sun. The water stretched endlessly, calm and unbothered by whatever chaos stirred on land.

"You're still here," Shew said quieter now, barely a whisper.

"We are. We will always be, now," Fate replied. "Are you afraid?"

"I don't know. Should I be?"

"We do not think so. But we do not know fear as you do."

Shew exhaled slowly, tail curling around the branch beneath them. "Where was I? That place with the pillars. What was that?"

"The Beyond. A space outside your world. Neither here nor there."

"Helpful," Shew muttered. They paused, then asked, "Are you my conscience? Like, some part of my brain that split off or something?"

"We do not believe so. We are separate. But we are with you now."

Shew nodded, processing. Then, more bluntly: "Am I dead?"

"You are not..."

"I'm joking," Shew interrupted, a laugh breaking through despite everything. "Sorry. Bad joke."

Fate was quiet for a moment. Then: "Ah. Humor. We are still learning that."

Shew smiled faintly, shaking their head. The absurdity of it all settled over them like a blanket. They'd walked into a temple, touched a frame, and come back with a voice in their head that didn't understand jokes.

"This is my life now," Shew said aloud.

"It is," Fate agreed simply.

Shew looked down at their hands, turning them over slowly.

"What happens now?" Shew asked again.

"We do not know," Fate admitted. "But we will face it together."

Shew sat with that for a moment, watching the sun climb higher. Below, the camp continued its morning routines. Iris and Toni had moved on from their argument. Someone was hammering something in the distance. Life went on, oblivious to the fact that Shew had stepped outside the world and come back different.

"Guess we'll figure it out," Shew murmured.

"Yes," Fate agreed. "We will."

Shew stayed in the tree a little longer, letting the quiet settle. The ocean glittered. The camp buzzed. And in the back of their mind, steady and constant, Fate waited.

It was strange. It was unsettling.

But it wasn't unbearable.

Not yet, anyway.