"Doomed never to escape this life, what other way do I have but to move on?" — Scars

  Scars looked straight ahead. In the center of the glass-still lake, the lunar fragment no longer resembled a tiny woodland bird. The silver owl towered ten feet high, its obsidian sclera and liquid silver irises staring down at her with ancient, unblinking patience. It was waiting for her to fulfill her end of the bargain.

  The spiritual realm was suffocatingly comfortable. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and impossible peace. The water beneath her knees felt like warm silk. The exhaustion of two centuries of violence settled into her bones, whispering a seductive, lethargic suggestion: She felt like a sick child being offered the warm, protective arms of a mother.

  Scars ordered herself, biting the inside of her cheek until the taste of copper grounded her.

  She forced herself to stand, her silver dress dripping with dark water. This was the deadliest trap of a Fragment’s realm—the temptation of its beauty. During the Great War of the Heralds, this was how so many powerful warriors died. In an age of endless nightmares, who wouldn't willingly drown in a comforting dream?

  She locked eyes with the towering owl. She needed to understand the entity she was binding herself to.

  "Every fragment requires a specific pact," Scars said, her voice sounding small in the vast expanse. "According to the grand libraries, Lua was the Goddess of the Full Moon, the first, the mother of the tides." She paused, recalling the fragmented lore. "Khaos, Lua, and Order. The original three. Legends say that in her final breath, Lua appeared to dying warriors. She offered them a song of absolute comfort, calming their terror so they could cross the veil in peace, carrying only their best memories."

  She didn't actually expect the Fragment to answer. But the water rippled.

  "Yes," a voice boomed. It didn't come from the owl's beak, but reverberated from the depths of the lake and the shadowed edges of the forest. It was a deep, resonant hum that vibrated in Scars' teeth. "My master, Lua, was peace in the despair of death. The light that illuminated the dark of the end. But her song was sealed. The other moons carry her legacy, but none can replicate her true essence."

  The giant owl leaned forward, bringing its massive silver face level with hers.

  "Scars," the voice echoed, heavy with mourning. "The one who condemned Khaos. The one cursed by the four false gods. You, who were condemned never to hear the moon's song... because you became the very spear the gods used to smite him. Condemned for being deceived. Condemned for using your gift to butcher the one who gave it to you."

  Scars froze. The breath vanished from her lungs. She looked down, staring at her blurred, rippling reflection in the dark water. The absolute truth of the words was a physical weight crushing her chest.

  "The payment extracted for your sin was not fair. It is still not fair," the Fragment murmured, its tone softening with ancient pity. "We recognize this. But we can do nothing but watch from the sky as you collect your scars. Even now, you walk toward an invisible scar—one that will cut deeper than any blade ever could."

  "When?" Scars whispered. A traitorous, hot tear spilled over her eyelashes, hitting the lake with a soft . She hated herself for it. "When will I be allowed to rest?"

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  "In this realm, only the truth is spoken," the owl replied. "Your rest is far away. But a day will come when two brothers will intervene. A day when the legionaries will once again walk the bloodied earth." The owl ruffled its massive silver feathers, agitated. "I have revealed more than the veil permits. I risk my own essence."

  Scars wiped her cheek violently with the back of her hand and looked up. "If you already know my history—if you know everything I've done—why demand a pact?"

  The owl let out a low, echoing laugh. "Because, sweet child, history is merely the surface of the water. The song is the purest expression of a soul. We know your actions, but only know the truth that governs your essence. The words you swallow. The feelings you violently repress. The anxieties. The terrors. Bleed them for me."

  Scars closed her eyes. She didn't sing. She just let the dam break.

  It was a torrential flood of raw, bleeding sensation.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  The warm lake vanished. The freezing, putrid air of the Shadow Forest hit her lungs like a physical blow. She was back on her knees in the mud, covered in dried blood and wearing her battered pants. The silver fragment, now the size of a normal woodland owl, perched on the fallen pine tree.

  On the back of Scars' left hand, a glowing silver tattoo of the lunar phases burned into her skin. The agonizing bear bite on her right arm was completely gone, sealed over with smooth, pale tissue.

  The pact was struck.

  The owl watched in silence as Scars immediately turned toward the bear's corpse. Time to pay the toll for the Abyss magic.

  "Creatures of the abyss, who dare to tread in the realms of earth," Scars rasped, holding her newly tattooed left hand over the carcass. "By the light that pierces the night, I demand your unmaking."

  Because she lacked the proper alchemical reagents, the magic fed directly on her flesh. The skin of her left hand instantly necrotized, turning a bruised, rotting black. The flesh peeled back, exposing muscle and tendon as the spell ripped through her system. Scars gritted her teeth against the searing agony.

  A flash of blinding, silver-white fire erupted from her rotting palm, completely engulfing the black flames on the bear. In an instant, the corpse, the Abyssal corruption, and the remaining larvae were reduced to a pile of sterile, white ash.

  "Your incantation is somewhat sloppy," the Fragment noted, tilting its head. "But the result is acceptable."

  Scars ignored the throbbing in her rotting hand—it would heal eventually, it always did. She broke into a heavy jog, heading back down the trail to retrieve the bladed half of her spear. The owl took flight, gliding silently beside her shoulder.

  "What is the rush?" the Fragment asked.

  "The Endless Night is early. The first few days are always a slaughterhouse as the abyss creatures frenzy. I need my weapon."

  "A logistical query," the owl pondered aloud. "If the night is endless... how do you know when a day has actually passed?"

  Scars stopped dead in her tracks. Her steel boots slid in the wet mud. She slowly turned her head to stare at the glowing, ancient spirit of lunar wisdom.

  "How do I cancel a pact?" she asked, her voice entirely deadpan.

  "WHAT?!" The owl flared its wings. "It is a perfectly reasonable question!"

  Scars started running again, rolling her eyes. "Even if the sky is completely blotted out, the ambient essence of the world shifts. Barometric pressure, tidal pulls, the subtle weight of the air... everything changes between day and night. Any novice hunter in the woods knows that." She shot the bird a sidelong, incredulous glare. "Don't tell me I tied my soul to a useless fragment who doesn't even know how its own tides work."

  "I-I obviously knew that!" the owl squawked, its dignity thoroughly ruffled.

  Scars thought. But despite the rotting flesh of her hand and the encroaching apocalypse, a tiny, genuine smirk touched her lips.