I run my fingers along the rim of my cup, listening but not really hearing. The street beyond the café window is lively - vendors calling out, people wrapped in thick coats against the early winter wind - but the world inside feels quieter, more distant. Selene sits across from me, stirring her tea absentmindedly, her gaze lowered. Next to her, Cyrus leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching us both with that easy confidence of his. He’s waiting for someone to speak. Probably me.

  It’s been two years. Two years since that night. Since the dream I still can’t explain. Since Selene vanished and reappeared after a few day as if nothing had happened. Only, something had happened. She isn’t the same girl I grew up with. It’s not something you’d notice right away. If you hadn’t known her before, you’d think this was just who she was - quiet, reserved, polite. But I remember the Selene who used to argue for the sake of arguing, who always had something sharp to say, who never hesitated to speak her mind. She still talks, still smiles at the right moments, but there’s a delay to it, like she has to remind herself how she’s supposed to react. Her words come softer now, sometimes halting, like she’s picking through them more carefully than before. And she never used to be clumsy. She reaches for her cup, and for a second, I think she’ll miss it. She doesn’t - but there’s a hesitation there, like she had to readjust at the last moment. It’s a tiny thing. Barely noticeable. But I notice. I always do.

  “Where do you want to go for the festival?” Cyrus finally asks, breaking the silence. Selene shakes her head.

  “I’d rather not impose.”

  “‘Impose’?” Cyrus raises a brow.

  “Come on, it’s New Moon’s Fest. You’re not spending it alone.” She glances at me, then back down at her drink.

  “I just mean… I don’t want to be a burden.”

  I frown. She’s never talked like this before. A burden? As if we weren’t all practically inseparable growing up. As if Cyrus and I would ever turn her away.

  “My place is too small,” I say, leaning back.

  “And my parents aren’t exactly… welcoming.” Understatement. If I so much as asked to bring someone over, my mother would probably have a fit. Selene gives me a small, knowing smile. She understands without me having to say anything else. Cyrus sighs, dramatic as ever, and spreads his arms.

  “Looks like my place it is, then.” That was always going to be the answer. His house - his mansion, really - has more rooms than he knows what to do with. His parents host gatherings for the city's elite every year, and this time will be no different. But we’ll have the top floor and the roof terrace, a place to watch the moons change places away from the noise below.

  “So it’s settled,” he says, standing and stretching.

  “I’ll let the staff know to set things up.” Selene nods, but something about her expression lingers with me. Like she’s grateful, but also uncertain. Like she’s still standing at the edge of something I can’t see. I watch her carefully as we leave the café, stepping back into the cold, into the crowds. I don’t say anything, but I know. The girl I grew up with is gone. This version of Selene is different. Softer. Smaller. Changed. And the worst part?

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  I don’t think she even realizes it.

  Cyrus’ house is less of a house and more of a statement. A towering mansion of polished stone, tall windows, and ivy-clad walls, perched on the upper terraces of Duskreach like it was carved into the city itself. The entrance alone is grander than any home I’ve ever set foot in, flanked by statues and lanterns that cast long shadows over the pathway. The roof terrace, though, is my favorite part. A wide, open space lined with a wrought-iron railing, offering an unobstructed view of the city below. The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of burning wood from the festival preparations down in the streets. Cyrus paces near the center, where our torch stands unlit, its fuse trailing along the stone floor like a waiting serpent. He keeps checking it, running a hand along the waxed rope, making sure everything is in place. Excited energy hums off of him - he usually is not that fond of traditions, but this one can keep him on edge for an entire day.

  I stand on the guardrail, gripping one of the pillars for balance, gazing out across the city. From here, Duskreach sprawls endlessly, lights flickering in the streets, but the sky - the sky - is what truly holds my attention. No clouds, only the endless stretch of stars, scattered like shattered glass across the heavens. And at the center of it all, the amethyst moon, glowing with its deep, violet light. Selene sits nearby in an armchair, legs tucked up, a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She isn’t looking at the city, nor at the sky. Just… somewhere. Her expression is distant, unreadable.

  “One minute,” Cyrus says.

  His voice pulls me back, and I turn to see him holding out two smaller torches. He hands one to me first, then hesitates before offering the second to Selene. Our eyes meet for just a second - Are you sure? - but I say nothing. Selene blinks, then silently takes the torch and stands.

  The world quiets. All eyes turn to the clock tower.

  Everyone is waiting, watching. A deep, resonant chime rings out, the first of twelve. It rolls through the city like a wave, heavy, ancient, the kind of sound that settles in your bones. The second chime follows, then the third, each one measured and deliberate.

  By the twelfth, silence reigns.

  And then, movement.

  The amethyst moon shifts.

  A low rumble stirs the air, but strangely, the wind itself is silent. I feel it more than I hear it, a presence pressing against my body. Slowly, impossibly, the moon slides to the side, revealing the glow of something else behind it.

  The emerald moon.

  For a moment, they hang together, splitting the sky in two - the right side bathed in deep violet, the left in a luminous green. And in between, where the colors meet, a strange, shifting haze of both, a gradient that turns the horizon into something almost unreal.

  Then, the shift continues. The emerald moon moves, its radiance swallowing the amethyst entirely, replacing the sky’s soft purple with a deep, verdant glow. The stars, once scattered across the night, seem to retreat behind the overwhelming light.

  It is time.

  “Now,” I whisper. As one, we lower our torches.

  The fuse catches instantly, sparks leaping along its length like tiny, frantic stars, racing toward the waiting torch. In an instant, it erupts - a burst of fire rising high, illuminating the entire rooftop in gold and casting long, flickering shadows onto the guests below.

  We turn back to the city.

  One by one, more flames ignite. First near the watchtowers, then along the streets, in windows, on rooftops. A chain reaction of golden light spreading across Duskreach, until the entire city becomes a sea of floating embers, scattered like fireflies in the night. I exhale, watching as the glow stretches outward, endless, beautiful.

  Beside me, Selene stares, her face bathed in the emerald light. There’s awe in her eyes, the kind of wonder I haven’t seen in her for a long time.

  And yet -

  Something lingers in my chest. A feeling I can’t place.

  A certainty, quiet but undeniable.

  Something has begun.

  Something far greater than I can imagine.