Dawn arrived without ceremony.
The birds had scattered, the sky had lightened, and society—brief, fragile, and already fraying—had resumed its rituals as if nothing sacred had just been interrupted. We spent some time among the gathered mourners, drifting through conversations that felt rehearsed, each word placed carefully atop unspoken truths.
Victoria led us first to Miss Mary and her daughter, Viviana.
Though Victoria had mentioned them more than once, meeting them in person carried a different gravity. Miss Mary's composure was impeccable in the way only grief-hardened women manage—upright posture, gentle hands, eyes that had already cried everything they were willing to give.
"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Victoria said gently as we approached.
Both women turned, surprise flickering briefly across their faces before courtesy reclaimed its place.
"Oh," Viviana said, eyes bright despite the black of her dress. "Who's your friend?"
Introductions followed—names exchanged like fragile porcelain. Viviana watched us with curiosity unsoftened by mourning, while Miss Mary regarded us with the quiet assessment of someone who had learned how quickly the world could rewrite itself.
And then, following Miss Mary's subtle gesture, we encountered Lady Seliregina.
She still wore her veil.
It was not a garment of modesty—it was armor. She stood apart from the others, accompanied by two figures whose presence felt less like companionship and more like punctuation. They spoke little. They watched much.
Regina.
The name the deceased had used without hesitation.
That was her, I thought. The woman from the forest. The one who sent Paige.
Victoria felt it too. I saw it in the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her gaze sharpened just a fraction.
"I feel like a fourth cousin who returned uninvited to a family gathering," she murmured under her breath.
I almost smiled.
Li Hua and Mr. Mumei-shi, meanwhile, moved as though the gathering existed on a different layer entirely. They spoke only to a handful of people, each exchange brief, deliberate—threads woven, then cut.
Soon enough, the ritual ended.
We were back in the carriage, the doors closing with a dull finality that felt louder than it should have been.
The ride was heavy with silence.
Not awkward silence—burdened silence. The kind that presses inward, that asks questions without expecting answers. I suspected only Victoria and I felt its full weight. The others bore it too easily.
"So," Victoria said at last, her voice careful, eyes flicking between Li Hua and Mr. Mumei-shi, "who was that?"
"Luna," Miss Li Hua replied simply.
Her hands never paused in their needlework.
Victoria exhaled sharply. "Okay. Then why did she refer to you as Isis?"
Her gaze shifted to Mr. Mumei-shi, who turned a page in his novel with infuriating calm.
"Because she made no mistake in the address," Victoria continued after a beat, voice slower now. Thoughtful. "I don't know who Isis is… but I know who Nyx is."
"As you should," Li Hua said lightly, still not looking up.
The thread slid through fabric. Pull. Anchor. Pull again.
Victoria swallowed. "Are you two—" she hesitated, then corrected herself, "—was she…?"
No one answered.
And in that quiet, I understood what Victoria had already grasped.
There was no scent. No pressure. No qi by which to measure them.
Some names weren't supposed to be spoken by children.
Or at all.
The carriage rolled on.
Outside, the scenery changed—vegetation thickening, architecture thinning. We were truly leaving now, passing through spaces that felt less observed. The world seemed to relax slightly without witnesses.
The sun climbed higher, asserting itself, pretending the morning was ordinary. Pretending nothing had burned in the night.
In that calm—false, temporary—I closed my eyes.
But even with them shut, I could still see it: names spoken too precisely, titles that did not belong to this era, and embers glowing quietly beneath the ash.
Fýgo.
Not flame—but the heat that lingers after fire has already done its work.
And whatever Luna had been—
—or still was—
she was not finished burning.