We are nearing the close of the Sepulcher Interludes. This journey has been a long one through snow, storm, and revelation, and only a handful of chapters remain before we turn our eyes toward Arc 2.
The Interludes have carried us deep into Christopher's world, but they also serve as a bridge linking what has come before with what is still to be revealed. Soon, we will step with him into the Sepulcher itself. Only Andrea, Bianca, and Christopher may cross its threshold, while the jellyfish holds balance outside and the host of holy beasts respond to what the Sepulcher unveils within.
Thank you for journeying with me this far. I hope these chapters stir your imagination as much as they stir mine while writing them.
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I write this now as we rest beneath the gaze of the Sepulcher's statues. The memory burns still, and though the cold gnaws at my bones, my blood has not cooled. It runs hot with what I witnessed, as if the fire of that moment refuses to leave me.
It began with Andrea. The mist did not simply spill from her, it climbed out of her. Silver coils pushed through her skin like a creature being born, reaching into the air with long, searching arms. Once, for the briefest breath, I thought I saw a face press against it, blurred and fragile, like a reflection trembling on water. Then it was gone. The mist was not only vapor, it was breath given form, memory wrapped in fog, presence pouring into the frozen air.
Bianca answered with gold. Threads of light unraveled from her body, thinner than lightning yet alive with intent. They slithered into Andrea's mist, curling around the silver arms, binding them, teaching them how to move. Their motion was deliberate, like script being written in the air. Each thread sang as it moved, a thin and quivering note that grew louder until it seemed to stretch across the storm. The snow hissed where they touched, and the air shifted with a scent not of fire but of rain after dawn, sharp and clean, a breath of renewal in the midst of the Expanse.
Together, the silver and the gold did not clash, they recognized each other. Mist that reached like hands. Light that slithered like veins. Two forces joined as though they had always been bound.
And the holy beasts answered.
From the fog of silver arms and golden threads, wolves the size of horses padded forward. Their coats gleamed white as bone, their eyes smoldering like crowns. As the mist curled across their shoulders, it seemed they wore cloaks spun from Andrea's breath itself.
Behind them thundered stags, their antlers alive with golden fire. The threads clung to their branches as though the very scripture had etched itself into their bones. Sparks leapt from their crowns into the storm, gilding the air with every toss of their heads.
Above us, eagles vast as thunderclouds spiraled into formation. Their wings tore the mist into streamers, and the golden threads clung to their feathers, trailing like banners in their wake. Their cries broke against the mountainsides like horns of judgment.
Then the horses came. Their manes streamed longer than banners, silver stallions exhaling golden steam with every breath, while the gold-bodied chargers released silver plumes that hissed like boiling snow. Their hooves struck the ice not as gallops, but as blows that shortened the horizon, pulling the Sepulcher closer with every stride.
The mist and the scripture surged stronger, and the strain bent Bianca and Andrea forward.
We ran to them. Anthony seized my arm so hard I nearly stumbled, his voice breaking through the storm. "Christopher, hurry! If they fall, the babes fall with them. We cannot let them be hurt." His words struck me colder than the wind itself.
Brian shouted hoarsely, "Faster, before it takes them beyond reach." Miles cursed under his breath as we pushed through the snow, but we were too far.
The jellyfish moved.
Its glyph-covered bell pulsed, and its spear-tipped tentacles whipped forward. The silver mist recoiled as though startled, but then stretched toward the tentacles as if in recognition. The golden threads writhed upward too, winding briefly around the limbs of the creature, marking them in script before sliding free. It was as though the unborn bond acknowledged the jellyfish as one of balance and allowed it passage.
With impossible gentleness, the tentacles coiled around Bianca and Andrea, lifting them into the air. Their eyes fluttered shut, their power still leaking into the storm, and the jellyfish set them on the glowing crown of its bell. For a moment the glyphs on its skin burned brighter, as though their presence had been written into it.
We stumbled after them, breath ragged, hearts hammering, until the jellyfish caught us too. Its tentacles snapped outward, wrapping our chests and waists, dragging us upward and setting us beside the women.
For a heartbeat, silence fell. The women lay pale but breathing, their chests rising faintly. Anthony dropped to his knees, brushing snow from Bianca's hair, whispering her name as though it might stir her. Brian leaned close to Andrea, checking her pulse with hands that trembled despite himself. Relief passed between us unspoken, but I recall Anthony looking up then, his face wet with melted frost. "They live. Thank God, they live."
The beasts answered with uproar. Wolves howled into the storm, mammoths trumpeted from afar, sabres growled deep in their chests, the stags struck the ground, and the eagles split the sky with their screams. It was not fury. It was grief, devotion, and alarm, a holy choir raised for the women who had fainted under Heaven's urgency.
Then the jellyfish surged.
Its bell thundered like a war drum. With a single pulse we were no longer where we had stood. The Expanse blurred into streaks of silver and gold, the holy beasts thundering after us in an endless flood. The world collapsed into speed, and eternity itself pressed against my skin.
I remember Miles shouting above the roar, his arm sweeping to the mist, the beasts, the endless white. "I fear we are not being saved, but led by something greater, for a greater purpose."
And I agree with him still. What has happened and what waits yet is by some great design, and I pray we survive it.
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This entry may be one of the most awe-filled I have ever written. It is not easy to capture the weight of divine power alongside the raw fear and humanity of those caught in its presence, but that balance is what makes this story what it is.
We are nearing the end of these Interludes, and I am already preparing Arc 2 for its release at the end of October. Arc 2 will bring new revelations, new challenges, and a deeper exploration of Max and Seth's bond, with Christopher's voice still present before his path carries him onward.
And beyond Arc 2, Arc 3 waits. Their upbringing, their guardians, and the shaping of their destinies will continue to unfold in ways I hope will surprise and move you.
Thank you for reading, sharing, and journeying with me through the snow and the storm.