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Oliver waved his hand over the warm brown bark. A ripple blossomed from the core of the Great Tree, and I watched in wonder, my light feathering the surrounding air with a faint green glow, as images emerged, tattooing the tree’s rough skin with stories.

The bark twisted and thinned, gathered into a face. Delicate cheek bones below wide almond eyes and a rosebud mouth. I watched her shoulders emerge, then her torso, folding into a flowing gown. The gown expanded and thinned until it encompassed the night sky, constellations telling tales of the beginnings, the failures and false starts that crafted these worlds. It was my daily lesson on the enormity of the ten realms and the disasters and triumphs that shaped them. A vast history filled with trials and creatures my mind struggled to contain. If I were made of breath, I would have felt it catch and sigh dozens of times.

But each tale dissolved through the colander of my mind, overshadowed by thoughts of the living. I missed Sato, Edgar…and Fleur. I missed the touch and tingle of sensation, the smell and taste—I missed life.

Focus, I scolded myself and leaned into Oliver’s tale of the Trinity Goddesses. My light flickering in feigned interest. It was no use. As much as I wanted to know, a bigger part of me preferred ignorance.

After I freed my brother, secured the magickal flute, and aided the Guardians in their fight against the Grima threatening this realm, the Soulkeepers deemed me worthy of the truth hidden from me since my death—my memories. My light ebbed and flared like a tidal pool of tears I would never shed. Tears for my parents, my brother, and Takeo Sato, the man I loved…I could hardly contain myself. Then my lessons began. A deep dive into realm lore, but none of it could change that I wouldn’t be here if not for the hand the Soulkeepers played in my death. I had planned it so perfectly. The atropa berries were never intended to kill me. My plan was to induce a coma that would allow my essence access to my brother’s subconscious and use the counter relic to free him. I had the antidote. I knew the risks. But none of it mattered. The Soulkeepers wanted me, and I gave them the opportunity.  

All because they needed a magical flute—the same flute that took my parents’ lives and held my brother captive for a decade, and I brought it to them.

Sometimes I cursed my stupidity. If I had remembered…but of course, that was why they took my memory.

Lenora? Lass? I’ll need your attention. Oliver lowered his hands, a frown darkening his wizened face.

Sorry! Sorry. Yes. I know—Trinity Goddesses, got it. I sputtered, trying to recall our lesson.

Oliver narrowed his eyes at me. What’s got you in a twist? I thought you’d be pleased to finally understand all this. He nodded at the expanse of cedar boughs surrounding us.

My light flickered slightly as I turned, enjoying the small freedom from the Lobby nestled below us. The Lobby, the waiting room for the dead—looked like, well, an atomic age hotel. Circular, complete with leather lounge chairs no spirit could use, and starburst wallpaper, it surrounded the core of the Great Tree, and the doors to the living engraved there.

Oliver, my friend—the only soul to reach out to me in those first dark hours and my chosen tutor—said we needed more privacy than the Lobby allowed and was granted the use of the upper branches to teach me. I should be grateful, but the desire I once had was gone. Replaced by the harrowing truth of my demise.

I am, honest I am…It’s just—I broke off, unsure how much to say. My aura tinged pink, giving way to the sizzle of anger cloaked in my light.

I don’t agree with their methods. He remarked, careful to keep any mention of the Soulkeepers quiet–one never knew who was listening. Keep your anger. I’d never say different. Oliver’s light dimmed. Use it to find the rest of the relics, rebuild the sheath, and see how the hierarchy changes.

What do you mean? My light wavered and flared with curiosity.

If you’d been listening to me, you’d know. He smirked, folding his arms in front of him.

Ok, ok, you got me…So? Tell me about the realm hierarchy. Please?

Och, lass, no need to grovel. He was clearly enjoying this.

I held my ground, my light brightening with impatience.

Oliver turned back to the tree, and it rippled anew. In a time before time, when the ten realms were scarcely more than infants, the Goddess Hemsut foretold a great reckoning and asked her sisters, Oya and Gula-Bau, for guidance. They created a timeless shield to protect and maintain peace—the Amaranthine Sheath.

I know all that. Invaders and such, right? The sheath safeguarded the realms from one another.

That was just a fraction. The sheath’s magick strengthened each realm, allowing their spells to flourish. The relics that formed the barrier were remarkable on their own, but when connected…Lass, they were unstoppable.

Except they did stop. Right? When the sheath was destroyed. My light stilled with the story Fleur told of Orla, the firebearer Jadu from the third realm, who had opened the Dark Grimoire searching for a spell that would allow her to be with her love, Hamza, a time mage from a different Kindred—it was all very Romeo and Juliet until Orla spoke the forbidden spell and destroyed the sheath. Fleur said Orla was banished to the tenth realm, Qahil for her actions, while Hamza perished, but not before enchanting the realm-folk of Evirdahl and creating Fleur’s ancestors. I still couldn’t imagine Hamza in love with anyone but himself.

Looking around, I made sure Hamza wasn’t lurking on a nearby limb. I lowered my voice. I know about, uh…Hamza and—

Oliver held up a hand and shook his head. ‘Tis best not to mention it here. He, too, looked around before returning to his lesson. The sheath kept everything nice and tidy. Evirdahl at the core. Its magick stemming outward in degrees of potency. Then Mundad, who’s dark magick was almost as powerful, then Saphedvaar, the Jadu mages were still young then. And the next?

So, it was to be a quiz. I should have known the wily codger would want to test me. I smiled and raised four fingers. The fourth realm is Kierrek, now covered in ice, followed by Loatheia…a desert, right? The poison that destroyed Svinka seeped into Loatheia’s air, causing the Loatheans to adopt alternative shelter, um…in the trees? Right?

Aye, they are bird-like creatures. They couldna go underground like the creatures of the eighth realm. And where is Svinka?

Sixth realm. Abandoned now.

Aye, the Svinkraken were granted sanctuary in Evirdahl, but not before they invaded, pillaging the north countries. But that was before the sheath and the peace accords. Oliver’s light flickered. With the Henge Veils maintained, no marauders could scavenge or destroy. But in these centuries since the sheath’s destruction, all that has changed.

Fleur told me the Henges were sealed.

Most are, but there are a few…Oliver shrugged, his aura deceptively still. The realms have become fairly isolated now, but there are some still active. ‘Tis the resistance in Evirdahl that minds one such veil, sister to another in Mundad, but few speak of it. And there are creatures from the eighth realm with traveling devices I’ve heard of but never seen.

I eyed him, noting the frown tugging at his mouth. So, not sealed.

Oliver shook his head. No, not entirely, but best to keep that one under your hat, eh?

And the hierarchy?

Once Evirdahl was the most powerful realm, lass. The Disir, the Goddesses’ firstborn and creators, maintained the cradle of magick for all the realms, but that’s all changed now. When the sheath snapped, it flung the relics harnessing its protective magick into the great unknown. Without the sheath to hold the realms in balance, they’ve all weakened, and thus struggled to keep their magick in check. Some have lost much, while others…He frowned, his eyes darting around us. The longer the realms are kept in isolation, the weaker their magick becomes. Oliver continued, lowering his voice. It’s only when they breathe in tandem that they thrive. Reshaping the sheath would restore the proper hierarchy and set the realms to right again.

If Evirdahl isn’t the most powerful anymore, then who is?

Oliver swept his arms wide and smiled grimly. This one—The seventh realm.

My light flared in realization. But how?

No one knows, but most assume it’s because of the magick the Soulkeepers syphon from the dead.

They syphon magick?

Oliver grimaced. Of course they do, lass. You don’t think they’d waste all that magick when a soul chooses the Glorious Feast, do ya?

So, if we restore the sheath, then—

Oliver nodded slowly. Power shifts back to the Disir in Evirdahl.

If restoring the sheath would diminish their power, why did they send me to assist Fleur?

The Flute, lass. ‘Twas needed. But Ellory had different ideas.

My gaze darted from branch to branch, each bathed in the Great Tree’s solemn amber light, and I wondered if the Soulkeepers knew of Ellory’s alternative plan to give me Fleur’s memories and renew the quest to find the rest of the relics. They held too much power, too much sway. My light tinged silver, and I raised my chin, meeting Oliver’s gaze.

You find those relics, Lenora, he whispered, and you’ll get your revenge.

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