They camped beneath a sky that would not hold still. Constellations slid between clouds like fish behind glass, forming shapes Lyra had only ever seen in apocrypha—constellations that had been removed from star charts by decree. The Guardian sat apart, a silhouette that made the night recalibrate around him. Gareth cleaned his sword until it reflected a man he recognized. Seraphine prayed without words.
"We have their attention," Lyra said quietly. "Now they have ours."
Seraphine opened her eyes. "There are names we do not say because they answer when called. There are names we cannot say because they were stolen. And there are names we dare not say because they are ours when we are at our worst. Which kind are we facing?"
The Guardian did not turn. "All three."
A shadow that was not a shadow stepped out of the dark. Where it stood, the grass remembered winter. It wore no face because it did not need one. It was a shape the mind supplied from its own wounds.
"Good evening," it said in a voice borrowed from Kael's mother. Lyra's stomach dropped. "You have burned our ledgers and broken our choir. You have earned audience."
Gareth rose. "Name yourself, or be named by me."
The thing laughed gently. "Titles are more honest than names. We are the Remnant Court. We are what remains when promises rot. We are the hunger that waits at the end of duty."
Seraphine stepped forward, blade sheathed. "Then hear mine," she said, and for once, she spoke as a woman, not as an office. "I am Seraphine Valis. I am the hand that struck when it should have held. I am the faith that forgot to love. I will break myself before I break them again."
The Remnant Court tilted its head. "A confession has weight. Very well, Heretic-Saint. Your penance will be measured in light."
Lyra lifted her chin. "And I am Lyra Vexhart. I am the child who taught her own grief to sing. I am the apprentice who ran from the teacher who loved her wrong. I am done running."
"Binder of Names," it crooned. "Your penance will be measured in silence."
Gareth set his blade across his knees. "I am Gareth of Norvale. I kept my oath to a dead king and forgot the living. I will keep it to them now."
"Last Knight," it said. "Your penance will be measured in mercy."
Finally, the Guardian stood. When he spoke, the world leaned close. "I am no name you can hold. I am the watch that does not end. I am the price paid in a thousand small deaths. I am the promise that does not ask permission."
The Remnant Court bowed. "Oathbearer. Your penance will be measured in loneliness."
Lyra's eyes burned. "What do you want?"
"Balance," the Court said. "If you end our debts, what replaces the fear that kept men honest? If you end our hunger, what replaces the discipline forged by emptiness? Make a world without us if you dare. But know this: humans invite us back when it is convenient. We never force entry."
The Guardian's answer was simple. "Then we will make convenience costly. We will make kindness easy."
The Court smiled a smile no one could see. "We accept your wager. Meet us at the Shattered Crown. Bring your truth. Bring your lies. Bring the names you do not speak."
When it vanished, the stars returned to their rightful places—except one, which hung low and wept fire toward the horizon where the Shattered Crown waited.