I feel it slipping.
Not all at once—not violently yet—but like water forcing its way through cracked stone. The power inside me pulses, swelling and retreating in uneven waves, each surge hotter than the last. It presses against my ribs, my spine, my throat, begging to be released.
I drop to my knees.
The forest around me blurs, colors smearing together as heat ripples through the air. Ash lifts from the ground in slow spirals, glowing embers hovering like dying stars. I clutch at my chest, nails digging into fabric, into skin, as if I can physically hold myself together.
"No," I whisper. "No—please—"
I try to pull it back.
I try.
I dig inward, reaching for control the way I always have—through discipline, through fear, through restraint. Years of hiding. Years of shrinking. Years of swallowing everything sharp and dangerous inside me so no one would get hurt.
But this isn't something that can be folded small.
The power bucks against me, furious and raw, fueled by grief so deep it feels bottomless. Images slam into me unbidden—Cameran's laughter, Enoch's grin, my parents' faces, Ginny's warm hugs. Every loss stacks on top of the last until the weight becomes unbearable.
"I can't—" My voice breaks. "I can't hold it."
The ground trembles.
A fissure splits the dirt beneath my palms, glowing white-hot for a heartbeat before sealing again. I gasp, terror slicing through the haze.
"I'm going to kill them," I choke. "I'm going to kill everyone."
Emma recoils inside me.
Not with rage.
With fear.
Her presence curls inward, smaller than I've ever felt her, like a wounded animal bracing for the inevitable.
'Sam…' she whispers.
The sound of her voice nearly undoes me.
"I'm trying," I sob to her. "I swear I'm trying. I don't want this—I don't want to hurt them. I don't want to be this."
The power surges again, violent this time, a roar in my veins. Fire licks up my arms, crawling across my skin without burning, lighting me from the inside out.
"I can't stop it," I whisper, devastated. "Emma, I can't—"
Her voice is quiet when she answers.
Too quiet.
'It's okay,' she says, and the resignation there terrifies me more than the flames. 'You tried. I know you did.'
My breath stutters. "No. Don't say that. Don't talk like—like this is the end."
There's a pause.
Then, softly, 'If this is how it ends… then at least we didn't run.'
Tears spill down my cheeks, hissing as they hit the heat around me.
"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted this for us."
Her presence presses against mine one last time, a wordless embrace filled with love and grief and acceptance.
'Whatever comes,' she whispers, 'we face it together.'
The power crests.
It swells past anything I can contain, screaming for release, for destruction, for judgment. My body arches as light erupts from beneath my skin, blinding, overwhelming—
And then—
White.
Not fire.
Not heat.
White.
Silence crashes over me so suddenly it steals my breath. The pressure vanishes. The pain evaporates. I stumble forward—and realize there is no ground beneath my feet.
I am standing in nothing.
A vast, endless white space stretches in every direction, smooth and luminous like fresh snow untouched by shadow. There is no horizon. No sky. Just soft, glowing light that hums with quiet power.
"What—" My voice echoes faintly. "Emma?"
I reach for her instinctively.
She's there—but distant. Confused.
'I don't know where we are,' she admits. 'This isn't… anywhere.'
A presence stirs.
Warm.
Gentle.
It wraps around me like moonlight through sheer curtains, soothing without smothering, powerful without force. I feel seen—every thought, every wound, every fear laid bare without judgment.
"Don't be afraid," a voice says.
It is neither loud nor soft—yet it fills the space completely.
My knees buckle.
"Who—" I swallow. "Who are you?"
A hint of amusement brushes against my senses, like a smile I can't see.
"You already know the answer to that."
My heart stutters.
"…Moon Goddess?" I whisper.
"Yes."
The word settles into me like truth itself.
Emotion crashes through me—relief, awe, disbelief—followed swiftly by hope so sharp it hurts.
"You see me?" I ask desperately. "You hear me?"
"I have always seen you," she replies. "I have always heard you."
Something inside me breaks open.
"Then please," I beg, the word tearing from my soul. "Please—bring them back. Cameran. Enoch. I'll do anything. I'll give up the crown. I'll give up everything—"
"I cannot," the Goddess says, and sorrow ripples through her voice. "But I can show you where they are."
The white space shifts.
Light gathers, condensing into an image that blooms before me like a living dream.
A beach.
Endless and golden, the sun warm but gentle, waves rolling in slow, rhythmic breaths. The air feels peaceful—whole.
I see her first.
Cameran.
She's barefoot, hair whipping wildly as she runs along the shoreline, laughter ringing clear and bright. My chest seizes.
Then Enoch appears, chasing her, calling something I can't hear. He catches her easily, spinning her around until she squeals, both of them laughing like nothing in the world has ever hurt them.
Tears blur my vision.
Then I see them.
A broad-shouldered man with familiar eyes.
A beautiful woman at his side.
My breath catches painfully.
Mom.
Dad.
They walk toward Cameran, smiling, whole and radiant. And then—
Ginny.
Cameran freezes, disbelief flashing across her face before she screams and runs, throwing herself into Ginny's arms. They laugh and cry together, clinging like they've been waiting lifetimes for this moment.
Cameran pulls back, grinning, dragging Enoch forward, talking animatedly—introducing him, I realize, in that chaotic, affectionate way that is so her.
I laugh through sobs.
"They're happy," Emma whispers.
"Yes," I breathe. "They are."
"They will be okay," I add, the words finally settling into my heart.
"Yes, child," the Moon Goddess says gently. "I protect my own."
The image fades.
The white space returns.
"Listen to me," the Goddess continues. "Do not fear the power I placed within you."
"Your power?" I ask shakily.
"Yes. You are my child. My lineage. What flows through you is not destruction—it is intent. It is balance. It answers the truth of your heart."
"But I'll hurt them," I whisper. "The ones I love."
"You will not," she says firmly. "Do not cage it. Do not deny it. Let it move as you move—with purpose. With love. With judgment where judgment is due."
I look back one last time at where the beach had been.
My parents smile at me.
Sammy girl, my father mouths.
I love you, my mother says.
My heart fractures—and heals—at the same time.
I close my eyes.
"I'm letting it go," I tell Emma.
'Do as the Goddess wishes,' she answers softly.
And I do.
I release everything.
The grief.
The rage.
The pain.
And the power answers.
This time I welcome it.
I welcome the burn.