Clive returned to Azura. She was waiting where he'd left her, crouched behind a shelf of ice-covered rock that hid her bulk from the cultists' camp. The moment he came into view, she lifted her head.

  Clive. Her mental voice wrapped around him. Are you injured?

  "I'm fine." He reached her side and pressed his hand against her neck, stroking her softly. "What did you sense?"

  Through our bond? Azura's golden eyes tracked over him, checking for wounds he might not have mentioned. Something happened. A shift in the ambient magic. And your heart rate spiked—I felt that clearly. She paused. But it never seemed like you were ever in any real danger.

  Clive let out a short laugh. "The cultists were weak. Stronger than normal humans, yeah, but..." He trailed off, remembering how easily he'd read their movements, how predictable their attacks had been despite their transformations. That was probably why [Bonded Instinct] didn’t trigger. "They weren't really a threat."

  But I felt a magical disturbance. It felt like reality itself bent for a moment. Then the sky turned dark. It was her, wasn’t it?

  "It was." Clive's hand dropped from her neck. He stared back down the path. "Jill appeared. Sort of. She spoke to me."

  What did she say?

  "She... she stopped the fight. Asked me not to hurt them. Said they were harmless and just trying to survive."

  And were they?

  Clive thought about Maleus's words. About the plague, the rotting flesh, the fever. About San Dioral abandoning them to die. "I think so. They mentioned being sick. Dying. The Demon King—or whoever's power this actually is—blessed them. Remade them." He gestured vaguely at his own face, his hands, trying to indicate the transformations he'd witnessed. "Gave them these... these animalistic changes. One guy's nose literally reformed into something canine while I watched. Enhanced senses, strength. Tougher skin, like scales trying to form under the surface."

  Azura growled, rumbling the rock beneath them. Corruption

  "Maybe," Clive said. "But it saved their lives. According to them, anyway."

  Corruption that saves is still corruption. Azura's tail lashed once, agitated. The plague. I've heard of it before.

  It's a legend passed down through the Dragonlands. Hundreds of years ago—perhaps a thousand, the timeline is unclear—a comet struck Euchronia.

  "A comet?" Clive's mind immediately went to the dinosaurs and extinction events. "How big?"

  Big enough to shatter mountains. Not here. Somewhere to the east. But the impact boiled seas, turned the sky red for months.

  "Jesus." Clive felt his stomach drop. It sounded just like he expected. That kind of impact would've caused global climate effects. Volcanic winter, crop failures, mass starvation. "The whole continent must have—"

  In the wake of the impact, disease spread. Not just sickness. Mutation. Creatures warped by proximity to the comet's fragments. Humans developing claws, scales, additional limbs. Animals growing to monstrous sizes or gaining shadowy features.

  Clive thought about the cultists. About Maleus's reforming nose, the woman's elongated arms, the gray scaling skin. "And you think this is the same thing?"

  I don't know. Azura's eyes refocused on him. The plague was eradicated. Or so the histories claim. It took decades—the dragons of that era burned infected regions, established quarantine zones. And from that era, rose the Demon King. He gathered those affected by the plague and claimed dominion over the land now known as Vandiel.

  "The cultist, they called it the Demon King’s blessing.”

  It's not a cure, Clive. Azura's eyes locked onto his. It's a contamination that happens to grant power before it destroys you.

  Something in her tone made his chest tighten. "Before it destroys them? What do you mean?"

  The mutations don't stop. She lowered her head closer to his level. According to the histories, those infected would continue to change. Slowly at first, then faster.

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  Clive waited, though he already knew what was coming.

  Eventually, they lost all semblance of their original form. Azura's mental voice gentled. Lost their minds, their humanity. They became monsters. Mindless, driven only by hunger and rage.

  "Christ. How long?"

  Variable. Months for some. Years for others. But the ending was always the same.

  "Do they know?" The question came out rougher than he intended. "The cultists, do they know what's happening to them?"

  Would it matter? Azura's question was gentle, but it hit like a punch. You said they were dying. The plague—the original sickness, whatever it was—was killing them. If someone offered you a choice between death now and power for a few years...

  She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

  Clive thought about his mother, wasting away from cancer. About watching her fade day by day. If someone had offered her a deal—any deal—to stop the pain, to have a few more years of strength instead of months of deterioration...

  "I'd have taken it," he said quietly. "Most people would."

  That's why the Moon Mother told you not to hurt them. They're victims, Clive. Even if they're also dangerous.

  The wind picked up, carrying ice crystals that stung against his face.

  “And how is Jill involved in all this?”

  Azura was silent for a long moment. I don't know. But Clive... if she's connected to it in some way... if she's somehow tied to the Demon King's power—

  "She's not corrupted," Clive said.

  Azura didn't respond immediately. Clive felt her gaze on him, steady and unblinking. When she spoke, her mental voice was soft. I hope you're right.

  "She wants me to come alone," he said. "To the top. Just me."

  Azura growled. Absolutely not.

  "Azura—"

  No. Her head swung toward him, golden eyes fierce.

  "She asked for me specifically." Clive met her gaze. "That has to mean something."

  It means she wants you isolated. Vulnerable.

  "Or it means she wants to talk without an audience. Without someone who might... complicate things."

  I'm not the complication here, Clive. Azura's mental voice sharpened.

  "You don't know her."

  Neither do you. Not anymore.

  The bond tells me things, Azura said quietly. Your heart rate. Your breathing. The changes in your body when you're afraid. She paused. You're terrified right now, Clive. Of her.

  He wanted to deny it. But she was right. He was afraid of what he'd find at the summit. He’d prepared himself for this moment. But now that it was so close, he was downright terrified.

  "Yeah," he said finally, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I'm scared."

  Then let me come with you.

  Clive shook his head. "We’ve been through this. She asked for me alone, Azura.”

  I know what she asked. But if I show up with you—

  "She'll know I didn't trust her." Clive exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog and scatter in the wind. "And maybe I don't. Not completely. But I need to at least try to meet her on her terms."

  I can stay out of sight. Close enough to reach you if something goes wrong, but far enough that she might not sense me immediately. She lowered her head, bringing her snout close to his face. Please, Clive. Don't make me wait down here wondering if you're coming back.

  Silence stretched between them again as Clive contemplated his decision. He stared up toward the hidden summit, then back at Azura's fierce golden eyes.

  "Alright," he said quietly. "You can come. But far enough that she won't immediately know you're there."

  If I sense real danger—

  "Then you come get me." He managed a small smile. "That's what our bond is for, right?"

  They continued the journey upward.

  Below, the cultists' camp had long since vanished into the maze of stone and snow.

  We're above most of the cloud layer now, Azura said. Can you still breathe?

  "Barely." The altitude was getting serious now. Much higher and he'd need supplemental oxygen. "How much farther?"

  Not far. Azura pointed upwards with her paw. The summit approach is just beyond that ridge.

  Clive looked where she indicated. He could just make out what might be the final peak of rock that seemed to touch the heavens themselves.

  And the sky was darkening.

  He'd lost track of time during the climb, but the sun was sinking fast now. The western horizon blazed orange and red, while overhead the blue was deepening toward purple. Stars were beginning to appear, faint at first but growing brighter as the light faded.

  Night's coming, Azura observed. We should—

  "Keep going. I didn't come this far to stop now."

  Azura didn't argue and they continued the track upwards.

  The landscape on the other side was different. There was color. Lichen clinging to sheltered crevices. Hardy alpine flowers bloomed even in the cold. Blues and purples and whites that seemed to glow in the fading light.

  This is strange, Azura said. Vegetation shouldn't grow at this altitude.

  "Magic?" Clive suggested.

  Or divine influence.

  As if in response to her words, the last sliver of sun dipped below the western peaks.

  And the moon rose.

  There. Azura's mental voice was tight. The summit.

  Clive looked ahead and saw it. The final peak wasn't a peak at all. It was a plateau. Flat stone stretching perhaps fifty yards across, perfectly circular. And in the center of the circle, something gleamed silver in the moonlight.

  An altar. Or a throne. It was hard to tell from this distance.

  I'll wait here. Go ahead Clive.

  He started walking.

  Thirty yards from the center.

  The shape resolved itself as he got closer.

  It wasn’t an altar nor a throne.

  It was a door.

  A circular frame of silver metal, freestanding in the center of the plateau, covered entirely in delicate carvings of moons in every phase. Full, crescent, new, waxing, waning. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, each one unique. And in the center of the frame, was a curtain of silver moonlight.

  "Jill?"

  The moonlight curtain rippled.

  And a figure stepped through.