“Don’t panic,” Sly said, her voice quiet and commanding next to Aurora. “You will only waste your energy.”

She was right. Aurora could not fight her own mind in addition to the world outside. Somehow, she had to trust—that she could do this, that she would find her way back. She inhaled, imagining the breath pushing all her own thoughts deeper inside her, safe and separate. Then on the exhale, she focused on that opening and took down a second stone, widening her exposure.

The storm’s consciousness rolled over her, and she felt it like a disease—thick and cloying and searching for its next victim. The soul was old—so much so that there was little humanity left in it. No memories, no yearning ache from its former life. She wondered if souls like this one even remembered why they still clung to this world, or if they only held on out of habit and hate.

She pushed it aside and tried to search for another soul, for one not so tainted, one that would help them and submit to her control without causing any harm. She closed her eyes and let the pull she felt inside drift where it wanted to go, but it was hard to navigate the chaos of the living souls outside the walls who were filled with desperation and panic and fear.

Aurora pulled back and tried to start smaller. In her immediate vicinity, she felt the lively presence of her friends, the unique buzz of each of their spirits. Beyond that, past the closed door, she found more living souls, though these were more subdued—caught in the fog’s snare, she guessed. She reached farther, searching for a gentle spirit mingling with the earth or the air, but they all had scattered in the presence of the monster ruling the skies.

When she searched as far as she could without losing touch with herself, she decided to risk opening herself up more. She began lowering her defenses, stone by stone, until she could reach out in every direction.

I need help, she thought. Pavan needs help. Please, if you’re willing, come.