No one wanted a supernatural war, and if the abiku held up their end of the new treaty, there wouldn’t be one. The moment I entered the Underworld, the empire’s debt to the abiku would be satisfied, whether I came back or not. But despite the crippling expense of mobilizing the army, we couldn’t leave the fate of Aritsar to chance.

“You’re sure I can’t come in? Just to see you off?” Dayo asked me for the hundredth time, when our procession stopped at the temple.

I squeezed his hand. “I told you—I need to do this alone. If everyone else is there, it’ll feel like saying goodbye.”

“You’re letting her come in with you,” Dayo mumbled sullenly, pointing at the palanquin behind us, from which Ye Eun was disembarking.

“I was so surprised she asked, I couldn’t say no.” I glanced warily at the looming temple doors. “If I were her, I’d never want to see this place again.”

He eyed me up and down. “Shouldn’t you at least wear a cloak? It’s supposed to be freezing down—where you’re going. At least take a shield. Or armor.”

I shook my head. “Ye Eun and Woo In warned against it. Living souls are weak in the Underworld—every ounce you carry feels like ten pounds.”

I wore nothing but a simple woven wrapper: cerulean, to remind me of the open Oluwan sky. I had no weapon. No supplies—not even a map. Instead, Ye Eun had made me stand naked in front of full-length mirrors, memorizing the glowing twists and turns inked onto my skin. If all went as planned, I could find my way through the Underworld with my eyes closed.

Dayo held my hand so tightly, when he finally released, it felt like I had shed a second skin. Then I took off the lioness mask, pressing it to him. “Hold on to this.”

“Tar, no—”

“Just for a while.” I kissed his cheek. “Do you love me now, Ekundayo of Oluwan?” I asked, echoing the question he had once asked me.

“Always have,” he whispered. “Always will.”

I pressed my brow to his, flooding both our minds with the dual-Ray, inhaling Dayo’s scent—the warm, sweet essence of my other half. “Then wait for me,” I murmured.

And I rose from the litter, entering the temple without looking back. The Ray sweltered over my skin—a hot beam at my back, as though Dayo’s vision were a coal, growing cooler and cooler until the vast stone doors shut, separating us for what could be eternity.

Ye Eun and I entered the temple’s central chamber—a vast, ceilingless room of pale limestone, shot through with veins of purple—memories seeped into me from the floor, and bile soured my tongue. Only two years ago, I had seen dozens massacred here, murdered by monsters that rose from the Oruku Breach: the yawning chasm at the far end of the chamber, guarded by warriors, and glowing with malevolent blue light.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I told Ye Eun as we neared the chasm’s edge. I choked out the words, trying not to breathe—the pit stank of sulfur. Standing near it made me want to scrub off my own skin, as though the stench alone could infect every pore.