“My death won’t solve anything,” I said. “And maybe my life won’t either. But . . .” My hand rose to my ear, and Ye Eun’s lily blossom fell into my palm. A complicated memory passed into my skin: snippets of her marred innocence, her jaded hope, at battle inside her. I thought of Thaddace, growing ashen as the life left his body, and of Adukeh, glowing with pride in her coral akorin beads. I thought of panicking in Zuri’s bathtub, covered in blood, and of the rainbow spring, washing me clean as Sanjeet bathed me in kisses. I thought of Da Seo’s memory, in which violence stole her words, and of my golden-hued birthday party in the orchard, where courage brought her words back.

Then I smiled up at the Warlord’s Deaths, who shifted their great heads in confused surprise.

“I want to live,” I said, replacing Ye Eun’s lily behind my ear, “because life is . . . is worth it. Because as long as we can imagine a better world, we should stick around to see it. Even if it doesn’t exist yet. Even if we have to build it from scratch, brick by muddy brick.”

Their ancient, glittering eyes bored into me, searching for a shadow of doubt—a thread of uncertainty. I closed my eyes awaiting my fate.

But when I opened them, the Deaths had vanished. No—they had moved into the gap, mending the bridge with their vast, heaving bodies. They had accepted my answer. I . . . I had won.

I willed my legs to move, but they remained frozen. I was supposed to step on the Deaths—Ye Eun had told me this—but the idea of touching death itself turned my very mortal stomach.

Again, they laughed. “You may fear touching us now, Wuraola,” came the phlegmy chuckle of Contagion. “But all Redemptors forget fear once they meet their emi-ehran.”

I blinked. What did they mean, “once I met . . .” But then my gaze locked on the end of the bridge, where a being slowly materialized. Water pooled in my eyes as my limbs relaxed, overwhelmed by a sudden, profound peace—and a feeling that I’d known this being a long, long time. Every human soul, the priests taught, was assigned a guardian spirit after meeting death: a companion for comfort as we marched in Egungun’s Parade. But since Redemptors met death while still living, their emi-ehrans followed them out of the Underworld—a companion for the rest of eternity.

“She’s beautiful,” I breathed. Emi-ehrans possessed no sex according to legend. But without speaking aloud, the creature told me its gender—and in the same deep, silent voice, she asked me for a name.

I walked as if in a trance across the lumpy, textured backs of the Warlord’s Deaths, my former fear vanished like smoke. The beasts dispersed as soon as I crossed, but I barely looked back, reaching out instead to touch my very own emi-ehran.

In the world above, I would have called her a rhinoceros. She was just as massive, towering yards above me, with the same ridged body and sharp, clever horn. But her horn was translucent crystal, and her skin the color of midnight, sparkling with sapphire stars.