What do we even do now? Varia is the most powerful witch in the world, isn’t she? And then there’s us—my thief instincts muse over survival first, always. A beneather, a very smart girl with a crossbow aim, a witch, and a single Heartless. I know we have our strengths. But realism bites down on me hard—we have strengths, but none strong enough to face the Bone Tree power I felt in Varia.

She touched me even through my Weeping. Weeping, my last safety. A safety that’s supposed to be impenetrable.

I’m so lost in thought, Malachite has to suddenly jerk me to one side to avoid a townsperson. “Hey, you feelin’ all right?” He peers into my face.

“Y-Yeah.” I smile. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

The air is so crisp and thin up here, I feel dizzy and frozen on the inside all at once. The only sources of warmth are the occasional cracked-open tower doors as we pass, roaring hearths inside. Tower chimneys puff banners of velvet smoke up into the sky, rivaled in motion only by the multitude of spinning brass crosses on the roofs.

“Weather vanes,” Malachite says, pointing to one fashioned in the shape of a spinning valkerax. “For wind speed, direction. That sort of thing. Apparently they predict future temperatures, too.”

“How?” I marvel.

He shrugs and says simply, “Polymaths. Helkyris is crowded with them.”

“Hard to pick them out,” I muse. “When I’m so used to them wearing those hideous brown robes.”

“Didn’t you wear one once?”

“And I hated every minute of it.” I smirk up at him. It’s true, though—unlike Cavanos, the polymaths in Breych don’t adhere to a strict dress code. Or any dress code at all. I can’t see a single brown thing—just color after woolen color, like flowers crowded together or overexcited butterflies.

“I think I get it,” I say finally as we cross a far wider bridge, this one carved with wolf heads on either end.

“Took you that long, hmm?” Malachite drawls.

“It’s all rock and snow here.” I ignore him. “Gray, white, gray, and more white. What else do you do when you’re living in a monochromatic world, other than dress up to the explosively hued nines?”

Malachite smirks and I go quiet, watching my boots cross the bridge, the wind whipping my hair around my neck. I put one hand on my chest. It’s so strange—I was so convinced a day ago that, if I walked up that mountain, I’d come back down human. Remembering. Whole. But my chest is still empty. Life hasn’t worked out the way I planned for, schemed for, sacrificed for.

Betrayed for.