“I’m Greye,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners with her smile. Greye. I remember the name. She was a queen of Tor many centuries ago.

We enter what looks like a party. The hedges border dozens of white iron tables surrounded by plush armchairs where other High Fae sit enjoying wine and food. I see Fae representing each of the realms, all marked by their distinctive coloring and features.

I’m in the Evanescence. That I knew, but now I’m where the descended go, surrounded by the kings and queens of Ouranos’s past. My first instinct might be to panic that I’ve died, but this isn’t how it works, right? I haven’t ascended yet, so this can’t be my resting place. All I can assume is that when I broke out of Zerra’s palace, I landed in a different part of the Evanescence.

Greye weaves us between several tables as I feel the weight of many curious eyes. She says hello to a few onlookers, tapping their shoulders lightly as their gazes burn into my back. She doesn’t introduce me to anyone, which is probably for the best.

In the distance, I see a table surrounded by several people with black hair and varying shades of brown skin. I feel a weird shift in my heart at the sight. I know those faces. I’ve seen them all rendered in oil paintings that I used to study when I was a boy, wondering if any of these ancestors could have shielded me from my father’s hatred.

There’s Verde, the third king of the Second Age, and Iris, the queen after that, my great-great-great-great—I’m not sure how many I have to add—grandmother. She’s the first to spot me, her dark eyes finding me in the distance. They narrow imperceptibly before they open wider. She taps the arm of the man next to her, and that’s when I see him. After studying his portrait for more hours than I can count, I know him. Wearing a black shirt and pants, he looks just like my father with his dark hair cropped short.

My grandfather looks over, and confusion crosses his face. He was expecting his son. And while I do look a lot like my father, it’s clear he knows that I am not Rion. Garnet, the former Aurora King, presses himself up to stand as I slowly approach. I must look insane right now. I’m covered in blood, my feet are bare, and my clothing is in shreds.

“Nadir?” Garnet says, and I blink.

“Yes,” I say. “You know me?”

“Of course I do.”

He nods as he approaches, and now everyone around the table watches me. I run a hand over my head, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of my ancestors. I feel judged, weighed, and found lacking, though I’m not sure why.