She drifted over to the sullen shard, an unmarked gravestone. It was not a color, not even black, but more like a hole in the everdream, an exit into nothing.

In the oldest tales, the ones etched into the bones of every story that followed them, there came a moment when the hero stood before the Ravenous Gate and heard the screams of those condemned to Torment. Isabelle had seen many depictions of the portal to the Breaker’s Torment. All fell short of this awful absence. The repulsive menace of its obliterating silence shriveled her spirit. Every instinct urged her to flee.

In all the old tales, the hero stepped through the gate.

But I am not a hero. Heroes didn’t feel like wetting themselves. Besides, most of those heroes never came back out.

Yet beyond this hole into agony was a soul, a human being who needed her help.

Isabelle swallowed her lurching heart, and reached for Brunela. Cold rushed through her as she made contact, the chill of a thousand winters numbing her mind. Far from trying to absorb her like the other fragments, it solidified against her and pushed her away. She took hold of its substance and pulled. It was like trying to shape frozen clay, stiff and unyielding.

Isabelle’s fever flared and she faltered. She could not win by pitting her will against Brunela’s anguish.

But then the point was not to win. She did not want to conquer her sister, beat her, or break her. She wanted to help and be helped.

Brunela, she said. My name is Isabelle. I am your sister. I could not save you from our father, but I can help you now. I can give you a place to be. A place where no one can hurt you.

The void remained thick and cold. Isabelle wrapped herself around it, like hugging a glacier whose cold sucked the life from her soul instead of her limbs. She let go her heat, let it flow into the tombstone and through the gate. Please let Brunela feel the warmth of her comfort.

I need you, she said. I know it hurts. I know it’s hard to look up from the misery, but you still have much to give, and many who will be thankful for it. Please, sister. If you ever begged as I do, I need your help.

The chill quivered and a needle of pain stabbed Isabelle through the center of her being.

She screamed. Many times had she been shadowburned, she’d been shocked with galvanic fluid, had her arm amputated, and been set on fire. This was worse than all of those at once. Nothing human could have withstood it. Isabelle’s heart and breath both stuttered and nearly stopped.

She couldn’t absorb this. There was no way. She tried to clutch the pain, to direct it, but nothing responded to her will.

Help!