Wynona stared in awe. “What’s a boat doing all the way down here?”

There was a mid-sized sailboat docked on the shore of the lake. Its sails were already hoisted, so white they nearly glowed in the darkness. Even from here, Wynona could tell it was old. The low shine, the intricate joinery: The bulk of the boat was made of planks of solid wood. The sails were woven from a plant-based cloth, thick and fibrous. There was minimal metal, no synthetic cloths or plastics that she could see… Wynona had been trying not to think about her father since she’d left Claybay, but she couldn’t help but think now that he would have loved to see this. It must have been decades since the seas saw such a piece of craftsmanship.

And it was in good condition. Great condition, even. Wynona looked around. It didn’t look or sound like anyone else was here. And why would they be? This place was inaccessible. Even the Slayers, with all their radars and screens, hadn’t said a thing about a secret ship at Magmathalos’s center. Carefully, she began to approach it.

As Wynona got closer, she became more confident in her assumption that nobody had touched this boat in years. A fine layer of rock dust and grime had settled over the wood. It wasn’t even anchored or tied down to any stakes—just caught in the space between two boulders, floating steadily. 

She placed a hand on its side. The wood was warm where she touched it—of course it was; the heat and humidity this deep within the volcano was unlike anything Wynona had felt before. It was a miracle the whole ship wasn’t molding over. “Where did you come from, hm?” she asked softly. 

Of course it didn’t answer, but Wynona suddenly felt awash with sadness. Somebody had really loved this boat, once. That much was clear. For it to have been hidden, or lost—something irreversible must have occurred. 

Her melancholy didn’t last. There was a flashing light toward the bow of the ship. Wynona glanced upward. That light—it was what had caught her eye from the other end of the river. She looked around. There—toward the stern was a boarding ladder, thrown over the side. Wynona took off across the rocky shore, running her hand along the smooth, solid planks, her excitement building. What had she been thinking? This wasn’t the time to question or grieve whatever had happened. It was time to get out of this volcano once and for all.

Wynona felt more hopeful for the first time since striking Gelata through the heart—or since thinking that she struck it through the heart, anyway. But as she scrambled up the ladder, she took pause. Get out of this volcano? By boat? How was she going to do that, so far below sea level? It’s not like there were going to be any rivers running upward. 

Well, whatever. Maybe there would be some kind of rudimentary communication system on board. At the very least she might find some stale but still edible food. 

She skipped the last rung and threw her leg over the side of the boat. Here she was. She stood for a moment, staring up at the proud sails and sturdy mast as if she might be able to take their easy confidence for herself.

And there was the light again, up at the stern, so bright and so brief. She ran to meet it. When she saw its source, despite its quaint appearance, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

It was some kind of steering panel: A square piece of metal atop a three foot-tall stand. The shape of a hand had been carved into the panel.

It was so beautiful, and wouldn’t her own hand fit so perfectly? Wynona took another step forward and then tilted her head. She could almost hear Loch in her ear—Don’t mess with it, Wynona, you don’t know what could happen—but Loch wasn’t here. She was free to do what she wanted. At least here, her mistakes couldn’t hurt other people. 

She placed her right hand into the indent. 

The device glowed blue, letting off sparks. Wynona cried out, more from shock than from pain. She shook her hand and frowned down at the panel. 

It was only then that she noticed the panel wasn’t the only thing that had been affected. Something in her back pocket was starting to burn. 

Wynona realized what it was, and excitement rushed through her even as she felt a jolt of fear. 

Her Gauntlet was still in the pocket of her suit. She had prided herself on never needing one; Wynona had her own magic, she burned bright just fine on her own. But she could feel it now: The boat reaching out, the Gauntlet fighting to meet it. They needed each other. For once, her hands alone were not enough. 

What could that possibly mean? Was Wynona not enough? Or was this boat even stranger than she’d thought, possessed of some old magic she didn’t understand? 

Wynona’s hand curled back from the panel. 

Then that need hit again, paired with the heady certainty that this was meant for her, that Wynona and this boat and this Gauntlet were somehow, in that moment, one and the same.

The desperation enveloped her and she didn’t need to think twice. Wynona slid the Gauntlet onto her hand and slammed her palm back onto the panel. 

A wall of light burst upward from the boat. Wynona squeezed her eyes shut, grabbing onto the edge of the panel to hold herself steady as the vessel shook. There was a crack, a crash, loud and total like a wave passing over her head. She should have been scared for her life (again). But in the warm glow of this new magic, the light of which was so intense that it made its way to the back of her closed eyelids, this was the safest Wynona had felt since she’d woken up in the rubble. 

Above her, one last thunderous crash. And the boat was still.