No one speaks for a moment.

The charcoal dust on my arms smears further as I lower them. The sigils sit on the table between cups, maps, and bread crumbs—quiet, impossible.

Iseph breaks first. His voice is low, rough. “Heroes are for stopping the end. Not becoming the fuse.”

Edrin looks sick with understanding. He rubs his hands together, leaving gray streaks on his sleeves. “It would work,” he says, barely audible. “Gods help us, it would work.”

Cassian steps closer—too close for comfort, close enough that his shadow cuts across the page. “You don’t volunteer to die because it’s clever,” he says. “You do it because you don’t think you’re allowed to want anything else.”

Alaric’s hand comes down flat on the table.

“No,” he says.

The word echoes through the room.

“You don’t get to decide this alone,” he continues, eyes on me, steady and bright. “Not in my kingdom. Not after one night’s sleep and a good idea.”

He gestures to the sigils. “We will study it. We will test it. We will look for a way that does not end with you sacrificing yourself.”

“Guys.” I smile; it’s gentle. “I know this looks scary, but I promise it’s fine. You’re still operating on the assumption that saintesses burn out. I’m telling you, if that’s what you think, your world hasn’t had a true saintess in millennia.”

I tap the first rune again. “This world will set the bar so high that you’ll feel silly for worrying about me.”

The silence that follows is different this time.

Edrin leans back slowly, eyes never leaving the sigils. “If that’s true,” he says carefully, “then our historical baseline is catastrophically wrong.”

Iseph closes his eyes for a brief second, then opens them again.

Cassian exhales through his nose. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease, but it shifts. “You’re saying the system failed them. Not the other way around.”

Alaric studies me—really studies me now.

“A saintess who doesn’t burn,” Alaric says quietly, almost disbelieving. He straightens. “Then we do this properly.”

Edrin nods, already thinking faster. “Gradual integration. Observation. If the bar really is higher—”

“—we’ll know,” Iseph finishes.

Cassian’s gaze meets mine. Still worried. Still steady. “You better be right.”

“It’s true. I’m serious,” I say. “Like you said, Iseph. Something like this would kill a normal person. You’ve been summoning normal people and calling them saintesses, and then you’re shocked when they die.” I gesture to the sigils. “Summon the saintess. Everything will be okay.”

The room goes quiet again—but this time, it settles.

Iseph studies me for a long moment. Then he exhales, slow and measured. “We summoned the faithful,” he says. “Not the capable.” A pause. “That is on us.”

Edrin nods, already scribbling notes beside my sigils. “If the conduit can actually hold the flow—if it scales instead of collapses—then the failure state disappears.” He looks up, eyes bright and unnerved. “This isn’t martyrdom. It’s architecture.”

Cassian runs a hand through his hair, then lets it drop.

Alaric meets my gaze. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t soften.

“All right,” he says. “We proceed under one condition.”

He gestures to the table, to the sigils, to everyone present.

“No cages. No forced rites. The saintess chooses. And if at any point you say stop—everything stops.”

I nod. “Deal.” I clap my hands together. “So when can we start?”

Alaric exhales once, sharp, then nods.

“Not today,” he says. “Soon.”

Edrin is already reorganizing the table. “We need three things before we even attempt this: materials to stabilize the circle, a controlled location, and time to test the flow without a living subject.” He looks up at me. “Days. Not weeks.”

Iseph adds, “And the saintess must be found first. One who comes willingly. No coercion. No desperation--”

“Ah, you won’t need to find her.” I pull the necklace from around my neck. It’s made of a beautiful silver metal that, on closer inspection, doesn’t resemble any metal of this world. The inlaid gems are small but glisten with impossible force.

“Use this as the catalyst,” I say. “Those are managems in there. It was given to me by a friend.” I glance up. “She’ll be able to handle the job.”

The room reacts instantly.

Edrin inhales sharply and reaches out—then stops himself mid-motion, hands hovering instead. His eyes track the metal, the cut of the gems, the way light bends wrong around them. “That alloy isn’t native,” he says. “It’s not even adjacent.”

Iseph’s breath goes slow. Reverent. Careful. “Managems…” He shakes his head once.

Alaric steps closer, gaze fixed on the necklace. “Your friend,” he says. “She understands what this would mean?”

The gems pulse once—faint, patient, as if acknowledging the question without answering it.

Edrin finally nods, awe bleeding through his discipline. “With this as a catalyst, the summoning doesn’t pull.” He looks up at me. “It invites.”

Iseph lets out a quiet, stunned laugh. “A saintess who arrives by choice. Bound by trust. Anchored to you.”

Alaric straightens, decision settling like stone. “Then we proceed.”

The necklace rests in my hand—foreign, brilliant, and very much awake.

I set the necklace on the table, directly atop the rune I drew of her home planet. “Is there anything else you need? I’d like to get this done sooner rather than later. I’m worried that once we set out for the demonic front lines, we won’t be coming back until the job is done.”

Edrin studies the necklace where it rests on the rune, then looks up.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just time.At least one full day to let the managems synchronize with this world’s ley flow. If we rush that, the invitation could misfire.”

Alaric nods once, already decided. “I’ll arrange the chamber.”

Edrin looks back at me. “If everything aligns, we can attempt the summoning tomorrow night.”

Iseph’s gaze lingers on the necklace. “After that,” he says quietly, “there’s no pretending this is a small war anymore.”

“Great,” I say. Coffee finished, I push up from the table, ready to move on now that this problem is solved. “Is there a training ground I can use?”

Alaric blinks.

“Yes,” he says, then clears his throat. He gestures toward the windows, toward the inner ring of the palace. “Lower courtyard. Stone floor, open sky. Wards for containment—old, stable. You won’t disturb anyone important.”

Cassian straightens a little. “I’ll take you.”

Rook grins. “I’ll watch. For educational purposes.”

Edrin and Iseph have their heads together again, already looking over notes.

A guard opens the doors.

“Oh,” I say, pausing just before I step out. I look back at the prince. “Keep that sigil safe, would you?” I gesture to the exceptionally complex one that took me nearly thirty minutes to draw. “That’s my life there.” I grin at him. “What’s in a name, amirite?”

Alaric doesn’t smile. “I won’t let it out of my sight,” he says.

His hand comes down over the parchment, deliberate, protective.