Khor reached out a hand, but Donal stopped him with a gentle palm to the chest.

"Give him a second," Donal murmured, watching Zorn with an uncharacteristic softness. "That was a lot for a kid to swallow in one sitting."

Zorn’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. "Am I a monster?"

Khor leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why? Did you do something monstrous lately, or are you just feeling dramatic?"

"The man on the beach," Zorn said, ignoring the jab. "Tall, clad in iron. He told me stopping him was a mistake. He looked like... he looked like death."

Donal’s brow furrowed. "Iron armor? Purple and black cape, maybe?"

Zorn nodded quickly. "How did you know?"

Donal let out a short, airy chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. "Because Plush here has brothers. That 'death' you saw was a Relic Guard. They’re like... the scariest cops in this kingdom. Haha!"

"I'm sorry?! BROTHERS?!" Zorn surged forward, nearly tipping the table. "THAT thing is related to HIM!?" He jabbed a shaky finger toward Khor.

Khor didn't look up, instead choosing to study a knot in the wooden table. "I'm the third oldest," he muttered. "But it's... concerning. He shouldn't have been the one hunting Sabrina."

"Why?" Zorn asked, his heart still hammering.

Donal’s playful energy vanished. He set his chin in his hand, his gaze suddenly heavy enough to make Zorn wince. "Because he’s a Relic Guard. They don't pull guard duty for people; they guard things. Specifically, the artifacts gifted by the Moon Mage, Esmaril."

Zorn sank back into the booth's red leather. The pieces clicked. "She took it. Sabrina stole the artifact."

"Bingo," Donal murmured.

"Which means," Khor added, his voice low, "her fragmented half, Brennan, is coming. They call him the Eclipsed Moon God, and he’ll want his property back."

Donal flashed a sudden, roguish grin. "Good news is, you get to meet a god!"

Zorn threw his hands up in exasperation. "And the bad news?!"

"Bad news?" Donal shrugged. "He’s a miserable conversationalist and he’s probably going to try to kill us."

Zorn groaned, his forehead hitting the table with a dull thud.

"Stop whining," Khor said, though his voice wasn't unkind. "If we’re going to die for you, tell us where you actually came from. You didn't just 'fall' from nowhere."

Zorn sat up, his shoulders tense. "The Sixth Realm. The Eternal Night. It’s... it’s a place of demons. That’s what I am." He looked at them, waiting for the horror, but Donal just looked curious.

"I’m looking for someone," Zorn continued, his voice hurried. "Lira. She was from the Ninth Realm. Some... some giant eye in the sky took her. It told me I didn't belong with a Herald of Light. Then I found a door and I fell. I thought I saw her light on the way down."

"The Ninth?" Donal hummed, tapping his chin. "That's a long way from the Sixth. High divinity. You’re a long way from that, kid. But that light you saw? That wasn't your girl." Donal pointed at Khor. "That was just Khor's magic catching you before you hit the water."

Zorn’s face went bright red. "Oh. Right."

"You border on obsession," Khor remarked, his eyes narrowing. "It’s dangerous."

The tension was broken by the arrival of food. Trays of steaming meat and tall glasses were dropped onto the table. Zorn blinked, confused by the sudden feast. "We didn't even order."

"Perks of being a regular," Donal said, already uncorking a bottle of wine.

POP!

He poured a glass for Khor and offered the bottle to Zorn.

Zorn pulled back. "I've heard stories about the Fae and drinks, Don. I'm not looking to be mind-controlled today."

Donal laughed, a genuine, belly-shaking sound. "Kid, I’m adopted. I don't know the first thing about Fae magic. I just like the taste."

"He's fifteen, you moron," Khor growled, snatching the bottle away. "No wine for the boy."

"I drank at fifteen!" Donal protested.

"And look how you turned out!" Khor snapped.

Zorn watched them, a small, genuine smile creeping onto his face despite the looming threat of a Moon God. "Is this what the guild is like? Just... this?"

Khor stopped bickering and took a slow sip of his wine. "The Fae Star Guild is for the people the world ignores. We do the jobs kings are too proud for and the law is too scared of. We’re the gravity for people who are falling, Zorn. And apparently, since the founder said so, you’re the one holding the rope."

Donal raised his bottle in a drunken toast, his eyes already a bit glassy. "We have a manifesto... somewhere. 'Our greatest works are the ones nobody hears about.' Wait, no, that's not it..."

Khor sighed, leaning over to Zorn. "Ignore him. The manifesto is simple: 'To those who fall, we are the gravity. To those who wander, we are the North.'"

"Welcome to the mess, kid," Donal chuckled.

"He's already drunk?" Zorn pointed.

"Lightweight," Khor replied.

***

Moira led the way up the spiraling mahogany staircase, her movements so fluid she seemed to float rather than climb. Sabrina followed, her chin tilted at an angle that suggested she was evaluating every floorboard.

“You have a remarkable eye for architecture, Moira,” Sabrina remarked, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. “Though I am surprised a… person of your lineage chooses to dwell within wooden walls. I would have expected a mountain or a vault.”

Moira chuckled, a low sound that vibrated in her chest. “Stone is cold, dear. And mountains are terribly lonely. I find that when one lives for centuries, the company of ‘fleeting’ things; wood, silk, and people; provides a much-needed warmth.”

They reached the third floor, where the hallway opened into a gallery lined with tapestries that shimmered like liquid silver. Moira stopped before a pair of heavy, carved doors.

“Donal mentioned you were a traveler with Zorn,” Moira said, turning back. Her golden eyes seemed to catch the light from the chandeliers, glowing with a soft intensity. “But you don't walk like a traveler like him. You walk like someone who has spent a great deal of time holding something heavy. Or perhaps something very precious?”

Sabrina's grip tightened on the pocket of her dress, her heart skipping a beat. She forced a languid smile. “The road is long. One carries what one must.”

“Indeed.” Moira pushed the doors open, revealing a room that took Sabrina's breath away.

The walls were draped in midnight-blue velvet, and the bed was a mountain of plush pillows and embroidered silks. But it was the balcony that drew the eye: a wide, arched opening that looked out over the starlit coast they had just traversed.

“This is the Star-Gazer suite,” Moira announced, stepping inside. “The silk is woven with dust from the Northern Peaks. It's said to draw out the tension of those who are… troubled by their secrets.”

Sabrina walked toward the balcony, her eyes scanning the horizon. She could see the faint white line of the surf on the beach where the iron-clad man had confronted them. “It's lovely. Almost enough to make one forget their troubles.”

“Almost,” Moira agreed, walking to a small table where a crystal decanter sat. She poured a single glass of a pale, shimmering liquid. “But I find that a woman of your intelligence doesn't forget. She plans. She calculates.”

Moira walked over and offered the glass to Sabrina. Her height was imposing, but her smile remained disarmingly soft. “Tell me, Sabrina. Donal is a fool for many things, but he is rarely a fool for people. He treats that boy, Zorn, like a fragile glass sculpture. And he treats you like a storm he's trying to navigate. Which one of you is the real danger?”

Sabrina took the glass, her fingers brushing against Moira's cool, dark skin. She felt a shiver; not fear, but recognition. The dragon wasn't just distracting her; she was testing her.

“The storm is usually the safest place to be,” Sabrina replied, taking a cautious sip. It tasted like honey and cinnamon. “Provided you know which way the wind is blowing.”

Moira's smile widened, revealing teeth that were just a fraction too sharp to be human. “I like you. It's been a long time since I've had a guest who didn't blink when I bared my teeth.”

She turned toward a large, ornate wardrobe in the corner. “Now, about those silks. I have a set that was gifted to me by a merchant from the Sun-Drenched Isles. They say the fabric changes color based on the wearer's mood. I've been dying to see if the legends are true. Would you care to help me settle a bet with myself?”

Sabrina looked at the door, then back at the dragon-woman. She knew Donal was likely talking to Zorn, digging into things he had no right to know. But looking at the luxury before her, and the captivating, dangerous woman offering it, she found her resolve slipping.

“I suppose,” Sabrina said, setting her glass down, “I can spare a few minutes for a legend.”