Morwen stands atop the highest palace tower, hands thrust to the dying sky. Wind lashes her hair and clothes. Behind her, her mother climbs the stairs, pleading, but Morwen cannot hesitate. The vision is clear, their goddess is dying. The northern lights flicker, collapsing before her eyes. This is the only way.

I’m sorry, Mother.

She turns and locks the door, tuning out the pounding fists and cries. Another stream of light breaks, flickers, and dies. The bridge is failing. The dead will have nowhere to go.

“I am here! Let me be the seed! I will stir the river! I will find the wanderers!” Morwen cries, voice thrown into the chaos below. The words from her vision don’t make sense to her, but she trusts in Auris. Buildings groan and crumble, people scatter, but she feels it then, in her chest.. a flickering warmth.

I am dying, little one. I cannot hold the veil. Will you carry me? The voice of the goddess washes through her mind across an infinite expanse. She can see it…the veil between life and death falling, stars wheeling overhead, spirits lost without guidance. 

Her pulse races. Her hands shake. Her lips tremble. This is what she was born for. She lifts her chin. Yes.

A relieved sigh trembles through her. Snow swirls like shattered glass. The palace groans, the tower shakes, but it all feels distant, removed. The weight of eternity presses on her mind, the hush of a world ending, so another can be born. 

I will keep you. You will sleep. You will be my vessel. 

Ice flows over her body, crystalline and serene, a shield. A seed. A promise. The last lights go out. Silence. Sleep.