“Am I dead?”  Paul couldn’t see anything but white. “Or am I snow-blind?”

He stretched his tentacles outward. Instead of ice, he brushed something soft—springy, cool, familiar.

Grass.

Grass meant he was alive.

A groan answered him, followed by a string of colorful curses. Definitely Binky.

“That storm stinks,” she said, rolling onto her paws. She nudged Paul. “You okay, kid?”

“I’m alive!” Paul chirped, his vision sharpening as the white fog dissolved. Shapes formed: rolling green meadow, soft sunlight, and—

Hunter. Helping He Xiangu to her feet.

For a heartbeat Paul thought she was going to punch him for the way he’d grabbed her during the storm, but she didn’t. She accepted his hand, even steadied herself against him for a breath.

From all the swashbuckling stories Paul and Mina had read together, he knew quests were excellent at kindling romance. Hunter and He Xiangu… yes. His heart told him they belonged together. They just needed a tiny push. And he had the perfect plan.

He Xiangu wasn’t looking at Hunter, though. She was glaring upward at the empty sky. “How is the quest not complete? Does anyone else see the latest notification from GATO? All four ingredients were collected. I’m ready to go home.”

Hunter paused, blinking at the floating text before him. “After all that work? If you go home now, you’ll miss the best part... the celebration.”

Paul nodded pointing to the sun dipping low on the horizon. “Please stay! Midwinter’s Eve is nearly here. Because we had to track down the ingredients across worlds, the meal will take time to prepare. I may have eight tentacles, but it’ll be faster and more fun if you all help.”

“I don’t celebrate holidays anymore,” Binky said. “But I can help you set up. Just don’t sing that sea shanty again. Made my ears bleed. Nobody wants to see that.”

Paul’s mouth wobbled. He’d hoped they’d be excited. His glow dimmed.

He Xiangu looked up at the sky with a sigh. “Hey, GATO, if you can hear me, why is the quest not complete?”

GATO: The ritual must be completed. You have approximately two hours remaining to prepare and share the feast before Midwinter’s Eve ends.

“That’s plenty of time!” Paul said, immediately brightening. “And set two extra places at the table—for you and the Portalier.”

GATO: Thank you for your hospitality, but we must decline. You have much to do and very little time. My advice is to begin immediately.

Hunter scooped Paul onto his shoulder and marched toward the cottage door with purpose. He Xiangu and Binky followed.

“I suppose I’ll help,” He Xiangu said dryly. “Since it will literally be the end of this world if I don’t.”

“Don’t be dramatic, princess,” Binky said. “We don’t have to like it, we just have to get it done. Then I’m going back to my burrow where I can live on my own schedule again.”

Inside the cottage, Paul rushed to check the turkey. “Just twenty-six more minutes and it’ll be crisping perfectly.” He scuttled about the kitchen, pulling pots and pans from cupboards. “Oh! We need to set the table!”

He Xiangu lifted a hand. “Leave that to me.”

Hunter emptied his storage ring, placing each hard-won ingredient onto the counter. “This is going to be amazing.” He rolled a Frostglow Beet toward Binky. “Can you help with these?”

“Eh—I don’t cook,” Binky said.

He Xiangu let out an exasperated huff as she plonked a glass jug onto the table. Paul’s heart skipped at the sound. She put it down like she wanted it to survive and shatter at the same time.

“Is dying your thing?” she asked.

“No. My thing is—” Binky listed something very much not kitchen-safe.

“Well, my thing is doing what needs to be done. If I’m setting the table, you’re helping with prep. Get peeling the sugar beet.”

Binky grumbled, but she dragged the Frostglow Beet toward her like it had insulted her ancestors. She jabbed it with the peeling knife.

The beet chimed a soft, crystalline plink, like someone striking a frozen bell.

Binky yanked the knife back. “Did… did that vegetable just talk back?”

“It is not talking,” Paul said, trying to sound confident. “It is expressing its texture.”

Binky narrowed her eyes at the beet. “If it expresses anything else, I’m drop-kicking it into the sun.”

But she settled into peeling. The rind curled away in pale glassy spirals. Her shoulders relaxed, just a touch. She was not scowling nearly as hard as she thought she was, and that made Paul’s heart glad.

“Once it is peeled,” Paul said, “we chop it fine. He Xiangu, would you do the honors? With your sword skills, this should be easy.”

He Xiangu picked up the peeled beet as if weighing its character. A small blade appeared in her hand. She set the beet on the chopping board and began to work. Each cut made a soft cracking noise, like thin ice breaking.

Hunter paused mid-task, awe clear in his expression.

The beet cubes piled into a bowl, glowing faintly like tiny lanterns.

Binky side-eyed the bowl. “Is that supposed to still glow?”

“Yes,” Paul said, puffing out his chest. “The sugars inside crystallize under cold pressure. We only need to melt them down and let them reform.” 

He pointed to a pot on the counter. “Add water, simmer gently, and stir constantly. It is the perfect job for you.”

Binky snorted. “Simmer gently. Stir constantly. Brilliant. You want me to babysit syrup now. Fantastic.”

But she moved to the stove. As the heat worked through the pot, the beet crystals softened and dissolved, turning the water into a shimmering amber syrup. It deepened into a rich warm gold, threads of brighter light swirling through it like trapped sunbeams.

Binky wrinkled her nose. “It smells… good.” She scowled at the pot as if it had betrayed her. “Why does it smell good?”

“It always smells good,” Paul said. “That is why it is called sunray sugar.”

Hunter leaned over her shoulder. “It looks like honey and molten glass had a baby.”

“And that baby,” Binky said, “better not spit on me.”

Paul could see through her prickly armor. Her movements were careful, almost gentle. She stirred the syrup with steady patience.

Hunter leaned closer. “That looks incredible.”

Binky rolled her eyes but did not step away from the stove.

Paul clapped his tentacles together. “Now that is doing nicely. We still have the starter, the baked lichen berry and cheese dip with crackers.”

He took the prepared crackers from a tin in the cupboard and placed them on the table.

“We also have the turkey with pistachio and apricot stuffing. Let me think how to divide the work.”

He Xiangu crushed the lichen berries just right. Their juice stained the cheese a soft lavender. Paul mixed everything together and slid the dish into the oven. Warm, slightly sweet scent drifted through the cottage. It was comforting in a way that made Paul’s glow brighter.

Binky’s stomach growled. “Smells better than it has any right to. Looks like my keen senses and stomach have betrayed me. I might as well stay and eat something. Not to celebrate, mind you. Just to keep starvation at bay.”

Hunter gave Paul a knowing look and moved to chop the pistachios. After a few uneven attempts, Binky sighed and nudged him aside.

“Move your big oaf-ish hands. If you keep at it, we will be here until next Midwinter.” She took over with quick neat motions.

Paul hid a smile. She liked being useful more than she let on.

He Xiangu diced apricots into perfect cubes.

Paul mixed pistachios, apricots, herbs and small cubes of Frostglow Beet into one bowl. As he folded the mixture, the colors shifted, warm orange melting into soft gold.

Hunter blinked. “Is stuffing supposed to look radiant?”

“Yes,” Paul said. “Well… maybe. It has never done that before, but that just means it is special.”

They stuffed the turkey together. The skin crackled softly as the warm mixture filled the cavity.

“Now it is time for the gravy,” Paul said.

He lifted the roasting pan carefully. Turkey drippings had pooled into liquid bronze. He Xiangu tilted the pan so the drippings poured into a saucepan.

Binky dipped a spoon, tasted it, and blinked. “…Alright. That is good.”

For Binky, that was practically a love letter.

Finally they moved on to dessert. The puff pastry rolled smoothly beneath Hunter’s palms, leaving faint trails of white flour on his arms.

Paul sprinkled cinnamon and a pinch of golden sugar over the sheet.

He Xiangu helped roll it into a tight spiral. Each slice revealed a perfect swirl that looked like a tiny galaxy.

They pressed the spirals into muffin tins to form little pastry cups. Paul filled them with mincemeat and placed another swirl on top to form cinnamon-crowned lids.

Binky sniffed them before they went into the oven. “If these things jump out and sing, I am killing them.”

“They are pies,” Paul said. “Not sprites.” He paused. “…Probably.”

* * *

“I hope the Portalier is alright,” Paul said, tentacles wringing together. Worry fluttered in his mantle. He looked around the cottage kitchen, letting the sight lift his spirits.

He Xiangu had set the table. Not neatly. Not perfectly. But with a kind of solemn care that made the mismatched pieces feel like treasures.

Plates shaped from driftwood bark caught the candlelight. Woven placemats of sea grass framed each setting. The cutlery gleamed faintly, polished with more effort than anyone would admit aloud. She placed the last plate down and noticed Paul watching.

“Well,” she said, chin tipped slightly higher, “what do you think?”

“I think you missed your calling,” Hunter said.

“I did not ask you,” she replied without heat. “I only care what the host thinks.”

Paul’s glow brightened. “It looks amazing.”

Hunter grinned. “And I cannot wait to sit down and enjoy a proper meal with all of you. I have not had a real sit down dinner with family since I was a kid.” A shadow crossed his eyes.

Paul tilted his head. “Where is your family?”

Hunter straightened and forced a smile. “Long story. Ask me again later over a few drinks.”

He Xiangu gave him a long look but did not pry. Instead, she folded her arms and turned back to Paul. “Are we done here?”

“It looks truly magical, He Xiangu,” Paul said. “Thank you for setting a place for the Portalier and for GATO, in case they change their mind.”

He fluttered toward a cupboard. Something important tugged at his memory.

“Oh. I nearly forgot the last finishing touch.”

He retrieved a glowing sea wreath, woven from pale algae strands and dotted with white luminescent berries. The wreath gave off a soft, clean scent like ocean wind after a storm.

“Can you help me hang this up?” Paul asked.

He Xiangu raised an eyebrow. She took in the wreath as if deciding whether she should honor it or crush it under her heel.

“What is it?”

“A family tradition,” Paul said. “We hang it above the table.”

He Xiangu lifted him gently. Paul climbed onto her shoulder, then higher as she raised both hands. He fixed the wreath above the center of the table where its light draped the room in calm silver-blue.

He bowed when he finished. She returned the bow with a small smile.

“It smells nice,” she said.

Hunter stepped closer. He looked up at the wreath and inhaled deeply. His eyes softened.

“Reminds me of my old life. The one before the tower. The one before the island.”

Paul’s heart swelled. Everything was coming together. A warm meal, a cosy cottage, friends gathered at one table. It was better than he imagined.

A sharp pecking noise shattered the moment.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

A big white bird stared into the window. Larger than the others. Eyes like frozen pits.

The clock chimed behind Paul. The meal was ready to be served.

Binky hopped onto the counter in one smooth movement and planted herself in front of the window as if her presence alone could bully the creature away.

“If that feathery bastard is here,” she growled, “the rift is not far behind.”

Then came a slow, scraping drag of talon on glass, as though the bird outside was carving its name letter by letter. Paul’s glow dimmed to a nervous flicker.

“That is not a friendly knock,” he whispered.

Binky raised her voice. “Get lost. This is by invitation only. Unless you fancy a nice roast in the oven. We could use you for next day leftovers.”

A single crack split the window.

Then the entire pane exploded inward in a spray of glittering shards. A wind colder than death swept through the cottage and turned their breaths into fog. The table settings rattled. The lights stuttered. The warmth of the hearth shrank.

The creature perched on the sill.

It had the shape of a bird, but only in the way nightmares sometimes imitate real things. Its wings dragged shadows with them as if night was leaking from between its pinions. Frost crawled across the sill beneath its talons. Its beak hung open slightly, not in hunger but in a mockery of a smile.

Its eyes were two pits of violent stillness, the color of collapsing stars.

“This one is different from the others,” He Xiangu said. Her voice stayed level but her stance shifted, weight on the balls of her feet.

The bird creature spoke.

“I know you, little glow.” Its voice carried the weight of deep water erasing the ocean floor.

A whisper braided to a growl. A voice a child might hear in the dark just before they stop believing in safety.

“You shine with dreams that should have drowned. You keep remembering what ought to be forgotten.”

Hunter and He Xiangu stepped in front of Paul, weapons raised.

Binky stood tall on her hind legs. “Back off, bird brain.”

The creature ignored her. Its gaze locked onto Paul. The slow sway of its head suggested something studying prey it already owned. Its talons dug deeper into the sill with a wet crunch that made the wood groan.

“You run. You hide. But grief stains the air around you. I taste it. I know it. I feed on it.”

Paul trembled. Mina’s laugh. His neighbors. Every fragment he kept alive inside him. The Rift tasted all of it.

“I followed your light across worlds,” the creature continued. “Such a small creature. Such a vast ache. Forgotten dreams nest in you. Abandoned hopes. They feed me well.”

He Xiangu stepped forward, blades poised at its throat. “He is not yours.”

The creature leaned closer in a slow parody of curiosity. “Hope is fading in every world touched by you mortals. Despair grows stronger. And when hope dies, those who wander become easy to control.”

A low rasp rippled through its throat.

“As for the grief you carry… grief is a door. You opened it for me.”

Paul felt something inside his chest loosen, like a knot coming undone.

“Your world fell,” the creature whispered. “Not because it was weak. Because the dreamers stopped dreaming. What is forgotten becomes mine.”

Paul’s shoulders sagged. A hollow ache stirred behind his ribs.

“Every memory you cling to is a thread I can pull. Your memories are ghosts that belong in the past. Let go. Fall apart. Become nothing. It is painless.”

The cottage wavered around him. For a moment the bird seemed to speak the awful truth. Memories hurt. Remembering Mina hurt. Carrying this alone hurt. Maybe letting go would finally make it stop.

Something warm closed around him. Hunter’s hands. Steady and shaking at the same time.

“You carry their legacy,” Hunter said, his voice softening. “Never forget.” The raw grief in his voice told Paul that Hunter knew this pain well. He Xiangu stood firm beside him, silent and fierce. Binky’s ears flattened. Her teeth were bared. She looked ready to tear reality in half for him.

They would die to protect him. Paul knew that.

And if he let go of Mina… if he forgot… then everything she had been would be gone forever.

Paul straightened. He gathered every bit of light that loved him, every story Mina ever told him, and let it all rise.

He glowed until the shadows peeled back.

“I am not made of grief,” he said. His small voice cut through the storm. “I am made of love. And memories. And the stories Mina shared with me. You cannot take those.”

The bird hissed. Its form swelled.

Its wings spanned the whole cottage, casting darkness over every wall.

“Then I will tear them out myself.”

“Not on my watch, bird brain.” Binky launched herself at the creature with enough force to knock a mountain off its ledge. She collided with the bird’s chest and drove them both through the broken window into the growing darkness outside.

Hunter and He Xiangu exchanged a single look before sprinting for the door. Paul clung to Hunter’s shoulder with all the sucker strength he had.

Outside, the sea stretched into a vast rolling swell. The sun had been swallowed by the horizon, leaving only a rim of fading gold. Paul’s glow lit the earth around the cottage, pushing back the shadows just enough to see what waited.

Binky and the bird rolled across the ground like a burst pillow. Feathers scattered in frantic spirals. Binky kicked and punched and bit with every ounce of stubborn fury she possessed.

Hunter and He Xiangu rushed to join her, but their movement seemed to awaken something far older than the bird.

The tormented ocean swelled. A shape rose from it like a titan called from a nightmare.

It had no true form, only suggestion. A storm made of malice. A face carved from thunder and cold void. Teeth made of collapsing starlight.

The seasonal rift had followed them.

Paul barely registered the shifting mass before a great pale hand of cloud reached for the struggling bird. The bird did not resist. It looked almost relieved as the storm opened a mouth shaped like a whirlpool and swallowed it whole.

Thunder bellowed across the land.

At first, the words were only vibration. Then the meaning hit like a breaking wave.

“No more walls left,” the voice said. “No more borders between dream and ruin. No mercy. No hope. No purpose except my hunger. Pain without end and no catharsis. You mortals forget your dreams. You abandon your stories. You let your worlds fade. And I take everything you leave behind.”

Hunter stepped forward. His breath shook, but his eyes did not. “You think yourself a god?”

The rift turned its vast face toward him. “Not a god,” it said. “Something worse.”

Binky staggered to her feet, her fur bristling. “Do I look like someone who cares what a god thinks?”

Binky struck the storm with a flurry of fists and kicks. Hunter slammed his broom into a swirling tendril of cloud. He Xiangu’s blades flashed with streaks of pale light.

None of it mattered.

The storm shuddered in annoyance.

“Futile fight,” it howled. “You cannot wound what is not flesh.”

They drew together without planning it, forming a shelter around Paul. Hunter braced his broom like a spear. He Xiangu stood steady as carved stone. Binky wrapped a protective arm around the little squid.

Paul’s glow trembled.

“We cannot fight this storm with weapons or paws or tentacles,” he whispered. “The Portalier cannot save us. But I can save you. And you… you will carry Mina’s memories for me.”

Binky tightened her hold. “As long as there is breath in me, I will fight to protect you.”

He Xiangu released a soft sigh. “Your loyalty honors you. But we cannot kill something we cannot hit.”

She stepped forward and lowered her sword.

Paul stared, startled.

“He Xiangu…?”

“A wise man once said that to fight and conquer is not supreme excellence,” she said. “True excellence lies in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.” He Xiangu’s hair lashed around her in the rising gale, crimson eyes sharp against her pale skin. Yet her expression held no warrior’s fury. It was calm, controlled, focused. “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”

She held Paul’s gaze. It made his world feel smaller, not in a frightening way, but in a way that showed she saw the truth at his core. His life was a journey, with thousands of miles behind him and thousands more ahead. There was a reason Mina had found him. There was a reason he was here now, even if he did not understand the will of the heavens. 

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

The storm grew larger, taller, hungrier, swallowing the sky as it approached.

Paul was tiny. That was undeniable. But he refused to feel small.

“You are weak and insignificant,” the storm rumbled. “Bow before me. Accept your fate and I will spare your friends and their worlds.”

Paul straightened. He would not grovel, not for himself and not for them. Life was sorrow and joy and everything between, and he would choose it all on his own terms.

“Yes, I am weak and tiny,” he said. “But oaks may fall when reeds stand the storm.”

The words struck him with a force that felt almost magical. Light surged through every vein of his being, every memory he carried, every drop of love and pain etched into his small heart. He let it burst outward.

Everything washed to white.

Then he felt it. A familiar warmth. A presence like the space between raindrops. The Portalier stood beside him in a nowhere-place lit by soft colors.

“If you stretched out your hand,” the Portalier said, “you could touch a rainbow.”

Paul blinked up at him. “What happened?”

“Grief is powerful,” the Portalier said. “You carried it alone for a long time. But the memories of your loved ones are stronger. They are what unraveled the rift.”

“Where are we?” Paul asked, trying to make sense of the Portalier’s words.

A panicked thought flashed through him, sharp as a knife. The Portalier saw it immediately.

“They are safe,” he said gently. “Everyone is safe. I only borrowed a moment to tell you that your memories saved this world. GATO has made a prediction we must keep off the record, but your actions have placed this world in uncharted territory.”

“I do not understand.”

“In time you will.”

Paul stared. “Huh?”

The Portalier cleared his throat. “GATO told me to stop being cryptic. Anything is possible.”

The words struck a spark in Paul’s heart.

“Mina will return now that the rift is gone?” he whispered.

The Portalier did not answer. He did not need to. The possibility alone felt like sunlight.

The light faded. The real world returned.

The cottage sagged under the weight of the storm’s passing. The front door hung crooked like a loose tooth. Snow blew through the broken window. The table had shifted sideways. Glass glittered across the floor. The earth outside bore deep scars from where the rift had clawed the ground. But it was quiet now. Peaceful.

Hunter surveyed the damage with a grimace. “At least we did not serve the food yet.”

Paul’s glow dimmed. So much effort… almost ruined.

“Wipe that long face off,” Binky said, nudging him. “I hate Midwinter celebrations more than anyone, but I refuse to let all our work go to waste.”

He Xiangu nodded. “The food is intact. We only need to reset the table, sweep the glass, seal the window and pull the door back into place.”

“Leave the repairs to me,” Hunter said. “I have worked up a serious appetite.”

They fell into a rhythm. Hunter fixed the door and swept the floor. He Xiangu gathered the cutlery and righted the chairs. Binky grumbled while sealing the window with compacted earth, but she did it well. The cottage slowly transformed back into a warm, homely space.

Paul noticed the wreath hanging askew. It had taken a beating. Snow clung to the tangled strands. Some berries had burst. A little piece of his tradition looked close to giving up.

He Xiangu stepped forward without being asked. She straightened the wreath, retied the loosened twine and brushed snow from the berries.

“Good as new,” she said with a small smile. “You said it is a family tradition. I would like to hear more.”

“Me too,” Hunter added.

Paul brightened. “Once we eat. We are all starving.”

They sat at the table. Two empty seats waited for the Portalier and GATO.

Paul bowed his head. “Before we begin, I would like to raise a toast to absent friends.”

Their cups chimed softly. “To absent friends!”

Binky lifted hers. “GATO, tell your boss he should get his butt in here. Nothing is more important than taking a break after saving a world.”

Silence stretched. Paul hesitated, cup untouched.

A knock sounded.

He slid from his chair and opened the door. The Portalier stood there with GATO glowing at his shoulder.

“Sorry we are late,” the Portalier said. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” Paul said, ushering them inside.

Binky raised her cup. “Glad you saw sense. Chef Paul, the food is great but do you have anything to drink that puts fire in my belly?”

“I will drink to that,” Hunter said.

The Portalier pushed back his goggles and relaxed into the spare chair. He nodded to GATO.

She executed a delighted spin. “Pineapple Delight coming up.”

A small panel slid open on her side and she produced glowing golden cocktails. The cottage filled with a soft tropical aroma.

They ate and drank.

They relaxed into the warmth.

Hunter spoke of his sister back home and how she would have loved this feast. He mentioned how he missed his parents after his exile to Death Island only briefly, letting the conversation drift to better memories.

Paul looked up at the wreath hanging above Hunter’s seat.

“In my world the Tide Mother looks after us,” Paul said. “She symbolizes love. During the Midwinter feast we hang wreaths in her honor.”

He glanced at the wreath above Hunter’s head. The glow of its pale berries warmed the room.

“In our tradition it is called the Tide Mother’s Kiss.” He looked at He Xiangu. “The person who helped hang it gets to choose whether to kiss the person sitting beneath it.”

He Xiangu’s expression did not change. Calm. Impossible to read.

Paul’s glow wobbled. “Only if you want to,” he added in a small voice.

Across the table, Hunter turned the color of plum wine. “I can move if you prefer. You do not hav—”

Binky leaned so far forward she was nearly in the gravy. Not a single joke left in her.

Paul silently prayed nothing would ruin this moment.

He Xiangu finally spoke. “I have a choice.”

Paul nodded. “Yes.”

For one heartbeat the room held its breath.

Then, as if something unseen clicked into place, He Xiangu leaned in and kissed Hunter full on the lips.

Paul clapped all his tentacles together in a delighted burst.

“Finally,” Binky said. “I thought we would never get to second helpings.”

Laughter rolled around the table.

Paul beamed. “I thought you were not a fan of feasts.”

“I am converted,” Binky said, already reaching for the serving spoon. “Can you blame me? This food is out of this world.”