They are ready.

She was only seventeen. She rose, and the world rose with her. Creatures of nightmares lifted their haunches and howled at the dying stars above us. The girl turned and set her sights on the horizon. Her black heartsglass swung with her movements, and a queer light shone forth from its depths. Her familiar, the boy in black, stood beside her. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she rested her head against his knuckles. Her fingers found his.

“Let’s go, Kalen,” she said.

I followed them as they moved across the beach, onto the road that stretched into the kingdom of Daanoris. A cold wind blew from the north, and with it the promise of night—a growing darkness tempered only by the moon above, burning with all the light to see.