They reached a cliffside clearing where the land fell away to open sky. Far below, the first island slumbered, its rivers like silver veins, its forests dark and shimmering with unknown dreams. Jude stood at the edge, the wind tousling his hair, and felt the fullness of it - the life he'd found, the women who walked beside him, the strange, sacred bond between them and this living world.
Rose stepped beside him. "This is what we were chosen for."
"Chosen?" Sophie echoed. "Or created?"
"No difference," Rose said softly. "We are what this island needed."
Behind them, Grace gasped.
They turned.
At the base of a tall tree, partially hidden by thick hanging vines, a door had formed. Not carved - not placed - but grown. A spiral of bark that pulsed faintly, its grain forming ancient runes like those on the heartstone.
Stella stepped forward and touched it.
The door opened.
