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Araxis gathered it back up, misted again, and misted back. “I’ve set it all on the bed because, well, let’s be honest—there was nowhere else to put it.”

Brand might’ve laughed if he wasn’t wide eyed and staring down into the abyssal depths of a looming episode, even in his damned fucking rage.

His brother produced the lump of root Brand dug up when he first arrived. “Our trinket for signaling?”

All Brand could do was nod.

“Perfect. This way is you telling me you’re alright.” He turned it over. “This way is me telling you I’ve been to visit and seen that you’re fine. Yes?”

Another bewildered nod.

“Good. I’ll place it my way for now. You move it in the morning. Speaking of which”—he pointed to the top of a nearby tree to the west—“when the twin moons are there, it’s morning as we Sorcerit know it. There”—a tree on the opposite side of the garden, to the east—“is evening. Midnight and midday are both the center of the sky, depending on which direction they approached from. Currently, it’s very early morning, so the moons should clear the trees soon. West to east is the waking hours, east to west is when you should try to sleep if you want any hope of adjusting back without trouble once you’re home.”

Such a simple thing. Brand was sure he’d been well aware of that once upon a time, from lessons as a boy. And yet…he hadn’t known for himself now, somehow. Another thing to remind him of his floundering.

Araxis leapt into the air, turning to hover in front of him. There was an almost awkward pause as his brother stared, searching his eyes. A small wave of power wafted out and settled around Brand—right before Araxis grabbed his face and pressed their foreheads together.

“You’ve been through things we can’t imagine, some of which still require addressing, but not until you’ve faced them for yourself. Lunara is not the only one who’ll be there for you when you’re ready.”

With that, Araxis planted a light kiss on his cheek and was gone.

Alone. Brand was…completely alone.

Just for a little while. Just until he was ready.

It quickly became apparent that Araxis probably made sure to put everything inside because he knew Brand wouldn’t be able to get to it unless he found his way out of the rage.

The bastard.

Maybe a bit genius, too, if Brand was honest. Few things were able to motivate him more than a growling, gnawing stomach. Without being forced to try, he might’ve simply accepted his state and gone about his business uncaring.

Whatever business meant while he was alone with fuck all to do.

His first instinct was to smash every bloody thing in sight. Of course, he then looked up to find all the snails in the birdbath looking at him. Having a rout of shelled and glowing slugs passing their cool judgement was enough to stop his fist.

It also forced him to think.

Yes, he’d controlled the rage without Luna for decades. Mostly. He’d needed his fair share of help over the years when it was too consuming. When the red haze settled over his vision and trapped him in a lust for violence and bloodshed. When he was so fucking pissed that the Greater was more of a symptom than a power he commanded.

Lyriat and the twins always knew what to do. Sparring. Promising all sorts of nonsense rewards. Exchanging laughing taunts and insults, as if they hadn’t found themselves in the exact same state now and again.

Far, far less than he had, though, and always with good and obvious reason.

Which was sort of ridiculous when he really looked at it. Brand was meant to be one of the most powerful creatures in all of Bordoroth, and he couldn’t boast absolute mastery over himself? Couldn’t toggle a damned inner switch at will?

Of course, for the millionth time in his life, that brought up the question of why.

Why, why, why did the Sisters make him such a hopeless fool?

As he sat in the sparkling, turquoise dust, staring out into that dark and evergreen forest, and watching the moons crawl across the sky while he kept on breathing…

Brand had the stunning realization that they didn’t.

Okthana did.

Okthana molded him on purpose, sinking her claws into a little boy to meet her ends.

Shite as it was, at least he remembered now in order to pinpoint the corroding moments. At least he was able to picture her face while he recalled her whittling away at his spirit and confidence. At least he had a bloody fucking answer.