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No one spoke. Even Julen had fallen silent beside her, his usual restlessness held in check.

At the end of the passage, they were met by two Umbralyn and a line of around ten attendants. Human attendants, which seemed to be even more unsettling than the Umbralyn presence. They did not even look at them as Maia and the others approached.

“Step forward,” one of them said, the words soft and careful.

Maia watched as the first scribe obeyed. His satchel was taken, outer robes removed and folded without ceremony. In their place, he was handed a set of garments which were dark, neatly pressed, uniform in cut. Traditionally formal.

And completely black.

When it was her turn, Maia stepped forward without resistance. Her satchel was taken from her hands before she could tighten her grip. She had moved Caelith’s comb into her sleeve before they reached her. Whatever else they took, they would not take that.

The attendant didn’t meet her eyes.

“For the assembly,” the woman murmured, passing her the dark, heavy fabric. “The banquet.” As though that explained anything.

As soon as the fabric was pressed into her hands, Maia had a sudden urge for home, for security. She thought of her father; his hand on her cheek and his warm comforting hugs. Write to me, he had said, as though ink could bridge whatever distance she walked into. She had written. She didn’t know if the letters had reached him. She didn’t know if he was still waiting for one. She didn’t even know, she realised, if he was safe.

Around her, the others changed in silence. The room filled with the rustle of fabric and worried tones.

Julen leaned closer once the attendant stepped away. “This feels worse than I thought,” he muttered. “Since when do they care what we wear?”

Maia adjusted the cuff at her wrist, her fingers slower than they needed to be. “I don’t think it’s that,” she said quietly.

He glanced at her. “Then what is it?”

She looked at the others: rows of dark figures where, moments before, there had been variation. Individuality. Now, there was none of it. Only a single, uniform presence.

“Presentation,” she said. Then, more quietly: “Obedience.”

Julen followed her gaze, his mouth tightening.

“Presentation for what?”

Maia did not answer. Because she already knew the question was the wrong one.

The hall was not silent when they entered. It was full; crowded with voices that had not yet decided what they were or why they were there.

The long tables had been set with unsettling care, and no one touched the food laid out before them. Cups stood full, steam long gone. It felt less like a meal and more like a staging ground. People stood, sat, changed their minds. Many looked around as if expecting someone to correct the mistake of their presence. A city gathered without understanding why.

Maia was guided forward with Julen and Selinne through the shifting bodies until they reached their place near the central rows, among the sea of black.

“It’s a wake,” Julen whispered.

Maia swallowed.

The Umbralyn lined the walls in precise intervals and at the far end, Master Orell stood waiting. Some families sat with their hands in their laps, heads down, not asking questions.

Orell spoke eventually, heads turning as they heard his voice.

“You have been brought here,” he said, “because the final threshold is approaching.”

A ripple moved through the crowd, more disbelief than fear.

“That is not a metaphor,” Orell continued. “Nor an interpretation. It is fact. As you know, I have been leading the fragment study in the Grand Archive following strange Fracture activity. We’ve seen increased tremors, instability and some unfortunate incidents involving shadow creatures finding their way beyond the Fracture.”

He looked towards Maia and Julen, gesturing with his hand. Julen pursed his lips, while Maia took a deep breath in.

“And it is regrettablel that what the fragments have revealed is that the Fracture is indeed due to open.” He paused. “We believe this will happen in just three days.”