“I came for you.” Fatigue had a way of pulling out the truth.

“No, you didn’t.”

“You don’t deserve this end. Throwing yourself into the Source in the hopes that it might give you a name after your death. It’s fucking stupid, Keko. I’m just going to say it.”

“And what if that name is ‘Queen’?”

“Pride is internal. So is strength. Everything else is bullshit.”

“You’re such a fucking boy scout, such an Ofarian, always thinking you know what’s best for everyone else. You’re not Chimeran. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I understand you want to lead. Remember when you told me that? I understand that your one dream is gone, and you think this is the only way to get it back.”

“You don’t know anything.” It came out sounding sad and detached, which was unnervingly like how she’d sounded when she called him. “Because you were given what you never really wanted. You were just handed my dreams.”

Ah, now he got it. She was resentful over what he’d told her in the Utah hotel room about how he’d reluctantly taken the Ofarian leadership.

“That would never appeal to you, though,” he said, “just being given something that big. It’s not in your blood. You’d still find something to fight for. But this . . . this”—he waved a hand around the ravine—“is not worth it.”

“You are fighting, too. Don’t tell me you aren’t. All that stuff you told me about, the class system and such, how much you love your people. That’s why you want the Senatus—”

She cut herself off and the warm Hawaiian night suddenly went frigid.

“That’s it. The Senatus sent you to stop me.”

“No.” The denial came too easily.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. You have some sort of deal with them, don’t you?”

This was going south, fast. To admit to that would only lose her. In more ways than one. To deny it would at least buy him some more time. And that’s exactly what he needed.

“You’re wrong, Keko. I’m here because I want you on this Earth. I’m here because there are ways other than dying to get what you want.”

She said nothing, but he knew she still didn’t believe him. Suddenly he was grateful she’d refused him any more light, because he couldn’t be certain what his face showed.

“You know why I think you called me?” he asked softly, his voice easily carrying.

“Enlighten me.”

“I think it was your way of asking for help.”

“Ha!”

“You’ve never had to ask anyone for help in your entire life. You don’t even know how. But you were lost and sad and you knew I would come for you if I thought you needed me.”

“I don’t need you.”

He could have imagined it, but her voice tripped over the word “need.”

“No, maybe you don’t need me. But deep down, you’re glad I’m here. You’re relieved your phone call worked.”

She started to back away and his stomach sank. He tried to find his feet but his strength wouldn’t let him.

“You’re not going to catch me.” She toed farther away from the ravine edge, her dusky skin melding with the darkness. “You’re not going to stop me. This is my name. This is my fight.”

“Keko—”

Then she turned and ran into the night forest. No amount of calling out brought her back.

Time worked differently Within.

Though days had passed Aboveground since the Father had summoned Aya to report on the Senatus gathering, she just now carved her way through the earth toward him. He would never comprehend the time differential. She could show up next year and he would never know. His existence was beyond days or nights, his awareness so entirely different from the humanity Aya would one day adopt.

Arriving at the center of the Children’s world, deep in a secret place below the surface, she expelled her earth form into the maze of dark tunnels surrounding the Father’s home and assumed her chosen human body. Here, the Father’s energy—his influence and power, and the ancient history of her race—pulsed up through the floor and radiated out from the walls.

She also felt the completely different kind of human presence trickling down from the world above. It had a magic of its own, and it got stronger and stronger the more human she became. It called to her. Begged her to finally release the form of a Daughter of Earth and become a real-life guardian angel for their sister race.

Soon. Soon. She had a plan to see through first, and it relied on Griffin Aames.

Aya walked slowly through the caverns, the walls glowing with lights emanating from stones placed at intervals. Sons and Daughters moved about, their rock and mineral bodies making the whole place seem to undulate. Down one passage she glimpsed a human man, his pale skin smeared with dirt, his eyes huge and hollow and bright against the black of his soiled body. He dragged a small brush over the walls, never missing a spot, cleaning away crumbs and pebbles. Then he bent down, scooped the debris into a bucket, and shuffled off down the shadowed passage to deposit it somewhere unseen.

And so would go his days from now until his cold, lonely death.

That man had chosen to evolve. He’d stood before the Father—as Aya had done not so long ago—and declared he wanted to embrace humanity over being a Son of Earth. The irreversible evolution complete, he’d taken his desired place among the humans. But instead of working to protect and help them, as was his responsibility, he’d caused death. His mind had snapped. He’d attacked a woman, and then took her life.

Sometimes the evolution did that, the permanent shifting between races too much for a single body and mind to handle. When that happened, offending Children were brought Within in their human forms to live out their punishment. What punishment was worse than being denied the very world you’d longed to be a part of?

If the Father discovered that Aya had revealed the Children’s true form to the Senatus by unfolding from the earth right in front of them, she could suffer the same fate before she ever discovered the depth of personal connections. Before she knew human touch. Before she knew passion.

Placing her precious human hand to her chest, right over the steady, beautiful thump of her human heart, she drew a shaky, thin human breath and continued on.

At last she came upon the Father’s chamber. The great cavern, the very heart of Earth, would make scientists drop to their knees with tears in their eyes. The passageway leading into the cavern ended abruptly, the ground disappearing sharply into nothingness. Utter blackness extended below and above and to either side, but directly in front of her, across the chasm, was the Father.

No longer made of anything human, he’d chosen his form thousands upon thousands of years ago, and this was what he’d become: a great wall of rock, an abstract face in the stone and mineral that rivaled the height of some of Earth’s tallest buildings. Though he had no eyes, he saw her. Though he had no ears, he knew what she said. His body was intertwined with this planet, his limbs a system of millions of roots that stretched to all corners of existence. Even now they grew, pushing through ore and rock, forever expanding.

This was what she might have become, should she have chosen to remain a Daughter, and should she live as long as he.

Come forward, Daughter.

No mouth, but his words invaded her mind.

Giant chunks of rock and earth broke free from unseen walls amidst a symphony of cracks and rumbles. The pieces flew in from the shadows—above and below and from both sides—and barreled toward Aya. They slammed together at her feet, fitting into a puzzle to create a hovering walkway that extended out from the passage opening.

She stepped out onto the ragged, mystical bridge and made her way to the end, bare toes just inches from the edge. There she stopped and lifted her face to the awe-inspiring, paralyzing being above. She told him about Keko and the threat to the Fire Source.