"Well," Cinder observed once Malik was out of earshot, "that went swimmingly."

  "To be fair," Ember pointed out, "how would you react if someone told you they'd just absorbed their dead sister's essence and were now experiencing her personality traits?"

  "I'd assume they were either lying, insane, or involved in extremely questionable magic," Ash replied, then added with a philosophical air somewhat undermined by a small shimmy of her shoulders, "which is entirely reasonable given the circumstances."

  "Exactly," Ember nodded. "We need to remember that what's happening to us isn't just unusual—it's completely outside their understanding of how the world works."

  "Well, we don't entirely know how it works either," Kindle said with an awkward half-shrug, half-jig. "Kinda hard to be reassuring when we're part of the scary unknown."

  Cinder let out a long breath. "We're all still adjusting. Focus on the positives—we're alive, the Mistfangs are gone, and we're still headed to Amaranth. That's more than we had this morning."

  "Is Pyra gone forever?" Kindle asked, her voice smaller than usual. "Physically, I mean?"

  Ember wrapped an arm around her. "Not sure. What I do know is that she's still with us, even if it's not the way we expected."

  "That's... good, I think?" Kindle said, sounding unconvinced. "I just wasn't prepared to feel so much like her."

  "I keep wanting to do ridiculous things," Cinder hissed, glancing down at her hands which seemed determined to gesticulate far more dramatically than her usual contained movements. "Like challenging that guard to a dance-off. I don't even know what a dance-off is!"

  "I nearly shouted 'that tree looks like a butt' when we passed that forked oak," Kindle admitted, stifling giggles. "Very Pyra observation."

  "I have the sudden urge to name all the pickled vegetables in our wagon," Ash confessed, looking disturbed by this development. "Individual names. With backstories."

  "And I nearly offered to arm-wrestle Marta just to see if I could win," Ember added. "We've all got a bit of Pyra's impulses now."

  "But without the safety valve of having her as a separate entity to actually act on them," Cinder observed with a grimace. "This could get complicated."

  "So what do we tell people?" Kindle asked, glancing toward the caravan where whispers were already spreading faster than flame through dry kindling. "The truth seems to be going over like a lead balloon."

  "We need a simplified version," Ember decided after a moment's consideration. "Something that won't make them abandon us in the forest or try to perform an exorcism."

  "Perhaps we explain it as a cultural practice?" Ash suggested, her philosophical insights now punctuated with Pyra's practical problem-solving. "In our homeland, when one sister falls, her strength is mystically distributed to the survivors through ritual."

  "That's... actually not bad," Cinder admitted, looking mildly annoyed to be agreeing with one of Ash's theories. "Close enough to the truth without the interdimensional weirdness."

  "And explains why we're not devastated about Pyra's death," Kindle added. "Because in our 'culture,' it's a form of honorable continuation rather than true loss."

  "Perfect," Ember nodded decisively. "We'll use that story if pressed. Otherwise, we keep to ourselves as much as possible until we reach Amaranth."

  They climbed aboard their wagon as the caravan lurched into motion once more. The place where Pyra would have sat remained conspicuously empty, yet somehow not absent—like a chair that held the impression of someone who'd just stepped away.

  Around them, the caravan moved with the heightened tension of people traveling alongside something they neither understood nor trusted. Guards who had previously nodded cordially now kept hands close to weapons. Fellow passengers who had shared evening stories now found reasons to sit elsewhere.

  Even the massive kraal pulling the wagons seemed to sense the change, their spiraled horns angling slightly away whenever the four came near.

  Isolation, however, hardly bothered those who shared four bodies but one consciousness. In some ways, the buffer of empty space was a relief—room to experiment with their altered state without constant observation.

  Kindle began to quietly hum a tune that had been Pyra's favorite, something cheerful and slightly off-key. Without discussion or decision, Cinder found herself tapping out the rhythm against her knee, while Ember softly joined the melody and Ash swayed in gentle counterpoint.

  It wasn't the same as having Pyra's physical presence among them. But as they moved through the darkening forest, four bodies carrying five essences, there was a sense of rightness to their new configuration—as if they'd taken one small step closer to the wholeness they'd lost in Nyx's curse.

  And somewhere in their shared consciousness, like an echo becoming part of a larger song, Pyra's irrepressible spirit sang along, her voice now indistinguishable from their own.

  Dusk settled over the Shimmerwood like a blanket woven from shadows and whispers. The caravan had pushed through the remainder of the dangerous forest, emerging onto the northern plains just as the first stars appeared in the deepening blue sky.

  Marta Koval, never one to waste daylight, had ordered camp established immediately, with double watches posted despite the increased distance from Mistfang territory.

  Around the main cookfire, conversation buzzed with barely-contained excitement. The day's events—bizarre predators, mysterious magical disturbances, and the apparent loss of one of the flame-haired sisters—had transformed a routine journey into the kind of tale that would circulate through taverns for months.

  The four remaining sisters-selves sat slightly apart from the main gathering, their place at the periphery as much by design as by the subtle distance the other travelers now maintained.

  Death, it seemed, was contagious in the minds of the superstitious.

  Or perhaps it was the occasional bursts of inappropriate laughter, the strange new movements, and the orange highlights dancing through their flames that kept others at bay.

  "They keep staring," Kindle muttered, poking at her bowl of stew with uncharacteristic irritation. "You'd think they'd never seen a grieving sister before."

  "To be fair," Cinder replied, carefully blowing on a spoonful of stew, "most grieving sisters don't grin spontaneously when remembering the deceased." She paused, frowning at her own bowl. "Did this stew always taste like salted boots, or is that a new development?"

  "It's always tasted like that," Ember said, then wrinkled her nose. "Wait—I've never been picky about food before. That's Pyra talking. She used to complain about bland food constantly."

  "She called this 'sadness soup' yesterday," Kindle recalled with a small smile. "Said it tasted like broken dreams and disappointed vegetables."

  Throughout the evening, each of them had experienced moments of seemingly inappropriate mirth—sudden smiles or even choked laughter as particularly Pyra-esque thoughts surfaced through their merged consciousness.

  A young guard passed by, giving their small circle a wide berth while making a protective gesture toward his chest. His companions had drawn lots for the dubious honor of delivering firewood to the "soul-eating flame sisters," as they'd apparently been dubbed in whispered campfire stories.

  "Your kindling, uh, ladies," he mumbled, dropping the bundle a safe distance away before retreating with the hasty backward steps of someone trying not to offend potentially dangerous entities.

  "Thank you!" Ash called after him with uncharacteristic cheerfulness, then immediately looked startled at her own outburst. "Why am I being nice to strangers? That's not my aesthetic at all."

  "You're welcome!" the guard called back automatically, then looked horrified at having engaged, and hurried back to his companions.

  "Well, this is going splendidly," Cinder observed, reaching for the kindling. "We've gone from 'unusual travelers' to 'eldritch abominations' in a single day."

  "Technically," Ember pointed out, "we were always eldritch abominations. They're just noticing now."

  This observation, delivered with perfect deadpan timing, sent all four into fits of laughter—Kindle's bubbling giggles, Cinder's reluctant chuckles, Ember's warm throaty laugh, and even Ash's typically restrained amusement, all now carrying unmistakable notes of Pyra's full-bodied mirth.

  "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about," Cinder gestured at their poorly-suppressed hilarity as a nearby merchant quickened his pace past their circle. "We look like we're celebrating rather than mourning."

  "We kind of are," Kindle pointed out, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I mean, yes, Pyra's body is gone, which is weird and sad, but her essence is literally inside us, making inappropriate jokes in our heads."

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  Ash nodded sagely, stirring her stew with philosophical deliberation. "The physical vessel has dissipated, yet the spiritual flame burns on, redistributed among the remaining containers." She paused, her typical abstract musing suddenly giving way to practical clarity. "Like pouring the last beer into everyone else's mugs. No waste, just a better buzz all around."

  She blinked in confusion at her own words. "I don't even drink beer. What' s happening to me?"

  A shadow fell across their small circle. They looked up to find Malik Renard standing just outside their firelight, his posture caught somewhere between respect, caution, and curiosity.

  "May I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside Kindle—the space where Pyra would have sat.

  Four sets of golden eyes exchanged quick glances, having a silent conversation in the span of seconds.

  "Of course," Ember answered for them all, shifting to make room in their circle.

  Malik settled himself gracefully, setting his own bowl of stew aside. Unlike most of the other travelers, who eyed them with wary superstition, he looked directly at each sister in turn, his gaze frank and assessing.

  "First, allow me to express my sympathies for your loss," he began quietly. "Or rather... your transformation. I understand it may not be a traditional loss."

  Ember inclined her head. "Thank you. The situation is... complicated."

  "That's an understatement," he replied, managing a small, wry smile. "I'm still grappling with what you've told us, yet I'm trying to maintain an open mind. Whatever magic you wield, you've never given any indication of malicious intent. Even Marta's admitted you've been model passengers, if perhaps a bit too fond of bickering over obscure topics." A pause. "Her words, not mine."

  "Given the circumstances, I won't hold it against her," Cinder remarked, though the sharpness in her voice suggested otherwise. She took a breath, visibly setting aside her annoyance to focus on the bard. "I assume you didn't come here solely to deliver a eulogy?"

  "No indeed," Malik admitted with a faint, self-effacing smile. "I'm here in a professional capacity. In my studies of obscure magical phenomena, I've encountered references to distributed consciousness—beings that maintain unified awareness across multiple vessels." His fingers nervously plucked a soft chord on his instrument. "But never anything that could... reallocate itself after losing a component."

  "Is this conversation leading somewhere?" Kindle asked, leaning forward with interest while simultaneously trying to suppress the urge to poke Malik's feathered hat, which Pyra had always found ridiculously enticing.

  "The Mnemosynes might help you," he said finally, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "They're a scholarly order dedicated to studying the inner workings of thought and perception. If anyone in Amaranth can help you understand your new condition, it would be them."

  "Mnemosynes?" Ember repeated, deliberately avoiding looking at Ash, who had begun making small smoke rings shaped like question marks above her head.

  "You'd be hard-pressed to find more learned minds," Malik assured them. "They maintain archives beyond the Magisterium's reach—knowledge deemed too esoteric or dangerous for general access."

  "And you think they might understand our... condition?" Cinder asked, her skepticism tempered by hope. "That they could explain what's happening to us, or maybe reverse it?"

  "It's difficult to say for certain. Their pursuits delve deeply into obscure branches of thought. But if there are any answers to be found in Amaranth, they would likely lie within the Mnemosyne archives."

  "Wow, so glad we asked our resident bard!" Kindle blurted, then blushed.

  Ember placed a calming hand on her sister-self's shoulder, speaking gently to Malik. "That's... good to know, Malik. Thank you."

  The potential value of such contact was obvious, yet caution remained paramount. They'd known Malik for barely three days; trusting him with their most vulnerable secrets seemed premature at best, reckless at worst.

  The bard himself seemed acutely aware of this, his manner remaining diffident. He finished his stew in silence, glancing occasionally at each of their faces as if still grappling with some internal debate.

  "How would one go about contacting these memory experts?" Ember asked, automatically taking the lead in negotiation despite the new Pyra-impulse to simply declare "road trip to the forbidden knowledge people!"

  "They maintain no permanent physical location," Malik replied, shaking his head. "But they gather periodically at significant sites. There's a chronicle-house in Amaranth where messages can be left for their attention."

  "Convenient," Cinder noted dryly. "And what would they want in exchange for their insights? Esoteric knowledge doesn't come cheap."

  "They might ask for nothing, or they might make... unique demands," Malik admitted. "One cannot predict the whims of scholars who trade in secrets."

  Cinder shot him a disbelieving look, while the other sister-selves exchanged skeptical glances.

  "It is said," Malik continued, ignoring her dubious expression, "that the Mnemosynes care only for knowledge, and nothing else." He turned his instrument, showing them a symbol etched into its base—an eye within a triangle. "But that may be an exaggeration to make them seem mysterious. Like all storytellers, I embellish from time to time."

  "We'll keep that in mind," Ember assured him. "In the meantime, we should turn in. It's been a long day."

  Malik inclined his head. "Understandably so. I'll let you rest. Just, if I may..." He hesitated, clearly weighing his words carefully. "What you've shown today—it might be best to refrain from further... demonstrations of power. At least within the city. Amaranth places rigid restrictions on magic that disturbs the natural order. I'd hate to see you draw the attention of the Magisterium as soon as you arrive."

  Cinder arched an eyebrow, her lips already forming a sarcastic retort, but Ember cut her off with a glance.

  "We'll do our best," she assured the bard. "And thank you again. For listening to us, for treating us normally. It means a lot."

  "Don't thank me yet," Malik replied, rising from his seat and resettling his hat at a rakish angle. "I still need to finish the ballad of your adventure. And with today's developments, I foresee additional verses in the works."

  "Only in verse, right?" Kindle called after him. "No sonnets!"

  The bard chuckled, acknowledging her jest with a bow. "My rhyming dictionary remains locked up tight, I assure you." And then he was off into the night, his lanky form merging with the shadows as he walked.

  "Okay, let's process this," Cinder said, prodding the fire with a long stick. "On a scale of 'wise mentor' to 'well-intentioned idiot,' how dangerous do we think Malik the Melodious might be?"

  "At worst, I'd say he's a bard who believes his own songs," Ember replied, steepling her fingers. "But I don't get the sense he's manipulative, just genuinely fascinated by strange phenomena."

  "I say we trust him," Kindle piped up, punctuating her words with a little bounce. "He gave us a lead on the mystery knowledge people, and he doesn't seem interested in exposing us. We could use an ally right now."

  "But do we want allies who sell stories for a living?" Ash asked. "Should we be concerned about him writing ballads about the four soul-merged fire-women?"

  Cinder grimaced. "More like the terrifying quadrilogy of deadly infernos. Something to inspire nightmares and pogroms."

  "Now you're being melodramatic," Ember chastised gently. "I'd like to think Malik will present us in a more sympathetic light."

  "Time will tell," Cinder conceded. "For now, let's just hope he's an accurate navigator. We need to find these Mnemosynes—if only to understand this new... us-ness."

  In their shared dream, they stood together in a familiar place—Thaddeus's garden, where they'd first arrived in Eldoria. But instead of the chaos and destruction of their actual arrival, the garden bloomed with impossible flowers that shifted colors as they watched.

  In the center stood the bone-white tree from the Shimmerwood clearing, but transformed—its branches bearing vibrant leaves in five distinct colors that occasionally merged into new, complex hues.

  And walking between the garden rows, inspecting plants with cheerful curiosity, was a figure they all recognized instantly—Pyra, but somehow both more and less than she had been. More translucent, less defined at the edges, as if she existed halfway between physical form and pure energy.

  She looked up as they approached, her smile exactly as they remembered it.

  "About time you all showed up," she said, her voice echoing slightly as if coming from multiple directions at once. "I've been waiting forever. Or maybe five minutes. Time gets weird when you're partially disembodied."

  "You're here," Kindle whispered, stepping forward with one hand outstretched.

  "Of course I'm here," Pyra replied, gesturing expansively around them. "Where else would I be? Just because my body went all phoenix-flame doesn't mean I'm going anywhere." She tapped her head. "Can't get rid of me that easily."

  "We wouldn't want to," Ember said softly, moving to stand beside Kindle.

  "I know that," Pyra grinned. "I'm literally in your heads now. I can see all the mushy feelings. Very touching, by the way. Especially Cinder's. Who knew she was secretly such a softie?"

  "I was not mushy," Cinder protested automatically. She paused, reconsidering. "Okay, maybe a little. But you were being weirdly noble. It demanded a dramatic response."

  Pyra shrugged, unabashed. "Hey, if it earns me a mushy Cinder-moment, I'll die heroically every day." She blinked, reconsidering her words. "...Maybe that didn't come out right."

  Ash stepped closer, studying Pyra's insubstantial form with calm interest. "You're not merely a memory or reflection. You maintain coherence even as you integrate with us."

  "Yeah, about that," Pyra scratched her head, sending tiny sparks cascading through her dream-form. "I don't fully understand it myself. When that tree-thing happened, it was like... being deconstructed at the quantum level but simultaneously reconstructed within all of you. Less like dying and more like..." She struggled for words.

  "Redistribution," Ember supplied.

  "Exactly! I'm still me, just... spread out more efficiently." She performed an experimental cartwheel, her form leaving trails of orange light that lingered in the dream-air. "And now you're all a little bit me, too, which is honestly hilarious. Cinder with my dance moves? Comedy gold."

  "It's not funny," Cinder grumbled, though her lips twitched suspiciously.

  "It's a little funny," Kindle countered, already bouncing with renewed energy at Pyra's dream-presence.

  "The question remains," Ash interjected, tapping her chin, "what does this mean for our curse? For our quest to return home or find wholeness?"

  "That, I don't know," Pyra admitted. "I just feel really, really connected to you four right now. Like, deeply soul-bonded, but also..."

  "Also what?" Ember prompted.

  "...Also like we're turning into an ensemble cast," Pyra finished triumphantly, posing as if ready for a dramatic scene change. "This would be a great time for a group hug."

  There was a moment of silence. Then Cinder said, "I vote no."

  "Seconded," Ash agreed.

  "Majority rules," said Ember. "No group hug at this time."

  "Fine, fine," Pyra waved away their protests. "We can hug later. For now, I'm just happy to be here with you all."

  "We missed you too," Kindle admitted, reaching out to touch Pyra's hand. The contact sent shimmering ripples of light through their conjoined dream-forms.

  A gust of wind swept through the dream-garden, stirring the multicolored leaves.

  "Looks like it's time to wake up," Pyra noted, watching the shimmering foliage. "Guess we'll talk more next time you decide to lucid dream."

  "We could always try hypnosis," Ash suggested. "Or sensory deprivation tanks."

  "We'll look into it," Ember promised. "In the meantime, stay out of trouble, okay?"

  "Me? Never," Pyra grinned, waving cheerfully as the garden began to dissolve around them. "Gotta go, sibs! Until next dream-state rendezvous..."

  As the last remnants of the dream-world faded, they each emerged back into wakefulness in their individual bodies, Pyra's parting words echoing in their thoughts:

  "By the way... the dance moves aren't the only thing you've inherited. You're welcome."