Sleep never came easily to five bodies that, until very recently, had all been one. They tossed, turned, and tussled, elbows jutting into sides, knees knocking against shins.

  "Ow! Was that a fist? Did someone just punch me?" Kindle's voice sliced through the darkness.

  A sigh, heavy as a mountain. "For the hundredth time, no."

  "I felt knuckles! Right in my kidney!"

  "More like your babymakers," Pyra mumbled. "Roll over already. My leg's falling asleep."

  A huff, then the rustling of hay. "Better?"

  "No, now my other leg is asleep. You're a human tourniquet."

  A growl. "Here, let me just—" More rustling, punctuated by groans. "Nope, that's worse."

  "Everyone, shush!" Another voice, exhaustion creeping in. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

  "Oh, to return to the blessed void..." A whisper, more to herself than anyone else.

  ...

  Morning arrived with a vengeful glare in Eldoria, sunlight streaming through unfamiliar wooden shutters. Ash opened her eyes first, naturally—her existential dread had never been much for sleeping in. She had managed to become one with the shadows in the corner, the blanket pulled entirely over her head.

  The rough-hewn ceiling above her held none of the comfort of Abigail's apartment popcorn ceiling with its familiar water stain that resembled Abraham Lincoln riding a dolphin. This ceiling told stories of age and indifference, a silent witness to countless mornings that had come before and would continue long after they turned to cosmic dust.

  "Sleep is but a temporary death we practice nightly to prepare for the eternal one," she whispered to the quiet room.

  Sometime during the night, Pyra had somehow migrated to Cinder's pallet and now lay sprawled across her more serious counterpart like an extremely warm, snoring blanket. Ember had remained diplomatically on her assigned bedding, while Kindle had constructed an improbable nest of spare blankets.

  Ember rubbed her eyes blearily. "Glad to see a good night's sleep hasn't improved your outlook."

  "Who slept?" Kindle muttered.

  "Pyra," Cinder replied flatly.

  Indeed, Pyra was snoring lightly, her arm and leg thrown haphazardly over Cinder, who was stiff as a board. It wasn't clear if she'd slept a wink.

  Cinder shot Pyra a disgruntled look. "Ever heard of personal space?"

  "You're warm," Pyra said sleepily, then nestled into Cinder's neck, murmuring, "Five more minutes, Mom."

  Cinder's eyes widened. She grabbed Pyra firmly and pushed her off.

  "Oof," Pyra grunted.

  "I'm no one's mom," Cinder grumbled.

  Kindle untangled herself from her blanket nest, a tuft of her hair sticking up in a spectacular cowlick. "Hey, I actually feel kind of refreshed." She stretched, arms brushing the low rafters. "Beats sleeping on the couch back home."

  "Next time, you can take the floor," Ember offered generously, straightening her rumpled clothes. "I need space to stretch out, or I'm a mess in the morning."

  "Noted," Ash croaked, her voice throaty. She hadn't moved from her corner, still swaddled in her blanket cocoon.

  Cinder yawned. "Where's that grumpy wizard? I need breakfast and a hot cup of 'go away.'"

  Pyra raised a hand weakly. "Seconded."

  Dressed in the cleanest versions of yesterday's clothing—which wasn't saying much, considering most garments still bore scorch marks from their cosmic crash-landing—they ventured from the small room into the main cottage. Sunshine spilled through open windows, catching dust motes and giving them the appearance of floating embers. The cottage seemed larger in daylight, revealing alcoves and shelves that had lurked in evening shadows the night before.

  Thaddeus was nowhere in sight, but his floating cat dozed above its cushion, occasionally rippling as though disturbed by invisible currents. The breakfast table held a loaf of dark bread, a crock of butter, and a pot of what smelled almost, but not quite, entirely unlike coffee.

  Kindle approached the floating feline cautiously. "Nice kitty? Floating kitty? Supernatural manifestation of feline essence?"

  The cat opened one eye, assessed Kindle with profound indifference, then closed it again.

  "I think that means we're allowed breakfast," Ember interpreted, breaking the bread into five equal portions with practiced ease. "Where's our curmudgeonly host?"

  A thump from the far corner of the cottage answered her question. Behind a half-open door, Thaddeus hunched over a massive desk, surrounded by towers of books that defied several laws of physics in their vertical arrangement. His beard appeared to have absorbed at least one quill overnight, and the circles under his eyes suggested sleep had been an unwelcome visitor at best.

  Pyra, naturally, led the charge. "Good morning, Mr. Wizard! Whatcha reading? Ancient spells? Dimensional gateways? Recipe for magical pancakes?"

  Thaddeus jerked upright, sending a cascade of scrolls tumbling. "By the Seven Spheres! Don't you knock?"

  "Sorry," Ember said, placing a restraining hand on Pyra's shoulder before she could invade the wizard's personal space further. "We weren't sure of the proper etiquette for interdimensional guests."

  "Etiquette suggests not destroying a man's garden, then making unreasonable demands on his expertise." Thaddeus ran gnarled fingers through his tangled beard, extracting the quill with a wince. "But since you're here, I've been researching your... condition."

  "Any good news?" Kindle asked hopefully.

  "Depends on your definition of 'good.'" He gestured at the ancient tome spread before him, pages yellowed and script faded to the color of old blood. "There are precedents for planar travelers—rare, but documented. Most arrived alone and intact, however. None with your peculiar fragmentation."

  "We're not fragmented," Cinder said sharply. "We're... distributed."

  "Semantics," Ash echoed, earning a glare from Cinder hot enough to singe eyebrows.

  "The curse that divides you is the true puzzle." Thaddeus traced symbols on the page with a fingertip that glowed faintly blue. "Magical enforcement of arbitrary conditions—maintaining five forms, preventing consolidation—suggests a binding enchantment of considerable sophistication."

  "Can you break it?" Ember asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  The wizard's laugh held all the mirth of a funeral knell. "Child, if I possessed that caliber of power, I wouldn't be retired in a cottage arguing with cabbages that refuse to grow straight." He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly beneath his worn blue robes. "Your best hope lies in Amaranth, with the higher circles of the Magisterium. They possess archives that might—"

  A frantic pounding at the front door cut through his explanation. Thaddeus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse involving goats and mothballs, then shuffled past them toward the noise.

  "—can't be controlled!" a panicked voice spilled through the partially opened door. "Third raid this week, and they've taken half the storehouse!"

  "Lower your voice, Gareth," Thaddeus grumbled. "What precisely has happened now?"

  "Tinderlings!" The man—presumably Gareth—exhaled the word with such revulsion that all five women instinctively craned their necks to see him. He was reed-thin with straw-colored hair and clothes that had seen better decades, his face flushed with exertion and eyes wide with alarm. "A whole pack, at least a dozen. They've broken through the southeastern wards and raided the communal storehouse!"

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  Thaddeus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you activated the repelling stones I gave Headwoman Briella last solstice?"

  "Smashed to powder! These aren't normal Tinderlings—they're organized!"

  "Tinderlings are never organized. They have the collective intelligence of a concussed mushroom."

  "Well, these ones read the manual on strategic grain theft!"

  Pyra sidled up next to Thaddeus, flames dancing excitedly in her eyes. "Did you say Tinderlings? What are those? Some kind of goblin? Dragon? Sentient toast?"

  Gareth finally noticed the five flame-haired women crowding the doorway and took an instinctive step back, hand rising to form a protective symbol across his chest. "Thaddeus... why are there five identical fire spirits in your house?"

  "Not fire spirits," Thaddeus corrected wearily. "Dimensional travelers. Long story involving experimental magic, cosmic gateways, and my ruined prize-winning rutabaga patch."

  "We can help with your Tinderling problem!" Pyra announced, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "We're superheroes! Well, technically one superhero in five bodies. But still! Fighting evil is our specialty!"

  "They're not evil," Thaddeus explained, "just annoying. Small humanoid creatures with coal-black skin and glowing amber fissures. They're drawn to heat and have an unfortunate habit of hoarding warm objects."

  "And extinguishing magical fires," Gareth added. "Which makes driving them off difficult for most practitioners."

  Five pairs of golden eyes lit up simultaneously.

  "Fire-resistant pests?" Ember mused, smiling.

  "Field trip!" Kindle clapped her hands, sending sparks cascading to the floor. "How far is this village?"

  "Fendale is barely two miles east," Thaddeus said, "but I'm not certain this is wise. You barely understand your own abilities in this realm, and Tinderlings can be troublesome even for experienced—"

  "We'll be super careful," Pyra promised, already halfway out the door. "No property damage, minimal flame usage, totally under the radar!"

  Cinder snorted. "Have you met yourself?"

  "Five times over," Pyra shot back with a grin. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

  Thaddeus and Gareth exchanged the universal look of men who recognized impending disaster but lacked the energy to prevent it.

  "I'll prepare burn salve," Thaddeus muttered.

  The road to Fendale wound through rolling hills dappled with flowers that changed color as shadows passed over them. A brook, clear as polished crystal, wove like a silver serpent beside the path. Overhead, the three moons hung like pale ghosts in the daylight sky, barely visible but maintaining their silent vigil.

  The road to Fendale wound through rolling hills dappled with flowers that changed color as shadows passed over them. The grass rippled in patterns too deliberate to be caused by wind alone, as though the earth itself was breathing. Overhead, the three moons hung like pale ghosts in the daylight sky, barely visible but maintaining their silent vigil.

  Gareth led the way, casting occasional nervous glances over his shoulder at the five women following him. Their identical faces and flame-colored hair clearly unsettled him, though he made valiant attempts to hide it.

  "So," Kindle said, skipping forward to walk alongside him, "tell us about these Tinderling things. They sound adorable."

  "Adorable?" Gareth nearly choked. "They're menaces! Little coal-skinned devils that steal anything warm—food from cooking fires, fresh bread, even heated horseshoes from the smithy! And they leave ash trails everywhere, getting into everything." He scratched vigorously at his arm, as though the memory alone caused phantom itching. "Worst of all, their touch temporarily snuffs out magical flames—makes them nearly impossible to drive away with standard warding spells."

  "But they can't extinguish non-magical fire?" Ember asked, her practical mind already formulating strategies.

  "The distinction doesn't much matter when every flame in Eldoria carries some magical essence," Gareth explained. "Only the most primitive fire—struck from flint without enchantment—would resist them, and that's hardly useful for defense."

  Cinder's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Our flames aren't from this world. They might react differently."

  "Or they might get super-extinguished and leave us flame-less in a strange world," Kindle countered.

  "The curse wouldn't allow that," Ash said quietly, trailing behind the others. "Our flames are our essence. Extinguish them completely, and what remains of us? Would we fade like smoke on the wind, our consciousness scattered across dimensions?"

  An uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the packed earth path.

  "Well," Pyra said brightly, "only one way to find out!"

  The village of Fendale emerged from behind a gentle rise—a collection of stone and timber buildings with thatched roofs, arranged in rough concentric circles around a central well. Smoke rose from chimneys in lazy spirals, and gardens bloomed with vegetables that occasionally swayed despite the absence of wind.

  People moved between buildings with the purposeful stride of those attending to daily tasks, but as they drew closer, the five could see the undercurrent of agitation rippling through the community.

  At the southeastern edge of the village, a crowd had gathered outside a large stone building with a partially collapsed roof. Smoke—darker and more acrid than ordinary woodsmoke—billowed from the windows.

  Villagers formed a bucket chain from the well, passing water back and forth in an attempt to douse the flames while others wielded brooms against small, darting shadows that scurried between buildings.

  "Headwoman Briella!" Gareth called, jogging ahead. "I've brought help from Thaddeus!"

  A stout woman with iron-gray hair pulled into a severe bun turned from directing the bucket chain. Her weathered face showed the lines of someone who'd spent decades squinting against sun and wind, and her clothing—though simple—bore intricate protective symbols embroidered along its edges.

  "Thaddeus sent—" she began, then stopped abruptly as she registered the five identical women. Her eyes widened for a moment before narrowing in suspicion. "What manner of help is this?"

  "Interdimensional fire specialists!" Pyra announced before anyone could stop her, striking a heroic pose. "We're here to save the day!"

  Briella's expression suggested she was calculating how quickly she could have them driven from the village with pitchforks.

  "What my sister means," Ember said smoothly, stepping forward with a more restrained demeanor, "is that we have experience with fire management that might be useful against these creatures. Thaddeus has generously allowed us to assist while we're staying with him."

  Kindle sidled up to Ember, nudging her discreetly. "Since when are you the smooth talker?"

  "It's called diplomacy," Ember replied out of the corner of her mouth. "Maybe try it sometime."

  "Five sisters," Briella said flatly, clearly not believing it for a second. "With identical faces and fire magic." She glanced at Gareth. "And Thaddeus vouches for them?"

  Gareth shifted uncomfortably. "He, uh, didn't explicitly warn against them?"

  "Good enough," Briella sighed, turning back to Ember. "We're desperate. The little terrors have gotten into the communal grain stores. If we don't drive them out, we'll face shortages by winter."

  "What do they look like?" Kindle asked, eagerly scanning the area. "I need to know what I'm firing at!"

  As if in answer, a small figure scuttled across their path, moving with jerky, jittery motions. It stood barely two feet tall, with coal-black skin crisscrossed by glowing amber fissures that pulsed with inner light. Its overlarge eyes gleamed like embers in a thin, pointed face, and its spindly fingers clutched what appeared to be a loaf of bread still steaming from the oven.

  When it spotted them, it froze momentarily, then emitted a sound like kindling catching fire—a sharp crackle followed by a hiss.

  "That's one," Briella said unnecessarily. "They've nested somewhere nearby—probably in old badger warrens beneath the southeast field. We need them driven out and back to the volcanic flats where they belong."

  "On it!" Pyra declared, launching herself toward the creature with flames already wreathing her hands. "Hey, little buddy! Time to go home!"

  The Tinderling's ember eyes widened. It darted sideways with surprising agility, then did something unexpected—reached out with coal-black fingers to touch Pyra's approaching flames.

  Where it made contact, the fire sputtered and temporarily dimmed, the vibrant orange dulling to the color of dying coals.

  "Hey! No fair messing with my fire!" Pyra pivoted mid-stride, her body shifting into that peculiar state where the world slowed around her. The Tinderling's evasive movement—quick by ordinary standards—now seemed laughably telegraphed.

  She altered course and cut behind it, her foot lashing out in a precise sweep that knocked the creature's spindly legs from under it.

  It toppled with a surprised crackle, bread flying from its grip. Before it could scramble away, Pyra's fist connected with the top of its head—not hard enough to seriously injure, but with enough force to make the creature's amber fissures flicker like a guttering candle.

  "Gotcha, you little fire-dampening gremlin!" She scooped up the dazed Tinderling by its scruff, holding it at arm's length as it weakly kicked and squirmed. "Guys, they can temporarily dim our flames if they touch them!"

  "Physical approach it is, then," Cinder replied, already stalking toward three more Tinderlings that had emerged from the storehouse, drawn by the commotion.

  The lead Tinderling chittered something that sounded suspiciously like a battle cry. The trio spread out, tiny claws extended, their ember eyes fixed on Cinder's approaching form. They moved with the coordination of creatures that had hunted together before.

  It made absolutely no difference.

  Cinder slid into their formation like smoke through a keyhole, her body a blue-flame blur. She caught the first creature with a swift jab to its midsection that doubled it over, followed by an elbow strike that sent it tumbling across the dirt.

  The second lunged at her ankles; she simply wasn't there anymore, having stepped through the creature's guard to deliver a sharp knee to what passed for its chin.

  The third and largest Tinderling proved more challenging. It ducked Cinder's initial strike and actually landed a raking blow across her forearm. Where its claws touched her skin, the flames dancing there temporarily dimmed. The creature hissed in triumph—a sound cut short as Cinder's boot connected solidly with its chest, sending it flying into a nearby water trough with a splash and indignant steam.

  "Adequate fighters," she assessed coldly, shaking her arm to rekindle the dampened flames, "but predictable."

  The villagers stared in open-mouthed shock. One man dropped his bucket, spilling water across his boots without noticing.

  "They're... they're brawling with Tinderlings," he murmured incredulously. "With their bare hands."

  "That's not natural," an old woman whispered. "Fire mages fight at a distance. Everyone knows that."

  Ember had taken position by the storehouse entrance, her eyes narrowed in tactical assessment. "Kindle! Ash! We've got at least eight more inside. Flush them out!"