I watch the lilac clouds begin to part
The lightning springs from somewhere in my heart,
And splits in twain all sorrows and all joys.
It screams through skeins of black midsummer air –
And I will stilly, silently prepare
To find the silence after all the noise.¹⁾

You stagger out from the party, cold night air hitting you like a slap to the face. The lights and sounds form the party follow you out for a moment before the door swings closed behind you and shuts them off, muted.

Renée drags you by the hand around to the side of the building where a sleek red motorcycle sits waiting. She flips up the kickstand and hops into the seat. She looks at you and pats the seat behind her.

“Come on!” she says, impatiently but with a wide smile. You’ve gone easy on the drinks tonight, wanting to keep your head clear, to just enjoy the moment. But her grin is even more intoxicating. You hop up behind her and wrap your arms tight around her waist. The bike thrums to life beneath you.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“Wherever we want.”

On the edge of Spindle, a rough arena is drawn in the sand. Two figures circle each other warily, the sweat on their skin glistening in the late afternoon sun.

“Is that all you’ve got?” One Muse goads the other. “I thought you were supposed to be strong?”

Fuelled by anger, the other suddenly darts forward. Brink is ready for this and sweeps their leg around, kicking up sand. Fury feints and slides past. As she runs her palm along the surface of the arena, something glints brightly. She regains her footing and swings her arm around.

Brink catches the glass blade between the palms of their hands, a fraction of an inch from their face.

“I said no weapons.”

Fury grins.

Jo is dying. It’s not something you can see: Dream looks just as vibrant as it always did. But you can feel it, the same way you can feel when the end of a story is near. A myriad of tiny cues to tell you: it’s nearly over.

You rev the engine of your motorbike, the back tire kicking up the bleached white sand of Far Dream. You tweak the throttle and pull back on the handlebars, hoisting the front wheel into the air. For a few moments you hang there, leaning up from the footrests, four hundred pounds of metal and diesel balanced precariously below you in a conflict of torque and gravity - and then you drop, kicking up a cloud of dust as the front wheel slams down and the back wheel bites in again, spurring you onwards. The scent of hot oil and burnt rubber fills the air.

Jo is dying, and with them Dream will die too.

It didn’t have to be this way. You came close, so close. Hand in hand with The Renegade, ready to throw the switch – but the others said no, and they stopped you. You told them there could be another way, to save Dream not just for now but forever. They said it was too much of a risk, that you had no idea what would really happen. But you knew exactly what would happen if you didn’t, so you had to try. But the Vanguard still said no, and they stopped you, and they took everything.

They sent her back, Renée, your Renegade. You could find your way back to her, if only there was time – but there is no time. The wind stings your cheeks, tears drying before they can fall.

Jo is dying. You gun the motor and ride off into the s-