It wasn’t often that Isolde left Cambria. She felt empty when she did, like a mother missing the shape of her child in her arms. But sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. Cambria crawled with agents of Nevermere. In recent days, she’d come to doubt that even the daughters within her Sanctum walls could be trusted. So when it came to Calliope, care was of the utmost importance.

When the portal opened, Isolde stepped through, dressed in all her Cambrian finery. Her daughter, the Sanctum guardian, would be standing watch—supposedly maintaining her mother’s privacy while she prayed. When her eyes fell on Calli, a broad smile spread across her features.

“Calliope…” She’d approach, embracing the woman before placing a lingering kiss on the Arynnite's cheek.

Isolde returned the kiss, though her lips did not linger long in passion. When she parted she stroked Calliope’s cheek. The priestess naturally resented foreigners, but for Calli, she made an exception. She’d proven herself as loyal and useful as most of her Cambrian daughters, and the priestess undoubtedly had a fondness for her.

“And I you,” Isolde said, dropping her hand. She looked around Calli’s home with curiosity. If she would allow, she’d start to explore, running her fingers over the unfamiliar environment. Picking things up and turning them over.

Everything caught Isolde’s attention. What had made her a candidate for witch doctor was her power of observation. Her willingness to watch and stay silent while others chattered. Whatever she gleaned from Calliope’s surroundings would remain unknown, the priestess’s cool visage inscrutable as she turned over objects, landing at last on a crudely hewn eagle figurine.

There was something delightful about it; an imperfect object in a kingdom where everything was polished to perfection. Isolde picked it up and turned it over in her hands.

Isolde continued to turn the object over in her hands, as if it had secrets she had yet to uncover. Imperfection among the pristine; rough among the smooth. The beautiful balance of the All-Mother’s chaos shown in such a small way made Isolde’s lip pull into a soft smile. She was here. Whenever Isolde doubted, she always rested her invisible hand on her shoulder.

“Who gave it to you?” Isolde said, finally setting it down.

Isolde smiled. She had no interest in young boys. In fact, she found them loud and repulsive. But then again, she’d only ever really been exposed to sons of Coheed and the occasional son of Nevermere. She turned back to Calliope.

“You wanted to see me?”

Isolde smiled, her crystalline eyes lighting up with sparks of excitement. The wings. She silently thanked her ancestors and basked in the glorious chaos of the universe that had presented her with precisely what she needed at just the time she needed it.

“Let’s see them.” Isolde would follow where Calilope led.

Isolde smiled.

“Then let us see what magic you’ve made.” When Isolde looked down at the sketches, her eyes glittered with wonder. Her long fingers traced the lines and archs of the wings carefully as if she were memorizing the way they felt under her hands. One she’d reviewed one, she moved on to the next. And the next. Isolde did not rush. Her review was careful.

When she reached the last, revealing it by moving a sheath of paper, Isolde stopped. She felt the All-Mother’s presence flood the room, making everything shimmer like the ringing vibration of a church bell.

“This.” Isolde whispered. “This is the one.”