The Ouroboros Binding

By the time the ferry reached the island, the rain had gone east. Silver water ran from the landing steps while a woman rolled apple barrels beneath a carved lintel that now held up the boathouse roof.

The orchard above was not abandoned. Fresh grafts had been tied along trees growing through old walls, and clean sheets moved on a line between two roofless columns. Only the circular ruin at the center belonged to the expedition. The field crew called it Coilcourt because their working map needed a name. No inscription did.

Apple roots had shouldered nearly every paving stone out of place. One round stone alone remained level. An old-gold serpent circled its rim, its jaws closed neatly around its own tail. Conservators lowered a recovered fragment into the final gap and eased away their supports.

Vivian turned one shoulder toward the lake and raised both hands, one high and open, the other advancing beneath it. Rain hesitated in the angular space between them and bent sideways. Beyond her hands, Luna knelt at the serpent's head, her notebook braced against one raised knee, and followed the seam without touching it.

The fragment touched. A point of violet fire appeared just beyond Luna's finger. Far below, the lake mist rose into something long-legged and white, took two soundless steps across the water, and came apart. Luna's pencil was moving before the next pulse.