There stood another pedestal.
But this one held no stone. No water. Just a flower.
It was unlike anything they'd seen.
Large as a cradle, its petals layered in shades of obsidian and violet and a blush of blue that shimmered when the light touched it. At its center, a glow pulsed softly - slower than the others, deeper. Jude reached for it instinctively.
Before his fingers touched it, the petals shivered.
The flower opened.
Inside was a pool of silver fluid, thick and luminous, swirling slowly like a miniature galaxy. The scent that rose from it made them all sway - warm honey, crushed petals, the earthy perfume of sex and moss and heat.
Lucy inhaled sharply. "It smells like… us."
"It is us," Rose whispered, her eyes wide. "The island's recorded it. This is memory. Essence."
Sophie leaned in. "What do we do with it?"
"We drink," Rose said, voice low and reverent.
Emma narrowed her eyes. "Drink what? Ourselves?"