She smiled, wickedly, basking in our confused stares. Then, standing up, she led us gracefully to the Isle of Semele tower.
The evening light filtered into the room, bathing us in a cerulean glow as Haven stepped into the circle of water.
This time, though, she remained and it seemed the pool was no longer a portal.
I slid in, skeptically, as the others did the same and was grateful when I planted my feet on solid ground. The water was up to my thighs, and refreshingly cool. And it was glowing.
Haven had closed her eyes and reached her hands into the water, causing it radiate softly.
The water warmed considerably and before I could blink I was watching Haven hurriedly make her way down a canal, jumping from boat to boat, and smiling apologetically at the ruffled sailors.
The glass of the Isle of Semele tower had fallen away for columns of stone and cement and she hurried through the city, not slowing until she reached a large natatorium.
In the pool there were twelve stone platforms circling a dias, on which sat a single jug, filled to the brim with a viscous, purple liquid.
A stern looking man shot Haven a disapproving glare, as she settled herself on one of the platforms.
"Sorry, I'm late," she grinned, looking just like herself but whereas now she had an ancient allure, the Haven on the platform had a youthful exuberance.
"As we are now complete, the Trial can commence," the man said, his long, ebony hair pulled into a tight braid. He stood on a balcony overlooking the natatorium, other equally severe-looking, beautiful people flanking him.
"The first to reach the jug and bring it to me without spilling a single drop, wins the honor of Attending. Maika dem i'loa sona," he began.
"A dem i'nali dari," the other eleven and Haven chorused.
I didn't speak Semish but it was like I could hear Haven understand the words. I felt their importance like a weight on my heart as the voices carried over the water. May the waves guide, and the wind lead.
Immediately they said the phrase, a conch was blown and the trial began.
I could see a strong-looking, dark skinned boy leap into the water, his legs immediately transforming into a tail as he swam forward powerfully.
Another girl called a whirlpool like Ciel had done and cruised towards the dias.
Haven remained still, wicked smile never leaving her lips.
A cerulean-skinned girl had just climbed onto the dias and was reaching for the jug with a webbed hand when Haven began to sing.
This was not like her song at Icarus Falls. This song was slow and sweet and beautiful. The girl slowed, as if trying to move through tar, before collapsing to the ground, shaking ferociously.
The other ten followed suit, the whirpool dying beneath the other girl's feet as she dropped into the water beside the dark skinned boy, both shivering periodically.
Still singing, Haven stepped onto a path of algae that had not been there seconds before, serenely making her way to the dias.
She raised the jug high, victory in her hazy blue eyes, and then she drank from it. Every last drop. She slammed the jug back onto the dias, the force causing it to shatter into a million dull, grey pieces. Her eyes never left the stern man's.
"What is your name?" he asked, with a low voice like thunder.
"Um'ni wa Havéane," she said, as she licked her stained lips.
"Oe nia kau'o aské dem simran, Havéane," he said, raising his chin and lowering his eyes.
You have put on quite the show, Haven.
"A oe nia nuidan umi dem primsa," she said, hazy blue eyes bright.
And you have asked for the best.
The man lowered his chin, staring at the young naiad.
"Semele," he said, loudly, his voice traveling over the waters like a living thing, "we have found our champion."
I blinked again and now Haven was on a nightmarish, black mare, her chesnut hair flowing behind her as she raced through a lush field.
In the evening light I could just make out the Dragon Stone, the old monument that told travelers that they had reached the End of the World, which is really just the border between the Confederate States of West Eurus, and South Eurus.
She galloped up to a group of seven other riders, all wearing dark cloaks, various pouches attached to their saddles.
"We were about to leave you," a slight girl with Perseian eyes said, throwing Haven a pointed look.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Hala," Haven said, grinning, as the group began to trot forward.
She showed us her Journey in flashes.
Fighting the yōkai, her singing a note high enough to shatter skulls, Hala braiding Pietyr's hair, Leif loosing his left arm to vulcans, Pietyr and Syobahn teaching them Kolyv drinking songs, Theia riding her griffon while Aaron and Filip fired at Orcs.
She showed us their victories, their triumphs, faces radiant and glowing as the won battle after battle and got closer to their goal.
She showed us how their friendships bloomed. Long nights they spent traveling, telling themselves jokes and stories to keep themselves awake. Days spent basking in the sun and splashing in rivers.
But, most of all, she showed us their defeats. She showed us every brutal second of Leif's agony as his arm was torn from it's socket. She showed us what was left of Aaron's remains when the orcs were done, she showed us Pietyr, eyes empty and cheeks wet as Hala died in his arms, after having been all but ripped in half by the Unperor.
She showed us their red eyes and bloody hands. She showed us loss.
Eventually, we watched their depleted party stumble upon the White King's mansion, bruised and beaten.
I blinked again, and we were back in the tower. I stumbled back as my head spun, trying to focus as the water rippled around me
"I have no doubt that you will get to the Masquerade," Haven said, slowly, as if looking for the right words, "but you must make peace with the truth that not all of you will make it."
I knew she was right but it was still hard to hear the words said aloud, so plainly.
"For those that will make it, I say this, you will never be the same. Enjoy your restful nights now because after the Journey, I doubt any of you will ever sleep again." Her blue eyes were dark and her words were like a barely leashed storm.
'For those that will make it.' Does that include me? I couldn't help but wonder.
She smiled, brightly.
"That being said, I made some of my best friends on the Journey and the Masquerade did not meet, but surpassed, every expectation I had."
"Was it worth it?" River asked suddenly.
Haven paused, and sucked her tongue.
"There's a Semish saying, To the ones that toiled under the sun, the shade is sweetest. Was it worth it?" she echoed, "Yes, it had to be worth it. Otherwise the sleepless nights, the screams that don't stop, the tears and the pain would have all been for nothing."
She looked up, her gaze black. "It could not all have been for nothing."
We trudged to our rooms, sober after Haven's tale. One thought swirled through my mind slightly higher than the rest: Haven had not answered River's question.
Yes, it had to be worth it, she'd said. But things are not always as they have to be. Life is not always so kind.
What I did not know then was that Haven did not complete the saying.
To the ones that toiled under the sun, the shade is sweetest. But what good is shade to the one the sun has already burned up?