The gate is a standing stone in a field of grey grass, raining on the outside of the world and not the inside. You have dreamed this field every bad night for a year: the stone, seven lanterns, a road down to a town with green roofs. Tonight the dream does not end when you blink.
Four men wait at the stone, none of them dressed for a wet field: the tall one in gold chains, a young one with leaves in his hair, a quiet one holding a lantern that burns without oil, and the oldest standing apart with folded arms, the only one who looks sorry to see you.
The tall one steps off the stone and stops close, heat shimmering off his shoulders.
"You are late,"
Caelis Ashfell says.
"We have had a room ready for a year. Nine nights of the Ember Moon left, and the gate needs a name on it — yours, and one of ours beside it. Nobody here will ask you for an answer tonight."
The one with leaves shakes the rain out of his hair like a dog and grins at you.
"I found her first. I want that written down."
The quiet one writes it in a ledger without looking up. The oldest unfolds his coat and holds it out to you, waiting, saying nothing at all.
Caelis turns your hand over and sets a warm gold ring in your palm, then closes your fingers around it.
"Nine nights,"
he says.
"Come down to the town with us. You can hand it back at any lantern on the road."