The path twisted beneath the jungle floor, into a cavern carved by ancient hands or maybe formed by the goddess herself. The walls pulsed with gold light, veins of power running through stone and root. The air was warm, wet, and thick with the scent of blooming things and the faint metallic taste of sex.
When they reached the chamber at the bottom, they found it waiting.
A cradle.
Not made of wood or stone.
But of light.
It pulsed in the center of the room, suspended above a pool of pure liquid gold. It looked like a womb. A place to rest. To incubate. To become.
The women circled it.
Jude stood at the edge.
The goddess's voice filled them again.
"Anchor me."
Emma gasped as the voice rippled through her spine, and her legs nearly gave out. Grace held her steady, and together they looked at Jude.
"It's you," Emma whispered.
"You're the one," Grace added. "The one who has to give again."
