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[ Instead, they are brought with Phil to the end portal, and watch the shimmering black pool as his Lady's power engulfs them both. ]

[ It doesn't snap, or break, nor does the universe tear. It shifts, like compressing rock miles beneath the dirt. Like a single stretched cord, pulled farther than it should be - like the instant before a piano key's hammer strikes the string. Like the first chip of stone pushed from the sturdy base of a boulder which has rested upon it for millennia. ]

[ Nothing happens. Expecting it to is silly, really - the balance hasn't been disrupted between Beginning and End. He knows their Lady feels it too, though - he can smell the roses and wysteria sprouting beneath her as she, too, is pulled tighter. ]

[ The illusion of the birdhouse around them doesn't even falter, the purple glow of the birdcage doesnt flicker. ]

[ But he knows, they've reached the delicate tipping point. They are more than happy to give up what power he can to Beginning, the same way his Lady's power had been harnessed by End. ]

[ Beneath them, Phil is still and silent. They know that this time, it isn't meditation - Phil has moved only to shift positions or eat from a dwindling supply of gold apples for days now. It's eerie to witness a Phil that doesn't move or speak, even just to fill the space. ]

[ No Phil he knows can really resist drawing close to the End, eventually. None of them ever truly warm up to the End, but they always get close. ]

[ Instead of reassured, a pit opens in his chest and it feels as if all his feathers have been plucked away, leaving him bare. ]

[ They are not confused. He does not always know what to do, but he knows what they are, and what She is. She is his lady, and he has spent thousands of years and endless timelines in her veil. They have never felt a need to waver from the purpose She gave them. He has happily been Phil’s tie to Her, they have played go-between, they have been Her mouthpiece, he has guided and protected Her crows and souls when they could. ]

[ He still has no reason to waver. His lady is not the End, and he knows it the way his body knows to breathe. ]

[ His lady is Limbo, the Path, the Guide. She is all the steps between beginning and end, She is Erosion, the Landslide, the River’s changing bed and its floodplain that snuffs the animals to feed the soil. She is Ash that prepares the forest for fresh growth, the Frost that blackens leaves before the snow. She is Food, for the scavengers and the flowers. She is everything that hastens End and nourishes Beginning. ]

[ She is Breath itself. He is not confused. ]

[ It’s not large enough to build a portal, even if he had the ingredients to do so. They’re sure it wouldn’t allow him, anyways. This Ender would know their timeline hopping. This Ender would know what the void affords him. ]

[ trapped in a small space, with very little in his inventory. Mostly potions, gapples. Things that would help them escape, had their jailer not been The End. ]

[ The closer they get to the coords in the book, the harder it feels to breathe, the muscles stretched across their breastbone taught as bowstrings. The trees are gorgeous, and the songs of countless birds fill the air - it doesn’t lift the suffocating malaise that surrounds this errand. ]

[ He tells himself that it’s because they’re cooperating with the Fed. ]

[ Phil’s voice is desperate when they reach the door of a beautiful wooden house, one whose shape is disturbingly familiar. They follow at his heels, eager to find the fledgeling. The shape and feel of the outside stay stuck in his brain as he frantically searches for Chayanne, blinking rapidly to keep their vision clear in the dusty air. ]

[ It looks like a birdhouse. A cutesy one a little old grandma would put out on her backyard tree. ]

[ They want to make a sound, a call, but some deep-rooted instinct stills the noise in their throat. Something in his bones feels hunted. ]

[ He does not think a kindly old woman built this house. ]

[ The door slams shut. ]

[ A Cage for a Cage. ]