She waits. She trusts that Eris will shepherd the Guardians and that the infinite ambition of those undying half-children will deliver her. They will enter the court and challenge its king and dance in its killing ground, and they will master the school of sword logic so mightily that they will overturn its teacher and forsake the crown. Soon. But soon may not be soon enough, because Oryx roams the hallowed spires and melancholy shores of the Dreaming City. He stands looking out over the mists of her beautiful creation, and he laughs. She can feel him there like a thorn in the meat of her palm. She scolds herself for not factoring Shuro Chi's love into her design. Then she berates herself for this nervous energy, this fretful self-cannibalism. Lungless, Mara remembers the sensation of a deep breath. Enacts it in her mind. She remembers the singularity before her. She waits.