Something happened recently; something that brought the spirit world far closer than it’s ever been before. Here, she can feel the difference. Here, she often thinks that she can see some wispy forms out of the corner of her eyes, as if the veil between the world is no more than a thin piece of gauze. Her skin tingles, and her eyes scan the desolate, gray area while she waits for Etro. Her daughter is her - their - anchor, the proverbial lantern lighting the way home, should anything bad happen. Yael doesn’t think it will, though she also doesn’t know what to do about Van’s body - will he have one? Will she have to build his flesh and bone again? Should she have a shell waiting for his soul to inhabit?
When Etro appears, Yael nudges her shoulder affectionately. There’s no use showing trepidation; it won’t help her and it won’t help Etro with her job either. She needs confidence from the both of them. There is power in faith. She tells their daughter to call her name every twenty breaths. It is morning, and she asks her to do it until sunset. If she can’t traverse the world of the dead and return in that amount of time, then there is no hope for her. She asks Etro to be patient and keep calm. And last but not least, she tells her not to worry - when has her mother ever failed?
Yael takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, using that extra, magic sight to look for the flickering separation of life and death. She’s looked for it before, and now that she knows what to look for, it is easy to find again. She cannot know what lies beyond it until she crosses, and so to any that may be watching with normal vision, the golden mare slowly disappears - head first, then neck and wings and torso, and finally her hindquarters. Yael has fully crossed over.
The world of the dead is different - it is gray and colorless, but still unusually full of life. She is an outsider and does not recognize the names or faces of the ghosts, though some are legends and some are heroes to their descendants back in life. For a moment, she considers looking for others who were - no, still are - dear to her; for Fictional and Nocturnal and Alysanne and her tribal family. But they will always be here, and she has had a long time to come to term with those deaths. Vanquish is another matter entirely. She is here for him because she knows he wasn’t ready to go. Because they weren’t finished yet. Because she wants him to know that she hasn’t forgotten him or resigned herself to his death, and that she would always do as she promised - everything she could for him.
If everything means bringing him back from the dead, then so be it.
“Vankish?” she calls into the crowd. “Vankish?” The golden once-Queen moves slowly through the crowds, calling out every couple of steps for her once-and-forever King.
Yael, guardian of the desert