Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sound the alarm!”

“Ring the bells!”

“The Light of the Spirit Tree has vanished!”

  A sundering cacophony of resounding tolls. Orders barked amid thunderous footfalls. The starry midnight silence of the savannah is shattered with the permeating, fermenting air of despair.

“Fan out and find the Light!”

“It could not have gone far!”

“Is an intruder in our midst?”

“How could this have happened?!”

  Like a cave of frenzied emberbats, the interior walls of Korios City flicker with the light of spirits and lanterns. A multitude of hooves and paws mad-dash and skitter against the ant nest network of cobblestone roads. It is in moments like this that the deepest rooms of the heart are opened and revealed; where wisdom weeps in the street.

“Grab as much food as you can, hurry!”

“Close the shop, close the shop!”

“We must leave the city!”

“Do not interfere with the guard! Back, back!”

  Separated in the chaos, a moki cub's cries for her mother are drowned in the din.

  Similar wails ring out towards the god-shaped hole that once was the Light's Cradle. The veins of glowing mana that run through the Spirit Baobab’s branches begin to sputter and dim; wood once magical now mundane. Its children, those present in the Glade, can only embrace each other and watch as their mother slowly dies before them, with the knowledge that they will soon follow hanging over their heads like a sword on a string.

  Doom is at hand. All on this night believe this to be so.

  Save for one. There is always one.

  A lone figure flings open the door to their office. Their cloak is ripped off their back and thrown onto a nearby rack, causing it to teeter and barely keep its footing. Urgent hoofsteps echo across their sandstone abode as they cross the width of the room.

“My invention will save them all.”

  This mantra resonates like the knell of the tolling bells. They approach their desk and set a lantern upon it, casting a much needed glow across the cluttered work surface.

“My invention will save us all.”

  Their latest project sits before them in silent, blissful dormancy. It just needs one more component, one more adjustment, a series of clicks and taps … and it is done.

“I will save us all.”

  This newborn of metal and arcana soon joins them as another source of illumination. For such a powerful thing, it is relatively easy to make. It had to be.

  This momentous occurrence will be marked onto history’s pages and recounted for generations to come.

  It has to be. It has to.

“I will … ” they begin to whisper.

  Pause. Reconsider. Control one's breath. One's self.

  No.

  The inventor tightens their hold on their completed design.

“I ... have saved us all.”

  So begins this hero's tale.

Chapter Text

“Remember what I said, abni. You can do it. Just focus.”

   Warm words of encouragement flow through the air like the fragrant breezes of spring. The nearby trees seem to softly applaud and cheer with the shifting of their leafy branches. Underneath one such tree stands a young spirit of a glow akin to golden grain.

   He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Exhales the tension in his body through the mouth. The Gorlek behind him speaks again, his voice sturdy yet tender.

   “Draw your energy from your feet, from the ground. Store it into your chest. Feel it. Will it.”

   The spirit obeys as he pulls breath into his lungs, one hooved foot in front of the other. His hand moves towards the front of his chest, palm upright, holding fresh air.

   “Take your time, abni. Focus on the process. Where is your energy?”

   The hand lowers. A meek answer comes.

   “In my chest.”

   “Mm. And the target?”

   Eyes open. With a painted smolder of a crooked black line that melted just a touch from last night's rain, a training dummy made of old burlap stands propped on a pole at a stone's throw away. Elements of tattered string and scrap sway softly like their fur in the breeze.

   “There.”

   “Good.”

   “But—” and the spirit starts to turn.

   To which the Gorlek tuts. “Ah-ah. Don't look at me. Focus on the goal, Gen. Focus.”

   The young spirit looks back at the smoldering dummy, but the question insists on being asked. On being heard.

   “Just … why do we have to do this, dad?”

   “Have I not told you already?” asks the Gorlek. “One must remain vigilant even when living in peacetime. Will you be ready when hardship comes, not just to survive, but also to help others? Protect others, when you know you can?”

   Gen shrugs and hums an “I don't know” sound.

   “That is why we are here, so we can turn your I don't know into a yes. Do you want to help others?”

   "Mhm." Gen nods.

   “Then you know what to do. Reassume the stance, abni.”

   Abni. Like being offered a cup of cold juice on a warm day like this, it is hard to say no when Watada uses that name of endearment.

   The Gorlek guides him through the steps again. Close your eyes. Inhale, exhale. Draw power from the ground. Store it in the chest …

   “Now. Pull the power from your chest. Guide it; will it to flow and pool into the palm of your hand, like we've practiced. You've got this.”

   Gen does so.

   A pulse. A beat. A tingling.

   A spark flashes in Gen's hand.

   “Yes, yes, just like that … ” Watada nods, just able to conceal the excitement in his voice. “Manifest your power. Control it. Give it shape.”

   A second spark. A third. Fourth-fifth. A low bush shivers as another breeze passes. Flickering warmth dances in Gen's hand at each pulse. Each beat. Each tingle.

   He seeks these sensations. Pursues them. Eyes still closed. Feeling through the darkness. He knows it is there.

   And he is right. He is rewarded.

   As if being handed a ball, Gen opens his eyes to see a dazzling orb of golden energy in his palm. It is smooth to the touch. There is weight to it. Dimension. The interior swirls with raw power and light. His light.

   He looks back at Watada, his dad; his abi, with perked ears and a smile that rivals the orb’s radiance as if to say I did it!

   “Well, what are you waiting for?” Watada says with three smiling eyes. “Throw it!”

   Gen does not need much persuasion. He turns back to the dummy, reels his arm back, eyes glinting as he —

   The bush from earlier did not shiver from the wind.

   “GRAAAH! YAAAH! WRAAAH!”

    With their arms above their heads and faces twisted in mock menace, a trio of young moki yell and leap out of the foliage.

   Watada isn't as startled by this immature ambush compared to the effect it has on his son.

   “W-waaahhh!” 

   The orb slips from Gen’s hand as the spirit stumbles back and falls onto his behind.

   The light in everyone's eyes seems to follow and sink like the sensation in their bellies, knowing that should it touch the ground … !

   “Abni!”

   Watada lunges forward with the urgency of a runaway boulder. The pickaxe is pulled from his side. Gen is shielded with his other arm. Arcs the tool upwards. It connects with the orb with a crisp crack!

   Sending it flying towards an overhead branch.

   The tree rocks with the resulting minor blast as leaves and twigs, still damp from last night’s rain, tumble and shower onto their heads and shoulders. Startled birds squawk and flutter off into the sky. The dummy continues to smolder as if displeased with the inclement weather. 

   Watada swats a clump of branches from his head as he thunders towards the trio, fangs and all. “You rot-damned moki, just you wait until your mothers hear about this!”

   The three pay no heed. They simply scamper off like the scattered birds, laughing and jeering along the way.

   “Did you see the look on his face?”

   “Waaah! Waaah! Daddy, help meee!”

   “Some hero's son he is, hahaha! What a coward!”

   The voices soon disappear, lost to the fragrant spring breeze as they head towards several thin white smokestacks in the near distance, likely to plot their next strike. The dummy, facing the same direction, now seems to smolder at their backs.

   It is Watada’s turn to slowly exhale the tension from his body. The tool softly slides back into the belt loop at his side as his other three hands ease consciously, unclench and lower. Fallen leaves, blasted branches and trodden grass shift and crack as the Gorlek sighs and turns to look at his son. To face the aftermath.

   “Abni? My son?”

   With his knees against his chest, head in his lap and tail curled around his hooves, Gen has not moved from where he had fallen. His leaf-shaped ears droop like that of wilting grass in the winter past, with the spirit softly sniffling, shoulders rising and falling with each choked inhale.

   “Oh, Gen … ”

   The young spirit wipes his eyes and kicks a branch at his foot.“Don't … t-they’re … ”

   Watada reaches out with his four hands, and Gen initially resists; weakly smacking away the first hand and squirming against the second, but relenting to the tender touch of his third and fourth hands. His soft cries and shallow heaves are muffled as he buries his face into the lion-like creature’s chest.

   “They … t-they're right … ”

   “Hush, abi … ”

   “I'm weak, I'm not strong like him, I can't—”

   “I said hush, Gen. Hush.”

   The words dry up while the tears still flow. So be it. As long as he can listen.

   “Those three …” Watada grumbles as he begins to cradle his son closer; a most secure and warm nest comprised of four strong arms. “They are at that age where they think they can do anything they want, that they can be horrible without any consequence. Well, just they wait until I march up to their homes and speak with their parents—”

   “Please … please don't … " Gen warbles. "You don't have to —”

   “Don't have to?” Watada interjects incredulously.

   “Abi, please ...”

   “And what, let those … those hacked-up hairballs continue treating you like this? Calling you things? Proving that you are a —”

   Watada tongue stops itself from finishing that sentence. Even so, the shame comes; that deep-seated warmth that blooms at the tips of his ears and reaches down to the furthest corner in his heart for even thinking such a thing.

   “What?” Gen asks, looking up at him in his curled up form. He does not seem to understand.

   Watada looks down at the little spirit in his arms. His face is that of anger; anger towards the fact his son, his dear boy, is treated this way … but his expression softens when Gen reaches up and touches his cheek. Watada leans into his touch. Such a small thing, and yet how miraculously warm it is.

   “A what, abi? ” Gen asks again, looking up at him with those curious, caring eyes.

   “... nothing, abni. Forget it,” Watada sighs and cleans his face before hugging him again, hoping that he doesn't pursue the topic.

   Silence follows. Watada is thankful.

   As they remain there for a while longer in the ever-blowing breeze, the clouds above continuing their flights across the sky, questions froth forth in Watada's spirit-laden mind.

   Will he be okay? Will we be okay? How can he grow if he's so easily frightened? Will he grow? Am I doing this right?

   Watada muses if this is what a stake thinks when it is used to support a sapling. He then glances back at the dummy with a look as if to say what do you think?

   Even stakes need help.

   The dummy, though its appearance has melted more from the shower of damp leaves, continues to focus its efforts on its eternal smolder in the face of it all.

   Focus. Focus on the goal.

   Watada looks down with the spirit's head looking back at him. The feline somehow finds the strength to put on a smile.

   “You know, abni ... you did pretty good before those three showed their faces.”

   That beautiful pair of eyes. The searching expression within them.

   “You ... you think so?” Gen asks.

   Watada nods and tenderly pets that spot behind the spirit's ear, earning him a sweet song of small, ethereal purrs.

   “I know so," the Gorlek smiles. "From the very beginning, I told you, you can. And you did! Lo and behold, your very first light bomb.”

   A giggle as pure and clear as a freshwater spring bubbles out of the little spirit, washing away all the pain, the doubt, the fear.

   “Well … if you say so,” Gen meekly replies, looking up at Watada once more. “But you helped me, abi. So, thank you.”

   What a humble son he has. “It is my absolute pleasure, abni.”

   A beat. A pulse. A connection.

   Just like the first day they met, on one much like this.

   “I love you, dad.”

   “And I love you, my son. So, so much.”

   Watada kisses him on the forehead, earning him yet another giggle, another purr, another moment to remember.

   “Now …” Watada gruffly hums, standing up and having Gen climb onto his shoulders, where the spirit nestles himself into his thick mane like it is second nature. “Before we find yet another place to train … why don't we go and treat ourselves to your favorite dessert?”

   Gen gasps. His ears perk up. “Butter-fried bread? With berries and honey drizzled on top?”

   “You said it. And you’ve certainly earned it," Watada chuckles. "Let's go home, my son."

   The air is blessed with a cheerful spirit's cooing amid the rhythm of heavy footfalls growing softer and softer. Together, they can do anything. 

   They just have to focus on the right thing.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Gen, you don't have to do that!”

   The young spirit's ear flicks up at the voice as he stands and huffs with a laden pair of arms. 

   “It's just a bunch of chisels, Mister Mismar,” Gen pouts. “And abi asked for them—”

   “No-no-no, I insist, please put them down. What if you trip, scatter them out and … and fall on them? You could get hurt!”

   Golden bulbs hang and glow from the glorious boughs of the Spirit Tree as Seir sits comfortably on their throne woven of oak and root. Unfailing is the radiance that staves off the darkness and the Decay … as a younger thunder-browed Gorlek, amidst a ring of refined and rune-carved stone blocks, lumbers forward and plucks the box from the endangered spirit's hands.

   “Do you want to get hurt? For your abi to worry?” rattles Mismar as he tilts his gray-maned head in emphasis.

   Gen's ears droop alongside his expression, his hands slipping behind him like a pair of runaway siblings. “Well, no … no, Mister Mismar,” he stammers. 

   To which his answer is rewarded with a sigh and a pat to the head from one of four paws. 

   “Then just leave it to us. To the professionals, alright, jidi?”

   Jidi. Gorleki for “kid”.

   That is when another Gorlek leans out from behind a larger, central stone. An eyebrow and a pair of arms raise skyward in questioning while the other pair rest on his tool-belted hips. 

   “Where are my chisels, you two?” Watada calls. “This Well won't build itself!”

   “Why don't you go play?” Mismar suggests as he takes a few steps back and looks around with his three eyes. “I think I saw some young moki, er … over there, yes.”

   Gen looks around, ears perking once again as the golden glow shines in his eyes. “Where?”

   Fluttering butterflies and dancing dandelion seeds. Incessant cricketsong. Creamy birdsong. But no young moki. No playful chirping from such a group, either.

   Yet Mismar is already long gone by the time he glances back. The dutiful apprentice simply watches as Watada picks a chisel and resumes his runecarving. 

   Gen can only sigh, lower his head and ears (yet again) and cross his little arms with another soft huff … before deciding to venture towards the only other beings in this area; the source of the golden light they are awash in and the one holding it aloft — along with everything in Niwen.

   This is not the first time. As the young spirit makes the hilly ascent with blades of grass shifting and crunching underhoof, images and sounds flicker through the eyes of Gen's mind; their contents and actors different yet bearing the same old story.

   “There is no need for you to cut anything for tonight's dinner, kid,” stated one-eyed Head Chef Juri after sternly demanding that he keep clear of her knives, carrots and potatoes. This memory with the moki is one week old.

   “I will climb the ladder and return it to the tall shelf, alright?” whispered Head Librarian Haki after yanking a thick history book from his hands. This memory with the Gorlek is three days old.

   “Hopscotch might be too much for you, so … let's play hide and seek instead!” said several young moki. A day old. What did that even mean?

   Finally, of Mismar and the chisels. Of Watada not noticing.

   Like a newborn moki brought fresh into the world, the swaddled memories softly wail and squeak in their confusion. They seek the comfort, the solace and the wisdom of a guardian. They seek the assurance that all worries would be dispelled, that all would be explained. That all would be alright.

   But the source of these infants’ confusion?

   Hoofsteps cease at the foot of an oaken titan. 

   Thick, twisting roots, in which many birds make their homes, form a loose, circular courtyard in which the Tree would receive his audience. One such visitor likes to think that these growths are his father's arms; always outstretched and ever ready to embrace all who come … just like how he embraced the Light.

   Through the cracks in the healthful bark, Gen can sense; taste and feel, like a static that makes one's fur raise on end, the life-sustaining mana that shall continue to seep and flow into the land for generations to come. 

   His eyes are then drawn and momentarily captivated by a butterfly with damaged wings. It rests on the oaken surface for a moment before spreading its wings and taking to the sky, having to flutter a little harder in order to ascend.

   But Gen turns around, sits with his back against the bark, lowers his head, closes his eyes … 

   And opens his mind. 

   “Dad?”

   Like casting a stone into a lake. As the pebble strikes the shifting weave of the water’s surface, it sends a glassy ripple back to shore. To him.

   An iron bell that gently resounds in cavernous stone walls. So is the voice that echoes in the deepest corners of his mind.

   As a soft, warm and fragrant breeze brushes his furred cheek.

   Welcome back, my dear Gen. I've missed you.

   This is far more preferable than having a deep voice echo out for miles on end. It's private. Simple as that. Gen manages a smile before tossing the next pebble.

   “How are you, dad? Do you have anything you need help with?”

   A nearby tree creaks in the breeze, as if heartily chuckling.

   No, my son. I have everything I would need. Ample water, warm sun, Seir and you.

   Gen frowns. He turns the next pebble in his mind before throwing it.

   “Are you sure? There's nothing I can help you with … ?” he presses.

   The ripple takes a moment to return.

   I am quite sure, my son. Is there something that I am not getting?

   “No, it's just … ” 

   He sighs. His head dips further.

   “I have a question, dad.”

   And you know I'll do my best to answer. What seems to trouble you so, my son?

   Another warm and fragrant breeze, this time on Gen's forehead. The golden child on the shore musters up the courage and strength to throw this next stone. To cast off this hidden, inward weight from his heart.

   “What am I doing here, dad?” Gen asks.

   A boulder plunges into the lake.

   Gen waits for the tidal wave that is sure to come … yet no ripple returns. A lone bird nearby warbles out a chirp.

   A smaller pebble, just larger than a grain of sand. “...Dad?”

   A ripple as gentle and clear as all the others that came before it returns to shore.

   Is this the work of those three moki? Samur, Chayat and Teref? 

   Gen’s head shakes before he does. Then he stills.

   “Well. Yes. Maybe… ”

   And what did they say?

   “Said I wasn't your son, among other things…”

   And you know that's not true. Your leaf fell from my branches. You are my beloved son.

   “Well, what if I'm not?”

   The counsel of birds around him have joined together in song. The chinking of chisel against a canvas of stone continues to resound as two Gorlek continue their work.

   “I mean … I'm not strong like you. I'm not a fighter like you were. I can't defend people.”

   Gen … 

   The child continues to rattle off. “And when I try to do things, they … they say I can't do it. Shouldn't do it! I can't cook, I can't climb a ladder, I can't play a hard game and I can't even carry a-a-a stupid box of tools!”

   Angered hands wrench his knees towards his huffing chest. A face is buried in them as a tail curls around his feet … like how it did yesterday. Like it's always done.

   “What am I doing here? Why am I here … ?” Gen mutters out loud.

   A warm gust follows as the branches above him shift and creak as if the Tree were heaving a sigh. The golden bulbs continue to glow and silently shine like the nested golden Light. The clouds further above them carry on in their airborne journeys across the cerulean skies.

   This momentary silence is softly broken when the voice ripples forth once more from the depths of thought.

   Gen.

   The spirit doesn't move, doesn't budge from the confines of his arms.

   Gen, look. To the right.

   A sigh leaves his lips. But with drooping ears, Gen obediently tilts his head that way.

   What do you see?

   Perched upon a flower is a butterfly Gen saw earlier. Its damaged wings of black and brown flit and flutter in bliss as it climbs around and feeds on the nectar found in the crown of cherry-red petals.

   “I see … a butterfly. With broken wings.”

   Damaged wings, yes. Would you like to know what is so interesting about it?

   Curiosity leads him. “What is?”

   This little butterfly can still fly despite the way it was born. Sure, it may have to flutter its wings a little harder and faster to lift itself from the ground … but it still can fly. I think that makes it even more beautiful.

   A cautious hand extends towards the flower. The butterfly does not run away; allowing the child to draw near so it may climb onto his finger and be brought closer.

   “Poor thing … ” Gen murmurs as he tenderly strokes the damaged parts with his other finger. It flits its wings in response.

   Perhaps you hear that a lot. "Poor thing." Perhaps that's what this butterfly hears from its neighbors and friends, too. But despite that, do you think that it lets that stop it from flying? What others say or think?

   “No...” Simple as that.

   So why let such thoughts from others stop you from doing what others can, especially when you know it's right? I think you can cook. I think — I know you can climb tall ladders, play hard games, carry toolboxes and do much, much more. I'm sure Watada has said the same, too. 

   It's true. Watada did say he knew he could do it.

   The voice resounds again. You're smiling. 

   That is also true. Gen can hear the smile in the voice.

   And that is why you are here, my son.

   Gen looks to the glorious branches and bulbs above as they sway in the wind. The butterfly remains on his finger, evidently finding rest like the birds in the roots that embrace this grassy courtyard.

   “What, to smile?” Gen asks.

   I certainly did not fight for a future where my loved ones would have to fight or suffer like I did. But what do you think — do you think that simply smiling and enjoying life is enough?

   Gen taps his chin. “I mean, it would be nice if it was like that … but I'm guessing the answer is no.”

   I think I agree, my son. Like how butterflies — even those with damaged wings — do not only enjoy the sweetness of nectar, it also brings pollen from one flower to another. It has a job to do. All have a role in maintaining the place we call home.

   The golden child tilts his head. Silence sits on his lips for a while as the insect remains on his finger.

   A pebble lands in the lake. “What is your nectar, dad?”

   … What do you mean?

   “You said the butterflies need to work, but also to enjoy the nectar. Watada builds all kinds of big stuff, and he likes to carve little wooden stuff. You work … a lot, keeping everything alive. What do you like, I guess is what I'm asking.”

   Laughter blooms in Gen's head. Warm, sweet, tender laughter. Like the wind that kisses his cheek once again.

   How is it that I'm blessed with such a sweet and caring son? 

   Gen giggles softly, too. He also raises his hand and sends the butterfly on its way, eyes full of wonder following as it flies off into a field of flowers just over yonder.

   But I think I said the answer. You are like nectar to me, Gen. Your smile, your laughter … the knowledge that you and everyone are flourishing under my watch? I deeply enjoy these things.

   And, in answer to your first question, I think I know what you are supposed to do. What you can do. 

   Gen flicks his ears a little higher.

   Just like how you did with that butterfly, feeling bad for it even though it didn't need to be pitied, I think you are meant to care for everyone.

   “Everyone, huh? Even those three?” Gen asks with eyes half-lidded in annoyance.

   Yes, Gen. Even them. But if you would like, I could perhaps send them or their mothers my regards …

   A nervous smile spreads in between drooping ears. “Pleeease don't.”

   More laughter, softer this time. I had a feeling you would say that. But that would certainly prove that you are my son. In fact, that may just be why people try to prevent you from doing anything.

   “Because I'm your son?”

   Because you are my beloved son.

   “Well, I think that's weird reason."

   So do I. So do I.

   A beat. A flicker. A connection.

   “Love you, dad.”

   And I, you, Gen. Whatever you choose to do, Watada and I will support you, and I know you can do it.

   A comfortable silence descends upon them. Chisel chinks against stone, fragrant breezes swirl and blow while the nearby river ripples and flows. Gen rests his head against the thick trunk and gazes skyward.

   “I think I'd like that. Caring for everyone in some way.”

   And how will you do that? Will you become a doctor and care for the sick and injured … or a chef who cooks for everyone? A defender of the Glades, even? 

   “I don’t know. I'll have to think.”

   That's alright. You have plenty of time to figure it out. Just remember that whatever you choose to do — 

   “You and Watada will support me. I got that.”

   And so long as it is … ?

   “So long as it is kind.”

   That's my boy.

   A warm ribbon of sunlight falls through the leafy canopy, descending upon Gen's head and shoulders … reminding him of how Watada would embrace him. That warmth. That pride.

   A familiar voice then calls from the distance. “Abni? Where are you?”

   Speak of the rot.

   “Looks like I gotta go. See you again soon?”

   I'll always be here, my son. See you again soon, and say hello to Watada for me, will you?

   “I will. Love you!”

   With a warm breeze kissing his forehead once more, verdant grass shifts underhoof as Gen rushes down the hill to his other father and the apprentice under his wing.

   “There you are, abni,” Watada smiles and chuckles as Gen wraps his thick leg in a hug. “How would you like to carve the last rune of this Well?”

   Gen's eyes seem to catch the light as they brighten. “Really…?”

   Watada hums and nods. “Really. Why don't you get the hammer from the box?”

   “Uh …” Mismar then hums, nervously wringing all sixteen of his fingers as a group of young spirits run past. “Is that a good idea, for Gen to be wielding such a heavy — ”

   It's like hearing a musician play the same song over and over. Watada sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mismar, it's a hammer. I am sure my son can handle a hammer. Can't you, Gen?”

   Mismar turns to the child as he stands in the glow of the Light, easily casting a shadow with his towering, hulking form. An expectant expression rests on the adolescent Gorlek’s face. 

   Gen blinks as his tongue stammers like a candle flame exposed to the slightest breath. “I, um … uh … ” 

   “Ah, you see, master?” Mismar hums and shakes his maned head. “Here, I will do it, jidi.”

  But Mismar’s hand finds no purchase on the tool. 

   It instead rests in the young Gen's grasp as he holds it up with both hands. Avoiding Mismar’s astonished gaze, his eyes belong only to his father at this moment.

   His lips are sealed. So his hands shall speak.

   A warm, triumphant breeze ruffles his fur as if he were being egged on by someone. Watada seems to agree as he is unable to help the grin that grows on his face. He waves for Gen to approach the Spirit Well as he holds up a chisel. 

   “Come, abni, come! I will hold the chisel like so, and you tap it lightly, got it? It's just one rune.”

   The grass parts for him as Gen strides forward, raises the hammer with a concentrated huff and swings the metal head onto the chisel. Bits and fragments of carved stone tumble to the ground as they leave a mark — his mark — on the well.

   Ting … ting … ting … ting ... 

   And it is done. 

   “Well done, my son!” Watada cheers and lifts a giggling Gen to sit on his shoulder as Mismar smiles and claps. “Now, just wait and watch as it fills with light. This is your first time seeing one get lit up, no?”

   It is his first time. Gen gives a nod with eyes trained ahead in excitement as they stand under the noonday sun.

   And so they wait. They wait some more. The wind ruffles the tall, flowering grass and the butterflies continue to dance from one flower to the next.

   Awkward cricketsong joins and fills the warm spring air as the well remains inert. The sigils do not even so much as flicker once. That shouldn't happen, should it?

   Gen tilts his head and pouts. “Why is nothing happening?” 

   Watada rests a pair of hands on his hips as the other pair scratches his thick beard and maned head; brow furrowed deep in confusion. “Not in all my years … ” he mutters.

   “Did we make a mistake, master?” Mismar asks as he gives a three-eyed glance across the Well. “Did we … forget to add a rune? Or did we carve a wrong one? Too much of one?”

   “First of all, the audacity,” Watada lightly grumbles and glares at Mismar. “Second of all … I don't think so. We double-checked everything, but I'll check again. In the meantime, run over to the Tree and let them know.”

   “O-of course. And apologies, master.”

   Watada waves him off. Mismar's heavy footfalls soon grow distant as he jogs to the Spirit Tree. Once the apprentice is far enough away, Gen lowers his ears as he remains perched on Watada's shoulder. 

   “I … I didn't make a mistake, did I?” Gen asks.

   Watada huffs and squats in front of the stony, rounded exterior of the well. Whispers tumble from the experienced Gorlek’s mouth as he consults a notebook held in one paw, while another paw points, counts and notes a sequence of runes etched into the carved rock.

   “No, Gen,” Watada sighs after a bit. “After all, I was the one who held the chisel, and … well, I guess there's a first time for everything, isn't there? Like how you took that hammer. Now, where did that come from, hmm?”

   Pride is evident in his voice, as clear as day. A hand also reaches up and scratches at a spot behind Gen's ear, causing both ears to droop as he shuts his eyes and purrs with a blissful smile.

   Watada chuckles and lifts his hand. “That's my boy. Keep it up, why don't you? Anyways, onto the second line of rune—” 

   He is cut off as a blinding burst of light erupts from the well.

   A sharp yowl is pulled from Watada’s mouth. The Gorlek falls onto a back leg with a thud, shielding his eyes with one hand and trying to do the same to the spirit on him. Gen, who happened to have his eyes closed, escapes unscathed by the flash.

   But the spirit couldn't help but feel some sense of … exertion from the light. As if they were roots that had to force its way through the ground in its search of the well. 

   It didn't feel quite right. 

   He wouldn't be allowed to dwell on it for too long, however, as his father grunts and falls to a knee with another heavy thud. The light from the Well dims down to the brightness expected from one.

   “Blasted … !” Watada growls, rubbing all three of his eyes as he bares his fangs. “Rot-damned … !” 

   “Abi…!” Gen says, climbing to peer at his father's eyes. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Can … can you see?”

   Watada waves him off. “Yes, abni, yes, I'm fine, just … caught me off guard, that! Give me a moment … ”

   The ground shakes a little more as it accommodates Watada on the soft grass who continues to rub and blink away the blurriness. Gen runs to the front and slips his fingers into the Gorlek’s tight fist, soon holding his hand proper and … wishing he could do more. To ease the pain.

   A moment comes and goes. Watada blinks. Blinks again. His eyes lower and lock onto Gen, who smiles and sighs up at him with relief.

   “Well.” Watada clicks his tongue, turning to the Well as it flows and thrums with power and swirling light. “Looks like it's working. What was that all about, huh?”

   “You're asking me?” Gen murmurs, still looking up at Watada who laughs as he pulls him close.

   “Fair enough, fair enough…”

   Heavy footfalls and the chiming of tools on a leather belt draw close. Mismar softly wheezes in his return, apparently having jogged the entire way back. “Ah, looks … looks like everything is alright! That's … that's good … ”

   “Did they say anything?” Watada asks.

   Mismar, panting, hunches and palms his knees. “I came running back … after seeing a big burst of light … from behind. Are … you two alright?” 

   Watada hums and purses his lips. “Yes, we're alright. Aren't we, abni?”

   Gen doesn't answer. No ripple comes to shore.

   “Abni? Gen?”

   Watada looks down to see his son looking at the Well. A pensive expression rests on his illuminated gaze, his eyes as pools of deepest thought.

   “Gen? Is something the matter?” Watada asks again, raising a hand and lightly stroking the back of the spirit's head.

   Gen blinks. Looks back up with a small smile. “No. Just … it's really pretty. And we made it together.”

   Watada chuckles and rubs his head. “That we did. I also think I could use something to eat after all … this. What do you say, Mismar? Care to join us?” 

   As the apprentice voices his agreement and stands up properly to leave, Gen can't shake off that sinking feeling in his chest.

   The feeling that something is not quite right.

   The wind ripples the grass.

   It is but a small disturbance on the face of the earth.

Chapter Text

Scene 742561

A platform of clearest quartz is held aloft by seven columns.

Each of the seven are wholly made of a different precious stone: one of blood ruby, another of golden citrine; evergreen jade; sky-blue turquoise; ocean sapphire and orchid amethyst. The most notable is made of sunset amber. 

It lies shattered; split down the middle as an axe would cleave through a log.

The other six begin to hum and glow as they rise through the watery quartz, sending crystalline ripples rushing and blooming across the glassy surface. Doors manifest on each of the risen columns as six beings of pure light thus enter, floating towards the center of the stage where a table ascends to greet them; all featureless save for their adornments.

     ALL

(Solemnly bow.) For Kurestal.

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They raise a hand braceleted by a square-shaped halo.) As Seip acted as administrator in the last meeting, the duty thus falls upon me. Seil shall …

   (Seid gestures to their right as they trail off, causing all to look towards the broken pillar below the quartz platform. Amber debris hangs in dead suspension with nary a hint of its original structure and shine. The Ruby balls their hand into a fist before slowly gesturing towards Seir, the Citrine; the next counterpart.) 

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

… My sincerest apologies. Habit and … whatnot. Seir shall act as administrator in the next meeting. 

     ALL

(Hands rise in agreement.) So it is.

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They nod.) With that said, we may continue with our most pressing matter. Have any of you found or learned anything? 

   (Seid gestures to Seim, the Jade.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM

Seim. Does the Mangrove have any recollection of these things?

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON

(With a hand on their chest, a hexagonal earring softly chimes with the shake of their head.) We have not any insight into any of what we seek to know. We consulted the eldest of the souls within and even she does not seem to remember.

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They grimly sigh and nod. They turn to the Amethyst.) And what of you, Seip?

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

(They adjust a triangular halo of a necklace.) We scoured our archives and found nothing as as well. Not a single record … 

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL

(They meekly raise their hand as a circular halo rotates above their head.) After some deep meditation, I couldn't recall anything, either.

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL

(They flick a pentagon-bangled tail.) Same here. Well, I … fell asleep, heh … but nothing came from my dreams either.

   (Seid looks at Seir. The latter shakes their head, causing the former to clasp their hands behind their back.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(Softly:) So … nothing? We've nothing? 

   (All shift uncomfortably under the weight of nothing.)

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(They cross their arms and briefly chuckle.) Well, isn't this a first. We've never been in the dark like this before … pun unintended.

   (Seir mutters and also crosses their arms as a golden flash of agitation flares from the spinning rhombus halo at their back. The watery quartz beneath their hovering feet ripples and froths to match their unrest.) 

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

(Spitefully:) Of all the times Seil had to go, it had to be now. And of all the Lights, it had to be them and their archives and libraries … 

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON

(Consolingly:) Soothe, Seir, soothe. We are all concerned as you are. 

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(They flick their bangled tail again.) Of what? Seil, their libraries, or one's own survival?

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

Seiv, please, there is a time for jests and a time for seriousness. Now is the time for the latter. Lives are at stake.

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

(They scoff.) Lives have already been lost, administrator.

   (The amber pillar silently looms.)

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

It's been … just about a month, no? (They shake their head and cross their arms.) That is about the average spirit’s constitution in such an absence. We didn't hear anything before it happened. Just … poof. 

   (Spirits can survive for up to a month without being in the presence of a Light. This is known.)

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

(They, the smallest, embrace themself as their two tails coil around their legs in self-comfort.) A Light's sudden disappearance with an entire generation of spirits taken with them — again. Except this time, there was no hint of Decay or retaliation from the locals. On top of all that: unexplainable phenomena and difficulties with our powers … I mean, I had to struggle to connect to a Well. That's never happened before … !

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

You too, huh? What about you, Seir? 

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They shrug as they recline into a hover-sitting position.) The miners are still collecting suitable stone for the new Well we requested. I'll get back to you on that.

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(A hum in agreement.) By the way, how is our grandson? And his caretaker … Watada, was it?

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

They're well enough. Though, the little one is still a little …

   (The Citrine quivers in mock-fear, causing the Turquoise to curtly nod and hum. They get the picture.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

It's just a season, I'm sure. The sprout will have plenty of time to grow out of it.

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Scoffing and looking away:) Hopefully.

   (No response comes to that.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They, the largest, reach over to the left and take hold of the Amethyst’s shivering shoulder.) We'll find a way. We have always found a way, have we not? 

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

(They drift around the table and take hold of Seip’s other shoulder.) And if not us, our children and our citizens will. Take heart, Seip. You as well, Seir.

   (Seip looks between the warmth of the Ruby, the peacemaking Jade, and manages a little nod. Seir simply nods in their reclined position.)

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

So, until your volunteer groups reach Kainar and report back, we'll just have to continue as if all's right with the world, hm? As if we're not facing threats that, we nor anyone, know nothing of, which may or may not be related, and that all is hunky-dory. Great.

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

There's always the other option, Seiv: spreading widespread panic. 

   (The Sapphire can only shrug as they flick their tail. The Ruby looks around the council once more.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

Does anyone have … something? Anything? 

   (The Turquoise, who has mostly been listening for the entire meeting … slowly raises their hand. The Ruby acknowledges them with a gesture.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

I am … most reluctant in mentioning this as I could only imagine it as a bit of a stretch. Furthermore … 

   (The Turquoise looks at the Citrine.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(Hesitantly:) It … involves my grandchild.

   (The proud Citrine straightens their posture at that. Needless to say, the meek yet courageous Turquoise has garnered the undivided attention of the council.)

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Impatiently:) Well? Leave us not in suspense.

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

Indeed, what is it, Sein?

   (Sein is clearly unsure … but they raise their hand once again. The halo above their head ceases its rotation as it is touched, followed by the projection of an image from a cone of blue light. A faded, fragmented yet large piece of paper is displayed as it hovers and spins above the table.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Our historians and archeologists have recently discovered and unearthed ancient stone vessels. Old, old scroll fragments were found within them. What you all see now is one of the most complete scrolls we have managed to recover and piece back together.

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

(Recognition colors their tone as they begin to read.) This script … 

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They nod.) This is Kayarukan, though the place once called Kayaruka is more known by the suitable modern name: “The Brinewood”.

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Flatly:) Which lies in Niwenian waters further and deeper than the Luma Pools.

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

(Curiously:) You did mention this find so very long ago. I didn't know you were still sending researchers down there.

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(Urgently:) I also assume you didn't simply bring this up for some sort of, albeit interesting, archeology lesson of a bygone era. How is this related?

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

(Hurriedly:) Indeed. I fail to —

   (The Citrine stops themself after having finished reading and connecting the dots. They cross their arms as the rhombus halo at their back spins and glows.)

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

(Smugly:) Ahhh, so that's how it is. How the tables have turned, Sein. Now it's your turn to ask for someone to go —

   (A flash of a ripple flares and blooms from beneath Sein’s feet as they glare at Seir. The table rocks with the sudden burst of force.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL

(Firmly:) You've no right to mock me or anyone in this regard, Seir. I know what I ask. At least I'm sure — and have the forethought to make sure — that someone comes home. 

   (Silence descends upon the council. The Sapphire rubs the back of their neck. The necklace of the Amethyst is fiddled with. The Jade, who sits in the middle of the Citrine and the Turquoise, looks back and forth between the two as if unsure on who to approach first.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(Calmly:) … Given he receives some training. I'm sure you can see to that, Seir?

   (Seir does not respond. They return to a reclined position once more and glance away.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(Firmly:) You will see to it, Seir. For his good. For the good of all.

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Distantly:) Mhm, yes, yes.

   (The Sapphire clears their throat to prevent another bout of silence.)

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

Uh … somebody care to enlighten us on what you plan to send someone down there for?

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

Indeed. (They look at the Turquoise.) What is the purpose of this proposed mission, Sein? 

   (Sein momentarily glances at Seir before turning back to the rest of the council.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Right, well … as we all are aware by now, we are faced with several situations that even we know nothing about, which is … unsettling, at best, to begin with. Therefore, if we have any hope to learn about this, I say that our best bet would be to consult the wisdom of those that once existed before. Perhaps they have experienced what we are experiencing now.

   (The council exchanges glances.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

A shot into the dark. I know. Such records might not even exist. But it's better than nothing. Than doing nothing. 

   (Murmurs. A general air of agreement is present.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They nod.) Well. Now we know the ‘why.’ The next question is regarding the ‘who.’ 

   (All look to the Turquoise once more. Even the Citrine.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They gesture to the middle of the table.) To answer that, I shall read this recovered manuscript as was translated by Chafa, our senior historian and linguist.

   (All but Seir lean forward in rapt attention as the text on the holographic image shifts to a script they can understand. It is a letter.)

… thus is as follows: firstborns that come from the leaves of the … Spirit Trees are the only ones who may open the deepest chamber of the Library of … should such a time come for a firstborn to consult the knowledge within, it is a time of uncertainty and … and that all shall change.

May wisdom finally catch up to you,

Pazari the Philosopher 

   (The text ends there. The council takes a moment to absorb what has been spoken.)

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(Confusedly:) Wait a minute … what? What? Our firstborns … the Spirit Trees … ?

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

What is the matter, Seiv?

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

Look, I … I know I may be the most forgetful of us seven, but I'm certain that not even I would forget something as important as … as this. (They gesture towards the letter.) Why don't we remember anything like this?

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

A rather insightful question. I'm surprised, Seiv.

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

(Rolling their eyes:) And they're back … 

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(Musingly:) But therein lies the rub, doesn't it? Why don't we remember, when it clearly involves ourselves and our children? It's as if … 

   (Sein trails off. The rest follow.)

  (What follows after them is that silence; the kind that gnaws back after throwing a stone into a hole … and never hearing it land.)

   (Where did the hole come from, anyway? Has it always been there? And if so ... )

   (Why did they not notice it until a time like this?)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They clear their throat and dismiss the holograph.) A-anyways, moving on … as I mentioned, this document was translated by, Chafa, one of our most qualified historians. I plan to send her down there as well. 

   (Sein pauses. Tilts their head.)

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Actually, do you all believe it advisable to form a small team? If any of you have anyone you think is fit for the job, perhaps you could send them over. Safety lies in numbers.

   (A moment is taken for the council to think.)

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

(They nod.) …Yes. Yes, I can send someone over.

     SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

(They place a hand on their chest and nod.) So can I. 

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

I would also say yes, but … I think one of my own is already with your historian. I think he'll be enough.

     SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They nod in thanks to all before turning to Seid.) Do you have anyone in mind, administrator?

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(Their arms are crossed and their ears have drooped as the quartz below them ripples.) The one I had in mind disappeared. I hope he is alright … 

   (Seid dismissively waves their hand. “No.”)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

Besides, Altum is too far away from Niwen. It will take too long. This team of six will suffice. 

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Counting on their fingers:) Shouldn't it be … five, administrator?

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

Please don't tell me you weren't thinking of sending a certain someone down there without their caretaker.

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

… Ah.

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(Rubbing their temples:) Goodness, Seir … 

   (It would appear they have discussed all they can; the Lights having found another light at the end of this dark tunnel. Hopefully.)

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

May we find the answers we seek, so we can continue as we've always have. Continue what we've always done. To maintain the peace. To maintain the light of days.

     ALL

(Solemnly:) For Kurestal.

     SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

With this, I formally conclude —

   (The hexagon adorning the Jade's ear urgently pulses. The others watch as Seim taps on it and listens intently.)

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

(Their ears abruptly shoot up.) What? Are you certain? Are they really … ?

   (The five other Lights look among themselves. Mutterings. Questions. Musings.)

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

(Dazed:) I … I understand. I am coming back right away, my Tree.

   (Seim lowers their hand. They look to the council in silence. Ripples. More ripples.)

     SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Impatiently:) Well, spit it out! What is it?

   (Seim then looks towards the shattered amber pillar below the rippling platform of quartz. All follow their gaze.)

     SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(Realizing:) … wait, seriously? But how can that be? How could they have survived that long?

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON

I can only tell you for certain what the Mangrove told me.

   (From the darkness comes an answer.)

     SEIM, JADE OF NOITON 

A spirit from Kainar has arrived at our doorstep ... along with a spirit from Altum.

 

Chapter Text

A boulder teeters at the edge of a cliff. It is big, beautiful and also has a name.

   That name is Truth. It has existed for a long, long time.

   Its beauty would not have been lessened, however, were someone not chained to the bottom of the cliff where it sits. That someone, in this mind picture, is an elderly Nibellian spirit named Chafa.

   How ironic, one might think. To think that she spent her entire life searching for and unearthing hidden truths … only to be faced with one that could crush her into the very same dirt.

   How could such a situation like this come to be, one might ask?

❧

Metal hinges softly whine as the oaken door to Chafa's office shuts closed with a gentle click. The silence that greets her, often a comfort, now serves only to amplify the roaring sea of unsettled thoughts.

   The darkness slithers and crawls away in submission as the spirit, with her own pale blue glow, ventures deeper into familiar territory. Bone white moonlight pours in through the window accompanied by a chorus of crickets and other nightly critters. Her hoofsteps soften from floorboards to carpet as a faded yet intricate tapestry woven by Hoan paws receives her cloven feet; all tracks coming to an end as she reaches her destination — collapsing into her work chair where it squeaks in protest.

   Chafa sits like a puppet made to rest after a long and tiring performance, her arms dangling off the padded rests and feet sprawled out under her desk. She doesn't turn around as she normally would in her cushy, squeaky work chair, to admire the grand subject outside her window.

   That being of Nibel’s Spirit Tree in all its sky-blue radiance under the starry night sky. Framed by the window, is almost like a painting — The kind found in galleries; ones that loom over people.

   Pale moonbeams filter through the glass, betraying the presence of floating dust motes in this stuffy office; falling onto a carved and cloudy diamond firmly affixed to the top of her faithful walking staff. If she ever had a time before tonight where she dearly relied on it to get home, Chafa cannot recall.

   Her furrowed gaze then falls onto her desk where a tattered piece of an ancient letter penned by a certain philosopher looks back at her. 

   Once a part of a larger manuscript, what remains and was pieced together is a magnificent gem of an archaeological find. It is, by far, Chafa thinks, the most unique shape the boulder of truth has decided to take.

   The tasseled shawl of baby blue hue wrapped around her elderly form, of which the passing years have been kind to one's sight and mental sharpness, offers little warmth against a chill that runs up and down her back every time she looks at it. 

   A sigh heaves its way out of her chest as she finally sits upright and fully reclines against the back of her chair … where she then turns and glances at the fresher piece of paper lying next to the pieced-together letter. The new sheaf of paper holds its paw-written translation next to a pile of leather-bound books, their yellowed pages frilled with dozens of bookmarks and coloured tabs. It took a good while to figure out what the old Pazari of Kayaruka was saying, and while a historian like Chafa would consider that a triumph … she is not so sure about that anymore.

   Chafa shakes her head, closes her eyes and mutters softly to herself. “Dug too deep, too far this time around, haven't you … ”

   Like a melody one cannot seem to get out of their head, so too does her captive mind replay certain fragments of the recent conversation from just an hour ago.

❧

“It is … an honour,” were her measured words. For what else could she have said?

   Among the ivory blossoms and the swaying verdant grass that carpet the Spirit Tree's moonlit courtyard lie cloud-like clusters of spirits nestled together and fast asleep. Here lies sanctuary, a place for any and all of Nibel’s children and peaceful forest citizens to bed their heads among the flowers, in or under smaller trees, or atop rocks if one is so inclined.

   But the elderly Chafa, who was summoned to a hidden nook nestled somewhere deep amongst the Tree's thick roots, did not share in the blissful, ignorant dreams that dance in the minds of her siblings. With her back against the trunk, heavy head bowed, eyes closed and trusty walking staff laid across crossed legs, the thanks of the Spirit Tree resounds in her mind.

   If possible, the Tree then says, see to it that you leave within three days, and bring your Friolian friend and your Hoan friend as well. If all goes well and according to plan, Gen will have hopefully received enough training by the end of the month, and you also will have arrived at a suitable time with everyone else.

   Chafa throws a stone into the pond. “I will … do my best, Father.”

   It sinks into the lake. It takes a moment for a ripple to return to shore.

   Do you think the journey will be too much for you? If that is so, another can —

   Chafa shakes her head. “No, you know that isn't it. It is just … ”

   She trails off. 

   Like clutching a box to her chest, so too does she keep innermost thoughts, calculations and truths to herself.

   “Never mind,” is the next rock she chooses.

   The ripple returns and the voice continues. Very well … I can assure you that once this expedition is complete, and you have reported your findings, you may return and continue as you always have.

   The aforementioned box lies on her lap. Its contents pulse from within the interior. Dare she open it? Question it?

   She puts it aside for now. 

   “ ... Father?”

   Yes, Chafa?

   Like a balm to an aching joint, it soothes her soul a little to know that her father still remembers the names of each and every of his hundreds of blossoms. Her mouth and chest burn with questions and the strain of hidden weights, but with the way her mind is swirling right now … she just needs one thing. 

   She tosses another stone.

   “Please promise me that I'll come home. That all will be well.”

   A wind blows, sending her shawl and its baby blue tassels billowing as the branches and its sky-blue bulbs shift and sway … as if the air itself were sighing.

   A ripple soon returns from the lake.

   I promise that you will always have a home, Chafa. 

   While the box — her heart — thrums once again, with its contents beg to be revealed; to be poured out in its entirety …

   She notes that he did not promise her exactly what she asked for.

   And Chafa, my daughter?

   Chafa blinks. “Yes, father?”

   You do know I love you, right? We love you, myself and Sein. Please always remember that. 

   Chafa can only nod as she opens her eyes.

   “I will. And I love you too, father.”

   Her heart is moved and hidden behind her. 

   She just had to know.

❧

The soft moss that seated her at the base of the Spirit Tree turns back into leather-cushioned wood and squeaky hinges. 

   Chafa rubs and opens her eyes, quietly observing her own blue glow being consumed, almost muted, by the surrounding darkness of her office and all that it holds — collections of old and antiquated curios, shelves of volumes and books caked in dust and yellowing essays on archeological findings and theories piled on her desk. Her very own legacy, shrouded in the shadows, all lies around her … yet all seems so far away. 

   All the wisdom, the knowledge, the truths she collected over her many years of living … in the face of something like this, does any of it help her?

   The contents of the ancient letter sitting on the desk repeat in her mind like the rapid turnings of a water wheel in a raging river.

   Should such a time come for a firstborn to consult the knowledge within, it is a time of uncertainty … and that all shall change.

   The mission to explore the library hidden in the abyssal depths of Niwenian waters, the planned meeting with this firstborn who is both her own nephew and her father's grandson, and the strange occurrences seen here and there in Nibel … all this planning, this orchestration; it all confirms the contents of the letter.

   A time of uncertainty. 

   All shall change.

   Anything, absolutely anything, could happen.

   Never did this old spirit think she'd be captive to prophecy — a prophecy that she uncovered with her own paws, no less. One would think that the time of predicting events far beyond one's era would have passed by now. Evidently not.

   But this prophecy is like the chains that bind her to the cliff in that mind picture — surrounding her completely like the air she breathes. And should she move far too much …

   Well. Truth will always last, even if it should tumble onto her head. So begs the question.

   What can she do?

   She closes her eyes. Relaxes her form. Unclenches her jaw. Feels the familiar leather supporting her. 

   “Slow down, Chafa. Slow down … and think.” 

   This little bit of agency — this little something she can do — allows her heart to stay yet afloat in the turbulent, fickle waters of her own swirling mind. No matter what may come, nothing will be able to take away her ability to stop and think. It is also through this meditation that something else resurfaces in the pool of memories.

   Something her father said. Or rather, what he did not say. 

   She knows Father Tenufa would never promise anything he knew he could not reasonably guarantee to accomplish, even for someone as powerful as him. What she asked for earlier, to be promised that she would return home, would require him to see into the future, which he could not do. Only Sein has such precognition, this ability to see into the future, and was said to have lent this talent to none other than Ori a little over a century ago. 

   But Sein is not the only one in the world with such an ability. 

   Her eyes drift over to the cloudy moonlit crystal set atop her walking staff. The wooden shaft, made from a fallen branch of the Spirit Tree, softly creaks as she tightens her grip on it; the flame of curiosity likewise seizing her heart in her aged chest. Chafa knows that that very same flame has led her into this predicament, but this time, this fire, this knowledge she seeks, might it be enough to melt her chains? 

   To defy the grip of prophecy? 

   She could catch a Glimpse right now. There is power in her crystal. 

   She could know.

   She must know. 

   She even nods her head as a glint returns to her eye. “Surely … surely it would benefit me — everyone involved — to catch a glimpse. To know if … ”

   The staff is taken off her lap and propped diagonally against her thigh so that the diamond is right in front of her. She then sits up, closes her eyes, leans forward with an ease gained only by having done this many, many times, and lightly presses the stone against the middle of her brow. 

   I must know. I will know. 

   Another deep breath to steel herself. Her bones seem to rattle as she exhales slowly — yet the fire burning within them and even deeper within her heart is undeniable. Unquenchable. She thus reaches forth for the chains that bind her to the cliff, not with a paw, not with force … but a question.

   “Will we come home once all this is over?” she whispers.

   A pale blue light begins to glow from the core of the crystal, with the gem growing clearer as the clouds in the crystal shrink back into the wooden shaft; as if watching fugitive steam being sucked back into a boiling pot it spewed from.

   The brilliant illumination of the color of the morning sky spills out from the boundaries of her immovable work desk. Banished for a moment is the darkness of her home as she manages to grasp the veil of the Present, of which very few can do.

   But grasp it as she may like taking hold of a curtain, of which she has done many times … this time, Chafa is unable to pull it aside.

   The light sparks, sputters and fades. A starburst of cracks appear across the diamond with sharp, screeching scratches like claws raking on glass. Chafa, eyes shooting open, can only gasp as the crystalline fragments fall off the staff, tumble lifelessly onto her lap and twinkle onto the carpeted floor like starlit rain. The wooden shaft itself soon follows and joins the shards at her hooves, yet the sounds of its impact are far away and muffled by the churning tides of blood pounding in her lowered ears.

   Chafa sinks back into her chair and holds a paw to her face, her other paw gripping the armrest, claws digging into the layers of stuffing hidden under the leather. 

   Knowledge, she knows, guards only against ignorance. It doesn't protect one from the truth, like standing still as a runaway boulder hurtles towards you from behind. Knowing about its approach, however, does give one a chance to step out of the way. The act of stepping to the side is what is called wisdom.

   This is, however, the first time she is left completely in the dark; the first time that the future is completely unreadable to her. No knowledge gained, no wisdom found, no idea on what to do next. Only fear. Only dread. 

   A seed of despair in the forest of hope.

   Is the future hiding from me? Is something hiding the future from me? 

   Or …

   She swallows as she gazes up at the rock above her in that mind picture. A terrible thought sprouts in her mind. A vicious, poisonous weed with endless roots.

   Is there no future where we come home? she asks.

   Is there … even a future?

   “A time of great uncertainty.”

   The cliff she tried so hard to escape from, a mountain from her point of view, begins to crumble and disintegrate into an unforgiving torrent of dirt, dust and death. Ironic, how she originally just wanted to get away from the rock. But in her search of truth, like with the ancient letter sitting on her desk, she found yet another truth. Yet another terrible truth after another terrible truth.

   She can only sit in her leather chair, wide-eyed with breaths rapid and shallow, as the shadow of the inescapable truth consumes her and —

   Knock knock knock!

   The intruding sound jolts her upright. Her tail bristles and stiffens as the hinges of her work chair squeak in complaint … followed by the warmth of regret as a throbbing ache centers itself along her lower spine, just above the tailbone. Time was kind to her mind and eyes, but its kindness does have a limit.

   A voice, masculine, comes chirping from the other side as she winces and rubs her poor back. 

   “Chafaaa? Where are you?” 

   Another series of knocks. Glancing at the crack under the door, Chafa can make out three distinct colors; mostly Nibellian sky-blue, with a bit of Friolian azure and a touch of Hoan orchid purple.

   With the same voice, presumably the knocker, belonging to the Friolian. “We've all come to celebrate your discovery! I've even brought Anki to bring us some tunes!”

   The playful riff of a lute is pulled from its strings.

   Chafa blinks in her chair. Blinks again with drooping ears. Maybe if she stays still, stays silent, they will all go away —

   “Let us in, Chafaaa—”

   “Coming, I'm coming! Goodness, so impatient!” the elder quips with shallow breath, fangs bared momentarily as she rubs her temples. “Just … give me a second, will you … ”

   Smugness laces the azure blue’s voice. “See? Told you she was here.”

   Chafa somehow finds it in herself to lean down and grab the staff from the floor, using a hoof to kick the glassy shards behind her desk … before opening a drawer, then opening a smaller, secret compartment within it and soon setting another cloudy diamond atop the wooden shaft. 

   She then pulls herself up and begins to walk towards the door as more questions begin to burn in her bones. She will never run out of questions until the day she dies, it would seem.

   What can I do? Is there anything I can do?

   She ponders this as she waves her paw, pulling energy from and causing the gem to flicker for an instant as the fireplace is lit, casting much needed light across her book-brimmed abode. Prestidigitation is the most basic of incantations.

   The lanterns likewise spark to life, illuminating her many shelves of treatises and scrolls. And after a cursory glance towards them … that's when it hits her.

   The sunken library. 

   It repeats in her mind. The sunken library. She steps up to a mirror and begins to freshen up. The sunken library. She smooths down her shawl and puts on the most pleasant smile she can manage.

   The sunken library.

    Yes … yes, that is my next step.

   Something there will help me. Help us. All of us.

   I must know. I have to know.

   I have to know … how all this ends.

   Returning to that mind picture one last time, the cliff has fully crumbled to dust. However, another spirit, another Chafa, slides down from the freshly formed cliff and lands on the mound of dirt.

   She sets up new chains. Links them to the newly exposed earth. Clamps them at her wrists and ankles. Then she sits.

    She also glances up and watches as another boulder rolls into place above her head ... with yet another Chafa behind it. Beginning this tragic cycle anew.

   Perhaps this time, she will gain the enlightenment she seeks from this ordeal. She can only hope.

   As a child of the forest of hope.

Chapter Text

On the day of a Selection Ceremony, a celebration where one-year-olds are meant to choose from a small array of items which determine one's fate and the career path they shall walk down in life, what exciting choice would a certain little Hoan make?

   Would she pick up the paintbrush? Perhaps the book of poems and short stories? The lump of clay, the wooden flute, or the spatula?

   What little Apei saw that day transcended these things.

   Five!

   That was the starry-eyed and matter-of-factly answer this she-spirit had given with her little hands; forgoing any object and sticking with this silent, abstract declaration to the ceremony's end despite a great amount of coaxing. It was the first answer of its kind that anyone had ever seen at a Selection — made more stunning to see that a yearling could even understand numbers.

   No level of persuasion could get her to speak, however. A few soft affirmative mhm’s and a couple of negatory mm-mm’s were the only privileged sounds that came from little Apei’s mouth, like little wisps of steam that barely manage to escape from the mouth of a pressure cooker.

   Disparism was the term applied to her, from the word “disparate”, thus making her a “disparist.” What did this mean for little Apei?

   Not much, really. She could see and interact with the world like any of its inhabitants, just with a view that is always shifted slightly to the left — by a good and rational number: exactly 3 degrees. 

   Like with her Selection Ceremony. It wouldn't have mattered if the paintbrush and the book of poems exchanged places. It wouldn't have mattered if the items were arranged in a circle or a triangle instead of a straight line. It also wouldn't have mattered if one of the items were made with a shinier material, which may have appealed to a child. Such messy iterations.

   Even if she decided to pick one, does such a choice define or truly reveal her future? Absolutely not! It is like trying to predict the weather by choosing from a box of rocks with a blindfold on: utterly unreliable. An untruth.

   Five, on the other hand? 

   No matter the arrangement, no matter the positioning, and no matter the beauty or ugliness of each object, it would still be five.

   Now that is reliable. That is true. And unlike a good majority of her fellow yearlings who now walk paths completely different from what they “revealed” at their Selections, she had stuck with her choice. 

   Architecture seemed the obvious path to take. Combining her ability to create temporary structures out of wisteria-coloured light with her observations of the numerical truths behind the things seen in the world; the parallel slantings of the light at sunset, the repeating concentric circles found in tree trunks, the inherent symmetry in a pair of butterfly wings — a handful of buildings were erected with these inspirations in mind.

   But why? Why did they do these things? Why did they always follow the same patterns, the same numbers, the same laws and forms, no matter the position, arrangement or appearance? 

   And why was she able to see these things at such a young age? Was there a reason behind that? Everything in nature has a part to play, some function to fulfill; a reason to exist. 

   What is her role in all this, in this great equation called Life? 

   Apei supposed that she wouldn't find the answers to those questions if she stayed in sakura-scented Hoa. She needed more information. More elements. More variables to play and fiddle with.

   The great and illustrious (and rather wordy) philosopher Pazari also did say that while one's knowledge ought to grow like a tree, the topmost branch, thanks to its height, must also be able to peer into new places and accept the counsel of the birds that rest on its boughs.

   Peer into new places. Accept counsel. 

   She could do that.

   An opportunity then presented itself when an old historian’s ship descended upon Hoan shores. That was three years ago.

   She has never looked back since.

❧

Sunlit, sparkling water quietly laps at the barnacled hull of the Ivory Dove. 

   The xebec ship gently bobs and sways amid the sleepy currents of the Nibellian Sea as four large sails of cream-coloured canvas flap softly in the salty breeze. Old and weathered yet ever faithful like her captain, she casts her gaze seaward from her dock at Hope's Harbour via figurehead — a dove who embraces the vessel's front with the backs of outstretched wings, a five-petaled blossom held fast in her beak much like the ones that decorate the glade of the Spirit Tree.

   “Come on Sweet Tooth, almost done!”

   She now welcomes a Friolian onboard as a he-spirit wipes the sweat from his face with azure-dyed wristbands, his glow of a similar rich hue as he takes a moment to recline and catch his breath against the crate of rations he had put down.

   Just as a large disk floats up with three more boxes carried from the bustling dock. The hovering platform constructed of purple light carefully drifts onboard and sets down the crates, dissipating into spiraling swirls as Apei turns around from the ship's railing with the ends of her wisteria-coloured scarf fluttering in the wind.

   “And that's the last of the boxes, whoop whoop!” The Friolian warmly cheers, pumping his arms as he pushes himself up. “Thanks for your help, as alll-ways!”

   Apei simply nods though her starry eyes are wide and laden with expectation. Seagulls squawk as they circle and lazily glide overhead, peering and perusing for the poor soul who might be holding their next meal. Ipu can't help but see the similarity and chuckles.

   “Ah, and based on that look in your eyes, I s’pose you want your reward like those birds, eh? Yeah, yeah, come on down, come on down … ”

   Hoofsteps click and clop across wooden floorboards as they head down into the ship's interior, with both spirits finding shadowed solace from the hot and sunny spring day. Past the sleeping quarters and rounding the corner of the common room, they soon find themselves in the galley with its shelves to be restocked soon. For now though, their sights are set on a box with a sturdy padlock keeping it shut as beads of condensation dapple the stony surface of the storage unit. 

   The following lines are painted on the refreezer’s lid in blue paint: 

Property of Ipu!

Need the key? 

Come find me!

   “They should be done right about now as well, which is peeerfect timing…” he hums in sing-song with the clinking of little metal bits, one of which is inserted into the keyhole and turned. 

   Apei creates a small disk out of light and holds it in both of her hands whilst she wiggles her hips in a wordless, worm-like dance. Ipu can only chuckle once more, shaking his head at her eagerness as he finally lifts the lid and unleashes a small torrent of vapor that pours out in all directions … 

   Producing a delectable-looking pie that holds a sweet-smelling, snow-white filling of coconut cream. A generous slice soon finds itself on the plate Apei had made, who also makes a fork out of light and quickly digs in.

   The bite melts in her mouth. Milky coolness and sweet tropical flavor spread across her tongue, her eyes drifting shut as she bobs her head from side to side with a smile wrapped around her fork. Her two tails also coil around themselves in apparent enjoyment as Ipu helps himself to a serving as well. 

   “Nothing like some haupia pie after carrying boxes to and fro, no? Well, I was doing the actual carrying. You were just … ”

   He draws a circle with his wooden fork.

   “Being you,” he snickers.

   The refreezerator is closed and locked once again as they bring their plates and take seats at the common room's table. Finally, a moment to rest.

   Apei then holds out her glowing purple plate out to Ipu. It is noticeably devoid of sweet treats save for several errant crumbs.

   “‘Course, ‘course,” Ipu hums in delight as he cuts out another slice of coconut pie. After serving it however, a deep sigh emerges from his chest and frown finds its way into his face.

   Apei, starry-eyed and observant as ever, tilts her head as she bites into another forkful. Were Ipu's mouth a straight line, the corners of his lips have sunken a little past 25 degrees under the line. Anything further than 25 degrees is usually a sign of sadness or disagreement. The numbers never lie.

   Wisteria light flickers and flashes by the mathematician's head. As if writing on a wall with a finger dipped in paint, so the Hoan forms airborne words for Ipu to read.

   “What is the matter?” Apei asks.

   The left corner of Ipu's mouth ticks up slightly by 10 degrees above the straight line, whilst the right remains lowered. Apei thinks … it's a smirk. A pretty flat one.

   “It's just … I remember the party a few days ago,” Ipu murmurs, twirling his fork in his fingers and placing his cheek in his hand. “Chafa didn't even touch my haupia pie. She always has a slice whenever I make it … ”

   An irregularity in a patterned sequence. Just thinking about it would upset Apei. She understands.

   The lines of the words shift and flicker to form new ones. “I see. What do you think this means?”

   “Dunno. Either she suddenly hates my haupia pie… ” 

   Another bite. Flickers. “Do you truly think so?”

   Ipu lightly puffs his chest and sits up straight in his chair, his tips of his ears also perking up alongside a less flatter smile. “Weeell … no. My pie is amazing, thank you for reminding me. But it's either that, or something is bothering her … and she's not telling us. Speaking in your language, probability speaks in my culinary favor.”

   As Ipu continues eating, Apei tilts her head the in other direction as her two tails twirl and helix in thought. It is always a wonder how Ipu is able to figure out such things about the captain from such outwardly unrelated factors — like trying to predict the weather by choosing from a box of rocks. 

   “And you have only thought about this now?”

   Ipu raises a hand towards the deck where rows of crates await to be organized. “Had my hands full putting everything onboard with the Captain's things as the cherry on top, just so you remember. Didn't even have a moment till now to sit and think, from how urgent she made it sound.”

   Apei glances to where Ipu gestured and raises a finger to the underside of her chin. “What is she bringing to warrant this amount of boxes, anyway?”

   “Books,” Ipu dryly states after gulping down some water. “All of them. Plus her archaeology thingamajigs and whatchamacallits. All of it.”

   Apei raises an eyebrow at that, forming a perfect arch. “All of it.”

   “That's what I just said.”

   “A library's worth?”

   “Ehhh … a personal library's worth, sure.” Another bite.

   “Well, what does it mean?”

   Ipu blinks with pie and fork in his mouth. Expectant starry eyes blink back at him.

   “If there's anyone in the world who would know what this behavior means, it's you. Even if your methods of figuring it out are as irrational as 𝜋.”

   “Heh. Pi. Pie.”

   “Focus.”

   Ipu does as he hums … with another bite of delicious pie.

   “Putting all the eggs in one basket … ” he eventually mutters to himself. “Well, we know Captain is the … precautious type. She also said we'd be at sea for quite a while this time ‘round — even longer than the longest expedition we've had.”

   Apei nods sagely in agreement as the seagulls squawk outside amid some heightened shouting. It was quite long, and to hear that they're about to embark on an even longer voyage … 

   “To me, though … this just says that she's preparing for whatever comes ahead!” Ipu hums and shrugs as his long tail flicks nonchalantly behind him. “Maybe she saw a bunch of stuff in her Glimpses and everything she needs is … well. Here.”

   He gestures once again to the boxes that contain most of their captain's life. Her legacy.

   “Everything.” 

   “Mmmhm. Everything.”

   “And that doesn't concern you in the slightest? That is like … ” 

   As Apei trails off, a ring of light rotates where the sentence would continue. A sign to show that she is thinking.

   “It is like putting a big number at the top of a fraction without knowing the divisor underneath. How can you be sure it will make a good and solid number?”

   She writes a fraction in the air. 1000/x. Ah, that ever elusive x.

   Apei shivers slightly at the thought of the opposite of solid numbers. Irrational numbers.

   Ugh, irrational numbers …

   Pi is the only exception.

   Speaking of. More pie.

   She waves her hand through the fraction where it dissipates into little swirls. Ipu likewise cuts through her thoughts like the fork in his slice. 

   “Well, I'm not the Glimpser, and life’s just not like one of your equations, Sweet Tooth. ‘Siiides, does it benefit to worry over stuff we have little control over; little knowledge of? My fur’s just gonna thin faster and I don't wanna look like the Captain just yet, but be my guest.”

   Apei crosses her arms as the other words dissipate.

   Life is not an equation? 

   If it isn't, then what is the purpose of anything?

   When a tree falls, the termites and fungus feast on the wood. When a fire burns a section of forest, the ashes that mix with the rain bring new life to the soil. Cliffs and rocks that collapse into the sea give more places for fish and aquatic life to call home.

   Addition and multiplication; subtraction and division; simplification, expansion — all in constant flux and flow.

   Life, not an equation. Apei shakes her head at that.

   “Everything can be translated into numbers and forms. From the number of hair that makes up your coat to the functions you and I serve on this ship, everything can be rendered into a simple, truthful number or form. Even life itself.”

   “And what’s your function outside the Ivory Dove as its navigator, oh great and illustrious Pazari?” Ipu then asks without much thought.

   Apei blinks at that, as if stunned. It is one thing to have a goal, but it is another thing to have someone ask about it without having told them.

  Has she? Has she drawn closer to finding the answer by even a single step?

   The answer comes to her: a hollowness that burrowed into her chest. It is still as empty on the day she first asked that question.

   Water continues to lap at the hull. The sun continues to shine. A deep, salty breath is taken in a vain attempt to fill it before a response is written. 

   “It can be done, and so it shall be done. I will learn the answer to that question using the rigors and methods I know best.”

 To which Ipu simply nods and smiles.

   “I'm sure you will.”

   He truly, simply, believes her. Even if he is ignorant of the question burning her bones. Her being.

   He wipes his hands free from crumbs. “Now, onto another —”

   Ipu stops. Whatever point of conversation was ready to depart from his lips is forgotten when a sound intrudes their ears; a strange set of hooves clopping across the gangplank and deck, drawing closer towards the entrance of the ship's interior … soon revealing its aged owner of pale blue hue.

   “What's all this?” Chafa hums lightheartedly as she glances at the table. “Coconut pie? Without me?”

   “Caaap!” Ipu warmly calls, standing from his seat and gesturing an arm towards her. Apei also quietly stands and smooths down her scarf, but allows the Friolian to do the talking.

   Ipu continues as Chafa draws closer with the aid of her staff. “We were actually just talking about you, Captain.”

   She clasps her hand onto his before taking her seat at the head of the table. “Ah, so not singing of my virtues and conquests, then, I see … ” 

   “No, more like how you didn't even touch my pie at the party,” Ipu replies without missing a beat, placing a hand on his hip and leaning against the bolted table. “That's very unlike you.”

   Apei's head swivels back and forth between the two like a game of racketball.

   “Oh, is that so? Well, I'm sorry, I truly was quite occupied with thinking of what to bring on this voyage, amongst other things,” Chafa hums, offering a consoling look at the cook. “That said though, and in hope to make amends, I'd really like a slice right about now.”

   Another plate of purple light manifests for her as the captain soon has her own slice of haupia pie, her ears drooping like melting wax as the creamy coconut filling complements the crust's crumble in a delightful dance on her tongue.

   “Mmmh … it never fails to hit the spot,” Chafa chuckles. “Delicious as ever. All is forgiven, then?”

   “All's forgiven,” comes Ipu's nod and reply.

   “Wonderful. Now we can get to the things that truly matter.”

   Friolian eyes rolls above a cheeky smile.

   A brief discussion is initiated. Everything has been brought onboard — their food, supplies, new tools and equipment, her books and her other curios …

   “It's all here, then…” Chafa hums with a tentative drumming of fingers along her staff. “Very well. Have you all announced your departures to those whom you've spent time here with, and finished any and all affairs?”

   “Well, I still wanna say bye to some of my drinking buddies … ” Ipu sighs, once again briefly glancing towards the boxes. 

   “If they don't see me again, then they don't,” is Apei's bright yet indifferent reply, earning her a smirk from Chafa.

   The Captain nods. “Alright, then. Today is your rest day, Ipu. Go on ahead and do what you must. Tomorrow, we shall depart to the sea.”

   Purple light flickers and forms a floating map of the world — a perfect copy of Chafa's downstairs. Apei gestures to it as a question mark appears above her head. To where? she seems to ask.

   A finger bathed in pale blue light then points to a large archipelago that embraces the Kurestalian equator like the statement piece of a belt.

   “To the jungles of Noiton. We have some people to pick up first. I hope you don't mind the mosquitoes too much, sweet-toothed navigator.”

   Apei's mouse-like ears droop upon hearing this news.

   By exactly 25 degrees.

Chapter Text

Thunder booms in the distance in the herald of a spring storm.

   Despite the hurried rush of shuttering doors and windows, most everyone is quite pleased with the rain it will bring; the first seasonal downpour — a sign of a good harvest for yet another year. Life, under the watchful care and golden light of the Spirit Oak, will continue as it always has for the past century.

  Raindrops soon staccato and tap on panes of glass and watertight thatch, rapidly turning into an arrhythmic ensemble of pitter-patters against windows and roofs. Streaks of lightning claw at the darkened Niwenian sky; a messenger of what is to come.

   He knows what is coming. He knows how loud it can be. But as he curls up into the Gorlek’s big lap with ears drooped and his tail hugged tight to his chest, it's only a matter of when the —

   KRA-KOOOOM!!

   “Waaaah!” 

   Gen somehow finds the space within himself to curl up into an even tighter ball. A small sigh huffs from above him.

   “You'd think that with every storm that falls in the spring, you'd get used to it by now, abni,” Watada flatly comments. He busies a pair of hands to pet and stroke the head of the shivering child, particularly a spot right behind the ear that never fails to make the spirit purr no matter the circumstance.

   A shuffle. A sharpening, a shifting, a scrawling. A point of graphite glides across cream-coloured parchment as Watada's other pair of hands also keep busy; conjuring from nothing rectangles, circles and other shapes and forms for his next project. Accompanied by the petting and the crackling of the fire above which gently bubbles a hearty, creamy cauldron stew … it is enough to unball the little one with a reluctant, moody trill.

   “I knooow… ” Gen pouts behind crossed arms. “It's just so loud … ”

   A knowing finger rubs behind his ear; quite the persuasive argument that earns the Gorlek a small, ethereal purr.

   “Someday, I know that the thunder will be quieter for you,” chuckles Watada. 

   “Wait, really? Will it actually get quieter?” comes the child's hope-coloured question.

   “No, abni. You'll just be used to it by then.”

   Gen pouts again and rests his chin atop his arms. “So it'll still be loud, is what you mean to say … why is it even loud in the first place? Who made it like that, anyway?”

   Sketching. Shifting. Thick, calloused fingers scratch the side of a maned head. “I wouldn't know anything about it being made like that, but … it does serve a purpose, Gen. It's a warning — a sign from the distance for you to take shelter, because … what follows?”

   “Wind, rain, lightning and thunder?” Gen answers.

   “Precisely. And if storms were quiet, would you know if you should run or not?”

   Gen shakes his head. His head then tilts with eyes softly twinkling in the beauty of realization. He still pouts, though.

   “I see now,” he hums.

   “It wouldn't do much good if incoming storms were quiet, now would they?” 

   Gen shakes his head again, now unable to help the slight rise of the corner of his mouth.

   Watada also grins. “One might even say … ”

   The spirit's ears immediately droop along with his smile. “Abi, don't —”

   “It would be such a rain to handle,” Watada smugly smirks.

   An aggravated groan thunders its way out of Gen's mouth. He dramatically flops onto his back atop Watada's lap, with only the Gorlek to chuckle at this reaction. Rainwater cascades down the stained windows of their home, looking akin to ever-melting sheets of colorful gelatin that briefly catch the light from the burning claws that rake across the sky; yet another warning, but in this instance only a gentle rumble follows as it permeates the air.

   “That was so baaad…” Gen mutters under his breath as he now sits upright, just tall enough to peer over the table and see what his dad is drawing. Leaf-shaped ears rise to match growing interest as his eyes take in the graphite circles and squares.

   “What's this?” he asks.

   “It’s a grain silo, abni. We tore down an old one, and in its place a new one must be built.”

   Gen points to a sturdy-looking square. “What's that for?”

   “It makes up the foundation. Do you know its purpose?”

   “To … make sure it doesn't move?”

   Watada nods and smiles. “Very good. And what about this circle here?”

   “Uhh … ” Gen scratches his chin. “Oh, it's just the door.”

   To which he receives more pets to the head. “Very good, my boy.”

   Gen smiles and purrs as puts his hands on his lap, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth from his dad's touch and praise. When he opens his eyes again, however, he looks at the backs of his hands. Specifically, what is on them.

   Circles; one on each hand and similar to the size of his palm. Unlike the ones drawn by Watada that are, and will always be, not quite circles, the ones that mark the backs of his hands are perfectly round and perfectly centered. It is a little uncanny given that these marks appear to occur naturally on his body.

   “What are these for, then?” Gen asks.

   It is a question he has asked before. Watada glances down before lowering his pencil. “I believe the best answer we came up with was that you are the firstborn — first; number one. And a circle has one side.”

      Gen opens and closes his hand as he watches how the mark subtly stretches and retracts. “It looks like the number zero, which means nothing. But it can also mean one, which means something. Kinda weird, huh?”

   “It is a little strange,” Watada bobbles his maned head in thought. “But I suppose you bring this up again because you wonder if there is an actual function to it.”

   Gen shrugs. “I guess … ” 

   The Gorlek hums in thought before patting Gen's head with a small toothy smile. “Why don't you go over and grab us some stew while I think about it? Remember, use a damp cloth. With the cloth, abni, you can be brave.”

   With that, Gen obediently climbs down from Watada's lap. The golden spirit approaches the wash basin, dunks and wrings a square of cloth a few times in the water just to be safe, before carefully approaching the fire via tiptoed hooves on varnished wooden floorboards as if trying to avoid waking a mighty beast … as if fire could hear in the first place.

   But the fatherly Gorlek, who rests his cheek against his fist, can only watch with fondness in his three eyes. He will grow out of it in time, he's sure. 

   But grow into what? he wonders.

   Like a spark that springs from a piece of snapping firewood, that question brings a bout of inspiration to the Gorlek. He soon takes a bowl of steaming marshclam stew from Gen with thanks. After the spirit climbs onto the table and dangles his legs off the edge, a few cozy bites are enjoyed as the rain continues to pour against the glass. 

   “Not too spicy?” Watada asks. 

   “Mmm … I think it's just right,” Gen happily purrs and licks his lips, leisurely kicking his hooves up and down.

   “Good; as my son, you are to like spices in your food. And as to that question you asked just now … I'm going to have to teach you a new number to answer that.”

   “Mmrrp?” the spirit softly trills.

   With the first hand holding the bowl and the second holding the spoon, the pencil is lifted once again with the third. The Gorlek thus scribes an unassuming symbol in the middle of the squares and circles of his developing schematic:

∞

   Gen peers over and tilts his head, causing his ears to droop slightly in the same direction. “What's that?”

   “That, abni,” Watada says. “Is the symbol of infinity.”

   “Infinity…” echoes Gen. A word foreign to his tongue. “It looks like you squished two circles together.”

   The third hand lowers the pencil, with the fourth joining it as they take the little spirit's hands. The palms of the Gorlek easily dwarf that of Gen's, but the touch within the rough and callous skin is warm, tender and guiding.

   Watada turns Gen's hands so that their backs face skyward, then proceeds to bring and press them together on their sides. 

   Two circles, side by side. Just like the symbol on the parchment.

   “Heeeey…” Gen grins. “It kinda looks like that! But … what does it mean, infinity?”

   Watada looks to the rain-washed window just as it is lit up by streaks of lightning, followed by yet another gentle rumble as he sets his bowl down next to Gen's. “You cannot see them right now, but I'm sure you have your vivid imagination to paint it in your mind. If you were to count the stars in the night sky, how many would you say there are?”

   “Uh … a lot? Like, a looot.”

   Watada chuckles again. “A number, abni. Give me a number.”

   Gen shrugs. “I dunno … ten thousand? One hundred thousand?”

   “Try a number bigger than that.”

   “A thousand ... thousands?” Gen asks incredulously with perked ears and widened eyes.

   Watada laughs with a toothy grin. “That number has a name: a million! But, the point is … ”

   Gen looks as Watada taps the symbol on the paper.

   “Whatever big, biiig number you could possibly think of … infinity will always be larger. We need to use a symbol because it's just so big and numerous that our little minds cannot fully understand it. Like the number of stars in the night sky.”

   Gen now looks to the window as he quietly listens, seeing only sheets of rain and the crazed dance of nearby trees beyond the coloured glass. He then glances down at his hands and joins them backs-up to make the symbol again.

   “But what's it got to do with me? I'm just … one me.”

   Watada reaches down and traces the symbol on Gen's hands with a fingertip. “Just as there are an infinite number of stars, so too are the number of paths you can choose to walk on. And whatever you choose to do, I know you can do it, and I will support you no matter what. This you know to be true.”

   “That is … ” Gen says. “So cheesy.”

   Which earns him a laugh. “Ehh, I'm being serious! And who taught you to be so sassy with your abi, huh?”

   To which Gen smirks; a rare treat of confidence. “You did say every dish should have some spice.”

  A big hand rubs and pets the spot behind his ear as the room is warmed and brightened by the colour of laughter. The window briefly lights up and paints the floor with a kaleidoscopic flash as thunder booms and roars overhead, but both barely seem to notice from within their own little sanctuary.

   Gen then sighs. He shrugs and smiles.

   “That does sound nice, abi … but I think my path is already chosen for me.”

   Watada wipes a tear from his middle eye and gets out the last chuckle. “What … heh … do you mean, abni?”

    The Gorlek would feel the young spirit carefully climb onto his lap once more. He nestles his back into his embrace, with Gen turned around to look at the symbol of infinity on the parchment. From where he sits on Watada's lap, it feels a bit out of reach. He can, however, reach for the still-steaming bowl of stew as he sits.

   “Everyone expects me to follow Dad's footsteps,” he hums and cups the bowl, allowing the warmth to seep through the wood and into his fingers and palms. Gen wonders if that's what it felt like to hold Seir.

   “To be like him. Strong, brave and selfless like him. Like a hero.”

   As fast as lightning comes and goes, so too, does the lighthearted atmosphere fade away, leaving behind the unsettled, thunder-like rumble of thoughts and what the heart deems appropriate to feel.

   “Well … ” Watada taps his tufted chin, “There are worse paths to take. And there's nothing wrong in wanting to be strong, brave and selfless … but this heroic path you describe. It is one you did not choose.”

   Gen can only shrug. But a big warm hand takes hold and easily dwarfs his small shoulder.

   “So until you do choose your own path—” 

    “You will support me,” Gen finishes with a soft smile. “I know, abi. Thank you.”

   And the smile is returned as Watada pats the spirit's back. “Good. That being said, your training will begin tomorrow.”

   Gen blinks. Blinks again. “Training?” he echoes with a tilted head.

   Never did he expect that he'd hear that from his abi. Is he even fit for it?

   “I did not stutter,” Watada still smiles. “It will help you become more courageous. More resilient. Don't worry, I'm not going to have you carry sacks of flour up and down a hill. Yet.”

   Gen seems to shrink at that. An understandable reaction. Watada can only sigh.

   “Here.”

   The bowl is gently taken from Gen's hands, its warmth soon replaced with Watada's as they hold each other.

   “I can do it,” Watada patiently says. “... Repeat after me.”

   “Oh. Uh, I can do it,” Gen repeats as lightning flashes outside.

   “Even if I may be scared … ” 

   “Even if I may be scared … ”

   “I can still do it. That's what courage means.”

   “I can still do it. That's what courage means.”

   “Now, all together, from the top,” Watada warmly instructs.

   “I can do it. Even if I'm scared, I can still do it. That's what courage means,” Gen recites.

   “Good." Watada pats and rubs his back. "Now, how do you feel? A little braver, perhaps?” 

   Gen takes a moment to think. On second thought … he actually does. His ears rise as he nods and smiles. 

   “Yeah. Yeah, I think I —”

   KRA-KOOOOOOM!!!

   “W-waaaaaahhh!”

   A ball of gold-glowing fur finds itself upon an abi’s lap once more. Gorlek face meets Gorlek palm. Lingering bouts of thunder rumble above as if laughing.

   A long, long path awaits them.

   And somewhere else, a ship departs to sea.

Chapter Text

Paws pitter-patter across a tarnished mirror of deep, dark and pungent algaed water; one step after the other like the dancing dash of a skipping stone. This blur of jade-coloured light, vested in a sturdy shawl woven of straw, deftly ducks, leaps and swerves as they weave through the reaching roots and low-hanging branches of a storm-shrouded Noiton.

   In the dark of the night is when the wetland truly comes to life. Ghostcaps, glowshrooms and illuminated flora paint an otherwise inky canvas with bioluminescent blues, pinks, greens and purples, with dragonflies, buzzards, frogs and other critters joining with their own lights and scents to form this living, glowing symphony. It even colours the rain falling … 

   Iabo shakes his head. No, not anymore. Not falling. 

   Rising. For three days now.

   Everyone knows how rain ought to function: droplets form and fall from the sky, hitting either land or water and leaving little impacts and ripples in their wake. But the sight of ripples reversing and coalescing into an inverted raindrop has become commonplace as of late.

   One such droplet (should they even be called droplets anymore?), coloured by the bioluminescent lights, rises along Iabo’s neck, up his chin, past his mouth and onto the tip of his nose before softly detaching and joining the myriad of other droplets that rise and vanish into the moonless sky. The messenger shivers despite the tropical heat, pulling tighter on his cloak and taro leaf hat and keeping his satchel closer to himself. 

   Of what use is this cloak? Iabo inwardly mutters. The water comes up my body instead of down … !

   His body hits rising droplets as he continues to dash across the water, his paws bringing him around these roots and under this fallen tree without much thought. It is when he steps on a patch of muddy land does he begin to sink into his mind once again.

   That bit of land was never there before. It shouldn't be there.

   What happens when dirty water is put to a boil? If all the water in a pot were turned into rising steam, a mass of sludgy sediment would be left behind. 

   Noiton is in a rather similar situation with all these rising raindrops. 

   Surely … surely that can't happen, Iabo assures himself, spotting a menacing pair of glints in the shadowed brush … but continuing to run as it rapidly winks sideways. Just a butterfly.

   Almost there. Lights, in the distance. Just a little further. 

   He begins to round a corner as he continues in his thoughts, his paws kicking up more water and mud in his wake.

   Noiton is full of water. Surely this strange storm will pass and all will return to—

   He sees it, outlined by the permeating multicoloured glow. But it's far too late, and he was distracted.

   An errant thorny bramble that wasn't there before connects with his forearm and rips through woven shawl and glowing fur. A sharp yowl forces itself out of the messenger's chest as he spins and falls sideways on yet another unfamiliar patch of land, pulling the satchel closer in the rapid descent and using his body to cushion the impact. 

  They rise. Hot, anguished tears mix with the cool rising droplets before being lifted to the sky. He sits up amid distant owl calls and the growl-like taps of nearby woodbugs, his breaths escaping in short, shallow beats. Iabo pulls the injury closer and cranes his neck to get a better look at it, smearing mud on the hanging flap of his shawl as he does.

   He sharply winces, hisses and droops his ears when he tries to move his bleeding arm. It's quite deep. He also takes a moment to watch as water rises and leaks through the newborn tear in his useless garment. 

   In his eyes are reflected his own drops of blood as they mingle and blend with the inverted rain; swirling crimson globules with glowing green and purple trim as they rise heavenward and vanish into the canopy. It's oddly captivating … and rather beneficial, in a way. No bloodstains will be left for predators to sniff out and follow.

   But Iabo shakes his head free of meandering thoughts, likewise shaking out the water that has collected under his hat. He pulls the satchel close. He has a job to do. Packages and letters to deliver.

  The messenger grunts through grit teeth, kicks and wipes off as much mud as possible and, at a moderate pace, continues to run towards the lights in the distance, where both hope and safety lie.

   Good thing she's the recipient, he grumbles to himself. Even if she's a bit … 

   Eccentric. 

❧

The interior of the village elder’s home is bathed in a sea of jade-coloured light. The healers and the herbalists, the builders and the engineers, and the cultivators and the village defenders all pack and sit within the open-aired walls of this thatch-roofed hut. Despite this congregation mostly made up of spirits with a sprinkling of Moki and Gorlek here and there, an attentive silence is the order of the main room; heightened by the sounds of the strange storm that befalls Noiton outside. 

      Attentive, for they listen to a lone glow of orange hue as he delivers a seminar.

   “And now, pay attention everyone…” says a bull-horned Kainari spirit with a smooth flourish of his hand. “It's vital that you do this part correctly, otherwise the whole thing might not work! We don't want that, now, do we?”

   A continued silence befitting graveyards and eyes as sharp as crow talons greet his smile once again. The shrug that rolls his shoulders and the leisurely tug of an amber cloth belt hugging his waist suggests utter confidence, poise and control. He briefly hums as if amused before resuming.

   “Remember what I said earlier. A Dabirian lantern can be made of any material, but what matters most is that the wick is made from the fibres of lyebulb stems, which I'm sure won't be running out any time soon. Now, watch how I strip up a stem with this lovely sample I have here … ”

   His talkative amber aura is not the only colour out of place. Standing at the outer edge of this jade assembly with an arm-length cranberry capelet adorning his shoulders is a tall, rabbit-eared fellow of bright ruby glow as he palms his snout with a deep sigh.

   “Of course he named it after himself…” grumbles the Altumian spirit, his brow furrowing under a pair of circlet-looking horns with a dense and fluffy wolf-like tail flicking behind him in matching annoyance. As if following him to a tropical wetland with a thick coat like his wasn't irritating enough.

   Another spirit stands within earshot. Her own glow of Noitoni jade does not join that of the assembly as she stands at the edge of the wooden porch that encircles the elder's larger hut. Rising droplets form and birth little rivers that snake around the valley of her palm as she reaches out into the storm and plays with the inverted water, her head and bat-like ears tilted in wonderment.

   “Mister Dabir … reminds me of a solplume,” comes Kamo's distant comment, her voice with the roundness and soft-spokenness like that of a warm cushion. “They love to chatter. Adore being the star of an audience. Spends a lot of time preening themselves a lot. They even have mostly orange feathers. Quite beautiful ones, at that.”

   The tall, ruby-glowing spirit chuckles humourlessly as he gazes upon the rest of the village, their windows illuminated by flickering firelight. His ears, of which the left one is marred with a scar, twitch and flick at every foreign sound. “Please don't let him hear you saying that. He will never let you off the hook for praising him.”

   “The bright orange sacs under their chins also carry some of the deadliest venom known to Noiton,” Kamo dreamily adds. “Oh, such beautiful predatory birds … ” 

   Rabbit ears droop as a nervous chuckle follows. “Aha … ” 

   What could he even say to that? Silence descends once more whilst the rain continues to ascend; Dabir's theatrical voice likewise heightened as he begins to twist the stripped lyebulb fibres into a wick.

   “You never did tell me why you followed him, Sem of Altum,” Kamo lightly says, still playing with the inverted rain and watching how a splash of water un-blooms from the muddy ground before forming into a droplet that rises to her palm. Her hand twists and turns with a dancer's grace so that it glides to the tip of a finger before detaching and breaking into two globules as it does; one bigger; one smaller, with the former following the latter.

   Sem glances over his caped shoulder as Dabir tells the assembly that any flammable oil would be usable as fuel.

   “I am loath to admit it,” Sem begrudgingly says, crossing his arms and leaning against a sturdy wooden beam that holds up the porch's roof. “But were it not for him, I would not be here enjoying this lovely conversation with you.”

   Kamo lowers her head and glances away. She smiles out of view, but says nothing.

   The awkward silence spurs more words from Sem. “He saved my life. There, I said it. But more importantly, he's also convinced me of his invention.”

   Conjured memories dance in his mind's eye as he is brought back to an oasis in Kainar; images of unassuming peonies and roses slithering to life, flickers of slashing through unnaturally thick nectar-filled vines, only to find himself thoroughly tangled by the ravenous plants that begin to squeeze him like a nest of boa constrictors. Hope seemed lost; this watering hole a beautiful deception that would have led to his demise.

   Then came that warm emanation of amber light; a bull-horned Kainari spirit with ears akin to a fennec fox holding aloft a pyramidal lantern as he calmly (and smugly) walks into the flowered fray. The blossoms simply shrunk back and returned to their places in the watered ground littered with floral viscera; as if they had never come to life to take his.

   “A 'thank you' would suffice,” Dabir had hummed, placing a hand on his hip after belting his lantern and checking his claws on the other.

   Sem hoarsely heaved as he rubbed his throat. “I was … getting to that. How did you do that?”

   “Before I explain, can I count on you to keep up?” 

   “Excuse me?”

   And that was how they met. 

   “Hmm. And now, he seems to be the death of you,” Kamo lightly chuckles after listening, finally turning back, rubbing her paw dry on her round belly and stepping up to the Altumian’s side. She also picks up a simple satchel bag from the wooden floor and loops her head through the sling, resting it on her shoulder and draping it across her chest as wooden bottles and glass vials softly click and rattle within. 

   “But did you?” she asks.

   Sem tilts his head. “Did I … ?”

   Kamo smiles, the expression making her little fangs show a little more prominently. “Did you keep up?”

   The tall and burly spirit sheepishly lops an ear and scratches the back of his head.“I … uh … well … ” 

   “No?” Kamo chuckles softly. “That's alright. We can be less knowledgeable about it together.”

   Sem finds himself only able to match her smile as his tail begins to wag a little from behind.

   “But the more you talk about him, the more I'm convinced that you follow to protect his invention more than its inventor,” the healer says, glancing back inside as Dabir takes some questions.

   “Please, please, one at a time!” Dabir laughs, the winning smile on his lips belying his plea. Sem rolls his eyes again.

   Kamo then turns to Sem. “Which reminds me, what were you doing in —”

   A polite smile accompanies a raised hand as he gently stops her mid-sentence. “That’s plenty of questions already, Head Healer. But as a token of gratitude for taking care of us upon our arrival, and most fittingly … ”

   The Altumian reaches into the folds of his capelet and carefully unveils a most gorgeous flower. It's as if bubbles born from playing with lyebulb berry soap were shaped and sculpted into a delicate wreath of petals and placed atop a pristine emerald stem.

   “I picked it yesterday,” Sem says. “I’ve never seen this flower before. What is it called?”

   The eyes of the healer softly bloom in dilation as a soft gasp slips from her lips, her gaze firmly affixed upon its glassy, psychedelic colours that shift every which way the lights hit it. 

   “Such a beautiful ebullibloom … !” Kamo breathes, extending a paw towards it …

   Only to produce a pair of tweezers from her bag, deftly pluck it from Sem's paw and drop it into a squat glass jar. The Altumian finds himself blinking and watching as Kamo lifts the corked glass to her eyes, holding the base up with a palm and tracing the shapes of the petals on the glass with the tweezers.“

   "First off,” Kamo says, now fixing her eyes on Sem as she stashes the flower away. “Thank you so very much. These flowers are incredibly rare and make for valuable medicine. And second.”

   Warmth blossoms on Sem's cheeks as he finds his face cradled by Kamo's palms. If his tail wasn't wagging before, it is most certainly wagging now.

   “How do you feel? Do you feel warm? Nauseous?” Kamo asks, peppering him with questions as if looking at the most interesting thing in the whole world.

   “Um, a … a little warm, yes … ” Sem honestly manages to reply. 

   She raises a paw to his head, eyes wide as she finally matches the attentiveness of the assembly. “Do you feel sleepy? Any tightness in your chest? Tightness in the throat, joints, eyes?”

   Rabbit ears droop. A brow creases in concern. “I … should not have touched that flower, should I?”

   “Better you than some unwary child,” Kamo hurriedly says. “Answer me, Sem.”

   “I feel ... fine, I think?” Sem nervously chuckles.

   Although her palms leave his face, his cheeks still buzz and tingle with warmth. His tail still swishes from side to side as a humid breeze rattles hanging decorations of carved bone and tusk, creating a hollow and discordant song along the porch.

   “Hmm,” Kamo pouts. “I see. Thank you.”

   Sem's expression now ripples into a perfect example of puzzlement. “I'm sorry, did I … disappoint you, or something? Am I going to be alright?”

   Kamo shakes her head. “No, it's nothing, and yes, you'll be fine. Perhaps you have a high constitution that makes you resistant to poison? Either way, take this now. I won't have you actually die to a flower.”

  A thumb of a labelled wooden vial soon finds itself in Sem's large palm, who promptly uncorks it and throws its contents back in a single gulp. To little surprise (and to Kamo's humour), the substance has him mimicking the expression of a crumpled piece of parchment.

   “Eugh … tastes like something crawled in there and died … ” Sem frowns.

   Kamo’s eyes glance away as she quietly takes it back, biting a lower lip with a fang.

   “ ... Please don't tell me that's exactly what happened.”

   She glances back at him as if having been pulled out of a daydream. “Hm? Oh, sure. Anyways, Mister Dabir is almost done with his play.”

   Sem joins Kamo and the rest of the assembly as they turn their eyes and ears back towards the inventor. On the table before Dabir now lies a rudimentary lantern constructed of straw and stone, similar in pyramidal shape to the one that hangs from his belt.

   “And we finally come to the last ingredient in this recipe, so to speak,” Dabir smiles. “This is probably more important than having wicks of lyebulb fibres!”

   The silence of the congregation is then broken by a disgruntled elder who stamps her staff on the floor. “Delaying, delaying … get to the point!”

   Dabir flinches a little at the outburst. He then stands upright and clears his throat, though that winning smile refuses to budge from his lips.

   “The flame itself is important,” Dabir says, beginning to strut back and forth along the table. “Not just any fire will do. In order for the lantern to work as needed, you require the flame of a Kainari like yours truly, which is why I tell you now: never let all of the flames I give you go out. Always keep some alive and burning. Now, observe!”

   The inventor raises his paws and holds a finger to the oil-soaked wick on the table. As he does, the amber light behind the frosted glass of his lantern begins to glow brighter and his fingertip emanates a matching light. Then with a flash as fast as lightning, a tongue of flame is sparked as it takes to the newly woven wick.

   Those in the assembly momentarily shield their eyes as fur coats and manes ripple with a burgeoning wave of power.

   “Look, everyone!” Dabir proclaims, grinning again as he gestures beyond the room with the flair of an orchestra conductor. “Look outside!”

   The assembly, Sem and Kamo do just so, turning around and gazing out towards the inverted storm. Kamo steps forward and reaches out into the rain once more, palm skyward, as tepid droplets rise onto the back of her palm. 

   And the rain continues to rise. Globules of water illuminated by their combined glows still ascend above their heads before disappearing into the darkness. 

   Murmurs ripple and froth across the congregation. Dabir's brow furrows for a moment as he also squints and impatiently taps at the floor with his hooves.

   Kamo looks back at Sem, who simply shrugs. Then his eyes grow wide alongside her's.

   As a raindrop falls onto her palm. 

   And then another. And yet another. More, more and yet even more as surrounding foliage begins to be beaten earthwards by the downpour, the droplets falling to the ground, onto the roof, onto her paw and soaking into the soil. A spirited outcry begins to bubble forth from within the hut as fingers and palms point and gesture towards the righted rain. 

   “Look, brothers, sisters, look!”

   “It's falling again! Falling!”

   “How in Kurestal does this Dabirian lantern work?”

   “Does it matter?” barks the elder as she stands from her chair with some assistance from another spirit. “We must make more of these lanterns and surround the Mangrove with them, along with one for every household, immediately!”

   Plans are made, labour is divided and direction is given with the elder’s hand. While this happens, Kamo remains on the porch as she squints her eyes towards the distance. 

   “It's still rising,” she murmurs. “Outside the bubble.”

   Sem peers with her. Indeed, beyond an invisible bubble; the distance that the lantern's light is unable to reach, armies upon armies of raindrops continue to fall to the sky. 

   It is like a bandage around a deep spear wound. A quick and temporary solution.

   “Better than nothing, though, right?” Sem hums. “At least for now.”

   “At least for now,” Kamo echoes. “It's a start. Also … ”

   She squints again. Sem follows her gaze … to an approaching glow of Noitoni jade wrapped in a shawl of woven straw and hatted with a taro leaf. Not that they're doing much for him with the droplets rising as they are.

   Sem and Kamo also notice his gait, recognizing the haggardness that weighs each step. 

   “Injury,” Sem grimly states.

   “And it seems serious … !” Kamo says as both her ears and the corners of her lips curl up into a faint yet eager smile.

   Sem can only blink at her. Rain pitter-patters on the thatch roof.

   Stepping into the bubble of the lantern's influence and pausing only to look at the sudden change of the rain’s direction, Iabo staggers to the porch and collapses into a pair of sturdy, ruby-glowing arms.

   “Rest easy, friend,” Sem warmly says, carefully guiding and having the messenger rest against the sturdy beam. “You're safe now. Head Healer, please.”

   “I … I have a delivery for you, Kamo … ” Iabo pants, taking off his hat and trying to reach inside his bag.

   But Kamo sets down her satchel and briskly squats in front of him, her long, flat tail curling excitedly as she stills his paw. “That can wait, Iabo. It won't take long. Come on, show me where you're hurt.”

   The injury makes no effort to hide. After easing him out of the rain-soaked shawl and exposing his bloodied arm to the healer, the healer moves to inspect the wound quite closely.

   “My, quite the deep gash you have here,” she hums lightheartedly. “Hmm … only a fleshwound … about five inches across … slight inflammation … foreign matter doesn't seem present … ”

   Sem glances at Iabo, who briefly meets his gaze. The Altumian raises an eyebrow and slightly tilts his head. The Noitoni nods with a flat pursing of his lips.

   Par for the course, it would seem … 

   “Are you … going to do that thing again, Miss Kamo?” Sem asks tentatively. “Also, do you know each other?”

   “Of course. Iabo is our village's head messenger, one of the best in all Noiton,” Kamo smiles. “Isn't that right, Waterdasher?”

   Iabo humbly bows his head, noticeably averting his gaze. “You lace your words with honey … Woundeater.”

   An Altumian eyebrow arches at the latter title. It's the first time he's heard of it.

   It is also accurate, if what he saw a few days ago means anything.

   “Alright!” Kamo chirps in singsong, rubbing her palms together and wringing her wrists to loosen any tension. “Let us begin, shall we?”

   As pain urges one to focus on the present, so too does Kamo bring her mind to the fore of the now. Another warm gust of wind rattles the hanging tusks and bone and rustles the leaves and low shrubbery.

    Her paws move and hover above Iabo's arm as tendrils of energy coalesce into her paws. The flesh and fur surrounding the injury begins to glow brighter as if responding to a call, with the messenger watching as root-like wisps extend from her palms.

   They wrap around the injury as if an unseen moth were weaving a glowing chrysalis. Layers of ethereal white, silken fabric-fine, embrace and coil around the arm until it completely obscures the wound. For a moment, nothing happens save for the harmonious pulsing of light between the two Noitoni.

   Then comes the haunting song with Sem as its captive audience.

   “H-hahh … ahhh … !” Kamo softly cries out, lowering her head and folding her ears as her arm begins to erratically shiver and writhe … splitting and leaking like a freshly fallen fruit as a perfect imitation of Iabo’s injury forms upon her own body.

   The messenger sighs and relaxes his body. Sem’s breath is trapped in his lungs though his mouth remains slightly agape. The rain continues to fall.

   And Kamo sighs as a soft, delighted smile spreads across her lips, the healer withdrawing her shuddering paws and licking her fangs as if having tasted a fine wine. The root-like tendrils crumble and fade into nothingness, allowing Iabo to check his arm. It moves and flexes without issue. There isn't so much as even a scar to indicate its former presence.

   “Thank you … Kamo … ” Iabo whispers, gingerly reaching for his bag.

   “Mmh … think nothing of it,” Kamo dreamily sighs, now placing her own paw on the transferred wound. With yet another jade glow, this time emanating from her chest, the healer closes her eyes and hums a soft, warm melody … soon retracting her paw to reveal flesh and fur unscathed.

   Woundeater, Sem thinks as his lungs finally remember how to breathe. 

   A fitting title. How intriguing … 

   “Now,” Kamo briskly says, leisurely patting and smoothing down her regenerated flesh and fur. “I believe you have something for me, Iabo?”

   The messenger nods. “Here you go.”

   Two sealed letters and a simple string bracelet soon find themselves in Kamo's paw. A fleeting look flashes across the healer's face as she gazes upon the accessory, but Sem catches it: the colour of recognition.

   “Before you open her letter … ” Iabo solemnly says, holding his taro leaf hat to his chest. “It was an honour to watch her accomplish it.”

   The messenger then excuses himself, hats his head once more and leaves the pair on the porch as he dashes back into the falling, then rising, rain. As the soft crinkle of unfolding parchment graces their ears … a pair of hoofsteps click as they emerge from the chattering assembly behind.

   “Well, well, well … ” Dabir smoothly hums and places his paws on his hips, the pyramidal amber lantern hanging from his belt glowing bright as ever. “Who’d ever think that watching the rain fall properly again would be such a massive gift from yours truly?”

   He gestures to the rain with one paw and places the other on his chest as he smiles at Kamo, then Sem. “Go on, bask in my genius. My generous gift to you, and soon, the rest of the world. What do you think of Friol as our next stop? A well-deserved vacation for our efforts here!"

   Sem's scarred ear flicks in irritation. Then he smirks and crosses his arms as he begins to lift his tail. “Say, Dabir, don't you want to bask in your own genius?”

   Dabir looks at him as if he asked a silly question. “I mean, of course, but what could you possibly mean by — wh-whaaa — !”

   A fluffy wolf-like tail smacks onto Dabir's back. The inventor stumbles forward with the unexpected momentum … and steps out into the rain as his manicured hooves squelch into the mud. 

   A sharp gasp of disbelief tugs itself out of Dabir's mouth, who holds his arms out and turns around, showing his utterly drenched coat in its entirety. “You … you … !”

   “Me … me?” Sem smugly repeats. “What, has basking in your own genius made you speechless, or do you mean to tell me that the magnificent Dabir is afraid of a little rain?”

   The taller warrior continues to grin over him as Dabir reaches for the gauntlet adorning his left paw, where a small crossbow sits affixed atop the firm leather accessory. “I ought to skin you and turn you into a pincushion up where the sun doesn't shine — ”

   “Boys … ”

   A single calm word from the healer is all that is needed. Dabir lowers his paw and steps back under the porch’s roof, glaring at Sem as he kicks off the mud from his feet, before focusing and using his own flames to dry his coat. Thick curls of steam rise from his body as Sem snickers again from under his breath.

   A dry (and fluffier) Dabir places his paws on his hips once more. “What is it, Miss Kamo?”

   Kamo looks up from the opened letter. The other remains sealed though the bracelet now decorates her wrist. Her face betrays little.

   “Do any of you happen to know a spirit by the name of Chafa?” she asks.

Chapter Text

A tart-tongued historian, a starry-eyed savant, a cheeky sailor, a prideful inventor, an eccentric healer and a warrior from a distant snowy land all gather in the dining room onboard the Ivory Dove.

    It sounds like the set-up for a long and complicated joke.

   The three cream-coloured, triangular sails of the storied Ivory Dove curve and billow dutifully as they catch the warm equatorial wind, sailing further away from the Emerald Belt of Kurestal; the evergreen rainforest growing ever more distant with each passing minute, where Kamo is now able to behold the entire archipelago with but a single glance. It all seems so small from this point of view, yet within that perilous yet beautiful collection of landmasses lay her entire world. Her entire life, until she boarded this vessel.

   Even the unmoving cloud thicket that looms above her home, bringing its strange, inverted storm to Noiton, seems much smaller … especially with the glorious azure blue that hangs further above them in the splendour of the day. She'd almost forgotten the muchness of Kurestal’s sky. 

      She now sits on a cushioned bay window within the ship's dining room from which she is able to gaze upon Noiton and the leagues of glittering seawater between them. A glassy purple bowl of creamy pumpkin soup, made with a local kalabasa bought from the dock’s market the same morning, rests in one paw; an unopened letter resting in the other. Neither contents have been consumed since lunch began. Her ears, however, have been consuming something else. 

   Amidst the creaking and groaning of seaborne wood, the strainings and stretching of thick hemp ropes, Sem crosses his arms as he leans against the wall closest to the bay window, his tall rabbit ears leaning forward and at attention.

   “So, from the top…” Sem says, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. “We are going to a sunken library in Niwen. We are going to this library to search for information; to find an answer as to why all these strange things are happening around the world, so we can stop them and stop more from happening. And … you were sent by the Nibellian Spirit Tree to first collect us, in order to do this?”

   “Correction,” Chafa distantly tuts as she navigates a needle through her latest sewing project. “We were sent to collect Dabir and Kamo. You just happened to be there, and a good fit for our mission. But it's good to know you can keep up, Sem of Altum.”

   Kamo smirks a little at that.

   Sem nods. “I see … alright then.”

   From her spot at the table, a Hoan spirit subtly tilts her head as she notices his brow shift upwards by two centimetres while his shoulders shift downwards by one, both from starting points of a certain tightness. She decides not to comment on it. This factor is irrelevant at the moment.

   “Another question, actually,” Sem says. “Why are we going to the library?”

   Chafa tilts her head as she sews another stitch. “Elaborate?”

   “I mean, shouldn't the Lights know what is going on?” Sem asks. “Why is there something that they don't know, that they have to send us to these depths instead of coming up with a plan themselves?”

   Dabir, already in his second bowl of pumpkin soup, chuckles and sneers. “Why, is the mighty Sem afraid of some water?”

  Sem glowers at the inventor and flicks his scarred ear in irritation as Chafa steeples her fingers and raises a brow. She honestly did not expect such an insightful question to come from a warrior. This historian has, however, pondered over this as well.

   Her answer comes in the form of a shrug. “You raise a very good question. However, as of right now, your guess is as good as mine. It's as Navigator Apei says: “An equation cannot be solved unless all the necessary factors are known.’”

   Apei sagely nods. She sips her soup.

   “Hey,” Ipu then pipes up, casually pointing his spoon at Chafa's paws. “That's what you bought at the harbour, no?”

   An affirmative hum comes from the historian. She opens it up and shows them a square piece of cloth dyed a pale marigold yellow. The letter G at one of its corners is a recent addition.

   “Aww, G for Gen?” Ipu coos teasingly. “You've never sewn for anyone else before. Who knew that Aunty Chacha could be so sweet?”

   “I believe this table ought to have some dessert before I toss you into the sea…” Chafa grumbles viciously, though a subtle smile at the corner of her lips (exactly 5 degrees above baseline) reveals no such intention.

   Apei sits up straighter at the mention of dessert, her two tails symmetrically curling and coiling in unspoken excitement as she flicks a finger, sending the finished bowl out of the window and into the sea where it fizzles out into wispy strands of wisteria-coloured light. 

   “A fine idea, Captain! Be right back, everyone.” Ipu winks and salutes as his clopping hoofsteps depart from the dining room. Sem turns to Chafa, who resumes her sewing, once he is gone.   

   “Aunty?” Sem asks. “So, this Gen is … ”

   Chafa's gaze is as steady as her needle. She begins to stitch a simple decorative border on the yellow square. “Indeed. He is my one and only nephew, though I have yet to meet him, given he was born in another forest and all that. Only relatively recently, might I add.”

   Sem exchanges looks with Kamo, seemingly confused. Spirits like themselves cannot make children, after all. 

   Only Dabir sits up straight like Apei and leans forward with elbows on the table, the glint of calculation dancing in lantern-lit eyes.

   “You don't mean to say … that your nephew, the one and only, is the Niwenian Spirit Tree's firstborn?” asks the inventor, intrigue colouring his tone and expression. “That is to say, Ori's son?”

   Even this seems to pull Kamo from the cozy window nook. “Do you know what he looks like?”

   Chafa slows her stitching to turn to Apei. “Show him to them.”

   All eyes turn to the navigator, who quietly nods and raises her hands to meet the level of the table. 

   A gentle purple glow fills the dining room as a simple sphere is created. Its surface then ripples with a lattice of interlocking triangles, beginning to deform from its original shape … in the formation of a new one. Like a sculptor and a conductor, Apei waves her paws and navigates to find the form hidden within. 

   A blocky torso. Cylindrical arms and legs. Pyramidal fingers, ears and antennae. All these elements are brought together, smoothed down and rounded to create the distinguished likeness of a spirit child sitting on a fallen log.

   “Almost forgot,” Apei ‘says’ with her floating words.

   She waves her paw and creates a neckerchief around Gen's neck.

   “Aww, he looks so cute and sweet…!” Kamo softly fawns. “But wait, how do you know what he looks like if you have not met him?”

   “Glimpser,” Chafa says matter-of-factly, flicking her tail over to the diamond-tipped staff propped against the wall. 

   Kamo hums and nods. “Then, do you know what he is like? Is he kind? Caring? Bratty...?”

   Her needle pierces and sinks into the fabric. “He is … the sort who would be scared of his own shadow.”

   Sem tilts his head. Glances down at his own glowing body. “We don't have shadows,” he states.

   Chafa sighs as she pulls the thread taut. “My point exactly. He seems sweet and kind, but he is scared of climbing ladders, scared of thunder; everything under the sun whether it exists or not. He does like spicy food, though.”

   With the silent wave of a Hoan’s paw, the model of a historian joins Gen on the table as it peers into the crystal on its replicated staff.

   “By the Seven Lights,” reads floating text above exasperated Model Chafa's head. “Is there anything you're not afraid of — spicy food. Oh, that's helpful … ”

   The elder and her model roll their eyes in unison. Kamo chuckles softly at the sight, even reaching out to gently pet Model Gen's head with a finger.

   Dabir also amusedly huffs a scoff and crosses his arms, his tail flicking leisurely behind him. “Well, that's disappointing. The firstborn of the legendary Ori is a son as yellow-bellied and cowardly as his own glow? I guess this leaf has fallen disastrously far from the tree.”

   Sem raises an eyebrow and gestures to the younger model on the table. “Are you forgetting he is a child? No child should have to be held to such a ridiculous standard, Dabir.”

   “Well,” Dabir says and gives the Altumian and sidelong glance. “Ori was young when he became a hero. His son should naturally follow in his heroic hoofsteps.”

   A series of tensioning ropes dryly creak outside the dining room. Sem's fur begins to rise as he now furrows his brow, crosses his arms and approaches the inventor. 

   “Ori had no choice but to become a hero — twice — and had to brave many perils and dangers at such a young age,” Sem pointedly says. “Do you wish for Gen to follow such a path?”

   To which Dabir raises his paws in a show of feigned innocence, chuckling at the spirit towering over him. “I'm sorry, but why do you care so much about someone you've not met, goodness! Such uncalled-for aggressiveness … ” 

   A pair of furry paws ball into fists. “Oh, I can show you aggressive —”

   “Sem, please.”

   Kamo moves from her spot at the table and gently places a paw on his forearm. “He has his own views, and so do you. Calm down.”

  Chafa quietly observes how the tension melts away from the tall Altumian's body. The rising and falling of his chest slows down, his breathing eases and the wrinkles under his crowned brow also vanish. He takes a deep breath and uncrosses his arms, though still frowning at the smiling Dabir as the straining ropes ease and loosen a little.

   “Thank you for that, Miss Kamo. Perhaps I'll rely on you to keep a little more order over this expanded crew,” Chafa says, before turning and likewise hardening her weathered face towards Dabir. “However, in regards to my nephew, I will not accept any more ill-talk of him while you are on my ship. Have I made myself clear?”

   The inventor waves a dismissive paw as he checks his claws. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

   Harder squints the elder's eyes … before glancing towards the amber lantern flickering away on the table. She simply rolls her eyes once more and resumes her sewing.

   “Still on the subject of Gen,” Chafa continues. “And as Mister Dabir so elegantly brought it up … I am afraid that his lack of courage will present a considerable obstacle for us all.”

   Kamo pouts questioningly. “What makes you say that? How is he related to us?”

   “Because, Miss Kamo …” Chafa says, raising her eyes from her paws. “We are required to bring Gen, my nephew, to the sunken library.”

   “...huh.” Kamo hums and tilts her head.

   “...huh??” Sem asks incredulously.

   Even Dabir arches a brow as he leans forward in his seat. “Wait, wait, wait … you're actually serious? Why are we bringing the little one with us —”

   A sudden impact cuts the inventor short.

   It overtakes the ship. Boxes and crates lined outside on the deck rattle and brush against each other's shoulders as they reveal clattering contents of glass, metal or straw. Plates and silverware likewise clatter from within the dining room as Dabir snatches his lantern from the table and keeps it close to his chest, while Sem and Kamo help each other to stumble forward and grab onto the bolted table. 

   Apei tilts her head to her right. “Starboard impact.”

   “Ah, I thought they'd come a little later,” Chafa hums, unfazed as she glances outside the window to check the sun's position. She securely stashes the yellow neckerchief within the folds of her shawl as the din settles. “No matter. I'll just finish this later.”

   “I'm sorry, “they?” a bewildered Sem asks as he helps Kamo up from the floor. “Who, in all of Kurestal, is coming to us in the middle of the sea?”

   Chafa nonchalantly looks back as she grabs her staff from the wall and tugs at her shawl more firmly around herself. “Pirates, naturally. Everyone, follow me!”

   That is when another pair of clopping hoofsteps return to the dining room. “Hey everyone, I got us the pie … uh, where are you all going?”

   “You too, Ipu! And wipe that frown away, Apei. Dessert comes after the chores are completed.”

   Ipu sighs and places the pie on the table. “I was never one for … pie-racy.”

   “Ipu!”

   “Coming!”

❧

“Captain, didn't you tell me earlier that we'd have smooth sailing?” Ipu asks as he briskly joins the rest of the crew on the sunlit deck.

   A healthy length of glittering seawater separates the Ivory Dove from the offending pirate ship; a small sloop with ratty brown canvas sails. The last outlying island that makes up Noiton’s archipelago remains but a further, green speck in the distance. The inverted storm above it is practically invisible.

   “I did say that,” Chafa calmly says. “But I also glimpsed us reaching Niwen.”

   “All of us?” Ipu asks.

   Chafa scratches her chin. Pauses for a bit. “Well, now that you mention it … ” she hums.

   “I'm sorry,” Dabir interjects, stepping up to Ipu's side. “You knew this was going to happen and you didn't tell us?”

   “And what about it?” Chafa says, mimicking a certain inventor's dismissive nonchalance. “As I said, we will reach Niwen, which means these fellows aren't that big of an issue. And surely a couple of unruly pirates aren't that grand of a problem for you, esteemed Dabir. Now, if you will excuse me … ”

   As the amber Kainari sputters for a response, Chafa hops onto the railing with a surprising agility for an elder. She grabs a rope for support and looks down at what caused the impact: a small wooden skiff, one that would have been easily attached to a ship like a sloop. It currently presses itself against the Dove's barnacled side as it bobs and sways in the water.

   “Hey, unwashed lot!” calls the captain from above.

   Three moki, a Gorlek and a salamander of fiery scale all turn and look up at the turquoise spirit with ropes and grapples in their paws. She points her staff at them with the glinting, cloudy jewel facing seawards as the water laps against their vessels.

   “I have come to give you a warning. As a Glimpser, I can see into the future, and I have seen that we will reach our destination safely. That said, it is best you leave us alone, for any attempt you make against us will surely fail. Have I made myself clear?”

   The five pirates look among themselves. They look back at the captain.

   One of the moki pulls something out and points it upwards faster than how Chafa can react.

   Phh-too!!

   A pinprick of heat angrily flares in the elder's shoulder. She momentarily sways atop the railing. Glancing down, it would appear a dart has lodged itself right above her armpit. A giggling, chittering moki lowers a pipe from his mouth.

   “Ready the grapples!” he orders.

   Chafa looks back at her crew.

   “Well. He's a quick draw … isn't … he?” she drawls.

   The rope slips from her grasp. Chafa tumbles backwards onto the deck, staff clattering beside her as grapples are thrown onboard, carving scratches on the planks before latching onto the railing.

   “Captain!” Ipu dashes to Chafa's side, propping her up. “By the Seven Lights, Chafa, are you alright?!”

   That's when another impact rocks the ship. Five more grapples are thrown on board from portside. Kamo even pushes Apei away from one that would have horribly snagged her.

   “Everyone, get behind me, quickly!” Sem urges, clapping his hands together and pulling them apart, summoning forth his trusted weapon: a glowing billhook. A spear-hook-axe amalgamation of blades fan out from the top of the brilliant shaft, followed by him spinning it and baring his fangs as he gets down low into a defensive position, tail raised with fur pricking outwards, red capelet billowing in the salty breeze.

   Below them, Chafa mutters something under her breath.

   “Don't touch … my things … ” she rasps.

   Her forehead burns to the touch. Unsightly veins begin to spread from where the dart pierced her shoulder, causing her wrinkled features to crease in pain and for her fangs to grit themselves as it reaches her neck. Seeing such pain makes Ipu move without thinking—

   “No, don't touch it!” Kamo quickly warns, slapping Ipu's paw away from the dart with her tail. “It could poison you too!”

   “Didn't see this happening, did you, Captain?!” Dabir scolds as he takes a spot behind Sem.

   Apei looks at Ipu. They nod together. The azure Friolian likewise bares his fangs with Sem and turns to the ten encroaching pirates as they board the vessel. The Ivory Dove sways erratically from the shifting weight with boxes, barrels and crates once again shifting, clattering and scraping amidst a cacophony of creaking ropes.

   “Apei, Kamo, help me bring the captain inside!” Ipu barks. “Dabir, Sem, hold them back while I get my weapons!”

   “Wai-wai-wait!” Dabir stammers once again. “I—”

   “You what?” Ipu snaps at him as he lifts Chafa up with the other's help. “Oh, don't tell me that the weapon on your wrist is just a decoration like your brain!”

   Dabir's ears go flat as if a sound wave had blasted them backwards. But like a fan that feeds the flames, they rise yet again with the words spoken acting as fuel. The inventor holds out a paw.

   “It … is not … ” he hisses.

   As a ball of flame sparks to life above his palm, the pyramidal amber lantern likewise flaring brighter by his side.

   “A DECORATION!!”

   With the eyes of a sharpshooter, Dabir turns to the nearest pirate as he comes onboard. The moki doesn't even get the chance to see the streak of light racing towards him. Flames erupt and curl all over his body like constricting serpents as the smell of burning, salty fur fills the air. He falls backwards with a yelp and splashes into the glittering seawater, where he surfaces and sputters with brand new scars.

   One down. Nine to go: five moki, a pair of Gorleki and a pair of salamanders, each drawing cutlasses, bludgeons and rusty crossbows.

   “Now that's more like it!” Ipu says and claps Dabir's shoulder. “Have at them, gentlemen. I'll be right back!”

   Sem and Dabir exchange glances as glows of azure, turquoise, jade and amethyst hurry back into the dining room.

   “Higher ground?” Sem asks as he brandishes his glowing polearm.

   “Cover me!” Dabir says, running to the nearest ratline and beginning an ascent to the crow's nest. Two of the moki pirates naturally catch wind of their plan and each raise a heavy crossbow, loaded and armed.

   I think not! thinks Sem as he vanishes from his original spot. A ruby blur zips across the deck before stopping in front of a salamander crossbowmen who only has enough time to look down. 

   The reptile suddenly feels an enormous pressure surrounding his body. The easiest way to describe it is as if a large hand has grabbed him from all around, locking his body in place. Terrible recognition flashes in his eyes, but before his mouth can open, the wooden floor disappears from beneath his scaly feet.

   Only for his head to roughly collide into the side of the fellow crossbowman. A litany of curses ensue between the two reptiles as they fall onto each other.

   “Hey, what gives!?” one hisses.

   “Basher! Basher!!” snaps the other.

   Bashing is a wondrous skill mastered by few; whereby such telekinetic energy is launched in one direction, so too must energy flow in the other. Sem thus finds himself flying backwards from where he hurled the reptile — par for the course for this ability; with him managing to snag a rope with one paw, circling back and throwing himself back in the ring just as Dabir reaches the crow's nest … though some of the intruders begin to climb. A blowpipe is quietly loaded.

   As this happens out on deck, Kamo and Chafa huddle under the bolted dining table. Apei stands at the door with paws outstretched, creating a transparent purple wall that blocks off the entrance and slightly muffles the sounds of battle beyond.

   The little Hoan watches as the red-caped spirit lunges for a moki, easily deflecting a swing from her cutlass before kicking her against the railing with a stone cold hoof. That is just as he turns to face another moki ready to strike with a shovel … only to be shot and staggered by a bolt of amber light from above.

   The floor then quakes. It quakes again. A Gorlek wielding a two-handed hammer fashioned from an old anvil approaches the door with heavy footfalls, blocking Apei's view of the fight with her large and hulking form.

   “Well, aren't ‘cha just the cutest little thing?” the Gorlek grins, licking her fangs before reaching out to touch the wall with one of her four paws.

   Only to yowl and to be met with a flash of pain as a right-angled triangle instantly grows out from where she touches it. Crimson flows from her withdrawn, wounded palm as her three eyes burn with scorn.

   “Why you little … !” bellows the she-Gorlek as the head of her weapon rises above her head.

   The starry-eyed savant behind the transparent wall, surrounded in an ethereal jade glow from behind, only tilts her head as she watches on with a childlike fascination colouring her distant expression. 

   Crack! Crraack! Crr-rac-ckk! 

   Kamo lowers her ears as fractures appear across the purple glass-like wall. But that's not what Apei sees.

  Shapes. She sees two-dimensional shapes increasing in number with each thunderous hammerfall. Large triangles. Tiny nonagons. A thirteen-sided polygon. More and more and yet more shapes; dividing upon division, upon division, with the fiery lion-lady as its artist.

   “Apei, be careful!” Kamo calls out, nearly flinching and breaking focus as the glowing cocoon fully wraps around Chafa's shoulder. 

   Apei turns back and smiles. “Don't worry. I won't let her hurt someone so agreeable with Endoxo’s Ratio.”

   Kamo can only nod in confusion.

   Apei turns back. Division … division … she thinks.

   The wall loudly shatters. Glass-like elements begin to fall.

   How inefficient and messy. But I know a simpler procedure.

   The two-tailed Hoan simply smiles and pushes her paws outwards by exactly 3 centimetres. The shards never touch the floor.

   Expansion!

   The wide-eyed Gorlek’s body finds itself painted with a lovely shade of sun-glittering purple; an impromptu piece of mosaic and biological art. 

   As the lioness yowls once more, stumbles backward and falls with the great force, some of the errant shards catch several of the other pirates outside. A fragment manages to slice through the drawstring of a crossbow. The rest impale themselves onto the floor, the railings, some of Chafa's boxes…

   And one slices Sem's bicep, causing him to grunt in pain. His billhook slips from his paws in the heat of pain and dissipates into swirls of light.

   One of the remaining moki stumbles back with a purple shard in his thigh. “Gaaah! This … this is crazy! They're crazy!!”

   A salamander hurls his crippled crossbow at Sem, who barely dodges. “W-we should leave! Run! Run!”

   “Flitch, get down here, we gotta go! Flitch!!”

   Flitch, a particularly sneaky moki, has managed to sneak up to the crow's nest with the lone inventor unaware of her presence. He spits a curse as he misses the next shot and prepares to reload his weapon, touching the lantern with two fingers and bringing a shimmering ball of amber glow which morphs into a bolt.

   “Heeey…”

   The inventor whirls around. Flinches against the railing for support as Flitch raises her cutlass.

   “This is for burning Dako!” Flitch yells shrilly.

   “Flitch!”

   “No, stop!!”

   Dabir turns his body to shield the amber lantern and raises a paw to guard his face. “SEM!” 

   Sem helplessly glances up and lowers his ears at the cry. "No…!”

   That is when a flash appears; a brilliant burst of lapis blue. Ipu Blinks into the air behind Flitch as he raises one of his mighty weapons high, and … !

   Wha-pangg!

   Ipu delivers a downward strike on Flitch’s head with a cast iron skillet. The frying pan is more than enough to render the moki unconscious, causing her to fall back down to the deck with a resounding crash, while the cook uses his monkey-like tail to catch himself on one of the ropes, hanging upside-down as he sends a cheeky salute in Dabir's direction. 

   “Did I just hear you call for Sem —.”

   “Shut up.”

   “Aw, no worries, princess. Stay safe in your ivory tower!”

   “Shut!”

   As the dust settles from Flitch’s fall, a thick and tense silence follows and descends upon the ship. Furtive looks are exchanged. No-one moves an inch. Seawater laps at the hull of the Dove.

   Sem lowers his gaze and affords himself a sigh of relief. He then pants as he stands, summons forth and points his billhook towards the remaining pirates, his grasp on the weapon slightly shaky from the accidental injury.

   “Do you wish to continue? There is plenty more where all that came from,” he growls in a low tone.

   The other Gorlek breathes hard, beaten and slashed pretty hard by Sem as he stands between the spirit and the rest of the cowering pirates, who rouse Flitch awake. Neither seem willing to attack. The silence thickens and tenses like the ropes.

   “Then go! Leave!” Sem suddenly barks, pushing them back with an approach of his billhook. “Save your lives while you still have them!”

   And so they do. One by one, the rest of the pirates begin to shimmy and scramble back to their skiffs. The she-Gorlek that shattered Apei's shield quietly weeps as much as her many wounds do. The salamander with the still-functioning crossbow dazedly pushes himself off the deck's railing on which he had been hanging off of. All eager to leave.

   Save for one. There is always one.

   A pipe begins to rise as the moki behind it burns with fiery vengeance. The ruby spirit flicks his ear, turns to look, but it's far too late to raise a paw, to step to the side. His eyes grow wide as the moki's cheeks swell with air and—

  “Watch out!” a hoarse voice rings out.

   “Captain—!”

   A resounding crack. A sharp, muffled impact.

   The moki’s arms and cheeks go slack. The bamboo pipe clatters to the floor and the feathered dart tumbles out. A smooth grey pebble has made itself a home in between his dulling sea moss orbs; a new eye that now weeps crimson.

   A leather sling sways in Kamo's paw as the moki collapses lifelessly to the floor, with the Noitoni breathing raggedly as a starburst of hideous veins slowly retract and shrink from her neck and shoulder.

   “Captain!!” cry out the pirates, immediately forgetting all their injuries, dropping any weapons and rushing to the fallen moki's side. 

   “Captain, captain, stay with us!”

   “No, no! Iko!”

   “How could this be?”

   “It’s just our first voyage … !” 

   “And may it be the last.”

   Emerging from the dining hall's doorway, supported by a staff and Apei's helping paw, Chafa rubs a neck and shoulder cleansed of toxic brew. Sem also looks at Apei in the eyes, who only tilts her head at him.

   “We warned you,” Chafa says with the calmness graveyards possess; a sureness like that of death's. “And now, you've failed. Glimpsers are never wrong.”

   Sem holds up his billhook. Dabir points his little crossbow. Ipu jumps down and brandishes his pans. Apei holds out a palm and constructs a purple pyramid, while Kamo simply sighs and licks her fangs, rolling a shoulder and neck likewise clean.

   “Go.” Chafa gestures to the offending ship with her staff, the cloudy gem on top catching the still-noon light. “May this moment serve as a lesson you will never forget.”

   The bruised Gorlek stifles hot tears as he gently cradles the moki’s body, whose eyelids have fluttered half-shut. “This … this isn't over! Mark our words, we'll avenge our captain!”

   Half of the group swears likewise. The other half remains silent or averts their gazes.

   “Then mad fools, the lot of you, to repeat history.” Chafa shakes her head. “And thus, I won't repeat myself. Take this chance to live while you still have it.”

   With tails between their legs, the surviving group of nine pick up their weapons and their dead, soon boarding their two skiffs once more and paddling back to their sloop. The afternoon sun continues to shine as the sea continues to shift and flow, where a skirmish started just as quickly as it had ended.

   As to why it started, they may never know. Avoidable, however? Chafa thinks not. Her Glimpses have never failed to come true … 

   But a tap on Chafa's shoulder interrupts her thoughts. The captain turns her gaze from the departing skiffs and looks down. It's Apei. 

   “Yes?” the captain asks.

   Apei, starry-eyed as ever, draws a circle and segments it into six equal slices.

   Chafa blinks. Then she chuckles despite herself and shakes her head with a smile. 

   “Pie?” Chafa asks. “Pie. After all that.”

   “You said that after chores were done, we'd get dessert. 1 + 1 = 2. Unless your 1 was actually a 0 … ”

   Chafa and the others look around the deck. Some of the boxes are askew and broken in, several wooden planks have splintered, and a part of the railing was lost in the fight, not to mention splatters of blood, sweat and drool that speckle all these surfaces. A list of additional chores immediately pop into the captain's heavy mind.

   “ ... you know, I could go for a slice of pie,” Chafa decides to relent with a sigh. “A lovely reward for our efforts this afternoon.”

   “Pie does sound nice,” Kamo agrees though still licking her lips and fangs.

   Sem punches Ipu on the shoulder. “You were pretty good, brother!”

   To which the cook grins and punches Sem back. “Are you kidding? You were amazing back there!”

   Dabir rolls his eyes and strides back to the dining room. “You two get a room … I'm going for some pie.”

   “Whatever you say, princess!” Ipu cheekily calls.

   “At least someone is treating me like royalty!”

   Seeing the crew start to get along somewhat … Chafa allows herself a small smile. Good morale is just as important as having clean food and water onboard. 

   Ipu asks Kamo how she is doing. Sem and Apei discuss the accidental injury. Dabir glances back at the others, seemingly in thought as he stands under the wooden doorway … but then looks down at the flickering lantern at his side. He steps inside and out of sight.

   Meanwhile, Chafa looks back at the sea … and furrows her brow. She looks around. Blinks and rubs her eyes. Looks again.

   Where is the other ship?

Chapter Text

The cream-coloured sails of the Ivory Dove have toasted into a golden brown underneath a setting sun, the glittering cerulean sea likewise darkening into navies and blacks in preparation of the approaching night. It has only been six hours since their seaborne skirmish, with light repairs and reorganization having taken place. Fortunately for them, they sail to a place where a certain nephew's four-armed caretaker is a rather skilled woodworker. Until then, though, they'll have to make do and patch things up as best they can.

   “Making do with what one has:” a facet of life in six words.

    But now is the time for well-earned meals and for their hooves to be kicked up. However, as the hearty aroma of a spiced potato casserole permeates the air of the sailing ship, a mathematician finds herself at the back of the poop deck as she finds her paws occupied by her woven mirages. She aims to reach a new record this evening — just how many triangles can she make with a length of string measuring exactly 33 centimeters?

   Now if I loop this finger here … then tug this finger through that loop … and bring this finger … through … thiiiis —

   “Hey!”

   Apei jumps in her seat atop a wooden crate, her mouse-like ears flicking up and towards the intruding voice. Her focus slips away like a weaselly fish in oiled-up paws, further causing her constructed strings to melt away into vanishing purple wisps. A quick and furtive glance reveals a gentle jade glow climbing up the wooden stairs.

   “Oh, I'm sorry…” Kamo smiles with an apology just as soft. “I hope I didn't startle you too much ... but you already look a little alarmed. That's my bad.”

   A warm gust of wind sends Apei's purple scarf aflutter as she tugs it upwards to cover her mouth. “Did something come up? What is the matter?” ask her floating words.

   The mathematician glances at the two wooden bowls held in Kamo's paws. She doesn't think much of it until the healer extends one of them to her. The spiced aroma of baked potatoes that spill forth from it is divine.

   “The matter concerns your stomach. I came to bring you your dinner,” Kamo chuckles. “You didn't come back down after measuring the knots, but … may I join you?”

   Apei glances around at first. She then shrugs, tugs down her scarf and quietly pats the crate next to hers before placing her palms together, wags them in a gesture of thanks and finally accepts the bowl with eager paws. 

   At the foot of their makeshift seats lies a measuring device; a wooden log chip tied to a knot-dotted rope, thoroughly soaked after being thrown overboard and into the swirling seawater to measure the traveling speed of the ship. It, too, rests after a long day of work.

   14 knots was the last reading. A rather decent speed. Should my projections be correct (and really, when are they ever wrong?), we should arrive in Niwen within two weeks. Hopefully the little golden number we plan to bring along will have finished his training —

   Kamo deeply inhales and sighs as she makes herself comfortable amidst the gentle rocking of the ship. “Mmm … smells good, doesn't it? The food, the salty sea air … it's very good we're not the type to get seasick, huh?”

   Apei blinks at her with a spoon in her mouth, her thoughts interrupted once again. Five seconds of wooden creaking and splashing pass by.

   “Yes.” That's all she can say.

   “Mmmh…” Kamo hums and smiles as warm, creamy baked potatoes melt and spread across her hungry tongue. “Oh, that tastes good, doesn't it? What does Ipu put in it, I wonder?” she asks.

   Apei blinks again. Her mouse-like ears lower slightly as she tilts her head and shrugs her shoulders.

   “I do not know. You should probably ask Ipu.” 

   “Well, I will, if you so insist,” Kamo chuckles again as she polishes off her spoon and glances to the cloud-streaked sky; a sunset amber streaked with wisps of marigold yellow and salmon pink. 

   Her bat-like ears then perk a little when she happens to catch two pairs of hoofsteps, with the healer observing Sem and Ipu walking out onto the deck with musical instruments in their paws; a guitar-esque balalaika with a triangular body held by the ruby former and a ukulele held by the azure latter. They seem to be enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, too, as they take their seats with their backs against the sturdy mast, beginning to tune their strings while exchanging a few words. 

   “Hmm. What nice weather we're all having, no?” Kamo then distantly asks, looking up once again and being reminded of the muchness of their sky. Apei, however, does not share in her delight. 

   The little Hoan’s brow now furrows heatedly like the melted sheets of the 3-layered casserole in her paws, the mathematician huffily bringing her legs and knees to her chest, a gesture that doesn't escape Kamo's keen eye. Healers like her (just her) tend to be drawn to expressions of discomfort like flies are to jars of honey.

   Kamo looks around Apei at first, thinking that the Hoan had somehow hurt a part of her body. But upon noticing nothing, Kamo returns to the tightened expression clouding Apei's face. “Is something the matter…?” she asks.

   “I am having a hard time keeping up,” scrawl and flash the words next to her head. 

   The healer notices that the “penmanship” of this sentence seems a little less elegant, as if conjured and written in a hurry. Kamo gently raises a brow.

   “Keeping up with what?” she tilts her head, her voice as gentle as ever.

   To which Apei drops the spoon back in her bowl with a clink and scrawls more words with curt, pointed, angular gestures.

   She gestures to her left. “The smell of the food.”

   Gestures to the right. “The smell of the air.”

   Up and down. “Seasickness,” and “The taste of the food.”

   Followed by “What does Ipu put in the food,” “What is the recipe,” and “The weather.” 

   The latter of which she emphasizes with a decisive aggravation. This range of dissimilar topics form a floating circle of glowing text, with Apei writing a single question in the center: 

   “What are we talking about???”

   Kamo never knew that silent tirades could be so loud. Nonetheless, the healer leans back, lowers the bowl to her lap and frowns as if having been blasted with every word. The notes being plucked from Sem and Ipu's strings still sound rather discordant and disparate. Inharmonious.

   “It … it's just small talk,” the Noitoni manages to say. “Can we not have small talk?”

   Apei shakes her head and dismisses the circle of questions, her mouth burying itself behind the scarf once more like an ostrich sticking its head into the ground. She then closes her eyes for a moment … and takes a deep breath.

   2. 3. 5. 7. 11. 13 ...

   Kamo watches as little prime numbers write themselves above the mathematician's head. Once written, they ascend towards the sky where they dissolve into sparkling flecks like the bubbling seafoam lining the waters below. 17 is followed by 19, which is followed by 23 & 29 with 31 & 37 soon dissolving into the wind as a few more numbers rise, too.

   With each number set free, the creases of stress in Apei's face also melts away. A calmed spirit soon sits before Kamo as the Hoan takes a moment to think what to write next.

   “Plenty of that can be found back in Hoa,” Apei eventually says. “‘Small talk’ is just another way to say “empty words”. They are like … it is like putting 7「+」between two numbers.”

   She calmly scribes it in the air. 1 +++++++ 1 = 2.

   “When just 1「+」will do the job.”

   She flicks her paw. As the plus signs collapse into each other and merge, Apei goes back to eating her casserole as 1 + 1 = 2 remains hovering before them. Kamo takes a moment to simply look at the simplified equation as the sun continues to set in the eternal distance, pondering over not only the things Apei said, but also in the rather unique way she expresses herself. She only now remembers Chafa mentioning that Apei is a disparist, too, and her ears droop at the fact that she forgot that.

   “Apei…” Kamo eventually speaks up, readjusting her position on her crate. “Small talk is just … it's just how most people break the ice, especially between two people who have only recently met, like you and I.”

   Apei huffs and glances to the side as she chews. “I am sorry if I sounded angry. I just do not —”

   A tender paw on the mathematician’s shoulder gently cuts her sentence short. Upon following the arm that leads to the chest and up to the face above it, Apei finds a jade-hued smile; a gentle downward arch with maximum depression of six millimetres. A good and harmonious number.

   “I didn't mean to stress you during your break, and for that I'm sorry, Apei,” the healer says, patting her on the shoulder then gently smoothing down her purple scarf. “But now, I know that there is no ice to be broken; I can get to the point and speak directly with you. And next time, I'll ask if you want us to sit in silence. I also like silence from time to time.”

   Apei's ears slightly perk up. Next time?

   Kamo smiles a little wider. She then pats her on the forearm, glances away and hops off the box with a hum, beginning to clop towards the stairs of the deck with her bowl of casserole …

   When something gently takes hold of the tip of her flat, rectangular tail. Looking back reveals a glowing purple paw connected to a savant nestled deep into her scarf with an averted gaze.

   “I did not say you had to go. You can stay if you want.”

   Kamo blinks at that. She then chuckles softly, clops back to the box and seats herself next to the little Hoan once more, the wooden surface creaking gently. “Would you like it to be quiet?” she asks.

   Apei nods. Starry eyes twinkle at her.

   And Kamo nods back. “Okay. Your scarf is very pretty, by the way. The color and the infinity symbol pattern are very … you.”

   Starry eyes look up at the smiling healer once more. Apei is not sure why, but … it feels right to smile with her as they continue to dig into their bowls. 

   A few minutes go by in a comforting silence as salty seawater laps against the hull. The discordant melodies being plucked by Sem and Ipu begin to harmonize and fill the air with song. They're actually pretty good; even the backs of Apei's hooves gently kick against the box holding her up as she likewise nods and bobs her head to a rhythm.

   “They’re not bad, no?” Kamo speaks again. “Oh, by the way…”

   Both of Apei's ears and her calm expression go deadpan; as flat as the distant horizon in the face of their short-lived silence. Despite it, however, a short laugh snorts out of Kamo's chest as she covers her mouth with a paw.

   “I … hah … sorry, Apei … ” Kamo eventually says after finding humour in how expressive the Hoan can be. “Right. One thing at a time … but this will interest you, I'm sure.”

   … Apei's expression cautiously softens. She nods for Kamo to continue.

   “What did you mean earlier, in the fight? That I was … ‘agreeable’ to a ratio? It sounded like a good thing. Is it a good thing?”

   It is as if a child were being given a jar of candy to have all on their own. Apei's back straightens like the z-axis of a graph, her mouse-like ears likewise flick upwards and her starry eyes shine like the celestial bodies slowly appearing in the encroaching night. It takes every fiber of Kamo's being to avoid fawning over her like how she did with the model of Gen.

   “It is very good to be agreeable with Endoxo's Ratio!” Apei eagerly nods.

   Kamo's head can't help but nod eagerly to match the mathematician's energy. “I remember reading somewhere that this ratio looks like a spiral, and that this spiral can be found everywhere.”

   Apei nods yet again as her paw raises to weave shapes once more. “That is true! For example…”

   From the way sunflower seeds are arranged within the heads of their flowers; the swirling structure of a nautilus shell found on the beach; the way herds of reindeer seem to walk in circles in the snow for no apparent reason — even the tuft atop Apei's head — it is found there, that wondrous constant of a spiral. Found in almost every aspect of life, it is most certainly a form of truth in this messy world. A pattern of rightness.

   “But … ” Kamo speaks again. “How am I “agreeable” to this ratio, this spiral? I don't see how I fit into it.”

   Apei shakes her head with a rather amused smile. “Of course you cannot see it. Only I can.”

   That's when the mathematician puts down her nearly-finished bowl and takes Kamo's face into her amethyst paws.

   “The circumference of your cheeks and eyes … the curvatures of your ears … the proportional length of your tail to that of your height … even the degree of rotundity found in your belly!”

   It is a round belly. Apei pats it in wonder; soft, warm and jade-hued. Is that a bit of envy Kamo spies?

   “The Ratio can be found in things that support life. I suppose, in a way, the Ratio is a mark that shows that something is right. And for your body to be so agreeable to Endoxo's Ratio … ”

   Apei looks up and smiles brightly at Kamo as she retracts her paws and clasps them atop her lap.

   “I suppose, then, logically and mathematically speaking, you are all that is right with life. This is actually my theory behind your healing abilities — that you are able to correct what is incorrect, because inside you is correctness."

   Kamo's cheeks go from a light and easy green to a deep and flushed emerald. Her mouth is hidden once more and her tail bashfully coils itself around her leg as she laughs again, to which Apei simply tilts her head in confusion. Why is she laughing?

   “I'm sorry, just … wow, I've never heard anyone use math to describe me in such a way before … !” Kamo says, finally lowering her paw and revealing the lingering moments of a fanged smile.

   Apei would normally take issue with this. She just explained a profound truth of this world! But upon seeing the Ratio in the curvature of her mouth…

   She, too, smiles. How could she not, with someone so agreeable?

   “It is no matter. Now, I must tell you how Endoxo went about discovering this constant. You see, she observed the way a gust of wind blew through a dusty room … ”

❧

“And so? What happened next?” Ipu asks.

   “Well, everyone managed to get out … ” Sem replies as he flicks dry his paws of soapy water next to a dish rack.

   The memory of that day still comes as clear as glass — ruby-glowing siblings scrambling for the snowy evening beyond the carved, windy tunnel; the glittering jewels and ore they spent hours finding and mining now tumbling from their grasps with some shattering and scattering across the frigid ground — the value of all those rocks, soon to return to the earth’s embrace once more, rendered moot in the face of raining rocks that threaten to snuff out their glows.

   “Quickly, quickly! Get out of here! Go!!” 

   Despite the very earth quaking all around him, Sem had placed his back and weight against the wooden beam of a frame meant to support the weight of the earth above it; earlier dislodged and was about to fall and trap everyone … before relying upon the strength of a rabbit-eared spirit to stay standing for just a while longer. A sea of faces rush past him as he calls for them to leave, a roiling tapestry of terror and desperation … when Sem finally catches the last spirit hurriedly approaching the exit, causing him to relax a little out of relief and prepare to leave.

   Which was a mistake. 

   Just shy from being given complete support, the wooden beam behind him suddenly splinters and splits with a mad rapid fire of loud, creaking snaps. Sem frantically slams his back against once more, but it is much too late as it begins to crumble underneath the unfathomable weight it once held up. A torrent of dust cascades onto them, and as he and the last spirit lock eyes in that split second …

   “Why did you do it?” Ipu asks as he dries his paws with a dishcloth.

   Sem gazes down into the murky tub; into the eyes of his mirrored self.

   “It … just seemed like the right thing to do, at the time … ” Sem distantly replies.

   Shallow breaths. Rocks and shale all around, pressing against his arms and back and trapping his legs. A large boulder with silver veins dully illuminated by his ruby glow hangs a mere few feet right above his snout. His chest just has enough space to rise and press against yet another rock above him. And as the adrenaline starts to wear off with a growing acceptance of his end, a sharp pain begins to rise in his right ear …

   To which Sem points at his scarred ear while looking at Ipu. 

   “And that's what happened,” he smiles.

   “To think you survived that … !” breathes Ipu. “It’s no less than a miracle. And since you said everyone survived, that means pushing that guy towards the exit worked, huh?”

   Sem nods. Everyone survived that day. 

   Ipu opens his mouth to ask another question, but falls silent and turns his head with Sem when a jade glow clops into the dining room. 

   “Hey, everyone,” Kamo chirps as she softly stifles a yawn. “Can I get two bowls? Apei doesn't seem to have come down yet, unless she has…?”

   Ipu shakes his head and gestures to the side. “Knock yourself out. You can use the bowls Sem just washed.”

   Kamo smiles at the tall ruby spirit as she steps up to the dish rack. “Thanks, Sem.”

   “Not a problem, not a problem…” the warrior murmurs a little too quickly, his one-fanged smile accompanied by dimples a size too large for a simple thanks with paws also moving behind his red-caped back. Ipu remains silent as he watches the exchange with a subtle and knowing smile, before glancing at the other spirit in the dining room with them.

   “Care for seconds?” Ipu asks the amber glow before adding: “Oh, ingenious inventor?”

   Dabir shakes his bull-horned head, his pensive features hidden behind the pyramidal lantern resting next to an empty bowl on the dining table. “The compliment is appreciated. Your casserole was simply delicious, oh culinary master.”

   “What’s got you so focused, hmm?” Ipu asks with a slight tilt of the head, deer-like ears curiously flicking as he approaches the table.

   “Making sure the flame doesn't go out.” Dabir smoothly closes the triangular window of frosted glass, his expression wary as he watches Ipu take the bowl before raising the multi-lensed goggle from his left eye. The lantern is then moved aside to show his smug and satisfied expression. “For as you all well know, it's my duty to make sure everything around us stays normal—”

   “So that we don't grow heads larger than your ego,” Sem says with a slight roll of his eyes. “We got it.”

   “If anything, that would be an improvement,” Dabir hums. “Finally, surrounded by people of my level.”

   “Catch you later, boys,” Kamo hums and exits the dining room with a steaming bowl of potato casserole in either paw. The healer turns back momentarily to catch Sem waving at her, to which she smiles, nods and eventually steps out of view … just as the warrior releases the last paw on his furry wolf-like tail with a sigh, allowing it to wag a little.

   “I also think I'll have to go…” Dabir announces as he picks up and belts his lantern, seemingly distracted by something. “I have something I'd like to discuss with the captain.”

   “Remember to knock on her door!” Ipu reminds him as he clops out.

   And soon, the two glows of red and blue are what remain in the dining room. As Ipu goes about washing Dabir's bowl, moving his azure wristbands up his arms so they don't get soaked, he turns to Sem with a smile and finally raises the question he wanted to ask.

   “So, what happened next?” Ipu asks. “After the cave-in.”

   “That is … another story, another time,” Sem hums and claps the Friolian on the shoulder. “But say, I saw you playing an instrument for a bit when we were moving things around. Is that yours?”

   “Yeah, the ukulele’s mine. Why?”

 “What say we go outside after you're done, and we strum a few strings, brother?” Sem smiles. “Besides. I want to know why you're out here instead of staying in paradise.”

   It seems only fair — a story for another. The two spirits thus meet at the base of the Dove's main mast with the largest of the triangular sails catching the fading sunset, the shadows of taut and hanging ropes casting and forming a dark, shifting lattice across its toasted surface.

   “What kind of a guitar is that?” Ipu asks with utmost curiosity as he raises his ukulele.

   “This ‘guitar’, my brother, is called a balalaika,” Sem smiles, proudly displaying the guitar-like instrument with its notable triangular body. Several sections on the wood dully gleam while most of it does not — probably once varnished to a shine, but has long since gone without the polished splendor it once knew.

   Furthermore, Ipu is able to briefly catch several letters — names — etched onto the back of the instrument with varying penmanships: Swilo … Arcan … Moltok …

   More stories for other times … presumes the sailor as Sem adjusts his red cloak before sitting with him, both of them moving and coordinating their fluffy tails so as not to twist them accidentally.

   A ruby-glowing paw strums the strings of the balalaika, producing a … less-than-satisfactory, discordant caterwaul far from what a neutral strum should sound like. Sem lowers his ears and chuckles sheepishly as his negligence is revealed by his own instrument.

   “No worries, go ahead and tune them,” Ipu chuckles with him as he plucks a pleasant melody, his fingers moving smoothly and deftly with an air of experience. “I’ll also tell you my story as promised … but you will probably be disappointed.”

   As Ipu continues to play while Sem tunes his strings, both joining to weave an inharmonious series of pluckings of rising and descending pitches, the Friolian tells his story. It's a rather short and fairly common story, repeated by many.

   “A wanderlust born from curiosity,” Sem sums and chuckles knowingly. “Isn't that a deadly combination…”

   Ipu laughs. “Staring into the endless horizon only made me want to explore it all. I knew Friol was pretty safe, but … very little changes on those islands, and at some point, the pranks we often did were something … was something I outgrew.”

   Ipu gazes off for a moment, the ghost of a smile on his lips, just as Sem flicks his fingers across the strings and produces a perfect neutral strum. The azure-glowing spirit’s ears flick up at that. 

   “All tuned and ready to go, brother?” Ipu asks.

   Sem nods. “Sounds that way. Now, let's see how we're going to make this work … ”

   And so the strings vibrate once again as their masters seek to bring them into unity. What if they had the ukulele act as the bass and the balalaika act as the front … no, the ukulele sounds much too light to act as the bass. What about the other way around?

   They fiddle with it a little more and before they know it, with Sem as a deep and heavy bass and Ipu as the light and plucky front; both stomping their hooves onto the deck, the Ivory Dove soon fills with jaunty pluckings and strummings that seem to make the ship fly.  

   “Heeeey, you're not so bad!” Ipu grins as he bobs his body to the beat.

   “You're pretty decent too,” Sem smiles, his fingers dexterously gliding up and down the neck with the excitement of a rabbit learning to run for the first time. “We should do this more often.”

   “That we should!” Ipu nods eagerly. “You should also teach me some songs from Altum.”

   “Only if you teach me some Friolian songs.”

  And Ipu lightly punches him on the shoulder. “Now you've got yourself a deal.”

   Ipu once again glances at the names at the back of the balalaika, his curiosity only growing like their kindred bond.

   Quietly, he hopes that someday … his name will be carved there, too. Though, another question comes up, and he asks if Sem is willing to entertain him. He is.

   "You seem like the heroic type and everything, with the story of saving everyone from the cave-in and wearing that dashing red cloak ... I just want to ask if there were any ... you know ... since you probably got very popular ... " Ipu trails off.

   Sem arches an eyebrow and smirks. "Are you asking if I've had a lover before?"

   "I'd be surprised if you didn't. You're strong, brave, righteous, selfless, handsome to boot —" 

   But Sem chuckles, pauses his strumming to lightly punch Ipu on the shoulder ... and shaking his head. "No, Ipu. I've not had a lover. Not yet. And to me, that's alright. After all ... "

   Just as he says that, a lone peal of laughter erupts from the back of the ship. The two male spirits down on the main deck just so happen to have the perfect angle in which to spot Kamo, who now covers her mouth to cover her smile.

   Sem sighs and wags his tail again.

   "After all, I wait. For the right one."

❧

As a healer and a mathematician sit together for supper while a sailor and a hero strum strings at the base of the mast, an inventor makes his way, uninvited, to the captain's quarters. The open door is a sign for him to enter and his hooves are welcomed by the plushness of a soft rug.

   “Captain, I wish to speak to you about something,” Dabir announces.

   Surrounded by effects, curios and curated souvenirs collected from all corners of the Kurestalian globe much like her office back in Nibel, Chafa glances up from an open book laid on her lap whilst seated at her oaken desk. 

   “One is usually supposed to knock before entering one's quarters, Dabir,” Chafa calmly says, lifting the book and placing it atop the occupied table where she lays a cloth bookmark across the yellowed pages. “But how may I help you?”

   The Kainari crosses his arms as his amber glow moves deeper into the historian's nest, the metal hinges of his pyramidal lantern squeaking softly with each step. The discordant strumming of two stringed instruments lightly drift into the captain's quarters amid the gentle rocking and creaking of thick ropes and varnished wood. 

   “Funny how you say that I am supposed to alert you, when you clearly chose not to alert us about those pirates.”

   Chafa leans back in her plush leather chair, elbows on the armrests and raised paws knitted together in an easy arch. “So that is what this is about.”

   Dabir places his paws on the bolted desk, leaning his weight onto it and looking down at the elder behind it. “I am willing to consider forgiving you for doing that if you can explain what bedeviled reason you had to withhold such information from us. From your crew. Actually, wait, no!”

   Chafa comes face to face with an accusatory finger, its master scoffing just as vindictively.

   “Ipu said it. You told him that it would be smooth sailing. You lied to him, to your first mate — to us!” 

   A slam echoes across the room. Dabir's fist now lies on the desk; dead center on the open book’s pages. Chafa does not flinch, instead levelly raising her weathered eyes at him, her tail flicking calmly behind her.

   Dabir continues. “I am fairly certain that I speak for everyone when I say that no-one is keen on placing their fates in such unreliable paws, captain. How can we trust anything that comes from your mouth from here on out?”

   To which Chafa glances away for a moment. The discordant notes still spilling into the room start to warmly harmonize and complement one another. Sunset amber-lit currents continue to ripple under the tread of the Dove.

   “... I did deceive you,” Chafa eventually says, now crossing one leg over the other. “But I did it for a perfectly good reason.”

   “And what, pray tell, would that be?” Dabir coldly asks and crosses his arms once more.

   The book on the table is closed and moved aside as Chafa reveals a weathered map and measuring instruments strewn about. Dabir is able to see (not that the historian is trying to hide it) a line of trajectory starting from a large Noitoni island and heading straight to a landmass labeled “Niwen,” in whose illustrated waters has a circle drawn some distance from the shore. About a day's sailing.

   A small rattle causes the Kainari’s ears to flick up. Chafa holds up and presents a common instrument to the inventor as a small metal arrow within it swivels slightly.

   “ … A compass,” Dabir flatly states. “What about it?”

   Chafa places the compass back onto the map and begins to look through the drawers of her oaken desk, using her tail to grasp the handles and to pull or push them. 

   “Like a captain who, in their entire life out at sea, relies on compasses to tell them where true north lies, so too have I relied on my Glimpses for most of my life. Never has a Glimpse failed to come true, just as the needle in this compass unfailingly points north.”

   She shuts a drawer and opens another. 

   “But how long, do you think, will it stay that way?” she then asks.

   Dabir keeps his arms crossed, silent in his expectation.

   “Think about it,” Chafa continues. “The inverted rain in Noiton. The struggles of the Spirit Trees to complete simple tasks. The sudden disappearance of Kainar’s Light — things that were once thought to be impossible are now happening before our very eyes. Anything seems possible these days.”

   There it is. 

   Dabir watches as Chafa sits up straight once more. A dull lump of metal now sits in the palm of her paw.

   “And if anything and everything is possible … ” she thoughtfully sighs.

   The palm-sized lump of metal is placed beside the compass.

   “I — we — must prepare for every possibility.”

  As any would surmise, the needle in the compass immediately shifts to face the magnet. 

   Chafa then moves it and sets it a safe distance away from the copper instrument, causing its little arrow to swivel back northward.

   “Forgive me, captain,” Dabir says as sarcasm still drips from every syllable. “But I still don't understand how lying to the crew counts as ‘preparation.’”

   Chafa gestures, once again, to the table; the map; the compass. 

   “Even if the compass goes mad, all responsibility still falls upon the captain to care for the crew. And the captain, myself, must see to it that the crew is prepared to face any given situation — even if readings turn out to be wrong later down the line.”

   The inventor’s arms remain as unmoving as his hardened expression. 

   “It is easy,” Chafa then says, “to see when a compass is inaccurate when it points in any direction other than north. But when it comes to my Glimpses, I have no idea when or how they could prove to be false — and I can only know after the fact. For all I know, it could happen quietly and without warning.

   “For example, and it could very well play out this way: I Glimpse into the future one day. I see ourselves sailing in calm waters. But later on in the day, the weather turns violent and a rainstorm nearly causes us to capsize. If that happens, what will be at fault? Myself, or the ability that has never failed me — and should never fail — until that point?”

   Dabir's expression seems to soften at this. His raised shoulders sink slightly. His fingers drum along his bicep.

   “And by then,” Chafa adds as she glances to her staff propped against the wall. “Will faults even matter if we cannot survive a single wrong reading?” 

   The inventor seems to ponder over the elder's words as he, too, glances off to the side. The lantern hanging from his amber cloth belt quietly flickers from within the frosted glass as the ship gently rocks to one side while cresting over a small wave.

   “It doesn't change the fact that you lied to us. Risked all our lives in what feels like a test,” Dabir says, still glancing away.

   To which Chafa gestures to him with an upward palm. He turns to look at her.

   “I have already admitted that I deceived you, and it is true that I wanted to see our combined capabilities under an unpredictable and dangerous situation. You are free to feel angry at what I did … but you cannot deny the results. You all worked exceptionally well together.”

   Kamo's laughter dances in the air. The two stringed instruments play in wondrous time and harmony.

   “And if, from where I stand, is still lower than where you stand, Dabir…”

   Chafa places her paws on the table and stands, levelly meeting Dabir's gaze. She takes her staff.

   “Then it's a good thing that the only way left is up. But I can't complete the climb on my own.”

  Dabir glances down at an extended paw of pale turquoise glow.

   “Let's help each other, shall we?” Chafa asks with a smile.

   Dabir is silent for a while longer. His tail curls and coils behind him.

   An amber glow joins that of turquoise as they shake paws.

   “Know and be assured that I have forgiven you from the unfathomable depths of my merciful heart,” Dabir hums, withdrawing his paw and crossing his arms. 

   “And I assure you, Dabir,” Chafa says, “that from now on, no further deceptions will come from my lips. Or, at least until we're finished with our trip to the library. By then, we'll probably have parted ways.”

   The elder pats the inventor's arm as she moves past him, her hooves and staff clopping on the wooden floorboards as she approaches the door to her quarters.

   Dabir turns. “Where are you going?”

   Chafa turns back. Gestures to the deck where music flows as if it were obvious. “To mention what we discussed to the crew.”

   The inventor blinks at that, seemingly confused.

   “What I did was a serious breach of trust,” Chafa says. “And it must be brought up and dealt with, together, as a crew.”

   She extends a paw to him.

   “Are you coming? I'll need someone to make sure everyone is on the same page.”

 Dabir bites his lower lip. Then he smirks as he begins to follow.

   “Someone does need to make sure Sem can keep up...”

Chapter Text

“Come on, ya sahbi! Just a little bit won't hurt, right? Not to mention it has been so long since you joined us … ”

   The setting sun hangs yet but a fair distance over the shimmering Niwenian Sea, casting the last few rays of light upon a group of Gorleki, their stuffed toolboxes and the brand new grain silo they just finished putting together. After a job well done, some relaxation is in order and well-deserved … but one of them raises a paw and shakes a maned head with lips adorned by a polite smile.

   “Thanks, but no thanks, Qunya,” Watada nods respectfully. “Besides, you know that I have given up on the stuff.”

   “It's just beer, ya sahbi,” the older Qunya chides and shakes his head. The senior builder places a pair of paws on his hips and crosses the other pair over his chest. “We can … water it down for you … ugh. But what a waste that would be, knowing what's just come in!”

   Watada subconsciously licks his lower lip. 

   His round, lion-like ears also pick up the friendly banter around them and their plans to try a new kind of fizz imported from distant Friol. It tastes spectacular with a smooth, cream-like texture endowed with slight notes of vanilla bean that are followed by aftertastes of honey … or so he's been told. The azure spirits on that paradisaic island certainly know how to have a good time.

   ‘It has been a while … and I miss the barside company …’ Watada thinks.

   “You actually don't even have to drink anything!” Qunya continues to bargain, lingering with Watada as the group begins to depart with their toolboxes in tow. “Just come and be with us for a bit. Surely little Gen can take care of himself at home for a while … can't he, ya sahbi?”

   Upon hearing that name, however, Qunya would watch the lip of his junior perk upwards at the corner, turning his polite smile into a small, still polite, yet resolute smirk. The senior pouts at that. It would appear he spoke a little too much in his offer.

   ‘I miss it … but I don't miss it that much.’

   “No, ya akhi,” Watada says firmly and nods respectfully again. “Besides, I already have another engagement with someone else before I go home, and I do not intend to go back on words I've given.”

   Qunya sighs. He then pats Watada on the shoulder. “Fine, fine. At least I tried. But if you ever change your mind, just let me know!”

   “I shall … keep your invitation in mind,” Watada mildly says. It is not like he is lying.

   With that, Qunya runs off to join the others and to pat the shoulder of another younger builder. “Thought you could leave your senior behind, Mismar? Let's go get some drinks!” laughs his diminishing voice.

   The chatter and excited commotion soon vanish from the site of the silo … but Watada still lingers for a little while longer as a warm spring breeze blows past the trees and ruffles his fur. For despite the firmness that coloured his words just now …

   ‘… I still really want a beer … ’ 

   He glances back at the newly built grain silo. It took quite some effort to get it completed: from a schematic on a sheaf of paper (with the doodle of an infinity symbol he chose not to erase); calculating the cost and estimating the construction time; collecting and bringing the necessary materials to this spot before finally putting it all together — eventually creating something long-lasting, functional and present in the world.

   It took effort and time to get to this point, just like with the vows he took that one fateful day. Is he willing to throw away all that progress today?

   ‘No. No, I am not.’

   The handle of his toolbox creaks slightly under a tightening grip … before shifting back into place like its owner's sigh.

   ‘Let's just walk. Just start walking. Back to the city.’

   ‘Then to him.’

   And so he does. Footfall after laborious footfall; his desire for the tempting tang of alcohol and its resulting warm buzz another burden his exhausted body must carry.

   A city, indeed. The days of scrounging are far behind them. After the passing of a little over a century since Niwen's Decay, combined with a population that grew steadily along with its needs and wants, the Wellspring Glades transformed from a village to a town, then to a city with its walls and livestock and ports. Everything one might ever need — maps, spirit shards, weapons, food and vices … it's all here. For better or for worse. Lion-like ears perk up again at laughter, chatter … and the familiar crisp crack of wooden tankards full of frothy drink. He can even pinpoint a certain Gorlek's voice through the lantern-lit siren song of alcohol’s aroma.

   “Come on, Mismar!” Qunya guffaws. “Don't tell me you're tapping out now!”

   Followed by a wave of cheers, hearty chants of Mismar, Mismar, Mismar! … and yet another raucous burst of laughter and applause, paws clapping proudly on a young Gorlek's back and shoulders, and orders to the tavern servers for another round of drinks. The tavern thus hooks in another loyal customer.

   Watada was a loyal customer once. He was also once able to slam back ten whole tankards with each wooden mug the size of his massive fist. Was it impressive? Perhaps at some point. Now, though, he no longer walks a path where he thinks of such feats as worthy of boasting. Neither does he walk down the usual path past the rowdy tavern that leads to the city square, instead taking a tight and crooked cobblestone byway that's begun to be overtaken by dust and weeds. It takes a little longer and a bit of navigation (and nose-holding) to reach his destination through this path (it's worth it), and he has been meaning to clean this neglected little alley for himself … but he'll get to it. Someday.

   He is nonetheless grateful for this path. It acts as a physical deterrent — why risk getting burned by running through a forest fire when paths are available for one to skirt and go around and escape it?

   Watada soon wrenches himself out of the crooked byway, dusts himself off as best as he can and steps into the heart of the city. 

   In the center of the square proudly stands an oak tree thirty years of age, under which announcements are made, votes are cast and other large events are held; the sturdy plant a reminder that despite the roads of cobblestone and its defensive walls made of mixtures of cement and plaster, that all began from Ori and his life-giving light. Ropes hang from its verdant branches and connect to the surrounding buildings as they hold up rainbow assortments of colorful flags that flutter softly in the warm spring breeze. Stalls and shops adorned with tarps likewise full of hue also occupy a large part of the square, with each of their owners plying and advertising their services, goods and businesses. Watada, however, walks past all these, though briefly greeting some of the people in them, as he makes his way towards the city's notice board. He did not have a chance to read it this morning as he often does, and he'd like to take a look before going home. It's always good to be informed.

   “Let's see what's new today … ” Watada hums and places a pair of paws on his hips.

   One new poster with the painted likenesses of sword, bow-and-arrow, shield and bandage-bearing moki, salamanders, Gorleki and stout, fluffy, white-and-green gopher-like ezovi reads: “Niwen needs YOU! Join the Oaken Guard today to protect our home!”

   Watada crosses his other pair of arms and deeply sighs. To have such a poster put up means that things are getting serious. He looks at other notices.

   A piece of paper next to the recruitment poster reads: “Snappers sighted near my farm! Drive them away for a reward!”

   Another notice says: “Leaping Mantises harassing my home at night! Deal with them for 500 orbs!”

   And yet another: “Skeetos keep attacking my bee farm! Find and destroy the nest for a lifetime of honey!”

  ‘Hence all the drafting …’ Watada purses his lips and sighs again. He can only hope that things will return to normal … and that all the training will be enough. 

   ‘Why? Why did it have to be him?’ 

  ‘And why was I chosen to help see this through?’

   With a mind weighed heavy with these thoughts alongside the long day's exhaustion, his eyes glaze over the following posters and headlines as their words melt into a visual soup of ink, letters and paper: The Niwenian Newshorn has acquired a printing press … the Spirit Tree is having difficulties connecting to Spirit Wells, is it connected to the increase of beast attacks? Stay tuned … Mokk’s Magnificent Museo-emporium has a forty percent discount on all items that each hail from distant corners of Kurestal …

   Watada reflexively rolls all three eyes at the last one. He continues to read a little more … perhaps a little too much.

   Come on down and bring your chums over to the Line & Sinker! A mug of brand-new vanilla-infused beer from distant Friol awaits you —

   The handheld instruments of wood, stone and metal begin to rattle from within his toolbox as his grip, seemingly with a mind of its own, tightens on its handle once again. The sudden discomfort inflicted upon his own aching muscles, however, seems to jolt him back to conscious thought.

   “I … I suppose that's enough news for today…” Watada mutters to himself, though subconsciously licking his lips again and trembling slightly … 

   ‘I have that appointment to get to. The faster it’s all done with, the faster I can go home.’

   ‘Home. To him.’

   The thought of the one waiting for him within those comfy wooden walls lightens his heavy step. He departs from the notice board, the papers pinned onto it fluttering in the breeze as if applauding him. 

   From one end Watada entered the city, and so from one end he exits it by briskly walking under simple yet impressive stone arches. The cobblestone beneath his feet peters out into a beaten dirt path with the flattened ground soon beginning to tilt upwards into an incline. So too, does the trail of bare dirt end with the Gorlek stepping onto a carpet of lush grass; flowers in full bloom swaying from lowly shrubbery and branches as they perfume and fill the air of Innocence Hill with the vibrance of spring.

   Watada eventually steps into a natural courtyard, its circular walls of thick, mossy roots welcoming him like a pair of arms, as all is bathed in the glorious glow of what is the closest thing to an eternal dawn. He steps up to the massive tree, turns himself around and sighs as he drops and crosses his legs with his weary back pressed against the healthy trunk. Already, he begins to feel a little less tired thanks to the aura of vitality that seeps through and out from the bark, allowing him to temporarily put aside unneeded thoughts and temptations … and to listen.

   His inner ear is a door. The visitor from outside politely knocks. The door swings inward, the presence steps in and a voice with the resonance of a large bell being gently struck echoes in his head.

   Long day, Watada?

   Watada shifts in his seated position. Conversing with a voice not his own within a personal mindspace was something he had to get used to over recent months.

   “Tell me about it,” Watada replies with the warmth of someone gesturing to a chair across his table. “We finally built that new silo. Hopefully it will last longer and keep the grains from molding for years to come."

   A deep hum wreathed in worry echoes from across the table. The Gorlek would know the source of his concern. 

   I certainly hope so too, Watada … but how have you been in general?

   The Gorlek licks his lips again. 

   “I've been alright. And Gen's been fine, too. Training’s been … going.” Watada scratches his ear. “Still scared of his own shadow, though. I still have no idea where that is coming from, to be honest …”

   Who truly knows the workings of the heart? muses the voice. Even I, a little older than a hundred, keep learning new things about it. But as for Gen, do you think that he is …

   The voice trails off.

   “... that he is ready?” 

   Across the table, the Gorlek, somehow, discerns a quiet nod.

   “I … mean no offense when I say this … ” Watada continues as he steadily chooses his words, “But I do not think a child like him — or any child — should ever have to be ready for a battle. If anyone would agree … I think it would be you.”

   Silence descends upon the table as the sun continues to set. Birdsong creeps in through the door, and the shiftings of flowering branches and bushes are carried in through the windows by the weavings of a warm breeze. Watada cannot help but swallow and lightly tug at the collar of his shirt. 

   After an eternal moment, the voice speaks again, calm and warm as ever. The Gorlek also somehow senses, once more, a nod from the other side of the table.

   Your words hold truth, Watada, calmly says the voice.

   The tightness in the Gorlek's chest dissipates with a breath of relief.

   But I think you also know why it is necessary to do this. We know not what lies down there, having been sealed and sunken for … who knows how long? All we know is that Gen has some part to play in it, and we can only hope it is a small and singular one.

   It is Watada's turn to bring a bout of silence. His four balled fists tighten even further, their claws digging into rough, calloused palms. He is simply thinking.

   “...Did you give it to him?” he eventually asks. “The marks on his hands?”

   The voice shakes their head. No, I did not. Not that I could, or would.

   Watada swallows hard. The Gorlek then senses … understanding, followed by yet another nod.

   The timing and circumstance is uncanny, isn't it? asks the voice. 

   The answer to all that is happening in the forests, which may or may not reside in that sunken library … with the only one in the entire world being able to pave the way to that unknown knowledge being born only recently, and all of it occurring outside of our control. 

   Watada remains silent again. Words seem scarce now.

   Do you believe in fate or destiny, Watada? muses the voice. 

   “ ... I believe in cause and effect,” is Watada's reply as he sits up straight again, “But at this point, I'm not so sure anymore. It's all too … perfect. And big. And Gen and I are too small.”

   And yet, you are not too small to hold fast to your vow to me. Or to the vows you made to him. 

   Watada deeply sighs and lowers his maned head. All these “coincidences”, his thoughts and worries and the lingering embers of the life and habits he once led … 

   “You know, I still do not understand why you entrusted him to me.” 

   Watada's balled fists unclench to reveal all the calluses and scars that mar the landscapes of his four palms like the earth-shaping remnants of a fierce battle. His round ears droop as he asks his next question.

   “Things seem to have turned out alright so far, but at the time … why? Why choose someone like me?”

   Smokestacks continue to rise from the chimneys of New Niwen City. Fishing boats and other seaborne vessels from distant lands move to and fro from Hope's Harbor, reminiscent of insects that skim and glide across the surface of a glittering puddle. The voice hums in his seat, and Watada gets the sense that the voice is tilting his head.

   For one, I knew that you were always a Gorlek of your word. 

   Watada raises his head and perks his ears.

   You would never make a promise before considering the costs. I have always appreciated this about you, Watada, and I would never make you do something I knew you were not capable of.

   His ears droop again. His closed eyes soften. Never had he known that he was so highly regarded by someone like the Spirit Tree …

   Second, I knew that you were not always the person you were twelve years ago. Any soul with a golden heart like yours would be deeply stung by the untimely passing and loss of guidance of one's al’abi and al’umi … 

   That his trials were so well-known by Niwen’s protector … he misses his abi’s warm smile, his umi’s spiced apple chai, the days where they would gather and have a meal …

   And third, I knew you held, and still hold, so much promise, says the voice, full of pride. You picked up the trade of your al’abi trade faster than any other Gorlek at the time. It was clear to everyone that you would have a direct hand in building Niwen's future. Our future. 

   … And the undying hope he has had in him. But one question remains unanswered.

   “How … does abni fit into all of this?” Watada asks. “Why did you call me over that day?”

   A reply comes, as warm as ever. Keep in mind that as your Spirit Tree, that if I had sensed, over a reasonable amount of time, that if my dear son was not being well cared for, I always had the right and ability to bring him back to me.

   Watada shrugs and nods. Seems only right. 

   With that said … I knew that as someone who wanted to be a builder, your first and foremost desire was to make homes for your neighbors and loved ones — perhaps to eventually make a home for yourself, with a family to care for. 

   Once again, no argument there.

   But after the unfortunate events that befell you … along with the people that you spent time with and the habits you picked up … this dream of yours was momentarily muddled and forgotten. And so …

   The Gorlek senses, once again, a smile.

   I simply thought that you needed a reminder. A chance for you to remember who you really are and what you truly wanted. And I am most glad to see that you — the real you — have taken the reminder to heart and awoke once more. 

   A bubble forms in Watada's throat.

   You make me proud, ya sahbi, and I am certain Gen feels the same.

   Try as he might to swallow it, the inner pocket of hot air stubbornly refuses to shrink or go down; the expanding pressure pushing tears out of all three eyes as he sniffles and wipes them. And for him to be called ya sahbi by none other than Ori … !

   “I … thank you … ” Watada softly croaks out, his thick and burly shoulders shaking slightly. “It is … it's no wonder you're our Spirit Tree. Your wisdom, patience and compassion … how can I ever repay it?”

   The voice serenely replies. I think you know.

   Right. Gen. Watada nods and wipes away the last few tears, wiping his paws on his pants.

   But I now ask you to do it all the more. The ship shall arrive in about three days' time.

   Watada's bearded jaw drops a little. “That fast? Already?”

   Already, affirms the voice. From what I have heard, the crew it carries is quite the assemblage of personalities. You two will have an interesting time, that is for certain. Please help Gen to make some friends, and of course … please, protect him.

   “Even if it should cost my life, I will protect him,” Watada determinedly nods, even placing all four paws on his chest where his heart beats — a sincere and solemn Gorleki gesture. He does not even have to think about it. “Such is part of my vows to you two.”

   A blend of emotions emanate from across the table; the warm glow of pride … tinged with the chilling hues of worry. I certainly hope it will not come to that. A swim down there, retrieve the information, and nothing more.

   Watada certainly hopes the same. 

   Is there anything else you would like to talk about before you go, ya sahbi? 

    “Yes, actually,” Watada says … hesitating for a moment but eventually nodding. “Should I tell him? About the crew, the upcoming trip … ?”

   The answer comes easy. I think you should. As gently as possible, of course. But after all, what will Gen learn if we keep big secrets from him?

   It seems rather obvious now. Watada sheepishly rubs the back of his head as a bird softly chirps from above. “Of course, that … that was a silly question. Apologies.”

   You were only thinking of him, the voice says gently, understandingly. But again, you would be foremost in knowing that people become the people they spend time with. So far, the person he spends the most time with is you, ya sahbi. Be the clean water to his sponge.

   The Gorlek, once again, subconsciously licks his lip. He nods, with each slight bow of the head made weightier with that knowledge.

   Is there anything else? 

   Watada claps his knees with his palms and grunts as he overcomes the stiffness that has settled in his joints like hardened animal fat, slowly standing but keeping a paw pressed onto the bark to maintain the connection.

   “I think that's all for my report. But maybe you'd like me to pass on a message to Gen?”

   The voice thinks for a moment. The “curtains” in the “room” flutter gently with a breeze. Please tell him I love him, of course, and that I hope his father has been feeding and training him well …

   The corner of Watada's lip curls upwards at the lighthearted tone. The voice also chuckles before continuing.

   … And that I believe that he is braver and smarter than he thinks he is, and that there will come opportunities where he can show the world just so. I believe in him. In both of you.

   “I'll tell him just that. Might you need anything else, Spirit Tree?”

   The voice rises from the “chair” and smiles at him once more. That will be all, ya sahbi. Go and grow in peace.

   “Go and grow in peace … Ori.”

   And so, after bidding the Spirit Tree a warm farewell for the night, Watada senses the presence exit the room of his mindspace. He finally opens his three eyes just as the sun dips under the eternal horizon. He had better get going.

   Watada descends Innocence Hill, passes under the simple yet impressive stone arches, walks past the notice board where his eyes momentarily linger on the Line & Sinker Tavern poster, before continuing on his way. Even from this side of the city, he believes he can hear Qunya’s uproarious laughter accompanied by the melodious wheeze of an accordion.

  How it grates against his ears! Watada tsks out of annoyance as his footfalls firmly face homeward, his legs bringing him to another part of the city — one intentionally far from any taverns. 

   He passes under and by the spherical abodes of straw and wood inhabited by moki (often up in the trees and interconnected with bridges) and ezovi (often on the ground and outwardly insulated with moss); two-story, sturdy cubes of clay and/or sandstone favoured by the Gorleki; well-lit entrances leading to a network of underground hovels and dens often preferred by salamanders — all of these elements interspersed and mixed with each other. It is a bit of an architectural wonder to see a city's sky, ground and underground being used in such a way that uses most of its space whilst also avoiding the sense of clutter, chaos and cramping, with this endeavor aided by a good number of parks, small businesses and public spaces scattered here and there.

   Watada has had a paw (or four) in building and renovating a good number of these houses. Only one, however, has the honor of being called his home. 

   His footsteps grow lighter with each step, his spirit also lifting as he sees the flickering firelight in the carved sandstone windows. He then slows. Softly clears his throat. Puts on a smile. Then he knocks.

   “Abniii? I'm home, ya habib!” Watada calls from outside.

   His heart leaps a little when he hears the little staccato of approaching hoofsteps on wooden floorboards, a soft grunt of exertion whenever his abni needs to step on his tippy-hooves, followed by the rattle of a metal bolt being unclasped and pulled aside …

   All to reveal his little Gen smiling sweetly as a plush doll of a certain well-known moki is hugged to his chest. “Abi!!”

   The remnant embers lingering within Watada, if there was any, utterly extinguished themselves the moment the Gorlek saw his little boy. He drops to a knee, lowers his toolbox and opens his four arms to his son, who most happily runs into his embrace, nuzzles against his cheek and softly purrs at his return.

   “We were waiting for you!” Gen then pouts. 

   ‘We’, as in him and the little toy Mokk in his arms. It was a rather reluctant purchase, but Watada is a Gorlek of his word, especially after promising that he would buy it if Gen did well with his examination that elementary year. 

   It then occurs to Watada. Was that really three years ago? Time really does fly …

   The Gorlek crinkles his features with an understanding smile, picking up his toolbox once more and stepping through the open doorway with the child in his arms. “Hey now, I did not break my promise, did I? I said I'd be back by the time the sun went under.”

   “Well … yeah, but … ” Gen stubbornly huffs and hugs his toy even tighter. “I don't like waiting. Especially for you, abi.”

   “Well, I am here now, so wipe that pout from your snout.” Watada playfully taps on Gen's nose and shuts the door behind them. “And before you tell me your adventures with Mokk today, did you finish your homework?”

   Gen nods as he snuggles into his arms.

   “Good. And did you help prepare the ingredients for dinner?”

   Gen nods again as they step into the kitchen, with Watada seeing beans taken out of their pods and soaked in a bowl of water, a cut of beek taken out of the refreezerator and left to thaw in the sink and …

   The Gorlek approaches a chopping board (moving aside a small wooden step ladder with a platform on top) occupied by what once was a pile of chili peppers, now haphazardly diced and cut into bits of green and red in wildly varying sizes. 

  “Did you … cut the chili peppers?” Watada asks, looking at Gen with a serious expression.

   The little spirit shrinks behind his toy. His ears droop. “ … Yes …?”

   Only for those ears to perk up again when Watada presents his big paw to him with a warm yet fiercely proud smile. “Up high.”

   And Gen smacks it with his paw and a big grin on his face, purring up a storm as he does.

   “And how did you go about cutting them?” Watada asks, trying to contain the excitement bursting in his heart so as not to scare him. “What made you so brave, ya habib?”

   The spirit happily points to a cloth. “You said that if I have the cloth, I can be brave. So I covered my other paw with it while cutting them up!”

   “Ohoho, I see!” laughs the Gorlek, leaning down to rub their foreheads together. “Smart one, aren't you? But I'm still going to check your homework.”

   “Fiiiine…” Gen rolls his eyes as he continues to smile. “But first, dinner! I'm soooo hungry!!”

   “Yes, yes, habib, yes … ” Watada fondly chuckles again, gently setting him down on the floor and patting him on the head. “And of course, thank you for helping with the ingredients. You're an immense help and I want you to know that.”

   Gen slowly blinks up at him, not unlike a cat. “Of course, abi. I love you.”

   “And I love you, too, abni.”

   That is not even the half of it, nor could Watada even begin to express the depths of his gratitude for all these wonderful gifts. He will tell his little Gen what is to come ... but this moment, underneath the rising moon and her starry court, is also a gift, and he shall savour it.

   If only such moments could last forever.

Chapter Text

It did not take long for word to circulate of a “rainbow-coloured crew” having made landfall in Hope's Harbour under the early hour of dawn; of a purple Hoan’s mathematical eccentricities, of an amber Kainari’s suave looks and of its stern-browed, staff-carrying captain of Nibellian turquoise glow — who is also a certain spirit's aunt. There are more spirits in that list, but it is those three who captured Gen's interest the most.

   Then in the evening of that same day, Gen is told that they are coming tomorrow for dinner. It suddenly makes sense why Watada asked his school for a day off, having spent it buying ingredients to fill their entire pantry. It is a good thing Watada can carry four baskets at the same time.

   Gen knew that they were going to meet. Abi told him so. But bringing the strangers into their own home?

   Gen now watches as Watada dances about in the kitchen; a pair of paws having finished cutting the tomatoes and the bell peppers and now moving on to dice the onions in a blur of motion; one paw pouring olive oil into a heated frying pan in a golden arc; the last paw flapping a paper fan that diligently directs air towards the fire to keep the stove alight. Watada might have become a successful chef if construction were not his calling … 

   “Don't stop working, Gen.” Watada picks up his chopping board and slides all the diced tomatoes, bell peppers and onions into the oiled pan, exchanging the knife for a wooden spoon. “How is the garlic? The cilantro?”

   Gen startles and picks up the knife again as the blade dully gleams under the last few rays of the sunset. “R-right! Almost done!” 

   The garlic is soon added to the frying pan. The fresh green cilantro is set aside for garnish.

   “And what about the chilis?” Gen then asks.

   “Not this time, ya habib,” Watada says, now covering the pan with a lid as its contents of red and white simmer softly in the oil. “We don't know if our guests can handle it.”

   “Oh … ” Gen pouts up at him, eyes glimmering and ears drooping. “Not even a little? What is shakshuka without spice … ?”

  Watada, however, only flatly chuckles and rubs the top of Gen's glowing head. “Nice try with the pretty eyes … but no.”

   Gen drops the act and rolls his eyes. “Fiiiine…”

   “Thank you for your understanding. Now, could you please get the eggs? I forgot them in the pantry.”

   The spirit sighs, takes off his apron and obediently clops to the adjacent room. He soon returns with a wicker basket cradled carefully in his little arms, the half-dozen further nestled in a bedding of soft straw … while his youthful features carry a distant, thoughtful look.

   Watada, of course, takes notice as the basket is handed to him. “Thank you, ya habib … but I know that look. Is something the matter?”

   Gen takes his apron back as he glances at the eggs. “Six eggs, for six spirits.”

   Ah.

   Watada sets the basket on the counter, gets to one knee and looks Gen in the eyes with a matching tenderness. “Indeed. What is making you nervous this time?”

   Gen's ears droop as he pouts. He also averts his gaze and glances down at the floor in silence … but eventually asks his question.

   “Abi … what if … they don't like me … ?”

   He does not put on his apron but instead hugs the bundle of cloth to his chest. He then looks up at his abi, his rock, with eyes that seek assurance. “Do you think they'll like me?” he asks.

   The shakshuka continues to simmer in the pan as Watada quietly glances away, his mind likewise bubbling with thoughts as he, the builder that he is, does his best to take stock of the whole situation like examining the workings of a building. To him though, speaking with Gen about such matters is like working with a dollhouse made with toothpicks; a delicate and sensitive thing.

   After a moment passes, Watada looks back at his son. “I hear what you're saying. But allow me to ask: why do you want them to like you?”

   Gen looks down and laces his fingers behind his back. He twists his hoof on the floorboards.

   “I just … want more friends than you and Mister Mokk…” begins his honest reply. “And I want … I want friends who can let me do stuff I can do. Everyone here is nice to me but most keep saying I can't do this, can't do that, when I can. If they like me, they'll let me do stuff.”

   Watada simply nods as aromatic wisps of steam gently puff and flow into a vent made of bricks above the stove. His heart, though, cannot help but ache a little for his son. He wishes for him to have more friends, too, but …

   After a while, Watada takes Gen's paw and brings him over to the nearby table, taking the apron from his little hands and draping it on the chair. The Gorlek then lifts and seats the spirit on his lap, with Gen leaning into his chest and peeking up at him with attentive eyes.

   “You know that I will always speak truthfully, Gen,” Watada says as his big paw begins to soothingly pet the back of Gen's head, his voice tender yet direct like his fingers. “So … to answer your first question: I do not know. I do not know if they will like you. I also do not know if they will not like you. That is in the future.”

   “What I do know, however,” Watada adds, “is that they are not required to like you, even if you are quite likable.”

   Gen curls into a ball and hugs his knees to his chest. “... Do you like me, abi?”

   “Of course I like you. In fact, it's more than that. I love you.” The Gorlek smiles and gently rubs his back. “But that's beside the point. The point I'm trying to make, Gen, is … do you think it matters whether they like you or not?”

   Gen pouts. Thinks. Then shrugs. “I mean … it would be nice if they did.”

   A fair answer. Watada hums and sagely nods. “I suppose I agree. It's natural to want to be liked, to feel that you belong, that you can be trusted with things … even I want those things.”

   “But do you want to know what I think about it?” the Gorlek then asks with a smile.

   Gen's leaf-shaped ears perk up and are fondly rubbed by calloused fingers tinged with tenderness.

   “I think that if they don't like you and don't want to become friends with you, that they would be missing out on quite a lot,” Watada purrs and taps the spirit's nose. “You are smarter, kinder, braver than you think you are. That's what Ori said about you, and I agree from the heart of my heart.”

   Gen purrs back, leans and tenderly rubs his forehead against Watada's chest. A sweet gesture from a sweet spirit. The Gorlek chuckles, then sighs.

   “On a more realistic note, however,” Watada then says. “I think most, if not all, will like you. But let's say that one half of the team comes to like you while the other half doesn't. Do you remember what we discussed about focusing on things?”

   Gen nods. “We can choose what to focus on?”

   “Correct. And which half would you choose to focus on?”

   The spirit smiles and hums, and the Gorlek nods approvingly. The answer is obvious.

   “So … even if none of them like me … ” Gen begins to say, as he reaches over to the table and lifts a cloth placemat. Three eyes blink in surprise as Watada watches the spirit take out a folded piece of paper. 

   The parchment is opened like a treasure box … to reveal a charmingly inelegant drawing of a Gorlek and a spirit holding paws under a golden tree.

   “At least I'll have my dad and my abi!” Gen chirps. “That's what I'll focus on.”

   The drawing is held with the reverence of a cleric holding a set of ancient scripture. A bubble inflates in Watada's throat, with the Gorlek swallowing it as he rubs his three eyes with a chuckling smile. This boy … !

   “Um … ahem … ” Watada clears his throat whilst reaching into his pocket and producing a carpenter’s pencil. A good builder is never found without at least one pencil at any given time. “Could you write your name on it? Here, in the corner.”

   A signed drawing soon sits before them on the table. Someone shouts something outside the window, but the world might as well be muffled and cut off from their little bubble.

   “Do you like it?” Gen asks, standing on Watada's leg to nuzzle against his cheek. 

   Watada nuzzles back. “Of course, my son, of course. Might I keep it? Right here.”

   The Gorlek takes utmost care as he folds the drawing once more and creates another crease, creating a small paper square which he carefully slips into the folds of his garments. 

   “Safe and sound,” he warmly purrs and pats his chest. “And now—”

   A polite staccato of knocks resonates from outside the oaken door. 

   Ears lion-like and leaf-shaped perk up and flick in its direction. From beyond the circular window that allows one a picturesque view of the golden Spirit Tree, the father-son duo can discern a multi-coloured cluster of glows, lighting up the edges of the glass with muted hums of indistinct chatter. One might even say it is a crew of the rainbow persuasion.

   It would seem they have arrived. Watada and Gen glance back at each other. 

   “I'll get the door?” Watada asks, to which the little one nods.

   Gen grabs his apron after being set onto the floor. “And I'll get the shakshuka.”

❧

“It is not a bad place to live in, is it?” Sem casually asks as the ruby-caped warrior clasps his paws behind his furry back.

   Kamo hums in distant agreement as they walk side by side, the healer's teeth fixated on nibbling on a wooden skewer that once held a delicious triplet of savoury, deep fried spinach cheese balls. With paws perched in their resting spot atop her soft round belly; the right paw absentmindedly fiddling with a simple string bracelet on the left, Kamo continues to look around as they navigate the cobblestone streets of New Niwen City in search of the home that holds a young spirit and his Gorlek guardian.

   Kamo cannot help but be a bit amazed whilst comparing everything she sees to what she knows back home. The jungles and settlements of Noiton are pretty much stuck in a primitive and dangerous time. The most security they can find are behind wooden palisades, not the stone walls of this city.

   … She prays that everyone back there is alright, and that the lanterns are working to keep the rain falling in the right direction. 

   Sem then clears his throat and speaks again with his northern Altumian accent as thick as ever. “I could … see myself moving here, once we have finished with our mission. It might even be a nice place for a vacation, should anyone want to visit.”

   Ipu, Chafa and Dabir follow behind them in a loose trio with the azure sailor and the turquoise captain ambivalent to the familiar surroundings. As for Dabir, flashing grins and sending winks are the order for his evening as the amber inventor clearly basks in the attention and stares directed their way. Like a proud solbird, Kamo had said. 

   Apei, meanwhile, walks ahead of them all as the amethyst mathematician excitedly observes the spherical, cubical and all manner of geometrical structures of the houses and hovels around them. Glowing equations and angular diagrams of wisteria-colored light shift, adjust and calculate themselves in a whirling dervish of a dance above her starry-eyed head. The eccentric and her spinning numbers are blissfully unaware of the world and their many inquisitive eyes.

   “Mmm…” is all Kamo says, the faint crescent of a smile on her lips as amethyst light dances in the center of her thousand-yard gaze.

   Sem falls silent at the invisible yet growing distance between them. He then glances over to where Kamo is looking … then at the bracelet around her wrist.

   “That is the bracelet that was delivered to you, right?” Sem asks.

   After saying that, the warrior would be rewarded with the flick of the healer's bat-like ear along with the slight tilt of her head in his direction. 

   Sem bites his lower lip before gently asking another question. “Who is it from? Someone … dear to you?” 

   Kamo falls quiet for a moment as a bell tolls from a tower in the heart of the city, striking once, twice, thrice … seven times. Apei up ahead had also stopped to listen to the distant knells, followed by her nodding approvingly once they ended. Seven. A good and solid number.

   “Ikal.”

   Sem blinks. “Ikal?” he echoes.

   Kamo nods. “Ikal. My little sister.” 

   She looks back at Apei with that same faint smile. Sem looks, too. Two and two are put together.

  Aha … he thinks. The warrior also cannot help but feel … relieved? Is that the word? He is not entirely sure as to why, though.

   “Does a certain someone remind you of this Ikal?” he smiles. “You no doubt worry about her. Is she safe?”

   At which Kamo heaves a dry chuckle like that of a weighted blanket; flat, heavy yet soft. 

   “Someone like her is … beyond safety … ” are the cryptic words that follow her laughter, complete with the shaking of her head as she thumbs the bracelet. “After all, that's what happens when one of us Noitoners … offers to complete their Cycle a little faster so that another’s Cycle may continue.”

   “Completes their … ” Sem begins to echo again, but his eyes grow wide and mouth opens with the colour of realization. The bracelet. The other letter. The words of the messenger. 

   It was an honour to watch her accomplish it.

   “Oh … ” 

   Kamo can only nod.

   “I am … I am sorry,” Sem stammers and bows his head, his rabbit-like ears drooping. “I didn't know. You must truly miss her, then.”

   Kamo merely tilts her head. Not a single frown or hue of sadness is to be found on her gentle features; always looking as though she is thinking or musing of something else. “I do. I do miss her. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. But … it is an honour to do it, Sem. Especially when it is to save someone important.”

   Sem can only nod. He would understand.

  “Who did she save?” he then asks. “Were they a worthy recipient?”

   “... I trust that Ikal made the right choice,” are Kamo's chosen words. “Her sacrifice will forever be remembered by myself and by the Mangrove.”

   Sem's concern and curiosity grow like a flame being fed matches and tinder. “And how did it come to her having to—”

   “Enough, Sem.”

   Softer and closer than the distant tower bell, yet her voice and the request it carries is what resounds in Sem’s ears. He is further stunned when warmth takes his paw. Her warmth.

   Kamo smiles up at him as she squeezes his calloused paw. “Your concern toward me is not lost on me, Sem of Altum. I thank you for that, most truly. But I tell you sincerely, now, that I am fine.”

   Sem's hooved feet can only seem to follow wherever she leads, with the healer's paw lingering on his for a bit as she rubs the spots of roughness that mark his paw pads. The warrior somehow finds the strength in himself to gently squeeze back.

   “Well, that is, I … ” Sem stammers for a bit, clearing his throat and relieved that she keeps her paw on his. “I see. Thank you for trusting me to tell me all this, and … if you might ever need anything … you're free to come and find me.”

   Kamo smiles and opens her mouth, but a voice not her own cuts her off.

   “Hey, lovebirds!”

   Kamo and Sem whirl their heads around and realize that Apei is no longer in front of them. They then turn back and see the source of the voice from a short distance away: an unamused Dabir with one paw on his hip as he uses his tail to point at a cubical dwelling made of sandstone the two had walked past; the mathematician standing beside Chafa and Ipu, with the latter hiding his snout behind his paw though the shaking of his shoulders gives away his laughter.

   Sem and Kamo then glance down at their joined paws. The healer chuckles before calmly withdrawing hers, yet the warrior still feels a gentle buzz of warmth penetrating through the callouses to radiate in his bones. He move and squeezes the air behind his back as if trying to touch something that is not there anymore.

   “Come on, Sem,” Kamo then calls as she skips backwards to the team, where Chafa takes it upon herself to knock on the door. “Won't you sit with me?”

   Sem can only nod and step forward to follow her as his cape matches that of his heart: red in hue, and aflutter as a warm breeze ruffles his fur.

   Anything she needs. Just as he said.

❧

Niwen has a decent number of spirits mixed into the current population. Watada is friends with a few of them; half-enemies with even fewer, but he has never seen a group of spirits, much less one directing their attention towards him. There never really was a chance or a need for that to happen.

   And so, when the Gorlek's heavy footfalls stop behind the door, undo the locks and pull it open … he is greeted with six heads, each a different colour, and their twelve curious eyes looking up at him from below.

   Watada has to fight the reflex to fawn over how … precious this sight is. The effects of this inward battle reveal themselves as a beat of evening silence, a blinking of his three eyes and the clearing of the throat. One of them thankfully speaks up for everyone; an elderly spirit of Nibellian turquoise glow wrapped in a soft, light blue shawl. 

   “Are you Watada? Gen's guardian?” she asks with a pleasant smile and a voice as warm and lightly tart as honey lemon tea.

   Watada gratefully nods and returns to grin to reveal his toothy maw. “Yes! Yes, that's me, I am Watada, Gen's abi. And you must be Auntie Chafa, yes?”

   “Indeed,” Chafa nods, shifting her staff from one paw to the other so she may gesture to the spirits behind her, all the while ignoring the gazes of curious onlookers. “And here is the rest of our entourage.”

   The tallest of the bunch with a red capelet donned on his broad shoulders politely nods and smiles. “I am Sem. It is nice to meet you, Mister Watada.” 

   The smallest of the bunch with a big purple scarf waves up at the Gorlek as words write themselves above her head. “Apei. I like math. I hope Gen likes math too."

   “You have an interesting home,” waves a spirit carrying a moss-green medical sling bag and a dagger holster strapped to her thigh. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, and call me Kamo.”

   “Name’s Ipu,” grins another spirit, pointing a thumb at himself with a pair of azure wristbands and a bandanna. “Wow, and something smells good…!”

   “And last but most certainly not least, Dabir, at your service.” This handsome spirit performs a flourished bow with a pyramidal lantern hanging from his sash-and-belt outfit of amber-coloured cloth.

   A rainbow assemblage of spirits that each wear outfits matching the hues of their glows. At least they are colour-coordinated for easier remembering. They are, however, missing one colour.

   “Well, come in, come all!” Watada warmly says, stepping out of the way and gesturing for them to enter. “And please wipe your hooves on the mat before going inside, thank you very much.”

   With hooves as clean as can be, the six spirits walk deeper into the simple yet cozy abode. They note a colourful and patterned tapestry that decorates the wall, a slightly open door that seems to lead to a Gorlek-sized office, and the tiled pathway that leads to the dining room …

   As Gen, clad in a cloth apron and carrying a steaming pan of cilantro-topped shakshuka with his little paws protected by damp cloths, steps into the same, warmly-lit space. The little spirit stops in his tracks upon seeing all eyes fall upon him, his tail tucking itself between his legs and his ears drooping shyly.

   Behold. Ori's firstborn son.

   “Gen, abni, put the shakshuka down and greet our guests, will you?” Watada asks while stepping over to his son.

   The young spirit obeys, heaving and setting the pan on the table then proceeding to cling to and hide behind Watada's big leg, tugging on the hem of the Gorlek's shirt for support as the party moves to the length-side of the dining table filled with a feast fit for a ravenous king.

   “Hello … ” softly squeaks a little voice. “My … my name is Gen."

   Kamo covers her mouth with a soft yet quick intake of air as her bat-like ears perk up in delight. Dabir, meanwhile, raises an eyebrow and leans closer to Apei's mouse-like ear. “...is this really him? He does not seem like much—ergh!” 

   The hushed exchange abruptly ends with a subtle yet stern jab from the end of Chafa's staff, both the turquoise captain and ruby warrior casting glares in his direction. The amethyst mathematician seems unfazed by the whole thing; the azure sailor chuckling as he often does.

   “Everyone, you heard him,” Watada smiles and proudly pats his little boy's back. “This is my abni, Gen. Is he not as sweet as honey?”

   “Abi…” Gen bashfully pulls at the hem of Watada's shirt and hides behind it, though his citrine glow penetrates the fabric.

   Kamo cannot take it anymore. “By the Seven Lights, your son is simply adorable … !” she purrs, moving to the little spirit with paws clasped to her chest and getting to a knee in front of him. 

   Gen peeks out from behind his makeshift shield. “Hi, miss … ” he squeaks again.

   “And hello to you, little sir.” The pretty jade-hued healer dotingly chuckles and gently offers an open paw. “My name is Kamo. It's nice to meet you. Can we shake paws?”

   … Pretty … !

   A blush matching that of his own hue blooms across both of Gen's cheeks as he shrinks further back and hides his face again. Watada simply chuckles his deep rumble of a laugh, both at having expected as much and relieved that Kamo likewise smiles as she stands upright again. She seems to take it well.

   “Gen, let's take off that apron, wash your paws and start dinner, yes?” the Gorlek asks. “And you must say hello to your Auntie Chafa, at least!”

   “Finally, I'm starving!” Dabir declares, already taking it upon himself to choose a seat as Gen clops off to the kitchen. “And which jug, pray tell, holds the wine for this parched throat of mine?”

   Watada's smile falters, but only just. “Sorry, Mister Dabir. Alcohol is not something we serve in this household.”

   “Ah.” Dabir clicks his tongue and purses his lips in blatant disappointment. “Got any … grape juice, then?”

   “The jug to your left. Abni, you will sit next to your Auntie Chafa.”

   Gen returns to the dining room as Watada tells him this, and this guides the little one's gaze to properly regard the dim light blue glow who smiles warmly in his direction. 

   “Come, child.” Chafa kindly gestures to the chair beside hers.

    It helps to know that she is family and that his abi will still sit next to him at the head of the table. He first, though, pulls the chair out for his older aunt.

   “Oh, what a thoughtful little lad,” Chafa chuckles and takes her seat. “Thank you, Gen. You seem like the helpful sort, just like your father.”

   Gen's eyes sparkle as he climbs onto his chair. “Do you know him?”

   “Personally? No. But as a historian, I do know a few things your father did other than becoming Niwen's Spirit Tree.”

   And so begins the babbling stream of questions amid the clinking of porcelain and the pouring of drink. “Like what? What did he do?” Gen asks.

   “Let's eat while we talk. But for example, did you know that he had a direct paw in building the first permanent settlement during the Decay? We are in the exact same spot where he did just so.”

   Gen eagerly nods, a smile already on his lips. “Yeah, they taught us that in school!”

   “Oh, good. Studious, aren't you? Did you also know … that he helped a certain moki named Mokk to become famous by — ”

   “A-hem!” Watada loudly clears his throat and pats his chest. “Sorry, could you please pass the water … and why don't we talk about the origins of one's childhood heroes after dinner?”

   Chafa blinks. “Very well then. So, what about when Ori … ” 

   Sem leans closer to Ipu as the water jug is passed. “I didn't think that captain could be so nice to someone else,” he whispers. “What sorcery is this?”

   Ipu offers a playfully quizzical look as he scoops some aromatic tomatoes and eggs from the central pan, though serving the spoonfuls to others first. “You’ve only known her a short while. But surprise, surprise, Chafa has a soft spot for young’uns — especially with whom she is kin, apparently.”

   “I know that too!” Gen chirps. “My dad was a real artist like his Mupo mom. He drew himself, his sister Ku, his mama Naru, his friend Gumo and the big owl Kuro. Is … is the mural dad painted still there?”

  To which Chafa nods and smiles. “Indeed. Swallows Nest has become a site of heritage. Everything that was left there has been protected and maintained as it was, to the best of our ability, as requested by our Spirit Tree. Would you like to see it?”

   “I wanna see it so bad! I really wanna see where my dad came from … but it's out there in Nibel. I've never gone out of Niwen before,” says Gen as he pouts and fiddles with his soup.

   “Well, once we are done with what we came here to do, perhaps we can arrange something.” Chafa looks up at Watada. “Would I be right to suppose your abi has told you exactly what we are to do? And why we are to do it?”

   Gen nods, but he doesn't want to say it. 

   “Can you swim?” Kamo asks and smiles from directly across the table. “It is a long way to the bottom.”

  Gen nods again … and averts his gaze again, much to everyone's amusement. 

   “That begs the question though,” Watada asks and leans forward with interlaced fingers. “How are we going to get all the way down there? Even you Noiton spirits can't get all the way down there with your swimming skills. It's quite deep.”

   At which Kamo simply chuckles and pulls up her medical bag, rummaging through its contents before pulling out a small vial. A thick and murky substance the colour of seaweed swirls within the glass chamber.

   “With this. I will have to make bigger doses for you, Mister Watada, but two rounds of Waterbreather potions should do the trick.”

   Sem does little to hide his thoughts. “That looks … eugh … ”

   “Oh, you'd be right. Some of the needed ingredients are, indeed, eugh,” Kamo says, mimicking Sem's disgust with a soft chuckle that is followed by a sigh of bliss. “Isn’t it funny, how the fouler-tasting the potion, the better or stronger the effects?”

   Dabir smirks from his seat at the opposite head of the table. “You could also say that if you're trying to … you know.”

   The inventor drags a finger across his throat and gags. Sem rolls his eyes and flicks his fluffy tail in irritation while Kamo, unbothered, returns the vial to her bag.

   “Why not make it taste like coconut pie?” Apei asks, sitting next to the healer. “At least it would be agreeable to everyone, like the irrational number of π.”

   “But what if some don't like coconut pie?” Gen asks.

   Apei gives an uppity humph as she chews her food, which oddly makes the young one giggle. “Then they are irrational,” firmly states the mathematician.

   “Also, heh,” Gen then snickers. “Pi. Pie. Get it?”

   At this, Ipu grins at Gen (while Apei palms her face) as he thumbs the tuft of fur adorning his chin. “Did ya jus’ say … what I think you said?”

   The citrine spirit blinks. “Uh. Yes?”

   An azure paw is then extended to him as a boisterous bout of laughter bursts from the sailor's mouth. “Finally, a connoisseur of the greatest humour! Up high!”

   And Gen meets him halfway, laughing with him as he raises his paw and high-fives Ipu.

   “Say, speaking of pi.” Dabir turns to Gen again. “Show us your paws, sprout.”

   Gen turns to Watada, who nods. The young spirit lowers his spoon and fork raises the backs of his paws. Two circles, front and center.

   “Huh. So it is true,” Dabir grins and leans back in his seat. “You'll be our ticket in and out of this mess.”

   “Abi said that when I put it together like this, it makes the symbol of infinity,” Gen innocently says and demonstrates just so, pressing the sides of his paws together to form the symbol. “He said it means that I can do whatever I put my heart to.”

   “Oh, isn't that sweet?” Kamo giggles, turning to the other spirit beside her. “What do you think, Sem?”

   Sem pats his chest after swallowing a hearty mouthful of roasted fish, adding yet another pristine set of fish bones to the rising pile of skeletons on his plate. A big spirit is a hungry spirit. “I think, yes, that is a lovely idea! Is there anything you want to do, little one?”

   Gen looks up at Sem's warm smile. He then turns to Watada.

   “I wanna be like my father and my abi,” Gen says, taking one of the Gorlek's four paws. “I wanna build homes for others and make sure that everyone can live happily … ”

   “Aww…!” cooes Kamo along with Ipu and Chafa.

   “And … ” Gen adds. “I wanna be a hero like them! And like the Magnificent Mokk, too!”

   Sem wheezes out a massive cough. He thumps on his chest with a fist as Kamo places a paw on his shoulder, though the red-caped Altumian finally manages to swallow. “S-sorry! I thought I … almost swallowed a bone just now … !”

   But Dabir is all grins (and Ipu all chuckles) as he swirls his grape juice in a wooden cup that he holds aloft as if it were a goblet forged of finest gold. “A hero, eh? You should ask Sem about that, sprout. He's a hero back in Altum!”

   The mockery dripping from Dabir’s “praise” flies over Gen's head like a glob of acidic saliva from a purple mortarworm. The young one turns to Sem with glimmering eyes.

   “Uh oh.” Chafa also snickers at knowing what is to come.

   “You’re a hero? Of Altum?” Gen asks with a pitch rising like that of ascending stairs. “What did you do? How many lives did you save?” 

   A gasp shoots out from his snout as his leaf-shaped ears flare skywards in excitement.

   “Did you … work with the Magnificent Mokk!?” Gen squeals.

   Looks like the spice has finally arrived at the table, seeing how Gen relentlessly peppers the sputtering warrior with his questions amid the cheeky bouts of laughter spilling from all sides of the table. Watada, though, takes his cup of water and subtly raises it to the view of the Spirit Tree outside the window.

   “Thank goodness that everyone seems to be getting along somewhat … this also seems to be much better company … ” the Gorlek quietly mutters from behind his cup, smiling at how Gen has come out of his shell. He is a bit surprised … but perhaps he shouldn't be.

   His abni said it himself. He can do anything he wants if he puts his heart into it. 

   And Gen wanted to gain some friends.

❧

It then began to rain. Hard.

   Kamo stares outside the dining room window as a warm mug of tea nestles cozily in her paws, her long and flat tail designed to give her an aquatic advantage curling and coiling in silent contemplation. In her distant eyes are reflected the starbursts of lightning tendrils that illuminate the clouds … and the raindrops that run down the surface of the glass in rivulets. 

   True precipitation. Falling.

   “Rain falling upwards … that is indeed very strange…” Watada hums and grimly scratches his thick beard, with Gen seated comfortably on his lap and hugging close to his glowing chest a stuffed toy of the Magnificent Mokk. 

    “Are there any other strange events going on throughout the world?” Watada then asks Chafa.

   “Aside from rain going in the wrong direction in Noiton, Spirit Trees having a hard time connecting to their Wells and my Glimpses potentially becoming unreliable … no. Not that we're aware of.” The elderly spirit sips her tea. “Yet.”

   Yet. What a dreadful word.

   Sem sits beside Kamo as she continues to look at the storm. Following a whispered exchange between just the two of them, the rabbit-eared Altumian then drapes his cloak over the healer's shoulders, who does the same to his shoulder.

   “Auntie Chafa,” Gen then says. “You have a pretty staff. Where did the gem and staff come from?”

   The historian smiles as she reaches for her staff and brings it closer to the child, allowing him to see the cloudy crystal as it catches and glimmers under the various sources of light in the room.

   “This beautiful specimen of a gem came from the Gorlek Mines when it was opened a couple of decades ago. It was actually a gift in exchange for a favor. And the staff is from a branch that fell from … why, I suppose I could say it came from your grandfather.” Chafa chuckles. “My brother did tell you our father's name, did he not?”

   Gen nods. “Grandfather Tenufa.”

   "That's right." She then sits up as if remembering something. “But speaking of gifts … ”

   Gen would watch as Chafa slips a paw into the folds of her cloak to bring out a package wrapped in simple brown paper and twine. 

   “Here, my dearest nephew,” Chafa dotingly purrs. “A gift from me to you.”

   Both of his little paws excitedly take the lightweight package, taking care not to rip into the wrapping but to undo the knot and unfold the coffee-coloured paper. A wooden box is revealed from within and its lid is soon taken off.

   “Shah…!” Watada softly exclaims. “Such a wonderful hue it has, doesn't it, abni?”

   Delicacy moves Gen's paws as he reaches into the lone wooden compartment, his fingers rolling across the softest fabric they have ever felt; softer than even than his Mokk. He gently grasps it, lifts it out of the box and watches as folds of vibrant marigolden yellow unfurl into a large square of fabric. His eyes run along a simple decorative border of dots and swirls along its edges, and the letter G has been sewn onto one of the corners.

   Something rings in Gen's mind.

   With the cloth, you can be brave, abni.

   “Wow … what a pretty colour!” chirps the young spirit, hugging it to his chest. “Thank you, but … what am I to do with it?”

   “Imagine a grid and calculate complex matrices!” writes Apei as she indulges on a floating purple plate of honeyed dates.

   “Wipe your tears of gratitude with them?” Dabir distantly murmurs whilst checking and filing his claws.

   “Join the Captain's Colour-coordinated Crew?” Ipu suggests, gesturing to them all with a witty wink after returning to the table from feeding the fireplace. The captain herself smirks and rolls her eyes.

   “May I?” Chafa then asks and stands from her seat.

   Watada nods and gestures for her to approach, gently taking the yellow cloth and passing it to her. The historian then stands to Gen's side and drapes the fabric over his shoulders, pulling two opposite corners around his neck and eventually tying a secure yet breathable knot in front of his chest. She pats the knot for good measure.

   “There, a handsome little neckerchief,” Chafa purrs, pleased. She steps in front of him again, chuckles in delight and reaches forward to pinch his cheek. “My, oh, my, and what a handsome little nephew I have!”

   “Auntie Chacha…!” Gen giggles, playfully swatting away her paw and bashfully covering his glowing cheeks as his tail curls around himself. 

  “I agree though,” Watada grins. “It serves to add to your looks.”

   Gen consciously fiddles with the knot in front of his chest, his eyes looking demurely at them. “Thank you, really. This is really — ”

   A lowly rumble booms across the sky. Gen, of course, perks his ears up before drooping them and shuffling deeper into the embrace of his abi, moving Chafa to purse her lips at the storm outside; the lashings of the rain against the window illuminated in red and green by the glow of two spirits under the same red cape.

   “Can … can you tell if the storm will pass soon?” Gen asks, now squeezing and fiddling with the knot of his neckerchief. “You can Glimpse the future, right?”

   “If one has seen their fair share of storms, which I have, then most likely they'd be able to tell,” Chafa hums, then looks back and tenderly rubs his head. “This one won't pass quickly, I'm afraid.”

   “So … how will you return to your ship?” Gen then asks. “How will you even sleep when the waves are so rocky— ”

   To which Watada laughs and pinches the young spirit's cheek. “What nonsense are you spouting, my boy? They shall stay with us for the night. They're our guests!”

   Gen rubs his cheek as he blinks at that. Then he sits up, eyes wide and glimmering. “I … I've never had a sleepover party before. Is it alright if we do that?”

   Were there any need for persuasion, that simple question is what wins their hearts twice over.

   Ipu grins, fangs and all. “So long as ya don't mind bunking down with two old coots like Chafa an’ I!”

   “I suppose it would be more preferable to sleep over with this lot than ruining my coat in the rain and mud … ” Dabir shrugs.

  “Did we hear it right?” Kamo then asks as she returns to the group with Sem, smiling as she sets her empty mug down on the table. “Are we having a sleepover?”

   “The first and best sleepover for my nephew,” Chafa confirms with a grandmotherly nod. “But I suppose we should ask where we're sleeping.”

   And so the Gorlek first shows them to the bathroom, where a bowl of lyebulbs waits for them on the counter; grape-like berries of translucent skin and watery contents that can act as both body soap and as a mouth cleaner. Inedible, obviously, but handy and abundant throughout all of Kurestal regardless of the climate. After an hour or so of more thunder and rain, a clean-smelling, minty-breathed rainbow crew is more than ready to get some shut-eye.

   It is only right that the biggest among them acts as the primary mound, with Watada happily taking up that mantle and settling himself in the middle of a shallow bowl-shaped hole dug into the earth and layered with clay and straw; softened further with blankets and cushions. Gen then takes his usual place on top of Watada's chest, happily curling up with his plush toy of the Magnificent Mokk.

  “Can Sem and I snuggle up with the young one?” Kamo cheerily asks as the young spirit in question blushes.

   “I also have a story to tell you,” Sem grins. “A story of how I got this scar on my ear.”

   Gen looks at both the healer's soft belly and the ruby warrior's very fluffy fur. It's like a ticket to the comfiest sleep ever, and the offer of a story seems really enticing … !

   Gen meekly nods. “I … I guess … ” 

   Watada chuckles and waves them to come over. “Get in here, you two!”

   “Ipu and I will probably settle for an arm each, then,” Chafa hums, setting her staff against the wall as the azure sailor stretches and yawns.

   Dabir looks at Apei who simply blinks back at him. The inventor rolls his eyes. “And we'll take the other two arms, I suppose.”

   Quite the perfect arrangement. Never has the world seen such a colourful cuddle pile before, nor would it ever again be seen.    

   “This is a nice sleepover party …” Gen giggles, snuggling deeper into Sem's fur whilst Kamo presses her belly against his back. The healer chuckles and pats him on the head as Sem simply watches … and begins to tell the story he promised him.

   Everyone listens, but none is as captivated as the child in the middle of the pile who is whisked away into the weavings of a bold and daring tale. His imagination takes him by the paw and pulls him higher, higher and ever higher … eventually slowing down and resting him in the downy clouds of his mind as he begins to drift off to sleep.

   “Did all that really happen … ?” Gen yawns. His ears flick at a bit of distant thunder, but he otherwise remains still and calm.

   “Mhmm. Every bit of the story happened as I said it,” Sem sleepily affirms, his eyelids also growing heavy as he drapes his wolf-like tail over Gen like a blanket.

   “Wow … ” Gen breathes. “I really wanna be like someone like you some day … strong and helpful … and brave.”

   “Well, you can,” Kamo softly purrs, bringing Gen's paws together to form the symbol of infinity. “If that's what you want.”

   “But you don't have to rush, alright?” Sem asks, thoughtfully stroking Gen's ear. “You're still a sprout. You have plenty of time to think it over.”

   Gen shrugs and hums vaguely before yawning again, rubbing his eyes and snuggling into his Mokk and into Sem's fur.“Goodnight, everyone … and thank you for the sleepover party ...” 

   “Goodnight, abni … ” 

   “G’night, kiddo … ” Ipu murmurs back as he lies his entire body on top of Watada's arm.

   “Sweet dreams, my nephew.” Chafa reclines on her Gorlek's arm like a pillow.

   Apei is already fast asleep, lightly snoring as floating purple numbers of increasing value leap over a single bracket above her head.

   While Dabir remains silent. Eyes open. Breathing steady.

   Listening as the rain lashes at the windows.

   Thinking, with a paw placed on his lantern.

   Thinking. Always thinking.

「 Act One: End 」

Chapter Text

Scene 742563

A platform of clearest quartz is held aloft by seven columns.

Five of them hum and glow as they rise through the watery quartz, sending crystalline ripples rushing, blooming and intersecting each across the glassy surface. Doors appear on each of the risen columns as five beings of pure light thus enter the space, floating towards the center of the stage where a table ascends to greet them; all of them unique by their adornments.

   ALL

(Bow.) For Kurestal.

(An absence is quickly noticed. Seim, the Jade of Noiton, is not with them. Their pillar of jade remains motionless below the platform … close to the shattered amber pillar.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL

(They raise their hand and bow their haloed head.) Since Seir acted as administrator in the last meeting, and … seeing that Seim is not with us at this time, the duty thus falls upon me. Seiv shall act as administrator in the next meeting.

   ALL

(Hands rise in agreement.) So it is.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

To begin our meeting, I would simply like to ask … how are you? (They look around and offer a smile.) How is everyone here doing? Are your forests and children well?

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(They raise and flick a hand in salute, smiling lightly.) We have a bit of an increase in beast activity and we have confirmed that we have slight difficulty connecting to Wells like everyone else. Aside from that, though, everything's fine and dandy in paradise, captain, like always. 

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM

(They raise a thumbs up … distantly.) Likewise with us. Increased beast activity, but nothing we cannot handle; a bit of difficulty connecting to Wells. We've also seen a bit of a melt, but summer approaches, so it is expected … 

(The Ruby trails off.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(Softly:) Are you still worried about Sem?

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They sigh, nod and pinch the bridge of their nose.) I am just … I do not understand. Why did my child leave Altum without letting me know? It is good he is with the team now, he was actually the one I wanted to send, but … I cannot help but feel responsible, somehow.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They approach the Ruby and place a hand on their shoulder.) I am sure he had his reasons, and given how you have spoken of him in the past, it is unlikely he did so out of malicious intent. We just have to trust him. Not to mention, he can keep himself safe, especially with a party of eight, right? He will also return one day, I am sure of it.

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They sigh again, but eventually lower their hand and reluctantly nods, obviously choosing to keep quiet about certain emotions.) Many look up to him and care about him. He had better come back.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

And he will.

(They pat the shoulder of the Ruby before returning to their spot at the table.) I am also certain he will explain everything and take responsibility for what he did. For now, though, he will continue helping the team, as you originally intended. The skills you gave him will be great assets in the expedition.

(The Ruby nods and says no more, finished with their report. The Turquoise then gestures to the Amethyst to continue.)

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

(They take the cue, nodding and placing a hand on their chest.) Things are the same with us; increased beast activity and Well connection issues, but I have a piece of good news that will hopefully cheer us all up … !

(The Amethyst raises a hand, scribes words in the air and reads them aloud:)

“The sakura bloom,

As do our kin in beauty

And in decorum.”

(They then wave their hand and cause the words to dissolve into fluttering shower of sakura petals, a proud smile on their lips.) 

One of our own composed this lovely haiku the other day. I think it nicely illustrates something that happened recently.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They clasp their hands together in delight.) Does this mean … ?

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

(They excitedly nod.) Yes! A new branch of spirits have been born to us, all of them healthy and eager to explore. Ten young ones have greeted the world, and Kurestal is made brighter by them.

(Applause and cheers politely bloom from around the table, with the Ruby even smiling again. It is a happy and hopeful day for Hoa, and such good news in the face of troubling times is always welcome.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Well, isn't that just lovely? Thank you, Seip, for sharing that with us. 

(The Amethyst curtsies with perfect poise, like always.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

What about you, Seir? How are things with you?

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They sigh and cross their arms as the diamond-shaped halo rotates at their back.) Ori and Niwen continue to grow strong. Heightened beast activity continues to persist, though the Oaken Guard we set up is getting a good number of volunteers that will hopefully combat this issue. All in all, we face the same issues as everyone else.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Well, every bit helps. And what of Gen and Watada? How are they getting along with the team sent their way?

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

From what I hear, the two are getting along rather well with them. Good relations will certainly be helpful for their dive down there. They're now preparing for what comes ahead.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Hopefully their bonds will help push Gen to become a little more courageous. (They sigh.) Especially since they need him down there.

(The Citrine simply nods and glances away.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Right. Well, as for us in Nibel … we report the same things you do. Let us continue as we are until we hopefully gain new information from that library. Are we all in agreement?

   ALL

(Raise hands.) So it is.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

On to other matters, does anyone know why Seim is unable to join us at this time?

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM

(They tap their chin in thought.) Probably to do with that lantern business. A large archipelago like Noiton must have effective guidance to ensure that every settlement has enough resources to construct their own lanterns.

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

(They hug themself as they glance at the shattered amber pillar also suspended below the platform.) If only Seil were here … they would be so proud of their child coming up with such an invention.

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL

It is a bit odd, though … isn't it? (They cross their arms and flick their pentagon-bangled tail.) An ordinary spirit like Dabir is able to make something that can maintain reality itself, and with such cheap materials. How did he come up with that, and under such good timing? 

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

Finally, someone said it. Even for a child of Seil, this is rather unusual. 

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They gesture to the Citrine.) You and Ori spoke with the group, did you not? What are your thoughts on this matter?

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They shrug nonchalantly.) Ori thinks they are interesting and will make good friends for the little sprout. As for one's thoughts, with Dabir in particular, he is … insufferable. Brilliant, perhaps, but insufferable.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(Scoffing under their breath:) It sounds like someone I know…

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They suspiciously flick their ear at the Turquoise. The diamond halo floating at their back rotates quickly out of agitation.) What was that, Sein?

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Nothing of consequence. (They clear their throat.) But I do have something of consequence that I would like to bring to your attention.

(The Turquoise waves their hand above the central table, causing the glassy surface to ripple and produce glowing projections of several objects. All eyes present in the space examine their cracks, their weathering and notice the unmistakable species of the ape-like, pale-faced and pot-bellied subjects.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They gesture excitedly.) Behold, the first relics recovered from The Brinewood!

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

(The art lover's ears and pair of tails perk up. Their triangular necklace rotates steadily with intrigue and excitement.) These are all Mupo, aren't they? My, what marvelous craftsmanship, and their expressions are simply exquisite!

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They turn to Sein and Seir.) One of these Mupo, I believe, raised your beloved Ori, no?

(Both the Turquoise and the Citrine nod. They then lower their heads a little.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They wistfully conjure a smiling mother's image on the table.) Naru was her name. She always loved the spirits and cared for Ori more than she did herself. She was also such a wonderful artist, sculptor, mother … 

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They speak in solemn agreement.) Were it not for her and the events that followed due to her taking Ori in, I and all of Niwen would not be flourishing the way we are today. 

(A moment passes in silence. Seir eventually clears their throat, the sound echoing in the space.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN

But, while we miss her … this is not relevant to the meeting, is it, administrator?

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL

No, no … it's not. You are right. Thank you for reminding me. (They take a deep breath and dismiss the image of Naru.) Apologies for that, everyone … 

(Everyone present simply nods. It is alright.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Right, err … these relics that you see before you are only a handful of what the diving crew saw down there. They reported seeing many more artefacts depicting the Mupo, like on pottery shards, more statuettes, on carved murals and the like. One even reported seeing several statues of Mupo made of gemstone. Here, take a look at the sketch they made.

(The Turquoise summons another projection, this time of a piece of paper, which is multiplied into more projections and sent across the table to each of the Lights. The image of a smiling Mupo carved from large gemstone chunks (“emerald? chrysolite? jade?” is written above the statue's head) gazes back at them, surrounded by drifting tendrils of seaweed and curious fish … with the crystalline subject’s hollowed eyes filled and spilling with algae in a manner that makes it look akin to weeping. It is forever frozen with an outstretched hand as if reaching for something.)

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM

(They shiver a little.) How … ominous. And to think that all these treasures are lying in your domain, Seir. Perhaps once you feel that Niwen has regained enough footing, you could lead this expedition instead?

(The Citrine, who would normally say something in reply, remains silent.)

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL

(They lower their drawing.) Seir? Something the matter?

(The Citrine tightly grasps the drawing in their hands, gazing into the voids that reside and spill from the statue's eyes.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Murmuring:) Why … don't I remember?

(The Citrine lifts their gaze and looks up at the council, who await an explanation.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They worriedly gesture at the drawing.) The abundance of such relics, in my forest, no less, suggest an entire culture of Mupo. They even had libraries — the sign of a civilization. So why … why can't I remember any of it? I should know this, I can't have forgotten an … an entire race who lived in my land … !

(The Citrine reaches up and grasps their head, clearly unsettled by this glaring gap in their memory. Despite how hard they may seem to get along with everyone, they at least seem to care a lot about their subjects.)

(But the question remains in their minds. Why can't Seir remember something like this, when they should? Come to think of it, however … )

(Why does no-one here remember, either?)

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

(They chuckle nervously.) This, heh … this has to be an … an effect of whatever is going on. That's it, right? Anything can happen nowadays, remember? So —

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They adamantly shake their head.) No, no. That cannot be it. Even before all these strange phenomena began all over Kurestal, I've never once given a single thought to the lost Mupo in my forest. And … and not only that, I cannot remember the contents of the library … !

(The council falls silent as laughter echoes from one among them.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They laugh. They clutch their head as their diamond-shaped halo spins faster) Why? Why can't I remember? I did not even know it was possible for us to forget —

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Seir.

(Two hands firmly grasp at the Citrine's wrists and shake the shaken immortal. This seems to stun the Citrine into silence as the Turquoise stands before them, lowering the Citrine's hands back to their sides.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(Their firm voice echoes like the sundering splashes of seawater in a glorious gemstone cave.) Calm, Seir. Calm yourself. You are the Light of Niwen — The Dawn of Glory. Get a grip of yourself! Have you — have we — not been through worse?

(In past millennia, each of the Lights have taken their turns to speak to the Citrine like this. Only the Turquoise could get them to still and find calm again like now, as the Citrine lowers their shoulders.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

I am also confident that once all has been resolved, you — we — will remember the truth behind the Mupo.

(The Citrine blinks.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Hesitantly:) You … do you mean that?

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Of course I do. In fact, I foresee it. But for now, we urge you to focus on what you do know and can do now. If Watada and Gen can do that, so can you. And you must.

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Softly:) I … I must … yes … 

(They withdraw from the Turquoise who gently lets them go. The Citrine clears their throat, takes a deep breath and glances down in avoidance of all gazes.)

You are right. My … excuse me, everyone  

(Gazes are cast every which way. The Amethyst opens their mouth to speak … but opts for silence. The Sapphire sighs, and shakes their head, flicking their pentagon-bangled tail.)

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

And if Seil were here, they'd pluck a book from their ass. 

(A deafening beat of soundlessness.)

(All eyes swivel slowly towards the Sapphire.)

(Which is shattered when the Citrine and the Sapphire make direct eye contact, causing the former to snort, cover their mouth and look away.)

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(Laughingly:) Wait, I mean … !

(The Turquoise and the Ruby follow by also glancing away and barely stifling their laughter, while the Amethyst daintily covers their mouth behind a flowing sleeve … though their tails speak for them by wiggling like the wavelengths of a giggle.)

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

I didn't … haha! … finish! I meant they'd show us the answer from their own libraries!

(Like a pot left to simmer on a stove for too long, their guffaws and chortles finally burst and spill out from around the edges of the table, echoing and rippling like swathes of rainbow stardust across the astral space. When was the last time they actually laughed like this?)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Wiping tears from their eyes:) Seiv, you, heh … !

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(Also wiping a tear:) Does Kurestal even need the rest of us given how colourful their tongue is?

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL

(Playfully:) I mean hey, Friol does boast the highest number of rainbows per week out of all seven forests.

(The haloed Turquoise, after regaining most of their composure, sends a wordless yet heartfelt look towards the Sapphire, who simply smiles and nods with a small flourish of the hand. The Glow of Joy has done what he has needed.)

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

Thank you very much, Seiv. (They sigh deeply.) I think … we all really needed that. What would we do without you?

(Everyone nods to that. They all have been running themselves ragged trying to solve this unforeseen problem … that they forgot to stop and simply take a moment to breathe. If their children laugh, should they not also share in that delight, even just a little bit? It is good that one of them remembers this.)

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

(They humbly nod and gesture to the Turquoise.) Administrator, the table is yours. What can we do now, like you said?

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They nod gratefully.) Well, since we Lights now face the possibility of our memories being less-than-infallible … why don't we take a page from our children and write down our meetings? In fact, why don't we dedicate all our memories into writing and store them here? 

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They smirk and chuckle again.) A page, you say. A library all our own.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Seir … 

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

Sorry, I am just getting all my laughs out. (They clear their throat and float upright once again.) However, is there not the possibility of our records also being altered? Anything can happen nowadays, after all.

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM

(They twist and coil their tail pensively.) That is true … but it is better than not trying, no?

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

(They nod and place a hand on their heart as their triangular necklace rotates in between their head and chest.)

Should even tides sweep

Away one's tracks in the sand;

The heart still bears them.

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They raise a hand.) All in favor of recording and storing information of our council meetings, raise a hand and say aye.

   ALL

(Raise hands.) Aye.

(As soon as they announce their united decision, a series of shimmering lights ripple above their heads. It's a scattering of energy crystals; a newborn constellation in the night sky; a shifting dance of bumbling fireflies. It takes the form of a mighty scroll that begins to unfurl and stretch into the endless expanses of this space.)

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA 

My, how beautiful … !

(As they say that, amethyst light flickers on the surface of the scroll, leaving behind an imprint of the words on the ever-unfurling page just spoken.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(Tilting their head:) Wait, is it going to record everything we are saying?

(Citrine light flashes accordingly above their heads.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

… even this?

(Citrine light flashes accordingly.)

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

And what about … this? And this? And thi-thi-that!

(More citrine light, more citrine light and … even more citrine light. They join the glowing words of amethyst light written on the page.)

   SEIV, SAPPHIRE OF FRIOL 

Glad to see someone is having fun. (They snicker.) But congratulations, Seir. What you said just now, as your first entries, no less, is written down. For all eternity.

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

(They smirk and roll their eyes.) I think I will be fine with that. It is not like we are going to share it with anyone outside this place.

   SEID, RUBY OF ALTUM 

(They cautiously shrug.) Anything can happen …

   SEIP, AMETHYST OF HOA

What else can we do, administrator? 

(The Turquoise taps their chin.)

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL

We could have Seim, in the next council meeting, ask the Mangrove Collective if they have any recollection of the origins of the Mupo people. It is a long shot, but better than not trying.

(And that is all they can think of to do in the immediate future. The meeting can conclude on that tenuous yet hopeful note. But before they begin to say their goodbyes for now ... )

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

Seir, it is almost morning in Niwen, right?

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

Yes.

   SEIN , TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

That means the team will begin to prepare to sail out?

   SEIR, CITRINE OF NIWEN 

… yes. (They cross their arms.) Why do you ask?

   SEIN, TURQUOISE OF NIBEL 

(They smile.) I just want to make sure they get everything they need. Perhaps you could provide them with something that would ensure that, perhaps with something like ...

Chapter Text

“A flyer from the Oaken Guard … the daily Niwenian News Horn — oooh, a discount at Mokk's Museo-emporium! And a …”

   Gen tilts his head and raises an eyebrow as he closes the door behind him with his hoof. “Ex-pen-di-ture … ex-emp-tion … decree? Abi, what's this?”

   Watada wipes his four big paws across a well-used cooking apron and peers across the dining room to squint at the bundle of papers in Gen’s grasp. “Is that the mail? Let me see that, ya habib.”

   Warm rays of morning sunlight shine through the stone-carved windows as the young yellow spirit obediently trots over to his father; little hoofsteps on sandstone clopping past the turquoise, azure and wisteria glows of Chafa, Ipu and Apei who occupy a length-side of the dining table and currently enjoy their homemade breakfast: tearing into steaming garlic flatbread, scooping aromatic shakshuka (actually spiced this time!), peeling the skins of bright, fresh fruit and sipping on tea, coffee and juice. Apei, though, whilst enjoying a cup of freshly squeezed sundrop fruit juice, stares at the floor and works at a formula above her head that will calculate how much time is needed for the sunlight to touch the patterned rug beneath the table.

   “Apei wakes up for maths, Sem wakes up for exercise, and Dabir wakes up to preen himself,” Ipu chuckles. 

   “Like a solplume,” Kamo comments, serenely stirring a second spoonful of honey into her tea as she sits on the other length-side of the table. Little hoofsteps then clop in her direction as Gen returns to his seat next to the healer, prompting her to softly smile and gently pet the young one's head. “Welcome back.”

   To which Gen giggles, bashfully shrinks in his chair and kicks his hooved feet. “Hi … ”

   The paw on his head moves back as Kamo nods. “Go on, now. Don't let me stop you from your breakfast.”

   No complaints there. Gen lifts up a half-eaten piece of bread already soaked and dripping with eggy tomato sauce, before looking at the mathematician in front of him as he chews. He observes as Apei, without so much as a sound or lifting her gaze from the sunlit floor, takes and eats another slice of garlic flatbread. 

   The young spirit swallows. “Miss Apei, how come you don't talk?” 

   “Abni…” Watada softly yet sternly exclaims, placing a paw on his hip while he folds the recruitment poster with his second pair of paws. “It’s not polite to just ask a question like that. What do we say?”

   At which Gen shrinks again and looks down at the floor. “S-sorry, Miss Apei … ” 

   But the mathematician simply raises a paw and moves her equation aside for a moment. She simply shrugs and nods at Watada. ‘It’s ok. I'm not offended.’ She then looks at Gen. ‘I don't often use my mouth to talk because I'm a ‘disparist.’ Do you know what that is?’

   The bread is put down as Gen respectfully and properly sits up. “Um … I have a moki classmate in school who has this condition, I think. She really likes colours but hates loud noises. Does … that mean you hate noise too?” 

   Apei patiently shakes her head. ‘That’s not the point. The point is that we just do and see things differently. Disparism is also different for everyone who has it. Your friend can talk, right?’

   “Not friends with her, but yeah, she can talk.”

   ‘And she likes colours, probably because it soothes and makes sense to her, just like how math soothes and makes sense to me. You and I can look at the same thing, but I will always look at it with a difference of exactly 3 degrees, and thus will always have a different approach to things from what is considered ‘normal.’ Does that make sense?’

   The child tilts his head whilst tapping his chin and fiddling with the tassels of his new yellow neckerchief. “Huh…”  

   In a weird way, it does make sense. He sees it like two people each hammering a nail in a wall with one directly facing it, and the other facing it from an angle of three degrees. Both can hammer the nail, but the one doing it at three degrees will probably have a harder time doing it and will be less accurate … unless they come up with a way to make sense of it.

   Like with maths and colours. 

   Gen smiles and nods before sharing the mind picture he just came up with. 

   “Well, lad’s quite clever, isn't he?” Ipu grins. 

   Chafa hums and nods behind her cup of coffee, a sign of her approval. Watada also smiles proudly at him as he momentarily flicks his eyes up from, not just one, but three rather interesting documents.

   ‘I’m glad you seem to understand. I think we will be good friends,’ Apei smiles, pleased. Kamo also pets Gen on the head once more, making the young spirit beam brightly at his father who nods at him before clearing his throat.

   “Well, attention, everyone,” Watada says as he folds the Museo-Emporium promotional and unrolls one of three important-looking missives. “We have received a series of powerful documents from the Spirit Tree himself: three ‘Expenditure Exemption Decrees.’ They will allow us to freely acquire anything needed for the mission without cost. Do you know what this means?”

   Ipu chuckles and grins. “Ohoho, does this mean we get to go on—”

   “A shopping spreeee!” Dabir proudly announces in singsong as he enters the dining room with arms outstretched above his horned head, grinning as he smoothly plucks one of the three decrees out of Watada's paws and plops himself on the seat next to an unbothered Kamo. “An all-out, unadulterated and completely paid-for shopping spree! Now that's something I'd like to hear in all my mornings.”

   “Good morning to you, too, Mister Dabir…” Chafa grumbles and rubs her temple. So noisy…

   The amber inventor, his lantern faithfully attached to his person as always, waves dismissively as he pours himself a mug of coffee while reading the terms and conditions of the decree. “Yes, yes, good morning to everyone.”

   Just as that happens, the door swings open to let in the last spirit of this entourage, who had taken off his signature red cloak before going out. “Good morning, everyone! Ooh, breakfast…!” Sem chirps, trotting over to the empty seat at the head of the table, sitting between Apei and Gen.

   Kamo smiles at him. “How was your exercise, Sem?” 

   “It was, uh, pretty good!” Sem smiles back at the healer. “Got to run around a bit, got a lay of the land, met some nice folks. Saw some shops we could buy some supplies from.”

   “You ran all the way to the market district?” Watada asks with surprise evident in his tone, finally taking his seat at the other head of the table. “All for your morning exercise?”

   To which the warrior shrugs before smiling at Kamo again. “What can I say? It keeps my body strong.”

   The healer cheekily smirks back but otherwise says nothing before sipping her tea again. The inventor, meanwhile, rolls his eyes at this and goes back to reading the decree much to Ipu’s amusement.

  “So!” Chafa taps the edge of her cup with a teaspoon, drawing all eyes and ears to her. “Aside from the usual suspects like food, water and general supplies, what else shall we get? And how shall we break up into groups?”

❧

The first step to brewing potions is to know what potions you want or need. The second step is to gather the ingredients for said potions.

   Kamo and Sem thus find themselves perusing the alchemical section of New Niwen Market. The air (of which is generally silent save for the occasional explosion from any given window and/or the breaking of glass) is filled with all manner of smells and scents from the divine to the damnable, such as a dance of delicate rose petals mingling with the odour of burning rubber gum, to aromatic ground peppers tinged with biting hints of sun-cured iceslug droppings. Everything an alchemist or brewer might need for any given concoction is almost certain to be found here, and that includes expensive ingredients that may come exclusively from other forests. Not that that's an issue at the moment.

   “Let's see here … ” Kamo taps her chin with a pencil and thoughtfully looks at a piece of parchment in her paws. “Ten shell slime membranes ...” The tip of sharpened charcoal rakes across a line of letters with a satisfying scratch. She smiles. “Check. Next is … thirteen single-ounce vials of aquatic lashworm venom. I think it's over there … how are you holding up, Sem?”

   A little ways behind her, Sem heaves and grunts as he hoists a weighty sling bag on both of his red-caped shoulders, both pieces of luggage bulging with a menagerie of ingredients, with one dripping from the bottom and the other noisily clinking with all manner of glass and wooden bottles and vials. 

   All the while, the Altumian consciously wraps his fluffy tail around his waist so as not to touch the icky, drippy … whatever it is they bought and stuffed into that one bag. “I'm fine … !” The warrior chuckles breathlessly as he catches up with her. “What else do we need?”

   Keeping their decree tucked tight under her arm, Kamo smiles as she places a paw on her hip and lightly shakes her head. “Sem, I can help, you know.”

   “What? No, no, no need!” Sem waves it off, wipes his horned brow, and grins. “It’s fine. I can handle this by myself. It's like I'm back in Altum, training by running up and down some snowy hills with rocks attached to a pole I balance on my shoulders.”

   Kamo stretches her smile a little wider. “And I carried many elderlies and young up and down hills and trees whenever monsoon season hit Noiton,” she says before adding: “Sometimes while also carrying large bags of ingredients at the same time.”

   Sem nods with wide eyes. “I knew that potionists did a lot of work, but this is … just a bit more than what I was expecting, that's all, ha!”

   The healer simply flicks her fingers at him in a give-it-here gesture. With a defeated sigh, Sem shrugs and relents with that same smile. “If that is what you want…” he sighs again for effect, and begins to pass her the drippy bag—

   “Eww, not that one!” Kamo giggles and steps back. “The other one!”

   “Ohohoho, so we're being picky now?” he snickers and holds it closer to her as more mucus slops through the canvas, glinting under the sunlight with a color and texture like that of dirty cooking oil. “Come on, you wanted to help!”

   The healer dodges with a laugh, tail twirling as she dances around and reaches for the other bag. “The other one, you bajin!” 

   Which the warrior allows with a laugh and passes her the dry and clinky sling bag, though he does have a question. “Bajin?” he inquisitively echoes.

   Kamo shoulders the new weight with a sigh, though her tail flicks against his in a friendly manner like a gentle elbow to a shoulder. “You know, like … ‘rascal.’ ‘Cheeky thing.’ Affectionately, of course.” 

   Sem's rabbit-like ears perk up as their eyes make quiet contact. A moment passes as they stand in a crossroads of the strange-smelling potion section of the bustling Niwenian market … simply being together, side by side.

   “Bajin, huh?” he hums contentedly. “As far as nicknames go, I think I like that the most. Only if, of course, you allow me to give you a nickname in return?”

   Kamo taps her chin with the butt-end of the pencil, a playful look of scrutiny now colouring her eyes. “Proceed.”

   “Myat.”

   A brow raises as she smiles. “Myat?”

   The smile is returned as the tips of Sem's tall ears flush a tinge of glowing ruby red. “For ‘mint.’ Because like a sprig of those beautiful green leaves boiled in water to make a tea … you refresh me, Kamo of Noiton.”

   The warrior gets a look of surprise in return, with the healer's round cheeks dusting a shade of ethereal jade. Kamo then smiles, fangs and all, and uses her long, flat tail to playfully smack Sem's shoulder. “Bajin…” is all she softly mumbles before gesturing for him to follow. “Keep up if you can, Sem of Altum.”

   Which he does. His fluffy tail happily wags as he falls into step with her, the drippy bag leaving behind a trail of mucus on the ground. “As you say, Myat. What are we getting again?”

   “Thirteen vials of aquatic lashworm venom. After that, twenty-six vials of immaculate nectar.”

   Sem tilts his head as he takes his turn to raise a brow. “I understand the aquatic one, but why the nectar?”

   “It plays a very important role: it will allow you to swallow.”

❧

Given the events of the fight on her ship not that long ago, it only makes sense to the captain that she arm herself a little better.

   She cannot wield a sword or carry a shield, however. Those youthful days are long behind her. She needs something light. Something simple. Something … effective; appropriate for her stature and physical condition.

   And she has just the idea.

   A dainty metal bell rings out as a door, decorated with a delicate, beautiful and colourful stained glass window, smoothly swings open for Chafa and Apei to step inside a shop and take stock of their surroundings. Neat and organised wooden shelves occupy the center floor and walls of the establishment, all of them advertising more or less the same product: Spirit Shards.

   The store owner, a tall-hatted Gorlek with a body rather thin for his kind, adjusts a silver-rimmed monocle adorning his topmost eye. The lens could have been placed on any other eye, were it not for the impressive snow-white glacial shelf of a moustache that almost completely covers his entire face and two lower eyes. Said facial hair quivers and trembles with every syllable of a nasally, heady voice.

   “Well, if it isn't ‘the captain of the rainbow-coloured crew!’” The shopkeeper tips his hat from behind the counter. “And the eccentric Hoan mathematician. Welcome, both of you, to Salvo's Shards, where one serves the crystalline needs of every traveling spirit. What can I get for you two today?”

   Chafa calmly lifts a crystal from one of the shelves, holding it up to the sunlight that filters through the polished glass windows. Apei does the same with another crystal, her starry eyes clearly dazzled by the refractions of the light, their angles decided by the hidden geometries locked within the shard.

   “I’m curious, Mister Salvo,” Chafa says, continuing to casually examine the crystal in her paw. “Do you get a lot of foot traffic in this place? There are not a lot of spirits in Niwen at the moment, and nearly all spirits that are here hail from abroad.”

   Salvo strokes a tuft of his impressive mustache. “Well, captain, it's true that most of my customers are foreigners. However, with the Gorlek Mines reopened, the opportunity to gain a foothold in this market could not be missed! I would join my pick-swinging, hammer-bashing brethren down in the mines, but, well … ” 

   He chuckles as he raises one of his four thin arms and flexes. There is not a lot to behold. “I am simply not built for such work, and I do prefer staying above ground, where the light is. But rest assured, while one is not a spirit, my shards are of top-notch quality!”

   The crystal is put back on the shelf, and Chafa approaches the counter whilst casting a look here and there. Salvo easily discerns the meaning of this. “Would one be right to assume that you're seeking something else than Spirit Shards?” he smiles amicably.

   “One would be right,” the blue-shawled spirit nods and smiles in return. “I am looking for what you make them into. Something lightweight, able to be held in one paw, and yet … highly effective, even from a good distance.”

   The lone lens of Salvo's silver-rimmed eyepiece gleams as his shock of a moustache curls in a way that Chafa can only describe as a smile. “Most certainly, captain. Let me see what we have.”

   The beanpole merchant of a Gorlek stoops down behind the counter, where the smooth scraping of a sliding wooden panel door can be heard. He mutters the mentioned requirements under his breath … before producing and placing the item she seeks before her: an ocean-cerulean Spirit Shard with one of its ends carefully carved and skillfully filed into a sharp and shining point, firmly attached to a wooden handle that would comfortably fit into her paw. There is also a trigger mechanism made of stone where the index finger can most easily reach and pull, connected to a small hammer that would strike the crystal from behind.

   Salvo proudly smiles. “Lightweight, one-paw, and highly effective from a good distance. Here, try and hold it.” He lifts it up by the crystal and holds the handle out to her, which she takes. The varnished wood is smooth to the touch, with grooves cut onto the surface for better grip. The entire item overall is easy to handle.

   The elder cannot help but deeply sigh as she looks at it. It feels very good to hold. It makes her feel … stronger. More in control. “How many charges in a day?” she asks.

   “Eight, when fully recharged. This is the most balanced option. The smaller the shard, the more abundant yet weaker the charges. The larger it is … well, you requested something one-pawed, dear captain.”

   Chafa simply nods. She then turns to Apei who has taken more spirit shards from the shelves and has arranged them into a strange formation on the wooden floor around her, fully absorbed in turning them around and angling the sunlight to form even more geometric shapes out of light.

   “Apei?” calls the captain from in front of the counter.

   The purple mathematician looks up to see the turquoise caption holding the firearm in her paw.

   “Give me some targets,” Chafa instructs. “Five will do.”

    “Wait, what—” Salvo's eyes shoot wide open as he immediately raises all four paws in protest. “We have a firing range behind—!”

   But it is too late. Apei flourishes a paw and rapidly forms five floating objects in the air out of her light: a cube, a cone, a sphere, a triangular prism, and finally a pyramid. Chafa then raises the weapon, aligning the sharp tip with her line of sight and unflinchingly pulling the stone trigger. 

   The small stone hammer slams onto the back end of the shard, igniting bolts of cerulean energy that arc across the glassy chamber, all pooling and condensing at the apex before unleashing a bright bolt of light, the sparking projectile singing with a shrill whistle like that of a flying firework.

   Whiiish-PAP! Whish-PAP! Whiiiish-PAP!

  The purple cube shatters into fragments and fizzles into vanishing sparks and swirls. The purple cone quickly follows the same fate, rapidly trailed after by the sphere and the prism. The fifth and final shot, however, misses the pyramid as the sparking bolt whizzes past the target in a brilliant blur of blue, nailing and bursting onto the shop's wooden door which not only leaves an unmissable hole in its center and blackened scorch marks in its wake, but also fractures the door’s stained glass window and leaves a lingering scent of burning oak.

   Apei grins and claps as she causes the prism to burst into bits of arcane glitter and confetti. ‘An 80% accuracy rate, or a success of ⅘!'

   A green shard of glass tumbles and falls from the colourful, damaged window, clattering onto the varnished wood floor as a bunch of curious moki and surprised foreign spirits, visible through the fresh hole in the door, gawk at the source of the sudden noise.

   Salvo grasps the ends of his impressive mustache and pulls in dismay, which reveals his two lower eyes that match the third in their expression of shock. “My door! You ruined my door!”

   “Oh, hush now. It's not that bad,” chides Chafa before turning back and giving a satisfied nod, the firearm still held comfortably in her paw. “This one will do. You will also add in a nice and sturdy shoulder holster for me, won't you? Leather, if you please.”

   “Not until you fix my door—!” Salvo persists, at which Chafa merely sighs.

   “I said, hush.”

   She lifts her staff and slams it onto the floor, causing the diamond at the top to emit a sky-blue light that fills the shop. Chafa whispers an incantation under her breath as she reaches into her shawl. “Plaxifsanna … plaxifsanna … ” 

   Her efforts have a noticeable effect. The Gorlek’s breathing slows, the tension in his features melt away, and his entire form loosens and relaxes. A bit of the gem's cloudiness is sucked into the staff just as Chafa produces a document from her shawl and presents it with an aged yet cheeky smile. “Expenditure Exemption Decree, ordered and sealed by none other than my brother Ori, and Seir. However much it takes to replace your door, it will be paid for, along with this fine weapon, a trusty holster … and some personal enchantment for this firearm.”

   The light fades from the gem. The soothed salesman clears his throat, adjusts his tall hat and silver monocle, and smooths out his impressive, manicured moustache, though a few stubborn hairs refuse to fall back into place as he speaks with utmost composure and poise. “Indeed, this … all this can be arranged, captain. Oh, and would your plus one like anything?”

   As the decree finds its way back into the folds of Chafa's shawl, the captain glances over to Apei just as the mathematician claps with delight. She had taken that fallen piece of window and placed it amongst the array of Spirit Shards on the floor, with the beams of light all turned and angled to focus on a point that illuminates up the green glass. 

   The captain smiles and turns back to the merchant. “I think she will be alright. And as for the enchantments, I would like to make it a rush order. As in, I would like to start today. Or now.”

   Salvo nods and even grins with the lens of his monocle likewise gleaming. “Certainly, dear captain. What augmentations might you have in mind?”

   As Apei is once again lost in her world of angles, numbers and manipulated sunlight, Chafa beckons for the towering Gorlek to lean down so she may whisper softly into his ear …

❧

Giiki's General Goods, the biggest and best general store in all of New Niwen City, sits right next to the Line & Sinker Bar. Because of course it does.

   A certain Gorlek's nose can acutely detect the faint, lingering yet sharp stench of alcohol with the smell wafting from the beer-soaked wood of its outdoor tables and chairs, and from even the ground after many years of hosting cheerings and toastings — many of which he was a part of. As a result, Watada's tongue and his heart try to pull him towards the front door of the tavern like a stubborn master pulling an unwilling pet on a leash. 

   Come and have just a sip, hisses his tongue. Are you not thirsty on this hot afternoon?

   It's been so long, sings the scheming heart. Do you not deserve a reward?

   But every fiber of his heart and every inch of his mind holds him in place next to the shopping his team has done — several days worth of food crates, barrels of clean drinking water, lengths of sturdy rope, brand-new tools waiting to used, bits of scrap wood meant for repairs, scrap metal bits and parts for Dabir to tinker with … and a mug of Giiki's special iced cinapple tea, which Watada lifts from a box of hardtack and quietly sips on to silence and still his tongue and heart … for now. He also turns his back to the tavern. Perhaps looking away from it would help.

   Sipping on his own mug of iced cinapple tea is Gen as he sits on one of the boxes, excitedly kicking his hooved feet and sticking close to Watada, for in his other paw rests the sale promotional for Mokk’s Magnificent Museo-Emporium … with the ostentatiously-named shop itself also sitting next to Giiki's General Goods. The shelves behind the windows, as spied by his little eyes, are lined with stuffed toys of the famed and dashing moki, each wielding shiny replicas of the many bold weapons he wielded over his many exciting adventures. They waged a desperate battle for space among the overflowing shelves against the hordes of posters, collective figurines, and a book series — of which Gen eagerly anticipates the next installment — threatening to push them off. Any one of these could be his — for free, thanks to dad's decree!

   “What do you want to get, abni?” chuckles Watada. His son is simply precious …

   Gen excitedly points at one of the toys visible through the window. “I wanna get a new Mokk plushie! The one with the captain's hat and the sword. It only seems fitting because we're gonna go sailing, right? And my old one needs a friend, too!”

   Watada thinks of the current stuffed toy Gen has back home. It is pretty old and worn after being hugged and cuddled with for the better part of twelve years. The Gorlek then glances over to the shop where Ipu and Dabir address the she-moki over the counter, with the inventor having taken the older shop owner’s paw and saying something (with a very charming, very handsome smile) that makes her giggle and fan her blushing face with the other paw. Ipu, meanwhile, takes his leave and brings out an armful of metal canteens — eight of them, to be exact.

   “Sorry for the wait, lads!” Ipu sets the canteens down, dusts his paws and adjusts his azure wristbands. “I think that should be the last of it. Now, to carry some of this stuff back to the ship…”

   “Mister Ipu, is Miss Giiki alright?” Gen tilts his head, setting the leaflet aside to hold one of the water vessels with both paws. It’s smooth to the touch and feels sturdy enough to ensure no leakage. “She seems to be feeling very hot. Is she having a fever?”

   “Hmm?” the sailor glances back at the shop. “Oh! No, no, not at all. Mister Dabir is just … singing a song of … promises! And of personal embellishments.”

   To which the young spirit nods, clearly interested. “I didn't know Dabir could sing. Is he a good singer?”

   “Oh, he sings very well …” Ipu then clears his throat as three stern Gorlek eyes sharply look his way. “Anyways, uh … how's the tea? Is it tasty?”

   “It’s very nice! You should try it!” chirps Gen. That's all Ipu needs to hear.

   “Dabiiir? Be a lad and get us two mugs of that drink, will ya?”

   Dabir's foxy ears perk up from behind his handsome pair of bull-like horns, with the inventor smiling charmingly yet again as he asks for something that the older moki is more than happy to serve. It takes only a moment before Dabir exits the general store bearing drinks in his paws and a grin on his face.

   “A mug of Miss Giiki's finest iced cinapple tea, delivered generously by yours truly,” purrs Dabir with his tail proudly flicking behind him to match his expression.

   “Why, thank you, milord, for bringing this divine potion to quench mine thirst,” Ipu deeply bows in melodramatic and light-hearted mockery, playfully winking at a giggling Gen as he stands and takes a mug. “But yeah, thanks! Pretty hot today, isn't it?”

   “Honestly? I couldn't tell,” Dabir coolly shrugs. “Heat doesn't really bother me, being a desert dweller and all that. And if I'm ever cold, I have my trusty lantern to keep me warm.”

   The sailor snickers. “Well then, time to sail on to Altum!” 

   “Gentlemen.” Watada smiles cordially as Gen hops off the box. “I promised my abni here that we would go to the other store to buy something when you got back, so kindly pass us the decree.” 

   “We won't take too long, I promise!” bows Gen as Ipu passes the document to Watada. “I already know what I want.”

   Right before the father and son pair leave, however, the Gorlek glances back at the tavern with a wistful expression. Dabir quietly notes this as he sips on his iced tea before casually posing Ipu a question. “So, Mister First Mate, please tell me you can Blink these big boxes back to the ship, nice and easy…”

   “Normally, yours truly carries them back and forth. Gotta get these muscles from somewhere, amirite?” Ipu grins and flexes with a wink. “Buuut given a need for expediency, I s’pose some exceptions can be made.”

   A short while passes before Gen returns as a proud owner of a plush Captain Mokk, fitted with a daring tricorn hat, an intriguing eye patch and a bold blade sewn of grey felt fabric. A bit stereotypical but otherwise quite well-made and appeals to the childish imagination.

   “He is so cool!!” Gen squeals, hugging the toy captain close to his chest. “I can't wait to bring him to a tea party and introduce him to Mokk the First!”

   Dabir raises an eyebrow as he swirls the remaining liquid in his mug. “You play tea parties—?”

   “And?” Watada sharply asks with the arching of his third brow. To which the sailor sits up.

   “Ohhh, shoot! Tea! I almost forgot the tea!” Ipu then looks at Watada. “I saw a crate of ‘em but they're on a high shelf. Could you be a lad and come with to help bring it down?”

   The Gorlek nods but first turns to Gen. “Will you be alright if I leave you and Captain Mokk with Mister Dabir?”

   To which Gen nods and smiles back. “We’ll be good boys, promise!”

   Watada chuckles and fondly rubs Gen on the head, sternly eyeing Dabir as he does, before following Ipu back into the store with the decree in tow. The inventor, meanwhile, yawns and idly checks his claws as Gen takes his seat on a box next to him. Only a moment of silence passes before conversation starts again.

   “Sooo, Mister Dabir … ” Gen says, reaching for the lantern attached to the amber inventor’s sash. “What's inside this Dabirian Lantern? What makes it burn?”

   “Fuel.” Dabir checks his other paw now.

   “... What kind of fuel, that makes it burn forever?”

   “Very good fuel. The best, in fact.”

   “I see … ” Gen pauses. “Why’d you choose to make it shaped like a pyramid?”

   “... Because it is a good shape…” Dabir replies with a rising tone forced through smiling yet grit teeth; rising so high, in fact, it goes over the curious child's head. 

   “I guess … huh, how weird. I don't see a door.” The young spirit squints. “How did you light—”

   His question is cut short when the door of the Line & Sinker barges open, causing the young yellow spirit to jolt in his seat on the box and to hug Captain Mokk even closer with a squeak. A familiar Gorlek stumbles out of the tavern, sloshing a tankard of vanilla-infused alcohol imported from the paradise islands of Friol and barely avoiding a headfirst collision with a lamppost.

   “Heeey, eeeveryone, I'm … wuhh … wher-is-eveyone … ?” slurs a drunken Qunya. The beer-addled builder sets the tankard onto one of the outdoor tables, hiccups and burps, and scratches his head with one of his four paws as he spins around in confusion until he sees the door. “Ohoho, I went out! Ya sahbi, waiforme…!”

   And he totters back into the tavern, too deep in the drink to even notice the tankard he left on the table. A certain inventor, having observed all this, grins with a glint in his eye.

   Perfect. Seize this opportunity. Dabir clears his throat and turns to Gen. “Hey, twig. You good over there?”

   Gen still quivers with Captain Mokk wrapped tight in his arms. “Y-yeah … that just … was scary — huh?”

   A brand-new canteen is presented to him. Dabir smiles at him from behind it. “Here, take this, and turn around,” he instructs. “See that tankard on the table?”

   The child, confused, takes the canteen. He does turn around. He does see the tankard as it brims with a crisp and pale white foam, left all alone and unattended on the table.

   “Go ahead and take it, then pour the drink into this canteen and give it to your dad as a gift,” whispers the inventor.

   “What??” Gen whirls back and whispers incredulously. “Why … why would I do that? That's stealing … !”

   To which Dabir leans back as if shocked, even gasping and placing a paw on his fluffy chest. “So you're saying … you don't want to give your abi a gift, even though he got you that new toy in your arms?”

  The flustered child immediately shakes his head, sputtering with cheeks and ear tips growing yellower. “N-no, that's not what I mean! It's just … abi doesn't drink this stuff … ! And it's not allowed at home!”

   “And yet, I saw him looking longingly at the tavern. Clearly, he dearly misses that place … and you don't want to give him what he wants after he got you what you want?” Dabir shakes his head. “Don't you want to be a good abni for your abi?”

   The toy is plucked from his paws. The cold, metal vessel is pressed against his chest as the older towers over the younger.

   “A good and brave abni?” Dabir reiterates with a voice smooth as silk.

   All of a sudden, Dabir’s perplexing words seem … reasonable. Logical, even. But … !

   “Won't … won't everyone see me … ?” Gen fearfully looks at the people around them going about their business. “They … they will see me stealing, a-and they will tell abi and my dad, and … !”

   Dabir taps his chin before grinning again. “A good point. But lucky for you, I have an idea. Watch for the window I open for you.”

   “What window—”

   But the amber inventor ignores him as he sets down the toy and reaches for the seven other brand-new canteens, scooping them up into his arms where he then casually walks out into the road … and trips.

   “Whup—oooph!”

   The metal bottles conjure a cacophony as they fall, scatter and clatter onto the cobblestones, drawing all eyes upon Dabir as he makes a show of grunting while trying to stand up again. Several moki even rush forward to lend him a helping paw, which he graciously accepts … all while subtly yet slyly sending Gen a smile whilst nodding his bull-horned head towards the drink on the table.

   This is the window. His chance to take it. 

   Gen tightens his trembling hold on the canteen. His legs feel very heavy all of a sudden as he considers the even heavier weight of the choice before him. Time seems to slow when one's heart beats fast, when blood pounds in one's ears.

   “What … what should I do … ?” Gen whimpers, coiling his tail around his waist.

   Captain Mokk simply looks at him with his daring and eyepatched smile, all while Watada begins to take a box of tea from the shelf and Dabir begins to stand. 

   And somewhere in the middle of all noise and his own thoughts, a child makes his choice.

Chapter Text

“Once again, abni, I am not angry with you. I just want to know where you got this drink.”

   The young yellow spirit swallows dryly under the hardened gaze of his three-eyed father, who notices the imposing difference between their heights and appropriately drops to a knee. Watada watches as Gen's expression softens just a little, but his leaf-like ears remain drooped and the child now averts his gaze.

   The Gorlek places a paw on his son's shoulder and holds up the canteen. “Did someone give you this?”

   Gen twists and untwists the tassels of his grain-coloured neckerchief, looking intently at the flickering stove flames that now seem very interesting. He swallows again, somehow finding it in himself to speak and get the words out. “I … I just wanted to give you a gift back … because you got me Captain Mokk … ”

   Conversation and bits of laughter flow from the dining room adjacent as deer-eared Ipu cracks a joke that earns him either more giggles or groans. Not that Watada currently cares about it, and Gen can barely hear any of it through the roaring and thundering in his ear drums.

   “So if I understand it correctly,” Watada continues calmly, “you did take it from somewhere. Where did you get it from, then, abni?”

   The young spirit twists his hoof against the hard sandstone floor. “From … from the place, next to Ms. Giiki's … ”

   Watada reminds him that taverns do not serve beers to young ones like him. How, then, did he get the drink?

   Ah, so Uncle Qunya accidentally left it on one of the tables outside. Because of course it was Qunya. Who else would choose to be drunk at noon? But one more question remains, practically begging to be answered.

   “From the way you are telling me this story, it very much sounds like you stole this drink, Gen. What, in the name of all that is good, could have possessed you to do that?” Watada asks.

   Gen's eyes and ears feel unbearably hot despite standing far from the stove. His abi is now using his name instead of abni. This is not a good sign. His abi should be smiling, praising and hugging him for what he did, should he not? The child sniffles and twists at his neckerchief even harder, to the point where it feels like ropes digging into his palms. 

   “I … I thought that it would make me a good and brave abni … !” Gen tries to explain through the dizzying heat rushing to and pooling in his head. “I know it wasn't good, and I-I-I told him that you don't drink it, but M-Mister Dabir said if I wanted to be brave, then I — ”

   At that, Watada raises one of his four paws, closes all three eyes and releases a deep and rumbling sigh from his chest. The words from Gen's mouth first stop, followed by him shutting his mouth.

   “I think I have heard enough, Gen,” Watada slowly opens his eyes again. “But I will be clear with you on one thing: I am quite disappointed, both in you for stealing, which you know and said yourself is wrong … ”

   Gen's ears droop lower as a distinct and a hollow sinking sensation burrows itself into his little, thundering heart. His gaze also follows, dropping from the flames of the stove to the heap of ash and ember that collects at the bottom in a metal tray. His eyes grow hotter like water in a pot, brimming and threatening to spill.

 Watada then continues as he also averts his gaze. “... and I'm disappointed in myself, for it seems I have clearly not helped you enough to take this to heart.”

   This is what makes the child look up at him and grasp at the big paw holding his shoulder, but the chance to look into his father's eyes has already passed. Tears slip from his eyes, roll down his cheeks and fall onto Watada's coarse fur. “Abi, no … n-no it's … it's not your fault … !”

   Gen does not know if he prefers for his father to shout and be angry with him, but he does know, however, that this is somehow worse than anger. The feeling is worsened when Watada rises to his feet, leaving Gen standing there and hugging himself as the Gorlek walks over to the ice box, opens it up and places the canteen at the corner furthest from the door before covering it up with other items in the chamber. Then, still facing the ice box, he closes it, crosses one pair of arms and places the other two paws on his hips in a posture of contemplation. 

   Chatter still ripples into the kitchen from the dining room with the six spirits seated at their table blissfully ignorant of this little scene. 

   “Gen,” Watada eventually says. “Look at me.”

   Both turn around to face each other, with Gen wiping his eyes with the backs of his paws and Watada crossing his other pair of arms.

   “First thing tomorrow morning,” the Gorlek begins to instruct, “you will come with me to the tavern so that you may return the drink you stole. Then we will go back home and finish the preparations before we set sail. This is the consequence of your actions; the result of what you did, and you will face it.”

   Gen sniffles and nods. Watada then points to the door leading to the dining room.

   “Second, you are to stay away from Mister Dabir … unless we somehow need you two to work together. While we are required to work together for some time, which I pray will be short, Mister Dabir is clearly not good company to you. I will speak to him about this, but you are to stay away from him unless otherwise needed. Are we clear on this?”

   The young spirit sniffles and nods again. “Yes, abi…”

   “And third … ” Watada approaches his son and drops to a knee again, where his hardened expression softens before Gen's eyes. Two big paws move to cradle his cheeks and two fingers move to wipe away his tears. 

   “You, Gen, are a good and brave abni. I could sense you were scared to tell me what happened, but you still told me,” Watada warmly says. “Remind me, what is bravery, really?”

   Gen holds his wrists and leans into his touch, ears still drooped … but the sinking sensation lifting a little from his heart. “Doing something you know is right, even … even though you're scared.”

   Watada nods. “And telling me the truth despite your fear was the right thing to do, abni. While this does not lessen the fact that what you did today was wrong, however, I want you to remember that everyone makes mistakes, even good people like you. We just have to … ?”

   “Have to learn from them,” Gen finishes, his cheeks soft and tender in his rough paws. “I'm sorry, abi … I really just wanted to give you back a gift … I love you … ” 

   Good intentions don't always equate to good gifts … but Watada decides that that's another lesson (so many lessons to teach … ) for another time. He instead settles to press a warm kiss to Gen's forehead. “And I love you, too, abni. Do not ever forget that, and remember that you can always talk to me about anything. But now, go over to the sink, freshen up your face and return to your dinner. I'm going to have a word with Mister Dabir.”

   As Gen obediently clops over and starts washing his teary face, Watada steps out into the dining room as another burst of laughter erupts from the table filled with an assortment of fruits, greens and meats just as colourful as the six spirits that surround it.

   “Watada!” Ipu laughs and jovially beckons him forward, “Have you finally come to join us for dinner?”

   “I think not,” comes Watada's reply, as quick and decisive as a cleaver carving a bone in two. He zeroes his gaze right onto a certain amber spirit. “Mister Dabir, I would like to have a word with you outside the door.”

   But Dabir chuckles and gestures at Ipu. “But Ipu here was just getting to the good part—”

   “Did I stutter, Dabir?” 

   The booming snarl cuts him off and fills the room. 

   Watada points a thick finger towards the door. “I said, a word. Out. Now.” 

   The Gorlek's tone suggests no room for debate or humour. It also, obviously, suggests a great grievance. A silence as thick as tar, broken by Gen's little hoofsteps on the sandstone floor as he meekly returns to his seat far from Dabir, descends upon the dining room as all six adult spirits gaze up at their lion-like host with varying degrees of surprise and shock. 

   The azure sailor whispers audibly at Dabir. “What did you do?”

   But the amber inventor, his signature smile still resting on his face, merely rises from his seat, wipes his mouth with a napkin and lifts the flickering copper lantern from the table and attaches it to his sash. “Lead the way, Mister Watada.”

   And everyone watches as the two quietly exit the dining room and head towards the door. The rest still seated at the table then swivel their heads towards Gen, who shrinks a little in his chair.

   Chafa, seated next to him and swallowing a mouthful of creamy kurimu root, leans a little closer to her nephew. “Are you going to tell us what happened or are we going to have to ask you to tell us?” 

   The door shuts quietly as a gentle, warm breeze blows through the area, causing several overhead street lanterns and banners to gently creak and flap from their hinges and posts. A chorus of crickets chirp as heralds of the encroaching night as the sun begins to dip below the endless horizon, with the glorious golden Spirit Tree in the distance and the many homes and hovels and abodes under its protection.

   Dabir follows Watada to the back of the house where the laundry hangs. “Look, I am sor — ”

   As a big, thick and calloused paw snatches the inventor by the neck, a pencil in comparison, and lifts him off the ground with ease. Cloven spirit hooves begin to kick and writhe out of instinct; out of burning fear, but whatever breath Dabir had left in his throat is roughly pushed out of him when Watada slams him against the sandstone wall of the house. A bit of dust falls from the roof, but none of the people inside sense any disturbance otherwise.

   Dabir unsheathes his claws and rakes at Watada's paws, but the tips are dull from lack of use. He never really was a fighter, having lived in the walls of a city his whole life. But seeing that this wasn't working, he reaches for the lantern at his waist —

   Only for Watada to pull it from his amber sash. “I will be taking that.”

   Dabir reaches for the lantern with grit fangs and shrunken pupils, his hooves kicking helplessly. “Help — ” he begins to croak.

   Only to be silenced again when the sandstone wall slams onto his back a second time; snuffing the wind from his throat a second time; dust tumbling onto his handsome and bull-horned head a second time. The builder brusquely sets the lantern onto the ground as the lone light within its four foggy windows and copper frame flickers in distant silence. Watada then uses the rest of his paws to restrain Dabir by the wrists and clamp his snout shut, just as a fiery glow sparks to life from inside the inventor's palms, but he merely needs to squeeze in order to extinguish it.

   Watada chuckles darkly as he shakes his lion-maned head. “You know, I have never seen a Kainari spirit use their famous flame powers before, much less see it up close. To think that my first time would be one's attempt to burn me. I guess that counts as three first times in one. I then suppose that I should be thankful to you for that. But what I am not thankful for … ” 

   The builder's thick fingers curl tighter around Dabir's neck. The amber spirit clenches his paws, only able to let out a weak and airy hiss as his foxy ears and tail weakly droop down. His widened eyes begin to burn and swell with tears pricking out from the unwilling lack of air. Watada, however, licking his fangs, speaks as calmly as the breeze that lightly blows and billows the laundry.

   “Is you, not only jeopardizing my personal wish to put off the drink and ignoring my abni when he told you about this, but also manipulating my dear, good and brave abni into thinking he is something otherwise and making him steal, in my name, something I have sworn to avoid since the day he was given to me.”

   Cloven hooves kick uselessly. A painful pulse spikes in Dabir's head as his blood begs to flow. Salty tears run down his cheeks, with some droplets filtering onto his tongue through his teeth, others falling onto Watada's stony grip. Stars begin to swirl in his vision and the light of the Spirit Tree in the distance seems to glare at him like a burning, angry eye.

   Is … is this how it all ends? Dabir thinks, as air he didn't know he had is squeezed out of his windpipe. At the paws … of a simpleton?

   “You will never understand how I am the most undeserving to be Gen's caretaker,” Watada murmurs. “Yet, the Spirit Tree of this land has chosen me to care for him. As such, I ought to give you your just desserts for such a stunt against me. Against. My. Family.”

   It's always the stupid. The ignorant. They're the ones that ruin the show. How things should play out.

   I have … I have to save us all. 

   My invention … I must save — !

   “But we are to set sail for the library tomorrow, and we need you in top shape.”

   Warm spring air invades the back of his throat. Each little current feels like a hundred burning knives slicing the constricted muscles into ribbons. Dabir retches then yelps as he is dropped to the floor, where the inventor grasps at his neck and heaves heavy, ragged breaths. His fingers then grab at the dirt as he glares up at Watada, but the Gorlek could not care less as he grabs him by a horn and holds his head against the wall.

   “Stay away from my son,” Watada growls. “And if I even get a whiff of your stench near him, we will have a repeat worse than this. Are we clear on that?” 

   At which Dabir, still rasping, sneers and grins up at him. “Crys … tal.”

   That will have to do. Watada tosses his grip on Dabir's horn to the side and begins to walk back around the house, not bothering to stop and wait for him. He does, however, mention that there's a wash bucket in the corner of the backyard. It can be used to freshen oneself up, and then he can use his famous Kainari flame powers to dry himself. Everything just works out.

   The Gorlek soon steps back in front of his house. He takes a deep breath, puts on a smile, and opens and steps through the door. 

   Sem's rabbit-ears perk up. “He's back.”

   “So he is,” Chafa hums, turning to look at the smiling Gorlek. “Alright, where is he? I want to give him a piece of my mind for doing that to my nephew … !”

   Kamo has pulled Gen into a hug, with the yellow spirit purring softly under her soft and warm touch. She smells like a mixture of her medicines … and sweet pandan leaves.

   “Dabir has … gone for a walk after our chat,” Watada smiles cordially. “And I see that Gen has revealed what happened. That's alright. I can assure you that … well. I can assure you that I've done my best to prevent this from happening again.”

   Sem crosses his arms and snorts. “That's good to know. To think he'd do that to little Gen! The nerve … !”

   Apei simply watches everything in silence as she currently enjoys a plate of honeyed dates. 

   Ipu shakes his head as he crosses his arms and tugs at his blue wristbands. “All because the little sprout here was just asking a bunch of questions. It's always the handsome ones, isn't it?”

   Chafa rolls his eyes. “Again, don't let him hear you say that, Ipu.” 

   “My dear guests,” Watada then says as he finally takes his seat at the head of the table next to Gen, with the end opposite to him still occupied by a certain amber spirit's plate, cup and cutlery. “Let's put all this aside. We have a voyage ahead of us tomorrow. To that end, let us all eat our fill, rest early and rise early.”

   Murmurs and nods agreement rise from all sides of the table.

   “What about Dabir?” Kamo gently asks as she soothingly rubs Gen's head. “Will you let him back inside after his … walk?”

   Watada nods. “Of course, Miss Kamo. It's not like I'm a monster.”

   Gen reaches out to him from Kamo's embrace, and Watada smiles as he takes the little boy's paw in his. 

   “I'm just … a father,” Watada humbly shrugs. 

   “A-and you and dad are the bestest dads!” Gen chirps. “The bestest in all the world!” 

   “Aye, I'd drink to that!” Ipu grins. “With, uh, some grape juice, of course!”

   “Hey, why not?” Sem chuckles and takes the pitcher at the center of the table and begins pouring cups of the sweet purple liquid. “A round of grape juice for everyone!”

    “A round of grape juice for all!”

   Cups are raised and their contents are downed before they all simply … continue. Those at the table also move on from the source of this issue, who remains seated with his back against the sandstone wall he was savagely pushed against, having just caught his breath and hugging the lantern to his chest, his eyes closed, his sash and head dusty and, as always, thinking. His fennec ears had picked up the bits of the conversation before. 

   He cannot deny it. It hurts a bit to hear what they said.

   But at least I've made sure he won't come near the lantern anymore …

   Dabir hugs his invention closer to his chest. The flame within the frosted glass seems to resonate with him, warming and soothing him. Just them against the world.

   Now, what is my next step … ?

Chapter Text

“Neh-nem-puam?” Sem tilts his head.

   Kamo nods and smiles. “Yes; nenempuam. ‘Younger sister.’ Ikal is … ” 

   The red-caped warrior watches as the healer's gentle smile takes on a bittersweet hue. Her eyes glance down upon the weave of foam stretched across and floating above the water like delicate lace, all while gently tugging at the simple hemp string bracelet adorning her wrist as the triangular sails of the ship flap and cast shadows from overhead.

   She sighs with a breath full of salty air. “Was my ... nenempuam.”

   Sem lowers his ears as he takes Kamo's paw into his. Such a small correction in a sentence, but the meaning is made entirely different. Someone like himself would also know about such corrections quite intimately, but he's never lost a proper sibling like Kamo did.

   “You know, I do not think you told me what she was like,” Sem then says, trying to guide the conversation somewhere better. “I would be happy to know about her, if you would tell me.”

   Because that's what he does, too. All that he has left of many people no longer walking this world with him are the memories they made together … and he'd rather cling to those than be like the foam beneath the boat, senselessly spread about and subject to the inner tides of the heart with no sense of form or stability. He cannot be like that. Not when people need him.

   The turquoise captain, her azure first mate and their wisteria navigator sit in the room below the steering wheel, poring over a map of Niwenian waters and working towards a consensus of travel plans based on mathematical calculations and glimpses into the future. The amber inventor, however, is below deck, last seen tinkering away with the metal bits and pieces they got from the general store while the jade healer and the ruby warrior lean against the seaward railing of the Ivory Dove. All souls aboard await the young citrine spirit and his four-armed father to show up once they've finished their business at the tavern.

   Kamo now smiles a little wider, finding solace in the warmth of Sem's paw. “Ikal was like … a ray of light that could pierce through even the thickest parts of the jungle canopy. Bright, warm, hopeful … full of faith in others and a devout maintainer of the Law of Cycles. She was also a healer like me … though clearly, I am the superior healer, hmhm.”

   She also mentions the story of the day they were found; discovered sleeping peacefully in a flowering clearing, and they were cuddled together and positioned under the canopy in such a way that exposed Kamo to the sun while Ikal snoozed in the cool shade. As their discoverers drew nearer, however, they observed the then-cub Kamo begin to whine and squeak at the bright sunlight shining down upon her … so Ikal, still soundly asleep, moved them around so she would be in the light, while the older sister would fall silent under the fold of the shade.

   “Even in the very first days of her life, she always did things in the service of others,” Kamo fondly smiles. “The shamani thus took that gesture towards me as a sign that she was meant to be a helper to all, and so they named her Ikal, meaning … ‘loop.’”

   “Or Cycle,” Sem nods. “A lovely name, though ... a bit on the nose, no?”

   The healer chuckles and nods. “Maybe just a little.” Then she sighs. “Yeah, she ... spent her life helping all those around her, travelling from one end of the Emerald Belt to the other, as directed by the Mangrove. And she passed on in the same way she lived … helping others. Being a hero, like you, Sem.”

   A small chill runs down Sem's back. It is a very familiar story, one that bears a rather similar question he's asked himself:

   “Was she truly born to help others … or was she made to believe it?”

   Sem does not ask this now, of course, opting to ask another question instead while rubbing the back of her paw with a soothing thumb. “Am I right to assume that you and your nenempuam did not spend that much time together, since she was moving around in Noiton a lot?”

   A nod from Kamo confirms it. “Yeah. And while this … unfortunately meant I never said goodbye … the distance makes the pain a bit easier to swallow … yeah.”

   Kamo then clears her throat and opts for another topic of discussion. “This is … also similar to what you're doing, right? The Spirit Spruce sends you high and low over all of Altum, I mean. Like how the Mangrove sent Ikal all over Noiton.”

   “Mhm.” Sem nods.

   “So … what are you doing all the way here?”

   It is a rather innocent question by itself, but the unreadable gentleness of Kamo's voice and the calm yet indecipherable expression on her features strikes an unsettling chord in Sem's chest. His heart entered tender for this conversation but now it feels as though a spotlight is suddenly examining him from on high. Or is that merely the action of the morning sun?

   This warm sensation in his ears (of which he actively has to keep upright, lest he allows them to droop and reveal his true emotions...) begins to burn when Kamo pulls her paw away, turning to face him directly while leaning against the varnished wooden railing of the boat with her shoulder. “And if I remember correctly … ” the healer continues, “Dabir said that he saved your life from some carnivorous plants in Kainar ... which is even further from Noiton. Whatever did the Spruce send you all the way there for?”

   “W-well, you see, I —” Sem stammers and chuckles.

   Then his ear perks high. Sem turns around and away from Kamo as a sound from the docks captures his attention, with relief swelling in his heart like a balm to a bruise at seeing a yellow spirit riding the shoulder of a Gorlek, whose heavy steps the red-caped warrior would recognize anywhere.

   “Gen, Watada!” Sem calls from over the railing. “You've finally come! We were starting to think you weren't about to show up."

   Kamo steps closer and places a paw on the warrior's shoulder. “So, Sem, you were saying—”

   But the healer startles back from a swirling puff of cerulean light as Ipu Blinks and warps next to Sem, slinging an arm over his red-caped shoulder. “You’re here! How'd the visit to the tavern go, twig?”

   Gen, tightly hugging his toy of Captain Mokk, turns away from them all and quietly nuzzles against Watada's head, with the Gorlek softly chuckling and raising a paw to pat the small spirit on the back. “His social energy has run out after being so brave. He apologized to Mister Brugh for stealing, promised he wouldn't do it again, and we got some pepper pops on a stick as a reward.”

   Ipu warmly nods and reaches up to pat Gen on his little knee. “Takes a lotta bravery to face and resolve the music of your mistakes, lil' twig. That's a job well done.”

   “Speaking of mistakes,” Watada then sneers. “Where is Mister Dabir?”

   Sem scoffs with him. “Down below, tinkering away.”

   The Gorlek nods. “Then we shall stay above. And hello to you as well, Ipu and Kamo.”

   Kamo just nods while Ipu Blinks away, and while Sem begins to chattily accompany Watada and Gen indoors and out from the burning sun, the jade healer tilts her head and fiddles with her bracelet whilst quietly following from behind, her hoofsteps on the floorboards accompanied by the clinking and clacking of wood and glass bottles.

   “Why’s he so nervous?” Kamo wonders. “Grant me wisdom, nenempuam … ”

❧

Not too long after everyone has been accounted for, the call everyone has been waiting for resounds in their ears like a bell.

   “The winds favour us!" Ipu declares. “Hoist the anchor!”

   As the rattling clatter of heavy metal chain links enter the ears of everyone onboard, Gen cannot help but notice something. He taps his abi on the shoulder who watches Sem and Ipu push at a wheel to fish a claw of a barnacled anchor out of the salty water. “Um, abi … aren't the sails going the wrong way … ?”

   The triangular sails are, indeed, billowing towards the direction of the port. The little one's ears then raise up in alarm as the ship begins to move closer towards dry land, prompting Gen to wrap his arms tighter around Captain Mokk. “W-we're gonna crash—!?”

   But the Gorlek simply chuckles and points to something on the docks. “Look, abni. The spirit over there.”

   Gen then observes a spirit of Nibellian turquoise glow leisurely exiting onto a strange landing that juts out of a stone watchtower. They yawn and stretch, drowsily turn around, then dramatically plummet from the height with arms outstretched … only for the wind to swirl, raise them up and fly them towards the front of the ship, all while lying back with arms comfortably tucked under their head. Their hooves do not even so much as touch as the wooden planks as they arrive at the docks, remaining suspended a short height in the air as if gravity itself has no hold on them. 

   It is a spectacular sight, but Watada, quietly smiling, finds the glimmering wonder in his abni’s youthful eyes more captivating than that.

   The floating turquoise spirit on the docks yawns and stretches again before beginning to move and rotate their arms, mimicking the swirling and the weavings of the winds and the breezes that blow as dust and leaves are picked up by the airborne currents. Several cloth tarps and tents of shops and businesses facing the salty water are made to billow and ruffle a bit, but only for just a moment.

   Gen's ears and Captain Mokk’s felt tricorn hat are blasted back in the next moment as the spirit pushes their palms towards the Ivory Dove, sending forth the winds, billowing backwards the sails of the ship and guiding the vessel in the same direction. The airborne spirit then waves farewell at a job well done before zipping high into the air once more, repeating the process to another ship seeking to leave port.

   “Wow ... does every port have a spirit like that?” Gen beams in wonder at Chafa, who happens to be standing close by as she adjusts the new leather holster strapped around her shoulders, which (and the new weapon it carries) is mostly concealed under her cerulean shawl. 

   “More or less,” Chafa smiles and nods back. “Some manipulate the winds, like that fellow. Some control the water. Some summon creatures from the water to move the boat back. And I remember one in Altum that's so ridiculously strong that they just had her push the boats back. But that was a while ago.”

   “Whatever … floats the boat, basically.” Ipu snickers at his own pun, earning a sigh from the captain as the azure sailor jogs out onto the deck, clops up the wooden steps and attends to the wheel and ropes to ensure they steer in the right direction. 

   “Would you two like to watch?” Chafa then asks Watada and Gen, pointing directly upstairs. “It’s your first time leaving Niwen. Seeing it all from a distance is … well. You'll see what I mean if you watch.”

   Apei also rises from her seat and lifts a yellowing map from the bolted table. ‘I’ll go with you.’

   “I’ll join too!” Sem chimes in, though he looks at Kamo first. The healer shakes her head.

   “If we're going to arrive at the coordinates in three days, I need to start making our potions now. Excuse me. ” The jade spirit stands from the table and nods with a pleasant smile … before addressing Sem with that unreadable expression. “We’ll talk more later, Sem.”

   The rabbit-eared warrior can only bite his lower lip with a fang and nod as she descends below deck, with the cerulean-shawled captain quietly raising a brow. Watada, meanwhile, smiles down at Gen. “Shall we?”

   And the young spirit nods while slipping a little paw into Watada's big paw. This group of five steps out onto the deck and ascends the stairs as Ipu did, joining the sailor as the Ivory Dove continues to glide backwards, smoothly carving through the foamy cerulean waters like a silver palette knife; the azure sea monkey turning, turning and turning the wooden wheel to redirect their course. Soon enough, the cream-coloured sails of the ship begin to billow in another direction; the right direction, as they capture the salty winds and leave the shore and its comforts behind. Gen, with Captain Mokk in his arms, finds himself seated on Watada's shoulder once again as they watch New Niwen City, the home they have known all their lives, grow smaller in their eyes; more quiet in their ears, until the forest becomes a distant view, with the splendour of the Spirit Tree affixed atop the famed Innocence Hill like a proud crown jewel.

   There it is. All of it. The entire sum of Watada's and Gen's life so far, distilled into a single view as they set off into unknown waters.

   “What do you think, abni?” Watada sighs in contemplation. “It all seems ... very small from this view, does it not?”

   “Yeah … ” Gen mildly shrugs. “I'm just a little sad we didn't have time to say goodbye to other dad … ” 

   The Gorlek pats the child's knee soothingly. “I know, yah sahbi. But you remember it was said we had to go as quickly as possible, yes? And I'm sure Ori would understand.”

   “I know, but still ….”

   Sem was looking and listening to them as they were having this discussion. He then glances back at the retreating landmass, leaps onto the railing and holds onto a rope, his frayed red cape flapping daringly in the salty breeze as he raises a paw overhead and begins to wave.

   “SEE YOU AGAIN SOON, ORIII AND SEEEIR!” Sem shouts with a smile. 

   A bewildered Gen looks up at the warrior, but the rabbit-eared fighter is soon joined by Ipu as he momentarily leaves the wheel and also jumps onto the railing, holding onto another rope with his monkey-like tail and waving towards land with both paws as the ends of his azure bandanna also flap in the breeze. “BE BACK BEFORE YA KNOOOW IIIT!!”

   Chafa, though shaking her head, chuckles as even she joins in with her billowing cerulean shawl. “See you again soon, brother!”

   Watada, too, raises a paw and waves before turning to Gen. “Come on, abni. Have you anything to say?”

   Gen looks around at all the spirits waving towards land. If they can do it, he can, too! He soon reaches for the sky with his little paw and gives the biggest wave he can whilst using all the air in his lungs. “I LOOOVE YOOOU DAAAD! SEEEE YOOOU SEEEIR! PLEEEASE TAAAKE CAAARE!”

   Apei, who is still looking down at the map in her grasp, simply flicks a paw and flings a twirling spark skyward which splits into two, multiplies into four, then into eight; sixteen and finally into thirty-two before quietly bursting into a random series of three-dimensional shapes each the colour of shimmering wisteria petals. A proper farewell has finally been given.

   “Feel better, abni?” Watada smiles at Gen, who returns the smile with a beaming nod as he hugs Captain Mokk even tighter and snuggles closer to the Gorlek. 

   “A lot better. I just hope he heard it … !”

   To which Watada nods and grins too. “I am sure he did, yah sahbi. I am sure he did.”

❧

   In the distance, the air above a certain departing ship is suddenly filled with quiet purple shapes.

   “What … are they doing?” Seir asks. If they had a head in this spherical form, they would tilt it and raise a brow.

   I have no idea. Because I cannot see. Obviously.

   The wind continues to blow. The bell from the clock tower tolls. That is all they hear.

   Please stay safe, my son, Watada ... everyone …

Chapter Text

There are only so many activities one could possibly do on a varnished piece of wood floating across the ocean blue.

   “Are we there yeeet … ”

   “Abni, it has not even been a day … ” 

   Time moves differently depending on one's size, and where an adult might be content to simply sit back and enjoy the salty breeze, all that a typical child would typically focus on is their own lack of activity and movement. Gen has already introduced Captain Mokk to Mokk the First and hosted a rather scandalous tea time with them in the ship's dining room using their pewter crockery (some of the scandals he came up with today earning the raised brow of his aunt-captain), but he is already tired of that, at least for today. With Niwen now a distant speck in the horizon, it is now a very boring yet rather restless post-lunch afternoon for a young yellow spirit at sea.

   “We could work on your ability,” Watada suggests. “And this time, for sure this time, those three boys are not going to interrupt us. You can even lob the bombs out into the water.”

   “Ehhh…” Gen leans his head against the backrest of his chair, disinterest evident on his face like the sunlight glittering on the waves. “I don't wanna do that right now, abi … ”

   “We could take a crack at the homework you were given to do while you're away — ”

   “Nooooo …” the child pouts and whines. “I wanna do something else! Why did they even give me homework — I'm literally on a quest right now!”

   “Because heroes,” sighs Watada as he taps Gen on the nose. “Never stop learning. And you are no exception, abni.”

   The irritated spirit crosses his arms and mutters under his breath amidst the creaking of wood and the stretching of hemp ropes. “The Magnificent Mokk never did any homework, never went to school, and he turned out fine and super smart … ”

   "And when he was alive, most people in Niwen were too busy focusing on survival rather than going to school." Watada sighs and pinches his brow. “I also bet his stories, along with his ‘wit,’ sound a lot more on paper than what it really is … ”

   The clopping of approaching hoofsteps then draw their eyes and ears as a turquoise-glowing aunt steps into the dining room with a smile. “My ears couldn't help but pick up the sound of boredom, restlessness and disillusionment,” Chafa chuckles knowingly. “Has the reality of seafaring set in, ye landlubbers? Yarr … ”

   Watada simply gestures to the child on the chair next to him, whose arms are crossed, face is scrunched, tail lashing inconsolably; stuffed toys lying untouched and lifeless on the table with their clueless, button-eyed smiles. Gen's thunderous face also remains unamused by the stereotypical pirate impression Chafa put on just now. Talk about a tough crowd.

   She, however, remains unfazed as the gentleness disappears from her face and is replaced with something else. She stands upright, hardens her features and slams the end of her staff on the floor. “Atteeen-TION!”

   Gen jumps in his seat with a squeak. He looks at Watada. Uncrosses his arms. Looks back at Chafa — no longer the elderly aunt but rather the Captain of the Ivory Dove.

   “I said, attention,” says the captain, pointedly this time, as she leans closer to the young spirit. “That means stand up. You said you wanted something to do. Am I right, or am I right?”

   Gen softens his expression and manages a furtive nod before jumping in his seat again as Chafa stands upright once more, repeatedly slamming her staff on the floor and stamping out a marching beat that fills the dining room with her voice of indisputable authority. “Then come on, lad, on your wee hooves! Back straight! Arms on your sides! Eyes ahead! Ears raised! Tail still!”

   The child seems to have no choice as he rushes to follow the orders barked at him, practically shoving himself off the squeaky chair, righting his posture and even raising a paw to his brow in a salute. “Y-yes, aun — captain!”

   Watada, observing everything, simply leans back in seat with a smirk behind his pewter teacup. He also briefly remembers Gen expressing a desire for friends that would trust him enough to do things on his own.

   “I have a very important task for you, little deckhand,” Chafa states. “It's something that keeps the very ship afloat! This task also extends to you, Watada. Can't leave a little sapling all by itself, can you?”

   The teacup lowers while a Gorlek brow raises in the opposite direction. The captain then turns to the doorway and yells at the top of her lungs (the amount of oxygen in said lungs warranting a heartfelt congratulations, given her advanced age). 

   “IPUUU! FETCH THE SWABS! I GOT YOU SOME ASSISTAAANTS!”

   And this is how Gen finds himself armed with a mop, out and under the bright sun at three o’clock, assigned to work at the floor where the steering wheel is. The little Niwenian, with ears drooped, watches as Ipu chucks a bucket over the ship’s railing and uses a rope to pull it back up, hoisting it from over the railing and giving Gen two whole litres of Niwenian saltwater.

   “Get to it, lil’ twig.” Ipu winks and begins to walk away.

   “Wait, Uncle Ipu … !” Gen calls for him, and Ipu looks back with an amused smile. He always seems amused.

   The child continues to stammer. “I … this isn't what I meant when I said I wanted something to do … !”

   To which Ipu displays faux surprise at this statement, gasping dramatically and placing a paw on his own chest and flicking his monkey-like tail into a pensive curve. “Don't tell me the son of Ori is afraid of a little work…!”

   “W-well … no — ” 

   Gen then sputters as Ipu smacks him on the shoulder. “There! Y’said it yourself. You're a brave and strong lad, you can do this! Cap’n Chafa also told you this job is suuuper important, right? She explain why?”

   The child shakes his head as he clutches tighter onto the wooden shaft of the mop with his little paws. It's like watching a climbing flower desperately trying to find purchase on a long wire.

   The azure sailor thoughtfully twirls the bit of tuft at the end of his chin around his calloused finger. “Your abi said he's a builder, yeah? Surely he knows aaall the right materials to use for the right occasion, maybe taught you some stuff, like … what happens when you put wood, like a bare wooden plank, in water?”

   The boy speaks after a moment of a silence interspersed with the splashing of the waves and the flapping of cream-coloured sails, also raising a paw to block the sun from his eyes. “It … absorbs the water? Grows bigger? Gets all … moldy and damaged … ?” 

   “Yes to the first, yes to the second, and the last one only happens if you don't use varnish, clean it or use the right wood,” Ipu nods. Looks like his abi taught him well. “But let's focus on the first two parts. Why do we swab the deck with water to make aaall the floorboards suck it up and grow bigger? Why?”

   Gen taps his lower lip as another thoughtful moment passes. “If all the floorboards absorb water,” he ponders. “They're ... gonna press up all against each other and … then what?”

   Gen recalls something his aunt-captain said. “It's something that keeps the very ship afloat.” He then pictures several wooden floorboards as rectangles in his mind, all growing bigger and bigger until their sides are touching each other. 

   "This keeps the boat afloat … ?"

   And it hits him.

   “Oooh!” Gen exclaims with a bright smile. “You want the floorboards to grow bigger so they all press up against each other so that there's no gaps, making the boat, uh, waterproof! Right … ?”

   Ipu grins wider, showing his fangs as he shakes his head in pride. He then turns and calls down to the Gorlek already swabbing the main deck alongside a red-caped warrior. “Hey, Wats! Ya gotta boy with a bright head on his shoulders! Congratulations!”

   'Wats' turns his lion-maned head and gives a thumbs-up along with a proud smile.

   “Before I go,” Ipu then adds as the azure tassel of his headband flutters in the breeze, “Happen to know why saltwater is real good to use when swabbin’ the deck?”

   Gen humbly shakes his head. “Now this, I don't know.”

   “Simply, the salt in the water makes it suuuper hard for mooold and fuuungus and other nasty stuff to grow,” says the sailor, ominously wiggling his fingers at ‘mold and fungus’ as if they were scary monsters (which they can be, if left unattended). “And if those grow, what happens? Anyone?”

   The young spirit knows this one from school. He meekly raises his paw to answer before speaking, because good children always raise their paws before speaking. “Then we get sick. And that would be suuuper bad,” he replies with a boyish face so serious and sincere it goes right back to being adorable.

   Ipu grins again and pats Gen on the head, causing the young yellow spirit to happily trill and purr. “Exactamundo. And we wouldn't wanna give Lil’ Miss Kammy more work than she already does, now, do we?”

   Of course not. Gen smiles and shakes his head — right before jolting again at a certain spirit's voice.

   “Ipu!” Chafa calls him from beneath the wooden stairs connecting the poop deck and the main deck. “Less chatting and distracting, and more working. My nephew has a job to do.”

   But Ipu leans back in to whisper with a scheming smirk. “Come 'an find me for a slice o’ my homemade coconut pie once you're done. Make sure to do a good and thorough job, though!”

   A series of giggles as bright as the sunlight gleaming off the glittering waves bubble from Gen's lips as he buys into the dastardly plan. He then stands upright and gives Ipu his finest salute, prompting the sailor to nod, salute in return, then clop back down the steps, with Chafa also giving Gen a firm but trusting smile from beneath the stairway before also departing herself.

   He has mopped the floor of his home before, so this shouldn't be too hard; he just needs to balance with the bobbing and swaying of the ship while doing it. And so Gen begins by plunging the mop into the sloshing bucket of saltwater, spinning it around and seeing the soggy tassels twirl inside inside the water before pulling out the head and beginning to swab the poop deck. He gets about halfway before having to stop to take a quick break, his arms already throbbing with an ache and his body a bit warm from standing under the sun. Watada, Sem and Ipu, however, continue swabbing the main deck below, with bits of their conversation interspersed with the creaking of the floorboards and the flapping of the sails.

   Gen, in his rest, looks skyward as he wipes his brow, only to squint when the sunlight glints into his eye. Except … it is not the sun, nor is it its warm and life-giving light. Perched high up in the ship’s crow's nest sits a false, bright star; a familiar amber spirit with a multi-lensed goggle over his left eye, the copper lantern at his side. Dabir appears to be holding … no, doing something to an object in his paws that causes sparks to fly and light to flash onto his face. The inventor then pulls a paw away from the object as a burning tongue of blue, ghostly flame dances and flickers above his index finger, with the inventor flicking his paw to extinguish it and lifting the goggle from his eye to examine his handiwork …

   Before glancing down at the young yellow spirit below, a calm yet otherwise unreadable expression on his face. A gust of wind so happens to blow and spray a smattering of seawater onto Gen's face right at that moment, also causing the tassels of his neckerchief to flap and smack his cheeks, returning sense to him as he shakes his head and looks back down at the floorboards yet to be swabbed with seawater.

   “Not my business, not my business … !” Gen thinks as he steps back out and resumes swabbing. “Just keep the ship floating … and stay away from him like abi said … !”

   From above, however, Dabir simply raises a brow as he plucks from his amber sash a glowing crystal the colour of the glittering waves … followed by the whirring and fluttering of something stirring to life. He smiles.

   Every soul on this ship has a role to play. He intends to play his part well.

❧

“I could have sworn I had a bit more than this…”

   Chafa purses her lips as she glances down at a drawstring pouch in her paws, the crystal contents painting the cloth walls of the bag with a vibrant ocean-blue light. The weight feels pretty similar as before, but …

   “Oh, no matter.” 

   She pulls it shut and glances at the setting sun painting the sky a burning amber outside the window of her quarters, chalking it up to being tired after a long yet uneventful day. They're just about halfway through their voyage now, having gone through three days of nothing but smooth sailing. The pessimist inside her is saying that something is bound to go wrong soon … or perhaps something bad has already happened and she just isn't aware of it?

   ‘Mathematically speaking,’ she remembers Apei saying, ‘There is no real basis in the belief that the longer nothing bad happens, so increases the probability of something bad actually happening. What we can mathematically believe in, however, are trends. Like the Agathos sequence, starting from 1, then 1 again, then 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 … ”

   Says the spirit who believes in the existence of ‘soul shapes’. Is everything really just a number to her? Can her numbers and shapes explain the breakdown of reality around the world? 

   Chafa shakes her head and mumbles to herself. “I should probably check on the weather tomorrow…” 

   But before she can grab her staff and utter the incantation, a gentle series of knocks tap at her door. A soft green light, the colour of the rainforest, can be seen slipping in from under the gap.

  “Enter.” Chafa sits up, then smiles as the door whines open on its squeaky hinges to reveal the person behind it. “Yes, Miss Kamo?”

   The Noitoner yawns as she rubs her big and bat-like ears with a towel as lingering wisps of steam curl and rise from her rich, damp coat. It looks like she made good use of the heating stone in the shower. “It’s dinnertime. Just came to ask if you'd be joining, or … I could bring you a bowl, if you'd like to stay here.”

   Chafa nods. “I’ll join you all in a moment, thank you. How goes the potion-making, by the way?”

   Kamo drapes the towel on her shoulder, crosses her arms and tiredly leans against the doorframe. “Just finished boiling the lashworm venom down into a syrup. Now I have to wait until it hardens into a crystal before I crush and grind it down. It will take about a day."

   The jade healer then licks her lips and fangs. “Tastes pretty interesting in its raw form, too. A bit like grapes dipped in aged cheese.”

   Chafa's smile takes on a nervous hue. She would lower her ears, but they already remain drooped in her advanced age. “You know, I think I ought to ask how, in the name of all that is good in this world, you figured that eating venoms and poisons was your favourite, survivable pastime … ”

   To which Kamo chuckles rather lightly as if Chafa is being silly and overly squeamish. “When I was still an apprentice in the healing arts, there was a patient, a pregnant moki, that was brought into the healer's house on a stretcher. She'd been bitten by a chokefang, a cobra with teeth that constantly drip with a fast-acting, lethal and delicious venom that constricts the throat … and much to the horror of everyone in the room, the antidote for bites like this had just run out in the healer's house.

  “Everyone was in a frenzy. There would be no time to run out to find and return with a remedy, so my master was probably trying to summon the courage to perform a Transfusion so the mother may survive. The mother moki, heaving on the sickbed, prayed for the Law of Cycles to protect the cubs inside her belly. Meanwhile my fellow apprentices were chattering among themselves: Ohh, whatever shall we do? Will she die before our eyes? Do I already have to witness such death so early?”

   The turquoise captain leans forward, elbows on the desk, clearly invested in this tale. Kamo's smile grows a little wider as she relives the unforgettable moment.

   “And then I had a thought. By that point, I already knew I never got and could never get sick. I also remembered a moment where I accidentally brushed my finger against a frog that causes quick yet agonizing deaths just by mere touch, but all I felt was a slight tingle in my paw and tasted a strange yet intense apple flavour on my tongue before it went away. So with that, I stood and — ”

   Chafa then raises a paw, prompting Kamo to stop though another giggle slips past her lips. “Did the mother survive? Did the cubs?” the captain manages to ask while her ears somehow find a way to droop even lower, the corners of her polite smile barely keeping themselves raised.

   “It tasted like honey-roasted tamiswine meat paired with a savoury pomegranate sauce … ” the healer recalls, licking her lips and fangs again with a dreamy sigh. 

   The elder rubs her temple. She has met a lot of strange people but this healer is most certainly near the top of the list (and climbing…). “That is … not what I asked, but I will take that as a yes. You ... may go ahead, I shall join you later, I just have something to take care of first.”

   “Aye aye, capitan.” Kamo smirks and salutes, pushing herself off the doorframe, slinking out of view and tossing her wet towel into a laundry basket just down the hall. Chafa can only shake her head as she brings her staff closer and presses the cloudy diamond to her forehead as a soft, pale blue light momentarily fills her quarters.

   The healer soon steps into the dining room where Gen, Apei, Ipu and Watada are seated at the table and enjoying some simple but hearty vegetable stew. A purple number floating above the mathematician's head rises in count with each shake of a pepper shaker (9 … 10 … 11 … ), with the young yellow spirit sprinkling more and more (12 … 13 … 14 … ) of the spicy red flakes onto his food. Watada honestly could not be more proud.

   “Ah, Lil’ Miss Kammy!” Ipu calls with a grin. “Finally come for dinner? Where's the Captain?”

   “Doing something in her office.” Kamo glances around. “Where is Dabir and Sem?” 

   “Someone calling me?” A red capelet billows and heavier hoofsteps clop into the dining room as Sem smiles warmly at both Kamo and Ipu. “Wow, this smells wonderful, Ipu! You have outdone yourself yet again."

   Ipu grins and humbly bows his head. “Naturally, but thank you.” He then jabs a thumb behind him, pointing towards the starboard bow at the front of the ship where an amber glow can be discerned. “He’s hanging over thataways, prolly still tinkering away.”

   “Still?” Kamo raises a brow. “Still tinkering, even now? I don't even remember seeing him at breakfast or lunch.”

   “What does it matter? Let him be.” Sem says with a dismissive flick of his wolfish tail, which then begins to wag as he steps up to a chair and pulls it out for Kamo. “Would you like to sit next to me?”

   Kamo blinks at him. Then she steps back. Her reply comes like a doctor's incision; sharp, swift and decisive.

   “No.”

   Gen's pewter spoon clatters onto the table. A slight chill shivers up and down Ipu's spine. Sem's smile falters as his rabbit ears droop slightly, his tail ceases wagging; the warrior clearly caught off guard.

   “Oh, um … alright then … ” are the only words he can manage to scrape together.

   The scraping of a lone chair against the wooden floorboards and the creaking of someone seating themselves on it. The splashing of the dimming waves, the blowing of the salty breeze, the groaning of the ship's frame. The scooping of steaming vegetable stew into two bowls. The quiet clearing of a throat. The calm chewing of food. Sem, awkwardly seated by his lonesome on one side of the table, watches as Kamo begins to leave, though she slows down to state something while briefly glancing at the Altumian in the eyes.

   “Everybody on this ship has the right to eat well. Everybody.” 

   The healer exits the dining room and makes her way over to the amber glow at the front of the ship. Gen and Ipu then look back at Sem while Watada continues nonchalantly eating his meal, with the warrior finally lowering both his glance and his ears.

   ‘Shall we continue talking about Pazari’s soul shapes?' Apei then asks with a bright and starry-eyed smile.

   Anything but the silence.

❧

“So … I think you were gonna talk about squares?” asks the yellow circle. “By the way, who's Pazari again?”

   The blue pentagon leans closer to the yellow circle. “Some kinda mathema-philoso-debater-writer from ancient days. Missy Mouse-ears over here looks up to him and eats up every crumb of rhetorical cheese that tumbles from his table.”

   "Oh, I see!" nods the Yellow Circle Child nods. “He must be very smart, then."

   The purple triangle excitedly nods in agreement and smiles as a dot of light dances above her head; a fluttering and frenzied firefly the colour of wisteria transcribing and writing out her words in floating cursive that which her mouth refuses to vocalize; the glimmering texts of light reflected in the eyes of her polygonal audience.

    ‘Right,’ she ‘says’ with her floating words, ‘After the pure-hearted and elegant yet easily manipulable and impressionable circle, and the strongest and externally flexible but internally rigid triangle, we come to the square: a shape of stability, security and order, like the four walls of a house.’

   “Have we got squares in our midst?” the Blue Pentagon Sailor looks around the table.

   ‘Watada is one, obviously,’ writes the Purple Triangle Mathematician. ‘He provides the little yellow circle a home, a place of refuge, and a square around a circle is a very good shape! Not only is the circle protected, but the circle provides internal weight and balance when the square is exposed to and knocked around the elements.’

   “Guess I'm a square, then,” hums the humble Brown Square Builder.

   “The best square!” chirps the Yellow Circle Child.

   ‘Sem is also a square.’ The knowledgeable Purple Triangle Mathematician nods towards the red quadrilateral. ‘Because despite his skill in combat, he fights because he primarily wants to protect other people. It all comes from a place of wanting security and order for others.’

   The Red Square Warrior pouts in thought. “So far so good … but you have yet to reveal the bad traits of squares.”

   ‘Oh, yeah. Squares tend to be a bit … brutish?’ The Purple Triangle Mathematician tilts her head and draws a square in the air. ‘They are simple like circles but lack their elegance, their roundness. And like triangles, they can be a bit stubborn, whether in attitudes or in habits. This usually makes them predictable. Easy to read and understand. Usually.’

   “Well…” the Red Square Warrior scratches his beard. “I do get told I throw myself into danger a lot … but that's just part of the job.”

   The Brown Square Builder says nothing as he quietly sips on his delicious, tasteless and non-alcoholic water.

   “Well, you've just proven your stubbornness, O stubborn square,” chuckles the blue pentagon. “And to be fair, you are easy to read.”

   The wolfish tail of the red square droops alongside his expression. “Oh, really … ?”

   That's all about squares. What's next?

   The purple triangle happily draws a five-sided shape in the air. ‘Pentagons! These are a fun and joyous shape. Sort of like a circle on a 2-dimensional plane, they still easily roll and bounce around when knocked about, but they usually regain their footing pretty fast thanks to being adaptable. But the strength of the pentagon may also be its weakness: their joy often turns into capriciousness; full of whim, impulse and unpredictability. They often get bored easily and dislike staying in one place, usually motivated to avoid or even deflect certain responsibilities.’

   “Do we have a pentagon with us?” asks the Yellow Circle Child.

   The mathematician nods and points at the azure sailor.

   “Does that make me … ” The sailor snaps his fingers and winks. “A penta-gone?” 

   This earns the sailor bits of laughter from the small yellow circle and the big brown square, while the purple triangle tilts her head and the red square raises a brow.

   “Ipu?” the Red Square Warrior asks incredulously. “But he is so responsible! He takes care of the ship, does most of the cleaning and repairs, the cooking!”

   “Which is precisely why these so-called ‘soul shapes’ of Pazari are merely a theory and hold no water to them,” declares the light blue circle as her clopping hoofsteps announce her arrival as she enters the dining room with her walking staff. “It's a bunch of nonsense that tries to categorize people using generally broad statements that sound tailored to specific people, when in fact these traits can be generally applied to almost everyone. It is, at best, a good icebreaker for starting conversation.”

   “Auntie!” chirps the yellow circle, who slides off his seat, nuzzles the light blue circle on her wrinkled cheek with his nose, and brings her to another chair before scooping some warm vegetable stew for her.

   “Such a sweet and caring nephew I have. Thank you, Gen,” purrs Captain Light Blue Circle, rubbing him on the head as she sets her staff against the table. “How goes your swabbing? Are you and your arms still booored?”

   “Not as booored … ” the yellow circle playfully mimics as he rubs and flexes his arms. “But they are a bit sore.”

   Captain Light Blue Circle nods with a satisfied smile. “Mmm. That means this is a good form of physical education for you. Work on the arms mean stronger arms, and stronger arms mean farther throws, winning more arm wrestling matches, being able to help more people, which makes you —”

   “A hero!” the Yellow Circle Child happily bounces, much to the amusement of Captain Light Blue Circle. “Just like the cool and handsome red square over there. So, I'll continue swabbing every day! Because I don't want this ship to sink!”

   The Blue Pentagon Sailor nudges the Red Square Warrior's shoulder with a cheeky grin. “Looks like you've acquired yerself a disciple, Sem of Altum. No pressure, no pressure at all.”

   The warrior simply shakes his head with a smile, raising a paw and waving it off. “Do we have any more shapes left to discuss?”

   There are two more soul shapes. The Purple Triangle Mathematician draws the next one.

   'The next one is the hexagon; the six-sided polygon of harmony, peace and balance. Not only do the factors of six add up to its own value when either added or multiplied together (1 + 2 + 3 = 1 x 2 x 3 = 6) but it's also one of the most abundant shapes observed in nature; from honeycombs to turtle shells and from snowflakes to even certain rock formations, most of which lend to the supporting of life on Kurestal. Hexagons are thus people who provide and serve; they balance, harmonize and ground those around them … but often at a cost to themselves and their own peace and harmony. Even helpers need their own helpers.'

   “I think we know who that is … ” the Red Square Warrior softly says, glancing out the doorway leading to the deck where a soft jade glow can be seen mingling with a warm amber light. Something about that sight alone seems swirl a worried current in his heart.

   ‘Which brings us to the last shape … the heptagon,’ writes the Purple Triangle Mathematician as she moves the floating hexagon to the side.

   “I bet it's a very cool shape,” grins the Yellow Circle Child. “Are they liiike … the leaders?”

   Very close. Heptagons can be very “cool” indeed and often take up the mantles of trailblazers with qualities of assertiveness, resourcefulness and creativity. Where hexagons are content with maintaining the harmony of every side in their environment, the heptagon takes all that peacekeeping energy and instead focuses it on a point (the seventh vertice of the heptagon, often called the Arrowhead) to make something new. They must keep the tips of their arrows sharp if they wish to create something or enact change.

   ‘However,’ warns the Purple Triangle Mathematician, ‘Despite its outwards qualities, of all the 7 shapes, only the heptagon possesses incomplete internal angles; each interior angle amounts to exactly 128.57°. Even the centre, so 360° divided into 7 equal parts, has angles of 51.43°. At least it's not an irrational number, but even so …’

   “What meaning did Pazari give to this?” asks the Red Square Warrior.

   ‘This incompleteness in one's angles means that there is often … just that: an inner sense of incompleteness, disunity and generally being unsatisfied with what they have or where they are, which is why they often want change; wanting more, more, more. They may also try to cover up their incompleteness by being someone or something they are not. Unlike the pentagon who are more inclined to pursue thrills and passing pleasures, the heptagon is doomed to forever chase a greater sense of self, like an arrow shot into a pitch black night for a target that may not even be there. What's more, the changes a heptagon may wish to enact, whether intentional or not, may not always be good, or, once achieved, may fall short of how they envisioned it. An incomplete achievement, like an incomplete equation; an unfinished schematic.’

   The Brown Square Builder tilts his lion-maned head at this.

   “In other words, they seek fuel to the fires of their ego,” hums a disinterested Captain Light Blue Circle. “But like I said, these are all very broad statements. Is there a person who never not wants something? Everyone, at any given time, always wants something. And everyone wants to be seen as good and great, not just these so-called ‘heptagons.’ Not to mention, everyone has a measure of pride they'd all like to feed.”

   The Purple Triangle Mathematician crosses her arms and pouts. ‘They make sense to me, though. But I am glad people make sense to you, Captain Light Blue Circle.’

   The Captain simply shrugs and begins scooping into her stew. “It may be useful for you, Apei. Helps you make sense of things, with your world-view always three degrees to the right and whatnot. In any case, everyone has the right to believe in what they want."

   “... Do we have one, though?” asks the Yellow Circle Child.

   All eyes at the table glance at him.

   “I-I mean,” he stammers under the sudden spotlight. “Do we have someone like that? Some like a heptagon?” 

   There is one spirit aboard this ship they have yet to account for. 

❧

Within Kamo's paws lie the gift of giving, health, warmth and food. As the rest of the team continue their conversation regarding shapes, numbers and personalities, she alone walks the length of the Ivory Dove while balancing her hoofsteps with the swaying of the ship, the burning sun at her back and the encroaching starry night in front; the growing darkness before her allowing a lone inventor's amber glow to shine brighter. A false star.

   Her attentive bat-like ears quietly flick, shift and twitch as they pick up clicks, whirs and the gentle taps of a mallet on metal emanating like a rhythm from the base of the frontmost mast. They also pick up the rumblings of a hungry stomach. Her eyes finally discern the slight tilt of a bull-horned head, the raising of fennec fox-like ears, the pausing of movement (the rhythmic sounds likewise ceasing) and the flicker of a lantern … before the inventor turns back and continues hammering away on whatever he is doing.

   She takes that as a sign to approach, and so she does, stepping up to him and seeing a small, spherical creation of copper and steel held in his paws; born from assembling pieces of scrap metal and fusing them together by means of his flames and ingenuity. No matter which way she looks at it, however, she cannot make heads or tails on how it's meant to be held or what it is supposed to —

   “Am I to leave?” Dabir cuts through her thoughts. He lifts the multi-lensed monocle from his left eye and glances up at her. “Is it, uh, date night? With you and him?” 

   Kamo blinks at the questions. She shakes her head. “Not tonight, no. He was … being a bit of a jerk just now.”

   “Oh.” The inventor raises a brow. Purses his lips. “I didn't know that … that meathead had the heart to be unkind to you.”

   Was there a trace of an apology in his tone just now? Kamo opts to shake her head again. “He wasn't being mean to me.”

   Dabir tilts his head. “Then, who—”

   “He was being mean to you. Here.”

   The prow of the ship cuts a wave in twain as a bowl of stew is offered Dabir. His nostrils flare as the aromatic steam wafts and blows into his nose, the inventor instantly picking up the playfully prickly hints of ground pepper kernels and red chili peppers, followed by a healthful melting-pot assemblage of potatoes, turmeric, chickpeas, carrots and cauliflower all drizzled with a milky dash of coconut cream to smooth out the texture; topped with sprinkled shreds of parsley for the green visual. 

   The Kainari's belly rumbles even louder, prompting the inventor to cough and clear his throat as his cheeks of light amber orange turn to burn a deep and bashful rusty apricot. Despite this, he keeps glancing up and down between Kamo's face and the bowl of stew, as if trying to decipher some complex blueprint for a machine.

   The jade healer sighs and rests her weight on one leg. “It's not going to stay warm forever. Take it. I will also sit with you.”

   Something about what she said seems to brush the inventor's fur the wrong way. Dabir sets down the spherical, copper contraption as the hairs of his radiant coat prick skyward. His tail lashes from behind. His fangs begin to bare themselves as he rises to his feet. “What’s your angle here, Miss Goody-Two-Hooves?” he snarls in a low voice.“What do you want from—”

   The slamming of a jade hoof on swabbed floorboards sends the inventor flinching backwards, colliding against the mast and sliding down with his behind hitting the deck.

   “What I want is not for anyone to starve, tangambodo!” Kamo quips back in disbelief, her bat-like ears folding back as she also bares even more of her fangs. “I can cure pain, illness and injury but not hunger, starvation or stupidity. By the Seven, have you really not experienced kindness for kindness’ sake?”

   Dabir sits frozen, his paws awkwardly raised, fluffy ears folded, eyes wide as soup bowls, cheeks still burning that rusty apricot hue. He then begins to thaw with his eyes slowly drooping in the same direction as do his ears and arms; the wordless answer to her question.

   “When you are a person as brilliant as I am … everything, from everyone, has some kind of catch or caveat,” he murmurs. The inventor does not elaborate further.

   Kamo sighs and looks off into the distance beyond the front of the ship, gazing into the growing night sky that has begun to dapple with the glittering of the stars. She then closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath and mutters, in a low voice, something in her native language. Dabir manages to pick up the word ‘ikal’, though he's not sure why this is vaguely familiar to him.

   The healer opens her eyes again. Gentleness returns to her tongue as she redirects her kindly gaze towards the inventor at her feet. “The only ‘catch’ I have to offer, then, is how delicious this stew is. You'll be instantly hooked.”

   The stew is offered once more, as do wary eyes gaze up at her from below again … before the bowl is taken from her with paws stained and flecked with grease and metal shavings. “I know it's delicious. Everyone knows this stew, where I come from.”

   “From Kainar?” Kamo sits next to him and pulls out a small glass vial from her canvas sling bag. “So, it's a common dish.”

   Dabir wipes his paws as best he can with a rag. “A peasant dish, but … yes.”

   His fennec fox-like ears then perk up as a cork pops! off the vial … only for them to droop when he observes her pouring its contents of a viscous, syrupy, sickly sweet-smelling green goop all over her vegetable stew. Dabir recalls hearing about thirteen vials of aquatic lashworm venom being bought at the market and thinking at what an odd number it is. It's only now that it occurs to him that their Woundeater bought extra bottles of the Waterbreather ingredients for herself. To use as condiments.

   “Wow, I didn't know that the brilliant and tasteful Dabir had the stomach to eat peasant food,” she teases and nudges him lightly on the shoulder as she slides the vial back into her sling bag, to which the amber inventor simply rolls his eyes takes his first smell and hearty spoonful.

   Followed by slurping the second intense spoonful, then the third, then the fourth, the fifth—

   “Wey-wey-wey!” Kamo chides through a mouthful of stew, dropping the spoon into her howl to hit him on the back before swallowing. “Your dinner is not going to sprout legs and run from you! Wow, you really must have been hungry, huh … ?”

   Dabir swigs some water from a canteen before gazing back into the bowl … and sighing. “It’s … it has been a while since I had food from home,” he replies softly.

   Not even he is excused from the symptoms of homesickness, it seems. Kamo nods as she thoughtfully stirs the contents of her stew. “Missing home, I see. Me too.”

   “I'm sorry, I'm starting to think there is a catch to this stew,” Dabir then says and glances over to her, brow raised. “You want someone to talk to, don't you?”

   “…Would you prefer we kept silent?” she gently asks.

   The inventor leans back as if surprised by this response, before shrugging, rolling his eyes again, then going back to his dinner, which he now properly spoons into his mouth. His tail also curls around the lantern and his new invention, pulling them closer to him. Cards to a chest. 

   And so they sit and recline their backs against the base of the frontmost mast, the silence between them permeated by the flapping of the cream-coloured sails, the splashing of the salty waves, the creaking of swabbed floorboards, the slurping of steaming stew. Their warm glows of rainforest jade and desert amber grow brighter as do the stars, dyeing the sea and sky in hues of midnight black and blue; moonrays weaving themselves into the waves and reappearing as glittering slivers of silver. It is when the final vestiges of the sunset begin to vanish beneath the horizon behind them do they stack a bowl on top of the other, signalling the end of … whatever this is.

   “Did, uh, the poison taste good?” Dabir asks as she stands.

   “Mm?” Kamo licks her lips and fangs with the bowls and spoons in her paws. “Oh, yes, very much. It tasted like limes mixed with … orange flower water, and it made the vegetable stew taste more refreshing and floral, hmhm.”

   The inventor tilts his bull-horned head and pouts in thought as he takes his spherical metal project back into his paws. It just so happens that lime juice is a popular addition to this stew.

   “And what about you?” she asks. “Was dinner enjoyable, especially when you're not eating alone?”

   Dabir blinks up at her before shifting his gaze back to machine. He turns it in paws. “ … It's alright.”

   Kamo inwardly smirks. She might have bought into the nonchalance of his answer were it not for his tail wagging ever so slightly. She chooses not to mention it, of course. Fragile egos and all that. 

   “Is there something else you wanna talk about?” he then asks while fiddling and clicking components in and on the machine. “If not, I'll get back to work.”

   To which the jade healer glances back at the dining hall. She can discern the glows of azure ocean, sky cerulean, citrine yellow, wisteria purple and cranberry red from where she stands. Her long, flat and rectangular tail curls pensively behind her as her bat-like ears flutter in the salty breeze, picking up their voices but not the words they carry.

   “There is something I'd like to talk about,” she says. “One might even say it's … personal.”

   The clicking stops. Dabir keeps his face trained on the metal ball while his eyes shift in Kamo's direction. He keeps silent as if holding a breath; bated in wait for her to say something. And she does.

   “What is Sem like?”

   His ear twitches. His tail flicks closer to the lantern as he slowly releases a breath and flicks his gaze back to the copper sphere.

   “You spent some time with him in Kainar before coming to Noiton, right?” She looks back at him. “So this would mean you know him best. What is he really like?”

   The clicking resumes. Dabir rolls his shoulders before lowering them. He sucks on his upper row of teeth before answering. “I think he is … good. Selfless, honourable, and all that junk that comes with being a hero. A bit foolish, but … alright."

   "Did he ever seem ... vindictive to you?" she asks.

   Dabir shakes his head. "No, I don't think so."

   Kamo tilts her head at this. She looks back at the dining room in the distance.

   "However ..." the inventor begins to add. “I get the sense that he is hiding something.”

   “Right?” Kamo agrees with a whisper, turning back, squatting in front of him and setting the empty bowls down. “Listen, listen: before we set sail, I asked him what he was doing all the way in Kainar when he should be in Altum, and the man dodged my question!”

   “Right??” Dabir echoes in matching agreement. “I asked him the same thing, multiple times, and he always had some kind of convenient excuse to leave our tent. He is definitely keeping something under wraps.”

   Kamo raises a brow. “You … shared the tent with him?”

   “ … Yes?” Dabir's cheeks glow again. “Is that so odd? We only had the one tent between us when I found him. Did … did you expect him to sleep outside?”

   “I mean, you're … ” Kamo stops. She shakes her head. “Never mind. I'm just surprised you didn't tear each others' throats out when you were together.”

   What an unexpected intersection of specific concerns. There only seems to be one logical step to take after this.

   “We must work together to suss out what he is hiding,” Kamo nods resolutely. 

   “I … literally could not care less,” is Dabir's reply. “Not anymore, that is.”

   But Kamo lightly smacks his shoulder. “Come on! Let's make an agreement. If you tell me anything you learn about him, I will do the same to you. And I will also make sure you get fed properly for as long as we are on this ship. Do we have a deal?”

   Kamo extends her paw along with a smile. Dabir glances at the paw, and at the bowls by her feet. The inventor then glances away, closes his eyes … and pinches her pinky finger before shaking it.

   “My paws are greasy,” he explains before returning both paws and attention to his work, like a fox that has snatched its prey right outside the den it now sheepishly slinks back into; clicking, shifting, clicking. “Don't want yours getting dirty. Also, no poison in my food. Obviously.”

   There is probably a 'thank you' in there somewhere. The healer allows her gentle gaze to linger on the inventor for a while longer, before shaking her head, chuckling softly and patting him on the shoulder as she stands again. “Not the worst thing I've touched, but … thank you. I am glad we had this chat. See you again tomorrow night?”

   He nods, still looking and fiddling with the metal ball. “Mm. Yeah. See you.” 

   Then, he waits. He waits until her hoofsteps and her humming go beyond earshot, until it's just him, the moon, the stars, the sea and the flapping of the sails. He glances at the lantern, then at the sphere of cobbled copper and steel in his paws. A chuckle slips past his lips as he shakes his bull-horned head.

   “What happened, just now … ?”

   And as a song begins to be pulled from the strings of an azure sailor's ukulele, a smirk likewise pulls itself across Dabir's face. “Dinner with me? Every night?”

   “I wonder if green is a nice color on him …”

Chapter Text

The fifth day's breakfast so happens to be a dear favorite of one of their crewmates.

   “Butter-fried toast with blueberries…?!” Gen squeals and holds his cheeks. “And is it … where's the —”

   “Honey?” Ipu grins, sliding a pewter plate of two large pieces of toast fried to sizzling and golden-brown perfection, topped with a pawful of dark and juicy blueberries, alongside a newly-opened honey jar with a wooden dipper. “Knock yourself out, twig.”

   But right before the young spirit could snatch the jar and avail himself of the golden goodness stored within, another paw darts ahead of him and snatches it away with the speed and precision of a serpent. Watada then chuckles as Gen tries to reach for the jar from his seat, but the Gorlek easily holds him back with one paw while he holds the jar and the dipper with two more paws; the last one used to cover his gaping mouth as he yawns.

   “Not that much experience with kids, Ipu?” Watada sleepily smacks his lips with a trio of eyes that have yet to free themselves from the drowsiness of a good night's rest. “A child, or Gen, at least, with too much sugar at the start of the day will only make him hyperactive, followed by a terrible sugar crash.”

   “I won't! I won't crash!” promises Gen with a cheek against his abi’s large, calloused palm and still flailing his arms towards the distant jar.

   “And I won't forget the nights I spent to return you to a normal sleep schedule,” Watada grumbles as he takes it upon himself to drizzle a few glistening swishes of honey onto the toast. “There. That's all you're getting this morning. This will probably give you enough of a boost to finish your daily swabbing, at least … ”

   Ipu takes back the jar with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I should have asked, Watada. And, uh, gotta follow your abi, Gen.”

   The Gorlek simply waves and smiles. It is alright. 

   “Fiiine …” Gen pouts before glumly picking up a piece and taking a first small bite … and immediately forgetting his gripes as he closes his eyes and starts purring while chewing, with the sweetness of the honey playfully linking the savory-chunkiness of fried bread with the tart-sweetness of the blueberries.

   Watada sighs and softly smiles as he pets Gen on the head. “What do we say, abni?”

   “Mrrmmrrh … thank you, Uncle Ipu.”

   “Heh, no problem, twig.” Ipu chuckles, setting the jar to the side before his deer-like ears twitch up at the clopping of approaching hoofsteps.

   Warmer temperatures are merciless for the typical thick-furred and tundra-born Altumian spirit. Despite this, Sem enters the dining room after his daily morning jog with his fluffy chest rising and falling with every laborious puff of a breath, the ruby-glowing warrior placing his paws on his hips as his pounding lungs and beating heart attempt to negotiate with the thicker, humid air. He manages a wave and a smile. “Good morning … everyone … ”

   Ipu had just put another plate of honey-drizzled toast and blueberries on the table. The sailor nods and chuckles. “Morning! Again, heh.”

   Watada chuckles and nudges Gen on the shoulder. “Think you can follow a hero like Sem, waking up early every day and going on a jog?”

   To which the child glances over to a certain jar. “Maybe … if you give me some more honey … ”

   And the Gorlek smirks. “Out of the question.”

   Ipu even pulls out a chair for Sem, but the warrior, still catching his breath, shakes his head and holds out his paw as if asking to wait. “I … whew … I'd like another plate, please. Has … Dabir already come up?”

   Watada raises a brow. Gen tilts his head with a piece of toast in his mouth. Ipu shakes his head. “He hasn't come through here, so he's … probably still preening himself, the solplume that he is. What's up?”

   Despite the questioning looks, another plate of toast finds itself in Sem's paws. The rabbit-eared warrior thanks Ipu with a nod.

   “Just … making sure our crewmate is fed. That's all,” is the explanation he gives before descending below deck. It is only a minute later that another spirit canters into the dining room from below.

   “Morning, morning … !” Kamo yawns and stretches, then patting her belly and licking her lips at the sight and smell of their breakfast. “Mmm, outdoing yourself yet again, as always, Ipu?”

   “Any more of these sweet compliments, Miss Kammy, and I might just crash out from the sweetness!” Ipu chuckles. “We’ve got tea and coffee. Whatcha fiendin’ for this morning?”

   “Thank you, Ipu, but before that, can I have another plate?” she asks and glances down the steps to the hull.

   The Gorlek grumbles out a statement as he accepts from Ipu a cup of black coffee. “Sem beat you to it.”

   Kamo turns to him. Her bat-like ear twitches in interest.

   “Yah, he athked fowh anothuh plahe an’ wen’ down juthh nowh!” Gen talks through a mouthful of fried toast, though he covers his mouth while speaking.

   “Said he was ‘making sure our crewmate was fed,’” Ipu chimes in before pulling a seat out from the table for her. “So, come and sit. This plate was for Sem, but it can be yours now, while it's still hot and fresh.”

   “Oh.” She blinks. A thoughtful look crosses her features as she sits. “I thought he was … going to have breakfast in his hammock, but … I see. Thank you for telling me. Oh, and tea, please.”

   “Make that two, First Mate.” Chafa also strides in from below deck with an Apei whose fingers are currently preoccupied and strung up by a game of cat's cradle. Without looking up, however, the purple mathematician makes a two-dimensional image of a recognizable bean inside a two-dimensional kettle that tilts itself forty-five degrees.

   Ipu acknowledges these orders with a cheeky grin and a snappy salute. “Two teas an' a coffee, comin’ right up.”

   Fragrant tea, energizing coffee and honeyed toast with blueberries are soon served around the lively dining table, with Kamo declaring that Ipu would make a fine restaurant owner whilst a honey-fiending Gen (barely) shakes an expressionless Watada, because why does Apei gets to have nine scoops of honey in her coffee!? Sem also returns and his fluffy tail is made to wag when Kamo invites him to sit with her and have the second piece of her toast. It's still warm.

   Conversation does lull a bit when the last crew member ascends from under the deck. Dabir, clean and presentable as always, looks at them all with an empty plate in his paws. They return his gaze with wary eyes.

   “... Good morning,” he nods to everyone and casually scratches and smoothes the fur on his ear. “Don't stop on my account. I'll be out front.”

   Aside from casting another fleeting glance towards Sem and Kamo, fixing himself a mug of coffee and placing the empty pewter plate in the sink, the amber inventor goes right ahead and clops out onto the open, sunlit deck. Chafa raises her teacup to her lips while also glancing at Sem and Kamo. 

   How interesting.

   “So…!” Ipu sighs and finally sits with his own plate of fried bread and a mug of coffee. “Is today gonna be another day of smooth sailing, Captain?”

   Chafa abruptly stops sipping. She lowers her teacup onto the saucer and clicks her tongue.

   “... You forgot to Glimpse for today,” states her first mate.

   To which the turquoise elder takes hold of her staff and presses the crystal to her forehead. “Let’s amend that real quick … ” 

   But just as the captain begins to recite the incantation, a voice calls out from the deck. “Uh, captain! Everyone … !” 

   It's Dabir, naturally. Chafa's eyes shoot open. Kamo and Apei crane their necks. Ipu hurriedly swallows a bite of toast and raises a paw to his mouth as he shouts back. “Dabiiir? What is it?”

   “There’s … boxes! Barrels! Planks! Lots of … floating, broken stuff! It's coming up ahead!”

   Questioning and furtive looks are exchanged across the table, but it is Ipu and Chafa who first push their chairs back, rise from the table and ask them to wait. After taking a telescope with them, the first mate rushes out onto the deck with the captain right behind him.

   Gen clings to one of his abi's lower arms. “Should … should we follow … ?”

   Kamo stands. “I think we should.” 

   But Watada crosses his upper pair of arms, clearly skeptical about the entire thing. “We should first hear what Ipu and Chafa have to say — ”

   “Lads an’ lasses, come on out here!” Ipu then calls. “There’s a whole mess of stuff ahead!”

   The Gorlek shrugs and stands. “At the very least, we might be able to salvage some materials for repairs … ”

   And as Apei, Gen, Watada and Sem leave the dining room and the remnants of their lively breakfast, a single stowaway fly drifts closer to the jar of honey.

   How tantalizing are its contents.

❧

What is the difference between flotsam and jetsam?

   “Jetsam’s a buncha stuff you find in the water when a crew dumps it to lighten the load of their ship, in the case of an emergency,” Ipu explains to Gen as he raises a paw to shield his eyes from the bright and burning sun. “Flotsam’s what's found when a ship and its crew … becomes just a buncha stuff you find in the water.”

   That is certainly one way to put it. Its meaning, however, is not lost on Gen as he lowers his ears. “S-so … which is it? Is it flotsam or jetsam?”

   Now that they are closer, Dabir flicks up the last lens on his goggle for a less powerful magnification as he peers and scans the view a second time, this time with more care. Watada takes his turn with the spyglass as he squints through the instrument raised to his third and topmost eye. 

   “It all seems all spread out …” observes the Gorlek. “Makes sense, because of wind and currents, I suppose. Also, I … think I see a sail. And the figurehead … it's a seahorse. And next to it, there's a … ” 

   Watada does not finish the sentence. He lowers the spyglass as the warm wind tousles his beard. Sem seems to understand. “You see it too? Poor moki, huh?”

   Dabir also seems to see it. His paw instinctively flicks up the multi-lensed goggle from his eyes with a sharp and dramatic gasp … followed by clamping shut his mouth mid-heave as the breakfast he had begins to churn porridge-thick in his belly; heart starts to pound against his ribcage; lungs clinging on to the breath he just took, the world around him growing muffled and distant yet mercilessly bright, eyes stabbed by the light of the spring sun. He then doubles over as he clutches his stomach, bloats his cheeks and hurriedly excuses himself before breaking into a sprint back below deck, his hooves stamping across the floorboards, slowly growing silent amid the splashing of the waves and the warm wind in their ears. Judgement is not found among the rest of the crew. Everyone has a different reaction the first time they see “stuff” that once lived, breathed, dreamt and loved.

   “I should probably make sure he's alright ... ” Kamo nonchalantly hums as if it is another day on the job, patting Sem on the forearm before jogging in the same direction … with the ruby warrior's gaze lingering on Kamo's back, an intense yet unreadable expression in his sunlit eyes as his red capelet flutters in the salty breeze.

   Gen has, of course, figured out what everyone else must have seen, with the bright young spirit also covering his mouth and holding the silken-smooth tassels of his neckerchief. Seeing this, Chafa turns away from the view and kneels in front of Gen with an attentive yet kindly look on her aged features as she pets his head. “You do not have to see this. Why don't you go downstairs with your abi?”

   But Chafa's eyes widen slightly when Gen shakes his head. He clutches her gift, the beautiful yellow neckerchief, and squeezes the tassels tighter. “Abi … abi said that the cloth can make me brave … and I have a cloth. I … I wanna be brave. I wanna see it.”

   The captain then glances to the only one above her station in this regard. Watada quietly nods, passes the spyglass back to Chafa, then scoops up little Gen and seats him on his shoulder as he begins to walk back to the dining room, his footsteps as heavy as the air.

   “But, but abi … !” Gen protests, trying to turn around. “I wanna see! Don't … don't you want me to be brave?”

   But Watada shakes his head. “You can be brave in this way another day. But not today, abni. Not today. Besides, we … have some dishes to wash, do we not? And after that, we can play tea time with your Captain Mokk and Mokk the First.”

   “ … Okay, abi … ” Gen sighs as a warm kiss graces his forehead.

   “Good boy. Let's go.”

❧

A short while passes after that. By the time the plates and pans are cleaned and put away, and tea time begins between a father, a son and his two stuffed toys, Dabir and Kamo have already returned and rejoined with the rest of the spirits at the front of the Ivory Dove as the ship prepares to cross into the floating field of debris. 

   “Was, uh … was that your first time seeing a body?” Sem asks after donning on his capelet again. 

   Dabir was just tightening the last leather strap of his crossbow-gauntlet as the lantern hangs from his sash. Having both of them on his person makes him feel a little better. His brow, however, now creases with a tightening expression, his tail flicking and arms crossing defensively at the question. “So? What if it is?”

   The warrior slightly raises his paws. No mockery intended. “Was just asking a question. Some have a harder time than others, seeing a body for the first time. I am … sorry, that you had to see it.”

   At this, the inventor softens, but only just. He glances away with arms still crossed and with ears standing tall and proud against the salty breeze. “Why don't you ask if our navigator here has seen a corpse before instead of bothering me?”

   Sem sighs and rolls his eyes while Apei turns to them and tilts her head. ‘Never saw one before, but why should I be afraid of it? It's now just another fragment of matter that will slowly turn to nothingness. To 0.’

   “ … I will be over here.” Dabir smiles and steps away. “Ta-ta.” He steps even further away; closer to Sem and Kamo.

   Chafa stamps her staff on the floor before giving out several directions like the captain she is. “Ipu, get your lasso ready; Apei, your shapes. Sem, get ready to catch what Ipu fishes out. Kamo and Dabir, we will organize the salvage and decide the bits worthy to be kept for reuse. If it's rubbish, you know what to do.”

   Sem glances briefly at Dabir, looks him up and down, then back to the captain. “Understood.”

   Ipu holds out his paws as wisps and flecks of mana flicker and take form in his palms, elongating and stringing themselves into a long and glowing coil of light the color of the sea. Little knocks and hollow bumps then resound from the hull of the ship as bits of debris knock against the varnished wood. The Ivory Dove has entered the shipwreck.

   So begins the work. Ipu brings his lasso to the edge of the boat and lashes it at the wreckage below, with the strand of light finding purchase on barrels, boxes and decent chunks of wood before being yanked out from the water like trouts having been snagged by the line of a skilled fisher. Apei meanwhile moves her paws and quickly shapes her gentle purple light into a large, flat and solid circle roughly the size of the lion-maned Watada, followed by raising a wall along its border and cutting smaller circular holes in its base. The sieve is then directed to float down to the water and scoop up sizable amounts of debris with every trip, and while Sem takes it upon himself to catch every heavy box, barrel or chest Ipu flings out, Kamo, Chafa and Dabir sift through the salvage dumped onto the deck.

   “This looks like a good piece of wood,” Dabir hums, inspecting a smaller piece of what he assumes to be a floorboard. Was a floorboard.

   Kamo then taps the inventor on the shoulder. “Dabir, look at this…” she whispers.

   The healer crosses her arms as she observes another large piece of bent and barnacled wood, likely from what used to be the prow … with what appear to be bite marks left behind by what look like a deadly set of teeth. The wood itself is quite thick (even thicker thanks to water absorption) but it hasn't stopped whatever creature responsible from sinking its fangs several inches deep.

   “What in Kurestal could have done this?” Dabir whispers, a chill running down his spine as the flame within his lantern flickers like the twitching of his ear, the light revealing the splintered depths of the marks. “Sharks? Something … else?”

   Something worse? Kamo can only shrug, though she does inspect the bite marks a little closer and even slips a finger along the wooden wound before licking the digit; her tongue tasting only salt of the sea. If there was any poison or venom it has likely since been washed away. In any case, this fragment is of no use to them.

   As they work to lift it, however, Kamo's bat-like ears twitch and perk at a sound: a splash in the distance. It came from the direction of the bobbing seahorse figurehead. 

   “Did you hear that?” she asks Dabir, before heaving and tossing the piece of the prow overboard where it makes its own splash below. 

   The inventor shrugs with a quizzical brow as more hollow knocks and impacts resound from the hull and prow of the Ivory Dove. Why should he suspect it when there's so much water around?

   “Big one! Incoming!” Ipu then shouts, flinging his arms back as he fishes what looks to be a locked chest from out of the water. It sails through the air with droplets of seawater falling off of its surface and glimmering under the morning sun, landing safely in Sem's sturdy arms and being set down on the deck with a rough sigh.

   “You good, Bajin?” Kamo calls over to him with a sea of debris between them, already forgetting about the noise she heard.

   “Yeah … I'm … I'm good … !” pants the smiling, red-caped fighter as he pats the chest. “Maybe you can take a crack … at opening this thing?”

   It does look quite interesting. Dabir and Kamo promptly begin to approach it.

   Dabir leans in. “Bajin?”

   “‘Bastard,’” Kamo translates.

   “...Affectionately?”

   “But of course.”

   The inventor rolls his eyes.

   The chest itself looks rather nice. Its wooden panels are varnished to a gleaming sheen with the cracks in between tightly waterproofed with sealant. The metal frame holding everything together looks a little dinged up, but that's to be expected. The lock, on the other hand, sits immaculate and resolute in its duty to prevent anyone from opening it and plundering the chest's contents.

   Kamo looks at Dabir. She then purses her lips, which she uses to point to the lock. “You're the mechanical one. Open it.”

   “I was getting to it…” Dabir grumbles as he goes onto a knee in front of the chest. After settling himself, he reaches up with both paws and detaches from his goggle two of the three magnifying lenses, the prongs of which he points and inserts into the stubborn lock. The inventor fiddles around as he tries to make sense of the mechanism, attempting to find the pins, the points of tension, latches, springs, a weakness …

   Chafa huffs from amidst the pile of debris as she stoops down and picks up a soaked sailor's cap from a tangled mess of ropes. Ipu and Sem work to catch another barrel, its contents sloshing inside. Drinkable water, perhaps? Apei meanwhile dumps another floating sieve-full of dripping detritus onto the deck. The seahorse figurehead, near the center of the wreckage, draws closer to the Ivory Dove.

   Kamo tilts her head as she observes the wrinkles in Dabir's brow. “How's it going — ”

   A SNAP! chomps off the end of her question. The chest jumps and lands back on the deck with a heavy thud; Dabir doing the same with his ears and tail jolted skyward. It would appear that he triggered some kind of failsafe mechanism, and the lock, the faithful guardian it is, will now no longer accept any visitors or intruders.

   “Ooh, you wanna play like that, huh?” the inventor growls. “Fine. Eat this.”

   After carefully returning the lenses to his goggle, a Dabir with a furrowed brow presses his palm against the lock. He closes his eyes … while Kamo's eyes grow as wide as Apei's floating purple sieve as hissing wisps of steam begin to rise and curl from the point of contact. Any moisture pervading the mechanism rapidly evaporates as the metal itself begins to glow, sag and melt; the varnish on the darkening wood saving it from catching fire. The flickering flame in the Dabirian lantern likewise shines brighter before it dies back down, with the inventor quickly digging his fingers into the molten sludge and flinging the lid open.

   The bull-horned inventor dusts off his paws as a satisfied smile plays across his lips. He then looks at Kamo, then at Sem, Chafa and Ipu looking at him with expressions of surprise. Apei simply looks interested before returning to her task. More hollow knocks, hollow impacts against the hull, the flapping of sails, the stretching of ropes.

   Dabir’s paws find their places on his hips. “What.” 

   “Would have been nice if I were told that we had a walking fire hazard in our ranks,” Chafa curtly hums as she steps closer to the chest. “But that's all in the past.”

   “You really are a solplume…” Kamo then murmurs.

   To which the inventor raises a brow and crosses his arms. “You're welcome. And what is that supposed to mean, that I'm a solplume? Is ... is that a good thing?”

   The healer doesn't answer, only turning to the unlocked box and peering inside. It is indeed a rather well-made chest as its contents remain perfectly dry. The unadulterated light of the morning sun reveals a nest of expensive silk and cotton garments, which serve as cushions for a wooden box of energy crystals, a peculiar rectangular object made of metal and glass, a pouch of gold, a scattering of rubies, emeralds and sapphires, a folder for sheafs of paper, an inkwell, a feathered pen and a leather-bound journal.

   “Hm.” Kamo turns away from the chest and its objects. It is just stuff to her.

   Dabir meanwhile takes the rectangular object with a smile brimming with delight. “A Qamura! Oh, I've always wanted to have one of these!”

   “And I will be taking this,” Chafa says, stooping down and seizing the journal. “This has to be the captain's log. Good job, Ipu, Sem. Don't stop working, now!”

   “Ya got it, Cap’n,” Ipu salutes. He then notices a large wooden box bobbing next to the seahorse figurehead and points to it. “Oi, Sem, let's get that one!”

   Sem cracks his knuckles in preparation as the azure sailor begins to coil his glowing grappling rope. Kamo, however, notices something about the figurehead. Not only is its face carved into an expression of eternal serenity, but …

   “Wasn't there a body next to it … ?” she thinks. 

   Where is the body?

   A few moments prior to this question being asked, Chafa could be found leaning against the middle mast and unwrapping the thin leather cord that keeps the journal shut, the spine of the book cradled in her palm, eventually having opened to the first page where she reads aloud the particulars of the dead captain. “This is the personal memoirs of Asha, Captain of the Seahorse, born year five hundred and twelve, Millennium of the Wheel, in Kainar … mhm …”

   The cerulean captain, on a whim, flips and flutters through the pages towards the last entry. Ipu points out the large wooden box to Sem, who cracks his knuckles. Chafa reads aloud the date written for the entry: 

   “Seirday, third of Paz, five hundred and thirty-three M.o.W.”

   The captain lowers the journal. “Seirday? That's … that's just yesterday …” she thinks before continuing quietly.

   Seirday, 3rd Paz, 533 M.o.W.

   It is my birthday today. Of course, no party for me. I don't see any point wasting our supplies on such a celebration. 

   I can't stop thinking about the things I've heard from around the world. First there's the “storm” in Noiton that makes rain “fall” to the sky and sucks the water from the ground. Then there's increased beast activity & attacks in Niwen. The Seven Lights are having difficulty connecting to their Spirit Wells. And now, our newest passenger says that Kainar's dunes are overgrown with carnivorous plants that grow as fast as weeds. 

   It is almost as if these phenomena are tailored to act as the exact antithesis of the forests’ environments. And if there is a 'tailor' ... 

   The line trails off there. Chafa glances onwards to the next paragraph as the azure sailor prepares to toss his grappling rope, his eyes and heart set upon the floating box.

   We reeled in a large crate that we found floating by itself in the water tonight. Cargo from another ship? Fell from a different port? Anyways, we will open it tomorrow once everyone's slept after a long day.

   I am almost home, Kivem. Just a little longer, my love.

   But there was no tomorrow for Captain Asha, just as there are no more entries; no more reunions with their beloved. But that is not what flicks Chafa's switch. 

   A fire screams in the core of the captain's mind; a shrill pound-throbbing screeches in her ears; a hollow tugging pulls at the strings of her heart as her sense of intuition, that which has yet to fail her, rings throughout her whole being like the tolling of a bell.

   The crate! screams her intuition. The crate! The crate!

   A trap!

   “Got it!” Ipu calls out, his glowing grapple rope firmly attached to the bobbing box floating next to the figurehead of the Seahorse. As this happens, Dabir takes his new Qamura for a spin by raising the device to his eyes and aiming it at Sem and the azure sailor, and Apei dumps onto the deck the last sieve-full of debris to be sorted through.

   Chafa locks eyes with Kamo from across the honeypot of salvage between them. In that moment, despite the distance and sharing not a word, both the captain and the healer can recognize the look of horror written across each other's faces.

   They turn their heads. They raise their paws. They open their mouths and yell for them to stop. But it's too late. 

   A deep and heavy growl of exertion rumbles out of Ipu's chest as he yanks at the rope with all his strength. Dabir's finger finds and presses a button on top of the Qamura as this unfolding scene is reflected in the glass ocular occupying its front.

   Snap! A light flashes forth from the device as the crate is fished out of the water.

   Snap! The crate sails through the air in a graceful arc as scattering droplets of seawater catch the sunlight and turn into diamonds.

   Snap! The red-caped Sem steps forward to catch the falling cubical meteor with outstretched arms …

   Snap! 

   As the world seems to slow — this instance of space and time painted white by the Qamura’s light.

   There comes about a rapid snapping of wood. The pink of flesh and the slime of tongue where flesh and tongue should not be. A snaggletoothed reveal of rows of jagged teeth. The sprouting of an onyx pair of beady eyes that reveal a wicked intelligence and its insatiable hunger.

   Quite the catch, albeit a most unfortunate one.

Chapter Text

"Huh?" Sem mumbles.

   The falling crate further splinters itself, sprouting a series of crab-like legs and claws that snap and crack open, unfurling from its bottom side with even more groanings of bending, twisting wood. Its front side unhinges its hidden, toothy maw in its direct course towards its next meal, wrapped so presentably in cranberry-coloured cloth. Unfortunately for it, however, a strand of blue light whips around the red-caped spirit's forearm and yanks him aside.

   SNAP!! The impact rocks the boat. The near-cloudless sky and the glittering sea are sent into nauseating sway. Teeth sink the floorboards that have yet to be swabbed, where, upon roughly pulling back with a gutteral snarl, leave a familiar set of drool-drenched bite marks in the wood.

   Sem collides chest to chest with Ipu. "Oof!"

   “Hoy! Gotcha, lad!” grunts the deer-eared sailor, holding them somewhat steady despite the rocking of the vessel and being shorter than Sem.

   Dabir lowers the Qamura from his eye and takes several stumbling hoofsteps back with Apei, Chafa and Kamo as they all wobble with the rocking boat like multicoloured pieces on a board game. The amber inventor shouts as he manages to grab the railing. “What … what is that thing?!”

   The box-crab beast rears its mighty wooden head, that is, its entire body because its body is its head, and crouches as it bellows a shrill, ululating and blood-curdling roar. Sails, ropes, flags and any loose elements rattle and tremble under its ravenous cry as it stamps and pierces at the floor in its wake, leaving cracks, splinters and wounds on the beloved ship.

   “By the Lights…!” Dabir scrunches his face and waves the foul-stenched air in front of his nose. “Have you ever heard of toothpaste?” 

   “Less asking, more killing!” Captain Chafa reaches for the holster under her shawl, pulls out the crystal firearm and brandishes it at the creature as its sky-coloured facets glint under the morning sun. “ATTAAACK!” 

   Whiiish-PAP! A crackling bolt of energy the colour of the shimmering sea pulses out of the crystal's apex and nails the creature in its left eye. It staggers back and forth from the resulting burst of light with a warbling screech as it shakes its wooden body like an injured mutt. A mighty fine start!

    It is, then, only natural for it to retaliate. With its only good eye, the box-crab wildly swings its claws at the two closest spirits it can see. The Captain, with her unfailing intuition, manages to duck as the splintered appendage whiffs overhead … though it does connect with and send flying a spirit the colour of the jade rainforest.

   “Kamo!!” Sem and Dabir yell in unison, both still struggling to get their footing amidst the rocking and creaking of the boat.

   Pain flashes from the front, then pain flashes from behind as the healer's back cracks against the sturdy mast. Shiver and bleed do Kamo's arms and paws as salt-soaked splinters pincushion her flesh, with the Noitoner sliding to the rocking floor. Despite all this, Kamo's expression remains fairly composed and serene as calm waters, with her healing factor immediately kicking in and working to mend the wounds, already pushing several splinters out of her body where they fall and clatter onto the deck.

   “Don’t … don't worry! I'm alright!” Kamo grunts as she quickly gets back on her feet. “But it is really solid!”

   She reaches for her medical bag as she calls this out and pulls out the sling from its side, along with a small glass vial from within, its swirling contents a sickly green of rusted bronze. She shoves the vial into the cradle, raises her arm and swings the sling overhead; faster, faster; cutting and whizzing through the air like a pair of skeeto’s wings.

    “Let me remedy that!”

   CRACK! goes the sling as the healer yanks the weapon down mid-revolution, sending the vial whistling and spinning through the air.

   Crash! The chemical contents within the vial spill and splash onto the box-crab’s side … where it roars, as the acid begins to bubble and eat away at the wood.

   “Nice work, Miss Kammy!” Ipu shouts as he helps Sem regain his footing. 

   “Take more of these!” Kamo takes out and passes more acid vials to the crew. “I need to make sure the potions are safe!”

   The scuffle is rocking the boat back and forth. It is all too likely that certain fragile things could be broken or ruined and set them back a couple of days. Kamo thus begins to run below deck and leaves the team to deal with the crab.

   “Well then! I hope Captain Asha won't mind if I borrow this!” Ipu reaches into the pile of debris and pulls out what used to be the leg for a table before vanishing in a cerulean puff, reappearing on top of the crab the next second, and holding on while swinging the improvised bludgeon down onto its acid-softened side.

   “Take! This! Ye! Foul! Beast!” Ipu yells with each strike.

   The box crab shrieks and naturally tries to spin and shake off its irritating meal from its back, but the azure spirit keeps an ironclad grip on its top with every strike against the melting wooden side revealing more of its foul-smelling crustacean flesh.

   “We must break away its box … shell … thing!” Sem shouts as he grasps his vial.

   “By golly, I didn't know we had a genius on deck!” Dabir snarks. "And such an eloquent one, too!"

   “Are you going to throw yours or not?!” Sem quips back.

   “And ruin these claws? Why do you think I have this?!” Dabir sneers as he begins to load the flute of acid into the slot of his crossbow-gauntlet … which is taking a while due to the rocking of the boat. Such a finicky thing.

   Sem simply rolls his eyes before tossing his vial skyward, then pushing against the swaying deck and jumping into the air with it. As the glass tube falls, he wills his skill to gravitationally lock onto the vial; the tube floating in the air with him, right it is Bashed towards the crab. The acid hurtles towards the monster with the Basher himself catching a rope in his backwards flight, swinging back in a graceful arc and landing onto the deck.

   Crash! So shatters and splashes the second vial as the acid begins to bubble, sizzle and eat into the wooden back of the creature.

   “Apei!” Sem then shouts as his billhook flashes into form in his paws. “The sieve!”

   It just so happens that the warrior, the beast and the mathematician now stand at points that would be found in a perfect right-angled triangle. With that said, the fastest line of trajectory would naturally be:

   ‘A hypotenuse of 21.21 feet!’ declares the starry-eyed spirit as she merely flicks a finger and flings the floating sieve as it follows the longest line of this invisible triangle. The off-white purple construct of light smashes into exposed crab flesh, with the beast once again rearing its body-head, its tongue and claws lashing and swinging wildly … managing to fling the azure sailor off its back. A falling, flailing Ipu's cry is cut short as he lands and breaks right through a rotten barrel in the middle of the salvage pile.

   “Ipu!” Chafa shouts out with a brow wrinkled with worry.

   Sem raises his shoulders and momentarily lowers his ears as he winces. “Sorry, Ipu … !”

   “Been … ” Ipu grunts and chuckles it off as he tries to pull himself up. “Through worse!”

   Things could also have gotten worse as the box crab raises its claws and prepares to plunge its jagged appendage into the prone Ipu's chest, only to be stopped by a third crashing of glass and yet another splashing of acid onto its side. Acrid, sickly-sweet smelling vapour rises and wafts from the body of the crab, irritating its one good eye while as a grinning Dabir is most pleased with his shot.

   “You're most welcome!” the amber inventor chirps.

   “I think we've almost defeated this damn thing!” Chafa declares. “Come on, everyone!”

   This is the moment where Watada, with a Gen securely seated on his shoulder, steps out from below deck. “Everyone, what is — allaena!”

   The Gorlek curses as he holds Gen's legs down on his shoulder with one paw, while using another pair of paws to raise his pickaxe; the young yellow spirit squeaking and hugging his abi tight by the mane as they both behold the beast that has boarded their vessel. There is absolutely no way that they are going out onto the deck! 

   But something else has other plans as it taps at the window behind them. 

   It serves as the only warning to the father and son before another box crab, smaller than the one on the deck, shatters the glass into tinkling pieces and awkwardly pulls itself into the dining room. Watada whirls around, clocks what he presumes to be behemoth's spawn, and begins to slowly back out of the dining room and onto the deck as the fight outside continues.

   “Abni…” Watada says keeping his voice low. “If there is any time that you should try to be brave and fight, it is absolutely now.”

   The curious little box crab upturns the dining table. Pewter spoons, cups, plates and remnants of their breakfast that had yet to be cleaned tumble and crash onto the floor. Its claws and legs are smoother and clumsier than its parent’s, but its teeth are just as sharp and its lolling tongue is just as pink and ravenous.

   Then it looks at them. It tilts its head and brings its claws closer to itself as its tongue drools a shimmering, viscous saliva. It then shrilly vocalises a ululating trill just like its parent.

   “N-now … ?!” Gen squeaks, lowering his ears and hiding behind Watada's mane. “B-but … !”

   But those sharp teeth. Those black, beady eyes. Those sharp claws and teeth. Its shrill, strange voice.—

   His abi’s voice, the one that has accompanied him for all his life, shines through the thoughts and fears that swirl like dark waters as he continues to balance amid the rocking of the boat. “Abni. You are not alone; remember our training, and focus. Focus on what you can do. Right now. And right now, I need you to try and fight.”

   “But … but it's just a kid … like me … !” Gen protests.

   Just as the young spirit brings his paws together to try and form a light bomb, both suddenly squint as the blazing sun above shines down upon them. The flapping of the sails, the splashing of the water, the groaning of swabbed floorboards and the cacophony of seaborne battle assaults their ears as Captain Chafa lets loose another shot — Whiiish-PAP! — and burns a hole right through the center of the behemoth's tongue.

   A shrill wail tears and spittles from its bleeding mouth and tongue as it draws its claws to its wooden face, stumbling all around the deck and somehow managing to avoid colliding into the masts and sails — before unleashing a blind and savage attack. Chafa simply steps to the side as a two-ton crustacean appendage slams down onto the salvage pile.

   But with a mighty sweep, and despite moving the floating purple sieve in front of herself as a shield, the other claw collides with the little mathematician's chest, scattering the construct of light into glimmering, wispy triangles and circles.

   “Gahh!” This is the first time, for most, to hear the voice of the near-mute Hoan.

   Apei flies backwards — a streak of purple light — and slams right into Ipu. The momentum staggers them backwards and cracks them against the middle mast of the Ivory Dove; ears, scarf and bandanna flinging backwards from the merciless impact; air knocked out of their lungs; hissing through bared fangs; glowing faces contorted in pain. Their expressions then relax as they crumple to the floor in an unmoving heap. Chafa and Sem turn and yell out their names. They do not respond to being called.

   Nor do they wake when a claw the size of a rowboat snatches them up into a jagged hold several feet in the air, their bodies limp like a pair of lifeless moki dolls as the beast widen its ravenous jaw, with its injured tongue and rows of needle-teeth salivating greedily for its next meal.

   Sem's eyes grow wide as the white pupils within tremble and shrink into pinpricks. “No, no! Apei! Ipu! Wake up! Wake up!!” 

   Gen, on hearing the panic in Sem's shout, turns around on Watada's shoulder as golden light begins to coalesce and form into a floating ball of sparking energy. How could his paws not begin to shake when an unconscious Apei and Ipu are brought closer to their doom; his mind not start to waver when Sem is helplessly kept in a deadlock by the beast's other massive claw; his heart not start to pound like thunder in his head when Dabir’s shot harmlessly glances off crab's wooden shell; his lungs not start to breathe for him, faster, shallower, colder, as Chafa hides behind the mast as she waits for the firearm to recharge?

   Watada barely fends off the little box crab with the stomping of his foot and the swinging of his pickaxe. “Abni! What are you doing … throw the bomb … ”

   The light of his abi’s voice seems so small, so far away, so soft compared to the pounding in his ears and the tightening of his heart and lungs, amidst the dizzying rocking of the boat, the clanging of the bell, Sem's yells and the guttural, drooling, snaggletoothed snarl of the crustacean behemoth. But the worst of it all …

   Is the laughter that comes.

   Hahahaaa! Did you see the look on his face?

   Waaah! Waaah! Help meee! Heeelp!

   Some son of Ori, he is, heh!

   “Abni?”

   Watada turns his head to see his son petrified in a wide-eyed and tearful expression of silent terror, his jaw slack and open as if wanting to scream but having neither the heart nor the air to bring it to being. In an all too familiar scene, the sparkling ball of golden energy tumbles out of Gen's trembling paws, the light reflected in the black and beady eyes of the younger and curious box crab. 

   The ball hits the floor. Sparks fly out on impact. The knell of the bell sounds out.

   And Watada, after glancing back and seeing the spirits of blue and purple about to enter the hungry, open maw of the beast — without thinking — spins around, glances down, draws back his foot and cracks at the glowing orb with a hammer swing of a kick.

   It flies through the air, a golden comet, but begins to fall in its trajectory. Thankfully, he is not alone.

   “SEM!” the Gorlek bellows.

   The rabbit-eared warrior, in his deadlock with the claw, raises his eyes and clocks the ball as it sails overhead. He lets out a roaring grunt as he pushes the claw to the side. Leaps into the air. Telekinetically locks onto the bomb …

   Before shooting it through the hole in the box crab's tongue and down its ravenous throat, the cavern of glistening and bleeding pink flesh within momentarily illuminated before swallowed by the darkness. Sem flies back from the momentum of the shot and lands with his hooves against the mast.

    The behemoth stops. It hiccups. Then it hiccups harder and drops Apei and Ipu, with Dabir and Sem rushing forward to catch them. The box crab draws its claws to its chest, its wooden disguise of a crate melted and splintered from all directions, its good and beady eye watering from the irritant vapour; the other eye cauterized by the Chafa's shot at the start.

   “Hree-ee-ee?” it seems to ask.

   A muffled yet heavy boom and a dull burst of golden light emanate from within the cracks of the wooden shell, with chunks of flesh bulging out of the holes and few shards of teeth falling out of its smoking mouth. The monster then lowers its arms, staggers off to the right and wrecks a bit of the railing as it falls overboard, plunging back into the sea from whence it came and sinking to its depths. The Seahorse, with its gaze of eternal serenity, bears witness to the rendered judgement.

   “Hre-ee …?” 

   The flapping of the sails. The splashing of the water. Hard, laboured lungfuls. As Watada turns around with a paw holding his abi tight, the young box crab scuttles to the side of the ship where its larger counterpart fell off. It peers into the swirling water as bubbles rise and pop on the surface.

   “Hree ... eee … ?”

   It falls silent. It brings its claws close. Its following reaction is understandable.

   “HREEE—!”

   Its wrathful cry is cut short when a flaming crossbow bolt strikes it from behind, the tip piercing through the juvenile wooden shell and delivering a swift, mortal wound. It collapses to the floor just inches away from Watada's feet, its revenge halted in its tracks.

   Dabir lowers his gauntlet as he meets Watada's astonished gaze. Chafa approaches the fallen young beast, the crystal firearm still in her paw, and prods at the shell with her staff. It doesn't move, doesn't wake. The captain then sighs as she finally returns her weapon to its shoulder holster. 

   “Sem, Dabir. Bring Ipu and Apei down to Kamo. I will check our supplies and inspect the damages,” Chafa solemnly says. “Watada? Send the young’un to reunite with its parent. After that … just look after your own young’un.”

   The Gorlek nods as he sets down his pickaxe and soothingly pats and rubs the back of his son, who hides his face and sniffles into his father's soft mane. 

   “I … I'm sorry … s-sorry … ” whimpers Gen.

   “There is nothing to be sorry for, abni. It … it was really scary and … I should not have demanded so much of you in your first fight. I am sorry.”

   But Gen shakes his head against his abi's mane. 

   “It was … it was just a kid … ” he sobs.

   As Sem and Dabir carry their unconscious crewmates below deck to see the doctor, and as the Ivory Dove finally leaves the field of flotsam, all Watada could do is to continue rubbing and patting the back of his abni.

   A lone fly buzzes away from the shattered remains of a clay honey pot.

Chapter Text

The fractures in Apei's ribs taste like an orange jelly interspersed with crunchy walnut bits, while Ipu's broken tailbone tastes like roasted chicken glazed with a light, sweet and cheeky lemon sauce. 

   “Lotta citrus going on. Must be very … a-peel-ing.” Ipu winks and snaps his fingers while lying down.

   Dabir groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, Sem and Kamo manage a hearty chuckle and Apei tilts her head while pondering over the number of wedges a ‘perfect’ orange should have. A healthy dose of humour always helps to lighten things up.

   Kamo had her own fight to contend with amidst the chaotic rocking of the ship, but all the Waterbreather potions had been safely secured during the fight. Any and all injuries sustained during the battle were transferred to the Woundeater, and soon the Dove will also be healed of her injuries with the scrap they salvaged from the debris.

   “How are you two?” Kamo smiles and offers her paws to the healed patients.

   Ipu nods, grunting softly as he is helped to stand. “We're fine, all thanks to you. Oh, and thanks for carrying us down, Sem, Dabir.”

   Apei makes the symbol of a heart with her paws and softly purrs at the warrior and the inventor.

   “How are you, though, Kamo?” Sem then asks. 

   One of the storerooms below deck had been temporarily converted into an alchemical lab. Bits and shards of shattered glass now litter the floor, with ingredients and medicinal herbs also having scattered and fallen out of their pots and jars (all of it pushed to the side so that Ipu and Apei could be laid down), the air made pungent with all manners of aromas and odours; the essential cauldron pushed to a secure corner. The most important item, of course, was saved from being smashed into a puddle of wasted time and effort.

   “Never mind that. You know I can't stay injured for long,” Kamo chuckles and pats a rack of test tubes she had set down on the table, its contents revealed to be a swirling, silvery blue.

   “What this meathead is probably trying to ask is how you are feeling,” Dabir proudly crosses his arms. “It was a bit of a fight! But luckily I took care of it.”

   “You took care of it?” Sem also crosses his arms while his scarred ear and fluffy tail twitch with annoyance. “Just you?”

   Dabir checks his claws which are still nicely manicured. “ ... with the assistance from a few others, yes.”

   Sem rolls his eyes, but Kamo gives that warm, soft smile as she chuckles again. Seems everyone is in relatively normal spirits. “I am fine, you two,” she says. “Besides, you were all in the thick of it while I was down here. That said, how are you two? Any injuries I should know about?”

   Dabir has none to show, but the warrior steps a little forward. “Just a few dings and scratches, nothing too serious. Still, I know you will enjoy them as … bite-sized snacks.”

   Kamo lightly hums as she takes Sem's paws into her own. The alchemy room is briefly filled with a warm green light as the wounds are “eaten.”

   “How do they taste?” Sem asks, watching as the transferred cuts and bruises — his wounds and injuries — appear, then disappear, from Kamo's body. 

   “Like … cranberries. Dipped in honey,” Kamo purrs and licks her fangs, her ear and tail twitching from brief and vanishing pinpricks of pain. “You may have the sweetest wounds I've ever tasted, Bajin.”

   Kamo, still smiling, doesn't move her paws away. Sem, squeezing her paws slightly, lowers his ears and blushes a little. “I … um … thank you?”

   Dabir crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. Ipu can only snicker while Apei measures the distance between the morning sun and the horizon.

   “Good. Now.” Kamo withdraws her paws from Sem and pulls out several empty vials from her satchel. She never seems to run out of little jars and bottles, does she? “The monster and its child were drooling all over the place, right? I'd like to collect some of their saliva for some experiments, before it all dries up … ”

   “And for some tasting sessions, too, we presume?” Ipu raises a brow while taking two of the vials. Sem also takes a few. 

   The inventor, however, begins to exit the room with a wave over his shoulder. He does not want to touch any of that stuff. “I’ll be working in my hammock. And besides, I think she'd much prefer a ‘tasting session’ with S—”

   “Dabir, watch out!” Sem calls out. But the warning comes too slowly compared to the speed of the inventor's hoof stepping on a slimy moud of medicinal moss splattered on the floor. 

   Kamo, at the very least, would taste the sweetness of mangoes paired with the bitterness of dark chocolate from Dabir's bruised hip bone. 

   Back up on the deck, the injuries to the Ivory Dove have been assessed; the damages like mere flesh wounds, nothing too serious save for some cracked floorboards, a broken dining room window and splinters and divots in the wood where the beasts stepped. They will need to be replaced and swabbed as soon as possible to prevent wood rot from settling in.

   “Thankfully, we salvaged enough materials to perform some repairs…” Watada says while looking over the organized scrap pile. Gen clings tightly to the Gorlek as he is embraced, not having said a word since the end of the battle just under an hour ago.

   “We entered healthy and left injured…” Chafa sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “And it could have been avoided …”

   “Let's just … get your Dove back to proper order. And next time, please make sure to remember to do your Glimpses on time, will you?” Watada asks, then turns to Gen as he begins to take out some tools. “How are you feeling, abni? Can your abi work a little?”

   Gen simply nods and curls into an even tighter ball of fluff in his father's lower pair of arms just as the rest of the crew emerge from below deck. Chafa then notes a spark; a fleeting moment of pointed eye contact between the Gorlek and a certain amber inventor before the colourful assemblage of spirits begin stooping down with vials in their paws to scoop up samples of the box crabs’ saliva from the floorboards; the slimy, odd-smelling substance still glistening brightly under the sun.

   “He saved your life,” Chafa states as she moves her staff to her other paw and reaches up to stroke Gen on the head. “You and your son. My nephew.”

   Watada, turning away, flares his nostrils and snorts before hardening his face again, like how slow-flowing lava dries when exposed to the air. “He did. And?”

   “And, you could, at the very least, offer him thanks for the both of you. It's no small thing, what he did, would you not agree?”

   “It is also no small thing for him to make my abni steal from one of our good neighbours — in my name and Ori's name, no less — and give me something I've sworn to no longer partake,” Watada firmly states. “He is horrible company and an awful influence.” 

   “And that, I do not deny.” Chafa takes her paw off Gen and holds her staff with both paws again. “But at the same time, we are stuck together on a piece of wood floating in the great big blue. Frictions amongst the crew are as deadly as an errant spark on a ship. They must be put out, or mitigated, at the very least.”

   Watada then smirks. “If you worry about such a fire hazard, maybe we should stuff him into that lantern he holds so dear. However …”

   The Gorlek looks down at the little bundle of sunshine in his arms. “Perhaps it would be good manners to say at least one thanks.”

   Chafa, perceptive as always, understands and nods. Good examples must be set for the little one. She then turns and raises a paw to the side of her mouth, the tassels of her shawl shaking with the movement. “Apeiii! Come and help Watada repair the ship, we need you to measure the scrap so it can be cut in the most efficient, mathematical manner. You too, Sem, they need your muscle. And Ipu, Kamo, help me clean up and return things to their proper places…”

   How could Apei resist? She passes the vials filled with box crab saliva over to Kamo and practically skips and clops over to Watada. Sem also hands his vials over to Kamo, where their paws brush and linger in the touch for a moment, their eyes meeting with small smiles to match.

   “Who dealt the killing blow?” she asks as she rises from a squatting stance and closes the flap of her medicine bag.

   Sem modestly raises his paw. “Hi. Is me.” He then chuckles and lowers his arm. “But we could not have won without help from Gen and Watada. Gen formed a bomb, Watada kicked it over, and I just … kicked it into the monster’s mouth. And boom.”

   Kamo looks over to where Gen is, and Sem follows her glance. As Apei measures the geometric topology of a piece of wood that used to be a door, the Gorlek holds his little abni close. Whether he is sleeping or not, they cannot quite tell.

   “He hasn't said a thing after the fight,” Sem sighs and shakes his head. “He shouldn't even be here. He should be home, safe and happy.”

   “Was he happy?” Kamo tilts her head. Her bat-like ear folds as if in thought. “Knowing who he is? Who he comes from?”

   Sem glances over to her. Then he glances down and reaches out to fiddle with the little string bracelet tied around the healer's wrist. “I suppose … having a lot of expectations placed upon you would make happiness a little harder to attain. Especially if they're placed upon you from birth.”

   It's Kamo's turn to look at Sem, allowing him to touch the bracelet; remembering who sent it to her. She nods a little before continuing. “And safe? For now, maybe. But who knows what can happen, seeing what's happening all around the world? Inverted rain that threatens to suck Noiton dry. Carnivorous plants thriving in the dunes of Kainar. Stronger, hungrier beasts in Niwen. Less and less reliable Glimpses — if someone as seasoned as Chafa is having some trouble, then I wonder about the others in Nibel. I also can't help but wonder what's happening in the other forests … but back to the topic at hand. We know why Gen is here.”

   Sem nods and moves his paw back. “Because he might have something to do with that library. But just because the situation is dangerous, doesn't mean we can't carve out bits of happiness for him. For us.”

   A gruff voice then pushes towards them. “Hey, Sem! Are you going to help or not?” asks Watada with a paw holding a hammer and the other paw on his hip.

   Sem lowers his rabbit-like ears a little and his features scrunch up in annoyance. But Kamo chuckles and smiles, then slips her paw into his once more. 

   “When you're done with the repairs, come over to my hammock,” purrs Kamo's invitation, as warm and soft as the squeeze of her paw and the blush of rainforest jade on her cheeks. “So we can … discuss ways to carve out those bits of happiness you mentioned.”

   How could he refuse such an invitation? Sem's ears and fluffy tail rise sky-high while his cheeks warmly glow like cranberries dipped in honey. “Oh, um … a-alright. I will see you there. Myat.”

   “Sem!” Watada calls out again.

   “See you then, Bajin.” Kamo raises his paw to her lips and presses a gentle kiss to the back, leaving Sem with Apei and Watada … and a warm buzz that emanates and climbs up his arm from where the softness of her lips had graced. He clenches his paw. Unclenches it. 

   “Hm.” He grins from ear to ear, lightly nibbles on his lower lip with his fang and twirls in place on top of the floorboards, the folds of his red capelet blossoming outwards like the petals of a flower in the spring.

   The morning sun eventually reaches its zenith in the bright noon hour, with the minutes spent replacing damaged floorboards with new ones that are measured, cut and arranged perfectly by Apei, Watada and Sem. The repair job done to the section of the railing that was broken during the beast's final fall is more of a temporary fix, just like the planks boarding up the broken dining room window and the little wooden pegs hammered into wherever sharp crustacean feet had pierced. Tables, furniture, books and pots and pans are put back in their proper places with anything too broken either saved as more scrap or simply tossed overboard.

   And then it's time for lunch. How fast time flies. 

   Prioritising ingredients that were bruised and banged up during the fight, an old-fashioned vegetable stew spiced with a healthy amount of chilis is served hot and fresh to the crew by the bowlful. The soothing warmth of this simple assemblage of beans, leaves and greens all melted together in a pot over the fire is not one to be underestimated; serving to both fill the ravenous belly and comfort the weary spirit. 

   But so far, while embracing and coiling tails with the soft plush toy of his beloved folk hero, little Gen has managed to swallow only three pitiful spoonfuls of his lunch. Watada, seated beside him and currently eating while also carving something from a piece of wood, swallows as he takes notice of his abni’s uncharacteristic lack of appetite.

   “Hm, abni …” comes Watada's voice, as warm and rumbly as a gentle rolling boil in a pot of water. His calloused paw, though a little rough in texture, carries a tender touch as he rubs and pets Gen on the head. “Is something the matter? Is it not spicy enough?”

   The handle of the spoon knocks onto the edge of the bowl as Gen allows it to fall from his fingers. The child then curls up on the chair with a sigh, wraps his tail around himself and hugs the plush toy tighter against his chest, a distant expression in his eyes.

   A pang of worry blooms in the builder's heart like a dull bruise. Watada tries again, still stroking Gen's head as he sets down his wooden project, all three of his eyes as soft as his tone. “You can speak to me about anything, abni. You do know that, right … ?”

   The child does not respond, instead, simply turning his gaze and resting his cheek on top of Mokk's head, prompting Watada to retract his paw. The Gorlek then blinks as Gen suddenly sits up a little, having seen someone through the doorway leading to the deck where the noon sun shines and the salty breezes blow.

   “Um, excuse me, please, abi … ” Gen turns to his dad with big round eyes that have lost a little of its lustre. “I … wanna talk with Miss Kamo, if that's okay. You can have my stew. I'm not very hungry.”

   Watada's expression flickers a little at that. A different sort of warmth blooms in his heart. Prior to this, Gen had always approached him about … everything. He now wants to go to someone else? Why can't he confide in him?

  Regardless, Watada manages to maintain the gentle curve of his soft smile. He bites his lower lip, quietly nods, pats Gen on the back and picks up his project again. “Alright, then. She's good company.”

   “This is good,” Watada thinks to himself while watching Gen hop off his seat and quietly walk outside the dining room. “This is good. He is … making friends. He needs them when he grows up. And he still needs me … abni he still needs me — oh.”

   He curses softly after having accidentally carved off a piece he did not mean to. The subject's left horn is now a little lopsided. 

❧

Outside on the deck, Gen holds his toy close to his beating chest. The lapping of the waves against the hull of the Ivory Dove enters his ears as he begins to debate on whether he should do this. Miss Kamo is, thanks to her so-called hobby of eating poisons, a little strange to him, but … she seems nice … and very pretty. And Sem seems to like her, seeing how he now chuckles at something she said.

   The rabbit-eared warrior turns to the child with a grin lingering from their conversation. He and the bat-eared healer sit cross-legged with their backs against the middle mast of the ship, with the cream-coloured, triangular sail catching the wind and flapping overhead and providing a measure of shade beneath the noonday sun. “Ah, Gen! Is everything alright? Can we … help you?”

   As rabbit ears droop a little, Kamo also notices the heavy look on Gen's face. She sets her empty bowl aside, gestures for him to come closer and smiles warmly … fangs and all. “Tell us what's the matter, little one. You seem in need of help.”

   “It's just … a visit to the doctor. Miss Kamo is a doctor. She will help.” With this thought in mind, Gen swallows and shyly steps closer to them. “I … I need help. I feel bad, all over.”

   “Oh, is that so?” Kamo gently asks. “Come, closer. I need a better look at you … and your handsome Moki friend.”

   And that is how Gen finally manages to giggle, albeit weakly, and finds himself comfortably seated on Kamo's lap. Sem watches intently with a tender look on his features.

   “So, you feel bad all over…” Kamo hums, as calm as the grave. She then holds a paw over his chest. “May I?”

   She smells like pandan leaves … Gen thinks. With a nod of consent, the healer's paw comes to rest over where Gen's little heart beats. The child closes his eyes and waits for the pain to go away as a warm glow emanates and spreads across his torso … but the ache currently spanning his body, from the crown of his head to the cleft of his hoof, remains, to his disappointment.

   “I don't sense anything wrong with you … ” Kamo informs as soft jade glow dies down in her retracting paw. “You're as right as … well. Not rain. But you're fine, physically speaking. But you say you feel pain all over?”

   She is so nice. Gen hides his soft blush behind Mokk’s head nods. Kamo also nods and hums in thought. She seems to believe him. “What does it feel like? Can you describe it to us?” she asks.

   The child has to think before speaking. How can he communicate things best when it's so hard to explain? Is he supposed to feel this way? Have adults ever felt this way? 

   “It’s like … an ache.” Gen swallows and wiggles on Kamo's lap, deciding to lean against her by pressing his side against her soft belly and chest as she warmly wraps his arms around him.“But the pain is the worst around the heart. I feel like there’s … a hole in it, and … there are teeth, lining its edges. And it's slowly gnawing and growing across my heart and chest, making me feel bad all over …” 

   Sem tilts his head and sympathetically wrinkles his features. The salty breeze blows at their ears and their clothes; fluttering Gen's yellow neckerchief, Sem's red capelet, Kamo's attentive bat-like ears as she takes in everything he is saying. After a while of thought, she offers a possible diagnosis as she soothingly rubs the spot on his chest where his heart is. The massage helps a tiny bit.

   “You know, sometimes, emotions can grow very strong to the point where it feels like it's physical,” she muses. “People get sick or even pass away from broken hearts, for example. If this is the case, it must be a very strong feeling in your heart. Do you think this is so?”

   Gen takes another moment to think. The large canvas sail sways and ripples overhead as it dances with the wind, oscillating sunlight and shadow upon the newly swabbed floorboards. He eventually nods and nuzzles his cheek against her shoulder.

   “What are you feeling, little twig?” Sem softly asks, taking one of Gen's paws and beginning to massage it. “You can tell us. We've been through battle together, have we not?”

   Like the final grain of sand falling into a bag brimming and overfilled, so too, does that single word — battle — tear and burst the span of Gen's little heart.

   A sniffle. A gasp. Another sniffle, another gasp … before a dry, heavy sob achingly bubbles out of Gen's chest. A tear. And then another tear; another sob, a whine, more tears. More and more of those saline droplets roll down from his eyes and fall and soak onto Mokk's cotton head. His head feels warm, warmer under the sun; even warmer when Kamo tenderly pulls him closer — keeping him together as he crumbles and falls apart in her arms.

   “It … it's just … !” Gen shudders and wipes his eyes, but the relentless dam-flow just won't stop. “I just … could have … should have … helped more in the fight, I just … !” 

   Kamo and Sem lower their ears even more. Just this morning, the little one had a face shining with delight when served that pewter plate of butter-fried toast and blueberries with golden honey drizzled on top. Now, after the mere turning of the day from morning to afternoon, the very same child, likely over the course of many days prior, spills his bitter tears and the contents of his heart before a pair of strangers. Kind strangers.

   “I-I know I need to be strong … ! And brave like m-my dad … I mean … m-my spirit dad … I mean, Ori … ” Gen stutters, the words falling faster than his tears. “My abi is also very brave and strong … but you know what I mean … !”

   Sem nods in understanding. Kamo rubs and pats his back. They know what he means.

   “And … and I'm trying … !” Gen uses his forearm to wipe at eyes, then his nose. “But even with abi’s e-encouragement, a-and advice, I just … ”

   I just can't. That's what he wants to say, despite knowing that he should only focus on what he can do.

   But the world is also so big, so noisy and filled with scary things and dangerous people that only want to ruin and destroy his home and loved ones. Is that not why his dad gave himself to the Light? So that those in Niwen — his son, too — would be safe? Would not him being safe back home mean that everything Ori did would be worth it?

   A moment passes with the silence interspersed with the creaking of wooden planks, the splashing of the waves and heartfelt sobs. Kamo gently rests her cheek on Gen's forehead and looks at Sem with an unmistakable expression of pity. The red-caped warrior meets her gaze, still holding Gen's paw, and wonders what should he done.

   Sem then gently retracts his paw. “Hey, little one.”

   Kamo gently shakes Gen and the child rouses from his puddle of tears, wiping his eyes … which widen with the rising of his ears as he beholds the warrior's paw, upturned; something golden sitting in the center of his palm. It looks like if honey were hardened into a solid form about the size of a small coin.

   “Miss Kamo over here does not make only potions and medicines, you know,” Sem smiles warmly, the tufts of fur along his chin and jaw billowing softly in he salty seabreeze. “She can also make some delicious candy. She gave some to me, but you can have this one. It is made from Immaculate Nectar.”

   “Nectar…?” Gen echoes and sits up a little. “That's like … honey, right?”

   “Honey comes from bees and beehives. Nectar like this comes from flowers,” Kamo explains, taking the candy from Sem with a nod and a smile before holding it up to Gen. “Now, say aaah.”

   Gen obeys. “Aaah…”

   And in goes the candy. An explosion of flavour bursts across Gen's mouth and tongue accompanied with hints of chamomile and mint. It is obviously sweet, borderline saccharine, with floral and herbal notes. Gen guesses that the mint would make his breath smell good.

   Sem and Kamo smile and breathe a sigh of relief as they watch Gen's eyes dilate while he sucks on the candy. Gone are the sobs and whimpers; the tugging at their heartstrings, now replaced with slight, soft purrs as he hugs Mokk close and cuddles close to Kamo again.

   “Potions and candies are cures to different things; the former heals the body, while the latter heals the spirit,” Kamo purrs, her round, soft and warm voice easy on the ears. “After what you've faced today, you deserve as many candies as you can eat.”

   “Just … do not tell Watada we gave it to you,” Sem chuckles. “We do not want to face his wrath for … changing your bedtime routine a little bit. But how are you feeling now?”

   Gen now blushes from the attention and hides his mouth behind the sewn smile of Mokk's head. He does feel better, though, as evidenced by the purrs rumbling from his chest and the leisurely swishing of his glowing tail. It is also good manners, as emphasized by his abi, to keep his mouth closed when he is in the middle of eating something.

   The warrior smiles and reaches out to affectionately pet Gen on the head. “We will take it that you are feeling better. That is good.”

Kamo can't help but smile a little at the way Sem handles children. Does he handle children similarly back in Altum? He must seem quite the approachable hero.

   She then remembers the warrior dodging her question before they set sail, but she puts that aside for now so she can focus on the child in her lap. She tenderly nuzzles her cheek against Gen's forehead, and her nose picks up his scent; honey and hints of warm vanilla. 

   “Gen … ” Kamo says. “Would it help if we told you what helps us stay brave when we're scared?”

   The child in her lap looks at her with surprise. A muffled clicking emanates from inside his mouth as he moves the candy to the side, and he raises his paw to hide his lips. “You … get scared?”

   Kamo smiles and nods, unashamed. “Of course. Everyone gets scared sometimes. Even the brave and mighty Sem of Altum, no?”

   Sem nods, his smile faint. “Everyone who owns a heart gets scared. I face a lot of dangerous situations, so I get scared quite a bit, too.”

   “But when you two were fighting, you didn't look scared at all!” Gen says and sits up on Kamo's lap, still politely covering his mouth. “You both looked so determined, so … you know! Like you knew exactly what to do!”

   At which Sem laughs a little and shakes his head. “Well, trust me when I say my heart was thundering in my chest! And trust me when I say I would much prefer to cuddle up under a blanket with a mug of warm tea than fight battles.”

   Gen looks between the jade healer and the ruby warrior. “So … what helps you stay brave when you're scared?”

   Kamo and Sem exchange a look. The latter gestures with a smile for the former to speak first. He's also interested to hear what she has to say.

   “Very well…” Kamo clears her throat and adjusts her sitting position. “For me, I have to stay brave when I'm collecting ingredients for my potions back in Noiton. Many of the rainforest’s plants, funghi and animals have parts that are rich in medicinal uses … and oftentimes, the more potent the ingredient, the riskier it is to get it. Take, for example, the saliva of the solplume bird.”

   Kamo reaches for her bag, which had been set to the side earlier, and takes out stack of papers and a freshly sharpened pencil. She continues talking as the graphite is put to the page, with the tip gliding across the light brown sheaf with shapes and angles conjured and formed from memory.

   “The solplume is a beautiful bird, roughly the size of you, Gen. Its feathers are the reds, oranges and yellows of the sunset, it has five feathers on its head that look like the rays of the sun which almost look like a crown, with the middle feather sprouting the tallest and longest. It also sings an enchanting melody, and one of our poets compares listening to it to being entranced by the dance of a fire.”

   It's also a rather vain bird. Most of its time is spent by its lonesome preening and perfecting its glorious plumage (even adorning their eyes with coloured powder), while the rest of the time it finds areas with lots of other creatures so it may sing to them. Also in regards to its plumage, it absolutely despises wetter areas in the rainforest as the moisture in the air may ruin their feathers, thus moving them to find homes in drier spots.

   “Wow…” Gen marvels at the drawing Kamo made of the solplume. The bird on the page raises its lofty eyes to the sky as it perches on a branch and sings to an audience below. 

   Sem can't help but smirk and roll his eyes. He's reminded of a certain spirit.

   “So, why is it so dangerous?” Gen looks at Kamo. 

   “Well, you see,” Kamo begins to reply while pointing to the feet of the bird. “A bird's usual weapons are its talons, but the only thing the solplume uses its talons for is the preening and smoothing of its feathers. Because of this, its talons grow dull, which leads it to rely on another weapon: its saliva.”

   “What, is it acidic?” Sem asks. “It spits acid?”

   The healer shakes her head with a smile. “No. It's flammable. Very flammable. When its saliva is exposed to the air, some kind of chemical reaction makes it burst into flames, making it look like it's spitting fire. Any guesses on why that's very dangerous, aside from the obvious?”

   Gen, as if he were back in school, raises his paw like a good student despite sitting on Kamo's lap. “Is it because … it lives in dry areas? It's easier to start fires that can get out of control?”

   “Clever boy,” Kamo purrs and rubs a blushing Gen on the shoulder. “Exactly. It's a beautiful but very deadly bird. There have been several fires in the rainforest due to solplume activity, and it's good that we all live in scattered settlements, so that the closest ones can be sent by the Mangrove to put out the fires.”

   There was a small “fire” because their solplume spat instead of sang. It was fortunately contained rather quickly, for squares do love order, after all.

   “It's also … a cowardly bird,” Kamo then adds with a sarcastic smile. “We usually don't find any solplume remains once the fire dies down, because it usually runs and hides once the inferno begins.”

   Sem hums in thought as both he and Gen ponder over all that Kamo said.

   “So how do you stay brave when you have to deal … with this?” Gen gestures to the solplume on the page. “It's so dangerous, not only to you but also to the forest!”

   Kamo chuckles as if Gen were being silly and nuzzles her soft, jade-glowing cheek against his forehead before finally giving her answer. “It's because others depend on me to make the potion. They need me to do this service for them, because it can mean the preservation and continuing of one's life. Of one's Cycle. Knowing that helps me stay brave, Gen. It is from my duty, the importance of life, and the service I must render to the Law of Cycles.”

   A quiet and tender reverence blooms warmly in Sem's eyes as his pupils reflect Kamo's jade-coloured radiance. She is a real hero, unlike … 

   The warrior glances away as he trails off with that line of thought.

   The ever-curious child on the healer's lap tilts his head. “The Law of Cycles? What's that?”

   Kamo smiles and dotingly adjusts the tassels on Gen's soft and yellow neckerchief. “It's a belief in Noiton where everything runs and works in a cycle. The rain and the dry periods, the sun and the moon, the life and death of plants and animals, even the life and death of spirits. Everything functions in a cycle if you examine it close enough, and we make sure that the Law of Cycles is preserved by making sure everything runs as it should.”

   Sem then also tilts his head slightly, remembering Kamo had mentioned this before in regards to his sister. 

   “A cycle? So like … a circle?” Gen sets down the drawing and looks at the backs of his paws, where the perfectly round yellow circles in the fur look back at him. “Could that be what it means? The circles on my paws?”

   Kamo rests her cheek on Gen's forehead as she looks at them, a tender smile on her lips as she clearly enjoys the little one's company. “It could mean many things. It could mean a cycle. Apei also mentioned soul shapes, where circle-people are innocent and pure. It could also just be a circle.”

   “Abi said if I put my paws together like so, it makes the symbol of infinity, which he says could mean that my paws can achieve anything I want them to if I really want it,” Gen says … before frowning and drooping his ears as he separates his paws. “But Samur, Chayat and Teref say that they're ‘big fat zeroes,’ meaning ‘nothing’ or ‘worthless’, and that since I have two zeroes, it means I'm two times worthle—”

   Sem swoops in and knocks into that rolling boulder of a thought with a mighty cough. He raises a clenched paw to his mouth as he clears his throat, with Gen settling down after having jolted from the sudden fit.

   Kamo pats the warrior on the back. “You good, Bajin?”

   “Yeah…!” Sem nods, coughing and clearing his throat just a little more before putting on a smile like nothing happened. “Yes, thank you, I am fine … but hey, Gen, you want to know what keeps me brave, right?”

   The healer squints her eyes at first, then softens her gaze when she realizes as Gen, completely distracted from the earlier thought, eagerly nods with ears raised. Ah, how kind of him.

   “What helps me stay brave is, uh, a song similar to Miss Kamo.” Sem raises his eyes and smiles appreciatively at the healer. “That is, people depend on me to keep them safe, so I must answer the call and … keep everyone safe.”

   “Like everyone back in Altum?” Kamo smiles as pointedly as her fangs.

   A beat of silence. The lapping of the waves. The flapping of the sails. The creaking of wood. Gen also looks to the warrior for his answer.

   The course of the runaway boulder had shifted and struck someone else in instead. Sem's own fanged smile flickers for a sliver of a second as Kamo, still smiling, tilts her head slightly. She has not forgotten what took place between them before they set sail.

   “Lights, guide me …” Sem thinks before clearing his throat, this time for real, and sits upright and self-consciously smooths down the wrinkles in his frayed cranberry capelet. “Yes, Miss Kamo … like everyone back home in Altum.”

   Gen has heard much today. He hugs the heroic plush toy to his chest again and thoughtfully rests his cheek on Mokk's cotton head. “I see … so, it's because you care for the people you're trying to help, that you can stay brave. Is that it?”

   “Exactly,” Kamo nods and tenderly pats Gen on the back. “Of course, you and I may sometimes believe that a person, especially if they've been nasty, may not be deserving of help. But as a healer and believer in the Law of Cycles, I have made the oath to protect and save all lives. The job of rendering eventual judgement lies with the Law of Cycles.”

   “Does the Law of Cycles enlist the paw of the likes of me to save and/or render judgement for it?” Sem then asks.

   Kamo tilts her head and lightly purses her lips in thought. “Perhaps, every now and then.”

   “Then consider me a blade for both you and your Law,” smirks the warrior before turning back to Gen. “So, little twig. Think you can try what we do?”

   Gen nods eagerly with eyes bright and his hug on Mokk tight. “I wanna be brave and heroes like you two! And Mokk!”

   Sem lets out a heartfelt, declaring chuckle as he pats Gen on the shoulder. “And try you shall!”

   “And try you shall … ” Kamo hums and fondly pets the back of the little boy’s head as if he were a doll.

❧

As words continue to flow between these three, from his sunlit seat in the dining room, Watada lifts his three-eyed gaze towards the open doorway leading to the sunlit deck. All that can be seen from his spot is his abni cuddled up with Kamo, who, with Sem, seems to be listening intently to what Gen is saying; sails and ropes flapping and swaying overhead. He briefly wonders what they are talking—

   “Did you know — ”

   Watada jumps at the sudden weathered voice piercing through his thoughts. His maned head jerks to the side, his arm raises in reflex and he accidentally shaves off, once again, a bit more wood from his project than intended. The subject's right horn, however, is now happily equal to the left. It's almost as if it was meant to be.

   “ ... That he looks exactly like his father?” Chafa finishes her question, her eyebrow slightly arched before seating herself on the chair next to him and setting her staff on the table.

   Watada sighs and also lowers the figurine and his carving knife onto the table. “Where … did you come from? Ipu and Apei, where are they?”

   “Downstairs, taking stock of our stores, determining which food stuffs to keep, which ones to use first, which ones to feed to the sea, calculating the new daily rations, things like that…” Chafa replies and idly checks her claws. “All my books and instruments have been accounted for and all are safe and sound, so … I thought I might as well leave the task to them to come up here and rest.”

   “Ah. Alright.” Watada awkwardly rubs the back of his neck as the floorboards groan and creak before continuing on with his project … though he sets it down again and looks outside once more. 

   It is hard not to ask. “He … looks like Ori, you say?” 

   “Mhm,” hums Chafa as she reclines against the back of her chair, her aged yet ever-sharp eyes lightly shut and paws clasped over her lap in rest, a leg crossed over the other. “From the tip of his ear to the cleft in his hoof … it would be an uncanny spitting image, were it not for the circles on his paws. Do they have any meaning, by the way? The circles?”

   Watada, speaking with a trusted adult, shakes his head. “They don't even light up when he uses his ability. What if it has no meaning? A coincidence?”

   “Maybe. Maybe not.” Chafa shrugs and opens her eyes, taking in the wooden ceiling she has seen many a time. “But when do we ever encounter such perfect circles in nature, Mister Watada?”

   Watada doesn't answer that, his gaze firmly fixed on his abni. A moment passes before he asks his original, actual question. “How do you know he looks exactly like his father?”

“I … ” Chafa begins to answer, before trailing off. She then turns her head to Watada, then to the tool in his calloused paw. She extends her own paw. “Let me see that.”

   Watada turns to her, glances at her open paw, then places the metal filer, handle first, squarely into her palm. As she closes her fingers around the old wood, she reaches for and grasps her faithful staff; the cloudy diamond affixed to the top begins to glow with a soft, sky-blue radiance in response to her arcane inquiry. The captain shuts her eyes, bows her head and raises her ears as if listening to someone.

   “This metal filer … is from your father,” Chafa states matter-of-factly. “It was passed down from his father, which was passed down from his father, and so on, so forth … in fact, all the tools on you right now were passed down from generation to generation.”

   Watada leans back in his seat with three widened eyes, stunned by the pinpoint accuracy of her statement — her laurels as a historian are surely no joke.

   “The handle has been changed several times over its lifetime … you changed it once, due to wear and tear, when it suddenly fell apart in the middle of using it. But the metal is still the same clod of Gorlek ore from all those generations ago … ” Chafa tilts her head, almost as if trying to get a better angle through a keyhole. “Your tools hold a legacy, a story spanning generations, all dedicated to the building of a home for all in Niwen. Passed down, most likely, from a loving—”

   Chafa furrows her brow in the middle of her sentence. She leans back into her chair and grits her teeth as if wincing from a flash of pain. The light radiating from the gem sputters like a flickering candle and silently fades into its dormant brilliance as she slowly opens her eyes again … to see Watada's open and expectant paw in front of her, an unreadable expression on his face. She wordlessly places the metal filer back into his palm, and he returns it to its rightful pocket. The splashing of the seawater fills their ears once more.

   “ … A not so … very loving family.” The elderly spirit says after a pause, retracts her paws, clears her throat and sits upright; her wrinkled brow still furrowed as she tensely tugs at the collar of her light blue shawl. “I am sorry.”

   “Fret not about it.” Watada manages a flat smile. “After all, we are family, are we not? We ought to share such things with each other, sooner or later.”

   Chafa nods slightly as a sense of normalcy already begins to return to her usual stern tone. “I suppose you are right. If I may ask, though, where are … ?”

   The Gorlek catches on. “They're no longer with us. It's just me, you, Gen and Ori.”

   “Mm.” Chafa nods again. She looks at Watada again. “No siblings?”

   “No siblings.”

   Another lapse of silence. The blowing of the breeze, the flapping and swaying of sails and ropes. 

   “Hey,” Watada then says, holding up the figure he carved. “What do you think?”

   Chafa looks up. Briefly appraises the item. Smirks softly. “It looks just like him. I am sure he will love it.”

   The Gorlek nods. He then glances out the doorway once more and catches sight of Gen still cuddled up with Kamo and Sem. A thoughtful look returns to his eyes, though it is clouded by the knitting of a wary brow.

   “Chafa.”

   “Yes?”

   “Can you tell me if what I'm doing … is the right thing?” Watada asks. “For one, I never wanted Gen and I to come along for this voyage, for fear of my abni's safety. But at the same time, with everything that's happening in the world, and with the answer to the problems potentially lying deep underwater … did I do the right thing? Have I made the right choice, agreeing to come here? Am ... am I a … ”

   Watada trails off with a heavy sigh. But Chafa, with her Nibellian intuition, divines his true question. She kindly gestures to the boy out on the deck who glows the hue of honey and grain — the colour of a forest's bounty.

   “Do you not see the way he looks at you? The light in his eyes when he beholds you?” Chafa asks. “The way he always looks for your approval, the way he smiles when you praise him, smile at him, kiss him, hold him? The way he can express himself and speak so freely when you're in the room?”

   She pats him on the arm, her paw a mere eighth to the size of his bicep, and while she does not smile, she firmly nods. “If that is not evidence of his deep love for you, then I know not what is. You are already doing a great job. And you — we — are doing the right thing. The safety of the world, as we know it, could be guaranteed by what we uncover deep below — a temporary danger as the price for the long-term safety for you and your abni … of whom we need to get us through the door to perform the mission in the first place.”

   Watada, ears raised, listened intently to every word. He nods, takes in a deep breath and slowly exhales through his mouth. He nods again and turns back to Chafa. “Thank you, I … I needed that. You are a wonderful aunt.”

   “Tell me something I don't already know,” Chafa smirks. She then sighs and crosses a leg over the other once again. “And besides … we were prepared to use any means necessary to get you on board the ship, should you have resisted.”

   Watada blinks. He tilts his head. “Any means … necessary?” he cautiously inquires and squints his eyes.

   The captain nods. Any emotion that may be present on her features are as pale as the blue in her shawl. “Any means necessary. And we are more than capable. This voyage, this expedition … it was bound to happen, Watada. Best not dwell on it too much. I'm just making sure things go on accordingly.”

   She then nods to the wooden figure in Watada's paw with a cryptic smile on her lips. “You have someone to give that to, don't you? I'll stay here for a while. Watch over the boy.” She glances towards the open doorway. “If there's one thing you can put full faith in, it is our deep and shared affection for him.”

   The air in the room has shifted a bit. But despite the cacophonous abundance of thoughts bubbling in his head to stay his ground and remain close by … Watada decides to listen and trust his gut instinct instead. He can somehow sense truth in the old crone’s words regarding that one thing they share.

   “Very well ... ” Watada clears his throat and turns to the stairway leading below deck. “Keep a close eye.”

   Chafa hums distantly. “Most certainly.”

   And the Gorlek descends the creaking steps, quietly muttering to himself while shaking his maned head. “Why do I have the most unstable family members … ?”

   He fiddles with the carving in his paw as his tools softly click and clack in their pockets, the floorboards creaking wherever he steps as he begins to look for the recipient. He doesn't have to guess or search too much, however, as something causes his ears to perk up.

    Music. Singing, strumming strings, to be exact.

   “Show kindness to the Sage should she still draw breath …”

   “For she guards the greatest treasure long after all our deaths …”

   Two voices, both male. That rules out Apei … so she has to be the source of the clapping, as Watada can now hear as he draws closer. He then purses his lips and tilts his head, impressed. Both singers have good voices, and he hears it again as they enter the shanty's chorus:

   “So listen ye! Hear ye! For I shall spell a tale,

   Of the kingdom of sails that was too big to fail …”

   “So listen ye! Hear ye! for I shall spell the tale,

   Of the kingdom of sails that was too big to fail … ”

   The Gorlek finally reaches the room where all their hammocks sway, his heavy, floorboard-creaking footfalls not enough to persuade them to stop singing, likely drowned out by the rest of the sounds of the ship. 

   "But now, to issue ye a warning …

   To me, an ear you should be lending … "

   The sight he sees is almost poetic. Apei sits cross-legged on the floor, her back towards Watada with paws raised as she claps to the rhythm; Ipu beside her, ukulele on his lap and his skilled fingers pulling the notes from the strings as he vocalises accompaniments. And sitting in his hammock with the air of a performer onstage, one hooved foot on the floor with the other in the fold of the hammock, with even a noonday sunbeam shining onto his glowing form like a spotlight from an open window, sings Dabir, eyes closed; a prideful and basking smile on his lips as he takes the vocal lead, his voice warm and smooth as silk.

   "As not every treasure's worth having,

   Thus not everything is worth knowing."

   The very sight of the seated spirit makes the Gorlek clench his paws, but he reminds himself of why he is here. He loosens his paws, raises ones to his mouth and audibly clears his throat above the unexpected harmonies. “Ahem … !”

   The clapping, the strings, and the singing stop. Dabir opens his eyes as Apei and Ipu turn around. 

   “Hey, Watada!” nods Ipu. Apei waves. Dabir, meanwhile, sits upright and places both feet on the floor, ears raised and body alert.

   “Sorry, I just wanted to give something.” Watada looks at Dabir. “Here. Catch.”

   The Gorlek raises his paw and sends the carving flying in an arc. The amber inventor likewise raises a paw and catches it squarely in his palm. He then brings it down to eye level to examine it … and sees himself looking back at him with carved horns, carved ears, a carved smile and even a carved goggle over its left eye.

   “Thank you for saving me and my son.” Watada gruffly nods at them all. “Continue your music, break … whatever this is. Excuse me.”

   The three spirits then watch as the Gorlek turns and leaves the room, his heavy footfalls and the creaking of the floorboards growing fainter and fainter until all that remains are the ambient rumblings of the ship and the sea. Ipu and Apei look back at Dabir. The mathematician writes a floating question mark above her head.

   “I have … no idea.” Dabir murmurs before turning the carving of himself around, then back to the front. He purses his lips and nods, impressed. Not bad for a piece of wood.

   “Well, wood you look at that?” Ipu then snickers as the inventor groans and rolls his eyes.

Chapter Text

A smiling silver sickle hangs high in the starry night sky as the ocean of midnight black threads the pale moonbeams into its rippling onyx waves; illuminating a lone piece of wood as it glides across the water with the smoothness of a tailor's pair of scissors sailing through a length of fabric. 

   The hammocks in the shared and snug-fit sleeping quarters sway softly with the rocking of the Ivory Dove, the varnished walls faintly coloured with hues of azure blue, wisteria purple, amber orange and honey-grain yellow — the pallette shy of a sky turquoise as the old captain takes the mantle of the night watch; the ominous creaking and groaning of the wood and the ropes not enough to discourage its exhausted passengers from getting a well-deserved full night's rest. 

   But in one swaying hammock closest to the door, from which cranberry red and jungle green glow, a warrior leans back from the listening ear of a healer, their voices veiled in secrecy; drowned out by the sounds of the ship. He bites his lower lip, rabbit ears drooped, heart weighed down yet stomach churning beneath a brow of nervous anticipation; a roiling ocean under stormy skies.

   She is the first person he has confided to regarding this secret. A myriad of potential reactions and answers bubble up and play out in his mind's eye, all possibilities bad, worsened by the attentive but otherwise unreadable expression on her face. Deep in his gut sits the thought — no, the knowledge — that tonight shall be the one and only time they share a hammock like this; driving her away by the nature of his actions, for who would want to be with someone like him?

   He glances away from her gaze with resignation aching in his heart. He knows it to be so. He knows it will happen.

   Except, it doesn't.

   A calloused yet warm and tender paw, the one adorned with the bracelet gifted by a dear, late sibling, cradles his cheek and gently returns his world-weary gaze back to hers. In her eyes ripple an expression of such tenderness that he thought not possible until this midnight moment.

   “You poor thing…” she sighs.

   She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, the warmth from both her lips and the gentleness of her thumb stroking his cheek melting away the lines of worry from his brow, purging the weight pulling down at his heart and freeing him from his prison of self-condemnation.

   His ears, nor his heart, can believe it quite yet, however. He leans back slightly but holds her cheek, too, looking into her gentle eyes and searching their depths to find any hint of pretense — and finding none. Or so he hopes.

   “You … you are not … angry?” he asks. “Or disgusted?”

   Her other paw reaches up and squeezes the back of the ruby-glowing paw on her cheek. “Why would I be, when I understand now?” she softly asks in return. “Why do you believe I would have been angry, or disgusted?”

   She then, taking her turn, lowers her ears and glances away with a forlorn smile. “If … if Ikal had done what you did … she still might've been alive; walking this world and drawing breath. I don't think it's cowardice what you did, but actually courage to do what many cannot …”

   It's as if a bell were pressed against his ear and struck with a little hammer.

   With her gentle words resounding deeply in his head, and the resonance travelling through his veins and reaching his beating heart, the warrior takes his turn to show the warmth and understanding she needs. He digs and slides a paw under her side, wraps his other paw around the back of her head and pulls her into a bosom embrace against his chest as he coils his tail with hers. The ship continues to sway and their shared hammock cradles them both in warmth and secrecy.

   “I miss her …” she whispers and sniffles against his fluffy chest, his scent of cranberries soothing and inviting. “I did not even get a chance to say goodbye … not even an ancestral tree is left to visit … ” 

   He kisses her on the forehead and rests his cheek against her temple. The warrior then comes up with an idea.

   “When we are done here … would you like it if we return to Noiton and build something in her name?” he asks.

   The healer sniffles again. She then wipes at her eyes before looking at him, though the remnants of hopeful tears linger in the corner of her eyes. “I … I think I would like that. Is that alright … ?”

   To which the warrior smiles reassuringly and nods. “Remember my promise? Whatever you may need, I will do my best to help you, if you'd let me.”

   She cannot help but laugh softly yet bitterly at that. “Promises like that tend to get you hurt, or worse, in this world.”

   “But unlike the rest who make such promises…” he whispers back, his smile as unwavering as his promise — as his growing affection. “I have your capable paws to heal me.”

   The healer, finding no rebuttal or words to discourage the loyal warrior, shuts her eyes, shakes her head … and smiles again as she nestles her cheek back into his chest and returns the snug embrace. She can hear every steady thrum of his strong heartbeat in her bat-like ears. It's solid, warm and kind. Like him.

   “As you say, Bajin … ” she affectionately purrs and yawns. “As you say … ”

   No longer does he have to carry a heart burdened by the weight of shame, nor does she have to go on without a healer of her own to hold and tend to her inner wounds. 

   “Goodnight, Bajin … ” 

   “Sleep well, Myat … ” 

   The Ivory Dove continues to sail through the night, and the silver sickle in the starry sky seems to smile and shine just a little wider and brighter. But while some may be enjoying dreams of either home, numbers, puns or fame …

  One peers into the very depths of the world.

Chapter Text

   “Good morning, Genny lad!” nods Captain Mokk. “Had ye a good sleep?”

   Gen stands side by side with his hero, in the fur and flesh; the brave and bold and dashing moki of fame from long, long ago. Their eagle-eyed gazes overlook the railing of the Ivory Dove as the calm and rippling azure waters stretch out as far as they can see.

   Captain Mokk bravely adjusts his tricorn hat and grips the handle of his sheathed saber. “A fine day fer a quest to save the world, wouldn't ye say?”

   Gen blinks. He looks around. Looks to the left at his hero who grins back at him with a golden fang and an eyepatch on his left eye. 

   A little voice in Gen’s head whispers. When … did I get here? Wasn't I just —

   “Morning, Gen!” chirps another voice as deliberate footsteps come to a stop to the right of Gen. The famous Howl fang — a mark of his daring boldness and bravery — hangs proudly from the neck of Mokk the First. “Did you enjoy your breakfast? Gotta eat well to do well! That's rule number one of the Mokk Way, I say!”

   Gen looks to the right; at Mokk the First. To the left; at Captain Mokk. Left. Right. Left. Right. His leaf-shaped ears dance like blades of grass in the wind.

   “How are there two of y—” Gen starts.

   “‘Ere!” says Captain Mokk.

   Gen, the child that he is, perks his left ear and reflexively turns to look in the same direction — only for the mouth of a bottle to meet his own as a substance the flavour of blueberries ripe and apples rotten invades his mouth. This acute and bittersweet fermentation permeates his tongue like how spilled water seeps and spreads across a piece of paper, further sliding down his little throat with a thickness like that of raw, waxy and viscous honeycomb.

   “Bottoms up, lad!” declares Captain Mokk as he also downs some of the concoction.

   “Wh-what … ?” Gen dryly gasps, grasping at his neck as the ‘wax’ of the drink seems to harden and solidify along the walls of his throat. “What did you —”

   “Waterbreather potion, obviously!” chuckles Mokk the First as he catches the bottle thrown his way. “Tastes like ripe blueberries and rotten apples. Half of that is your favourite on toast drizzled with honey, right? So it's half good!”

   The wax in his throat isn't going away. In fact, he is about ready to try and empty himself with a mighty, heaving hiccup.

   “‘Ere it comes!” Captain Mokk announces.

   What comes out is not the expected mess. 

   A bubble as light yet as solid as those found in the pristine waters of the Luma Pools begins to emerge and inflate from his mouth. Every rapid and shallow breath pumps it bigger and bigger like how one blows into a balloon, and Gen's wide-eyed expression of hollow-bellied shock looks back at him from the thick and rippling, almost oil-like surface. This translucent sphere, tinged golden yellow as it catches his Niwenian glow, spreads across his boyish cheeks, ripples along his jaw, crawls over his eyes, slithers up his antennae, reaches the tips of his leaf-shaped ears and finally closes shut behind his nape with a flexible yet airtight seal around his neck. The little boy gasps and heaves with relief as oxygen — cleaner and sweeter than he'd ever tasted — filters through the bubble and re-enters his lungs, though the rotten flavour lingers at the back of his tongue.

   “Drink enough of the stuff and you'll get used to it!” Mokk the First laughs after swallowing a hefty swig and carelessly tossing the bottle over his shoulder — tink-tink-tink! — as a bubble of his own expands from his mouth and surrounds his head. Before long, all three of them have translucent bubble-helmets of their own.

   “Come on, Genny lad!” says Captain Mokk, his voice muffled slightly by his rippling helmet.

   Both of the young spirit's wrists are firmly grasped by the pair of moki as both Mokks leap onto the railing of the ship. The waters of the great big blue ripple and lap at the wood of the ship below their feet — their depths waiting to receive them and swallow them whole. Gen, knowing what is about to happen, is torn between trying to squirm his way out or to appear brave before his heroes. In either case, he has no say on the matter. 

   Both Mokks step off the railing without so much as a countdown and plunge straight into the sea with their captive.

   Down. Down and down they go. Gen looks up and sees the barnacled hull of the Ivory Dove growing smaller and smaller, the rippling sunlit surface of the sea growing further and further; the chill of the water gripping tighter around his little body.

   Then a splash comes from overhead, one of familiar rainforest green. Another splash; a friendly cranberry red. Splash; amber orange; wisteria purple; azure blue; sky turquoise. Their radiant glows follow him and his heroes into the depths like a flock of birds in flight.

   Except, when he looks back down, no longer are the Mokks holding his wrists, but rather the sturdy paws of his abi. The Gorlek, smiling through his bubble-helmet, also tightly grasps a tangle of ropes tied to the sinking, colourful lights that trail after them. It is almost like he is holding a small cloud of balloons.

   Gen questions nothing.

   Down … down … further down. The edges of the rays of sunlight that paint the waters its blue grow closer; the domain of the surface receding and giving way to the kingdom of cold and abyssal black. The bottom of the Ivory Dove is but a speck in the distant rippling sky; a tiny seed skimming the surface of a fish tank. 

   Something looms. A rumble tremors its way into their ears as a fish, bigger, jagged of scale and armed with more razor-sharp teeth than Gen could ever have imagined, is faintly illuminated by his golden glow … and begins to swim its way to them, obviously curious about this potential meal. 

   Gen squirms in his dad's arms. “A-abi…!”

   But Watada, as cool as the waters that surround them, simply takes his hammer into both paws and deftly swings it as it rushes towards them; the blunt stone weapon caving its flexible nose inward. It is more than enough persuasion, causing it to rapidly scurry away into the imperceptible depths, allowing them to continue their descent in peace. And just when they begin to think they are never going to reach the bottom …

   Gen is jostled in the Gorlek's arms as the soles of his father's feet are cushioned by sand and dark, drifting seaweed, the impact of the landing kicking up a plume of silt and tiny shells. Watada then releases the little boy from his firm embrace but still holds onto him with a paw, allowing the child to float at an arm's length. Gen, in the darkness of the abyss, manages a giggle as he looks around and tries to discern their surroundings at the edges of his glow. A low and bassy tidal rumble fills their ears. 

   But they are not to linger. Watada begins to pull Gen somewhere, his steps deliberate and his gait driven with intent.

   “Where are we going, abi?” Gen asks.

   Watada trudges on, the back of his smoke-grey mane tinged a soft gold by the glow by his son. “To the library, abni, to check out some books. Then after that, we can go home and have shakshuka with as much chili as you want.”

   That does sound very nice. “What books are we looking for?”

   Watada looks back with a smile as he firmly grasps the ropes carrying their colourful balloons.

   “We are looking for

ṋ̵̶̵̶̷̷̶̷̴̡͍͍̙̜̠̭̮͚̭͖̼͐̃͊̈́͗̾̾̓̌̋͛̐̾̕͠͝w̵̴̶̸̶̷̷̧̛̫͉̗̞̺̥̻͔͉̽̉́̀͌̑́̿̄͠z̶̶̶̵̵̧͎̲̪̳̩͈̠̍̈́̏͛̋̕͠͝j̴̷̷̷̵̶̶̫̹̩͚̻̥̗̰̺̙̺͕͕̽̈́̊͑̂̊̅͊̀͜q̵̷̸̸̴̶͎̦̥͙̳̩̗̬̓̏͐͌̈̅͘͠l̷̵̴̸̸̵̨̝͉͚̣̣̹̰͔̋̈́̉͗͑̍͊̒̕̕l̶̴̷̷̴̵̸̷͖̻̙͕̝̗͎̟͚̠̄̓̄͂͑̇̿̈́̐̍̈͂̃͜͜ͅm̵̵̴̷̵̶̛͚̬̙͓̖͍̫̱̉̈̅̓̈͝v̸̷̵̷̴̶̵̷̷̧̦̦͎̫̭̤̤̠̱̰̝̯̳͈̯̿̅́̂͗̌̄͌̃̽́͑̀̔̎̕͜͝ ̸̴̷̵̷̷̵̷̨̡̞͇̞̻͕̭͈̖̟̞̭͐͛͑̍̋̈́̿̿̓̈́̚͠ͅͅs̸̴̴̵̴̸̶̮̠͎̘̯͕̺͇̤̒͗̏̃͊͒͑̏̍̕͝͝͠v̶̸̷̴̵̶̶̧͙̥̦͖̥͓̜͚̬̥͓̗̏̉̽̿̂͐̒̄̽̈͐͘̕w̴̷̸̸̴̷̡̙̻̘̭̭̭̝͌̃́̈́͛́͜ẽ̶̴̶̸̴̸̼̹͎̹̜̹̩͙͑̿̈̒͂̄͜͝t̵̵̶̶̶̬͕̩͕̜̻̅̾̂̂̂̈́ͅm̷̶̷̷̷̸̴̢̳͎͍̖͇̰̙̑̋̿̇͒͌̍̐̈́̍͆̎͜l̶̶̶̸̴̴̸̰̦̙͕͓̞̬͓͖̻̼͊͋̑̄̇͌̉̍͑͌̾̆ǫ̷̵̷̵̶̠̫̖̲͓̣̔̑̏̈́̐̏̔͂m̶̷̷̸̷̵̶̢̢͉͚̤̤̭̪̭̹̔̀͑̋̈́̈́́́͠

   What a strange sound. It almost sounds like the watery rumble that fills their ears from all around, except louder, localized to Watada's mouth and the noise itself jabs a distinct and yet ringing pain into Gen's head.

   The little boy winces, lowers his ears and tries to clutch at his head, but his paw can only touch the smooth and rubbery surface of the bubble helmet. “Abi, what … what did you say?”

   It feels as though a hot needle had been nailed deep into the back of his head, with its heat slowly pulsing and clawing down the top of his spine, raising the fur on his nape and his shoulders; reaching for the distant, rippling surface-sky like the drifting plumes of black green seaweed.

   Then he blinks. 

   When his eyes open again, Gen comes face to face with the statue of a Mupo whose twisted visage is forever frozen with an expression of horror. 

   “A-ahhh—!” squeaks Gen, who covers his face with his arms and scrunches up his body by pulling his knees to his chest as he floats in the seawater. But upon nothing happening, he slowly lowers his arms and looks at the statue for a fleeting moment again, whose smooth, white, mask-like face is slightly covered by a veil of algae with an arm eternally reaching for the heavens; never to be reached. 

   Gen has never seen a Mupo before. Is that what someone like Naru would have looked like?

   He then looks around for his abi and sees the Gorlek standing at the edge of what looks like a cliff, still holding the colourful balloons that float overhead. 

   “Abi!” Gen swims over, the water rippling in his ears as the ringing pain subsides from his head. “Please, don't leave me! Where are we?”

   Watada raises one of his four arms and points off the cliff. “We are here.” 

   A simple yet cryptic answer. The cliff turns out to be a shelf of sand, silt and seaweed that plunges further downwards into a yet deeper and and larger level. 

   “Are those … ?” Gen squints, raises a paw to his eyes … and lightly gasps.

   Trees. A sunken, lost forest of leafless trees with trunks the colour of pale, bleached bones, illuminated faintly and fleetingly by several wandering, ghostly pale green lights. What, specifically, are giving off those wandering lights is currently too far away to discern … but the tower in the middle of this ossified forest needs no squint of the eye — a spire of swirling stone and glass, all miraculously intact, whose needle of an apex barely brushes and catches the fringes of the distant beams of sunlight piercing through the murky ocean depths. 

   “Is that the library?” Gen looks at Watada. “Are we finally here?”

   Watada lowers his arm and looks at Gen with a nod. “It has been waiting for us.”

   Gen tilts his head. What a strange thing to say. But before he could ask what his abi means by that, he blinks again and causes the scenery to change.

   The tower looms impossibly tall; dizzyingly so, when viewed at its foot. Gen also cannot help but wonder how such a building exists. For one, the windows are not evenly sized, shaped or spaced from each other, reminding him of the spots that randomly appear and grow on a banana skin. Another thing is that the swirling details carved out from the stone blocks, reminiscent of how winds and breezes are depicted in a child's drawing, do not seem to follow any discernible repeating pattern. Aside from the way it stands proud and perfectly straight, there is no rationality to be derived from this tower. It is a very strange, almost otherworldly and dreamlike structure.

   “Don’t get so lost in the details that you forget to see the bigger picture or what's right ahead of you.” Watada points to the double stone doors that lead inside the tower.

   A pair of doors with a large and perfect circle on each massive slab.

   Gen looks down at the back of his paws, where the perfectly yellow circles look back at him. Feeling an irresistible pull, he treads closer to the doors, looks up and marvels at their gargantuan size and places his paws on either smooth stone slab … where he briefly wonders how he is going to do this.

   He glances back at Watada, whose colourful balloons have now sunken and float by his side. The wandering ghostly lights … also seem closer. Weaving through the trees. Converging. Approaching. But his abi, supportive as ever, gives him an encouraging nod and speaks through the incessant watery rumble that hums around them and vibrates their bones.

   “As long as you desire it, your little paws can achieve anything!"

   That is all Gen needs to hear. He turns back to the door, puts a hoof forward, the other back, braces his shoulders … and pushes. 

   With a mighty rumble that disturbs and ripples the silt and sand on the stone landing they stand on, the doors swing inwards and slam against the interior walls … revealing a path that leads into pitch-black darkness. Not even Gen's golden light can penetrate the gloom as he marvels at the feat of strength he just displayed.

   “Abi, I … I did it … !” Gen smiles and turns to Watada. “I opened the door, we can save … !"

   He thought that his abi would be smiling, but as the ghostly lights emerge from the treeline, all that can be seen on Watada's face is a gaunt expression illuminated by the colours of his balloons.

   “You did it, abni. But to what end?” the Gorlek asks.

   The ghostly lights, wispy and ethereal, begin to rush and slither towards Watada and the balloons like eels having seen their prey. Gen steps forward with an outstretched paw. “A-abi, come with me, those lights … !”

   The lights leap from the silt, aiming straight for the stationary Gorlek … but Watada stays put and shakes his maned head as they converge above his head like a blade of a guillotine.

   “Not everything is worth knowing, abni.”

   Gen leaps forward, arm outstretched, eyes dyed with the colour of wide-eyed horror.

   “ABI

     q̶̵̴̵̴̷̵̨̨̧̜͇̹̤̪̙̭̝̭̩̟͕͐̒͂͊̐͗͛̂̑̅̇̅́̔̚̚ ̷̵̴̴̷̴̶̷̷̢̼̱̖̥̫̪̳̪͍̫̳̥̥̭͍͈̼͛́̌̑̐̋̀̈͒̓̌̂̿̄̑̉̋̚̚͜͝͝ͅi̴̵̵̸̶̸̷̢̡̨͕͇̼͚̲̰̪̖͛̎͒͑͂̓̿̔̉̓̈́͜͝͝.               e̸̵̴̶̴̳̞̗̣̣̝͗͆̐̈̃͌̇̆̕į̸̷̷̵̴̶̴̶̱̥̳̝̰̗͚̺̪͚̦̟̩̺́́̎́̂̆̽̒͒͐͋̀̎̒̎͘

    q̵̶̴̷̵̵̫͇̳̰͈̳̦͉͉̝̤̯̌͆̉͌̏̃̐̇̈́̚...              b̴̷̴̴̵̷̷̨̮͓̪̝̬̱̜̩̱̥͂͗͐͒́̈́̄͒̈́͛͛̓̈͗͘ͅ ̸̸̴̸̷̸̷̨̧̡̪̫̣̜̰͎̱̦̖̖̣̀͒̔̄̋̅̉̓̈́̂̀̕

 ų̴̷̶̷̴̷̵̟͉̮̰̙͈͓̟͔͈̣̞̲͓̳̀̇͗͋͋̀̂̈́̏̅͒́̃͜͜͠g̵̴̵̷̷̶̴̸̡̟̹̜̮̜̼͓̭̭̟̩̩̗̲̤̝̦̻͋̒̓̇̇́̿̒̊̈́͗̌͌͆͘̕̚̕̚͜͝͝͝.                  ̷̷̶̶̸̢̞̼͖̟̪͉̯̺̤̇̈́̓̈́̈́̅̉̕͠n̴̵̸̴̶̸̵̷̵̡̡̨̢̺̝̰̞̳̫͓̙͎̍̅̓̐̽̾̿̽͌͛̊̊̔̋̽̌̕̕̚̕͜͜ż̵̵̵̶̸̵̴̨̢̨̛̮͈̤͕̭̺̬̞̥̪̫̮̪͆̍͗̋̎͛̓̃̅͐̏͘͝͠

       m̵̶̸̶̸̸̨̛͙̮̺͙̭̭͙͉͐̋̈́̐̑̓̒̄͗̄͜ͅm̸̸̵̶̵̵̵̧̙̭̜͙̠̫̬̹̺͉̲̠̲̍̈́͐̽̄̃͆̓̑̇̅̐͘̚ͅl̶̵̵̵̵̷̵̨̛͕̹̦̺̬̰͎̘̮͇̎̾́̾̆̔̚͝͝w̸̴̸̴̵̷̷̨̨̛̛͕̻̠̻͎̱̙͖͕͈͓̬̱̍̓̆̿̈́͊͋̓͊̑̋̋͗͑̕u̵̷̵̸̷̵̵̳̬̹̭̲̙̺̳̺̬̟̱̪͇̫͋̀̓̌͂̇̀̍͋͆͂͛̒͊̌͝

   Gen shudders awake and with a little squeak. He jolts upright atop Watada's chest as both Captain Mokk and Mokk the First tumble out of his arms and land noiselessly onto the floor, with button eyes and wooden planks lit by the pale moonlight shining inside through the little window; the swaying hammocks around him illuminated by dimmed lanterns and the glows of the crew of the Ivory Dove.

   Gen clutches his chest, his breathing fast and shallow, every single strand of his fur raised in shock. He turns to his abi as he always does, with a heart seeking comfort, but Watada's three eyes are all shut tight in peaceful and oblivious sleep. He'd hate to wake him, and seeing him at ease … soothes him. A little. 

   So, he simply curls back up again, hugs himself as he does not want to climb down … though his eyes remain open.

   ‘What was that?’ Gen wonders with a furrowed brow.

   He'll have to talk about it come morning.

Chapter Text

“Auntie Chacha, I had a really strange dream last night.”

   “Is that so, little one?” Chafa lowers her steaming teacup and turns to Gen with a smile. “What did you see?”

   “I dreamed about the sunken library.”

   The table is as lively as ever with breakfast being a hearty sandwich of creamy sunnyside eggs, thinly sliced ham, juicy tomatoes and fresh lettuce, spiced with the kick of mustard, balanced by the mildness of mayonnaise, spiced again with a sprinkling of pepper and ultimately packaged between two slices of fluffy bread. 

   Nine layers, Apei notes with an approving smile on her face. A very good number for breakfast. Three sets of three; and everyone knows that three is a good number. Now, to find a way to cut this square into three equal parts ...

   Dabir, meanwhile, snorts at Gen as he sucks the runny yolk from his fingers. “Did you and your moki carbon copies also feed the fishies?”

   Watada’s expression sours silently behind a mug of steaming black coffee. Chafa, meanwhile, waves her paw at the amber inventor, though her gaze remains squarely focused on her nephew. “Ignore him. He's just jealous.”

   “Jealous?” Dabir parrots incredulously, even raising a paw to his chest in shock. “Jealous? Who would someone like me be jealous of?”

   The older light blue spirit, taking another sip from her teacup, gives him a tired yet knowing look as Kamo sits beside her and rests her head on Sem's shoulder.

   Dabir crosses his arms, arches an eyebrow and raises a paw to check his claws with an apparent absence of perturbation. “So, who?”

   Watada and Chafa simultaneously roll all five of their eyes combined and lower their drinks at the same time. Chafa then turns to Gen again (who is currently chewing a bite of sandwich he took in the middle of their confusing interaction) with a warm and inviting smile as she lifts her breakfast from her plate. “What did it look like, Gen? Could you describe it?”

   Gen politely swallows before giving his answer. 

   “Well … it looked like a weird tower.”

   The captain’s sandwich is granted the mercy of an extra few minutes in this world as Chafa's open mouth freezes in place around the package of bread and its seven inner layers. It is then set back down on the plate, with Chafa locking eyes with Ipu from across the table, his ears raised. 

   “How weird …” Chafa continues to ask, looking back at Gen with a smile with a nod of scripted normalcy. “Was this tower?”

   “Well, for one, all the windows were different sizes,” says Gen, who shakes his head. “I mean, how did it stand at all? The structure could not be stable; the walls would buckle and break because of the weirdly-spaced glass!”

   A swell of pride silently blooms in Watada's builder heart. But that is not Chafa's main takeaway as she deftly reaches into her light blue shawl.

   “Gen, here.” The elderly captain places on the table a simple leatherbound journal with the front half of its cream-brown pages brimming with notes, tabs and loose leaves of paper sandwiched randomly in between. She also supplies Gen with a pencil before flipping to a blank page at the back. “Could you draw this tower for me? Draw it as best as you can remember it. I'm really curious to see it.”

   And that is how Gen, on a cloudy Seivday morning, on the sixth day of the month of Paz, year 533 of the Millennium of the Wheel, finds himself sketching the tower he saw in a dream. He does his best to follow the way Watada draws his architectural concepts: start by loosely defining the biggest shape … these broad and light strokes make up the general figure of the needle-like tower … fill in the details … a window here, a window there; this window here looks like a crescent moon; this one looks like a leaking egg … the doors at the base with the two perfect circles on them … and finally add in the details of swooshing, flowy wind-like decor carved from the stone tower's exterior.

   The final touches are a wavy line above the tower with a little ship sailing on it and a sun at the top right corner of the page. Realism.

   “Done, I think … !” Gen chirps and shows his aunt the drawing. 

   Kamo lifts her head from Sem's shoulder and cranes her neck to peer and smile at the page. “Nice drawing, Gen. I like the little boat, it's so cute. Like you.”

   The little boy's face flushes with a soft warm gold as he sheepishly wraps his tail around his leg. “Thank you, Miss Kamo…”

   Chafa, meanwhile, focused on the task at hand, flips back to among the last of the used pages at the front of the leatherbound journal. She sifts through the pages with a deft familiarity, finds the particular one she seeks, pulls out a loose square of paper, crisply unfolds it and turns back to Gen's drawing to place them side by side. There are some key differences between the contents of the two pieces of paper; the level of skill put into it, the level of realism achieved and the sun occupying the top corner of the page with the sailing ship beneath it … but the resemblance is unmistakable.

   Two identical, dream-like towers fitted with nonsensical windows and a pair of stone doors with two perfect circles carved onto them look back at their viewers. 

   A pewter spoon clatters onto the table. Seawater splashes against the hull of the ship. The triangular sails of the Ivory Dove flap and billow as they catch the wind.

   Ipu and Dabir make eye contact.

   A smirk begins to grow on the azure sailor's lips.

   The amber inventor lightly bares his fangs, raises his ears and points an unamused finger. “Don't you dare say a—” 

    “I sink the little one knows things we don't!” Ipu declares, topped with the snapping of fingers into finger guns. “Sorry, princess. You know I had to.”

   Dabir leans back in his chair and groans from the very depths of his soul, also dramatically rolling his eyes; the very motion giving him a slight ache right in the middle of his forehead. “For the last time,” he says while rubbing his forehead. “Not a princess!” 

   “Okay, queen.” Ipu snickers and shakes his head. “But. We all know what this means, right?”

   Gen is still looking at the two pages. The crescent window and the leaking-egg window, the swirling carvings, even the circles on the doors … they're all the same. He hadn't even seen the sketch Chafa unfolded prior to making his own drawing.

   He turns to his aunt with wide, truth-seeking eyes. “But, how … ?” is all he can ask.

   Chafa chuckles and rubs the back of his head. It would seem she has a peer. “Where else could you have gotten such Nibellian clairvoyance? Who else could you have gotten it from?”

   There is only one other Nibellian close to Gen. The little boy's eyes sparkle and widen with realization. “My … my dad! The other one! Ori!” he excitedly chirps and bounces in his chair. “So … so I can also see the future like you, Auntie Chacha?”

  “We will see what you can do,” Chafa nods and smiles. “But first you're going to have to tell us everything, and I mean everything that you can remember from your dream, Gen. This will inform us of what could happen in the future.”

   “Could happen?” Sem tilts his head, his attentive rabbit ears hearing all. “Not would happen?”

   “I did not stutter, Sem of Altum,” Chafa replies coolly. “After all, such is the nature of dreams. Need I explain that dreams are inherently nonsensical?”

   Of course not. Sem shakes his head. “So you're saying that … some bits are actually going to happen, while some bits are not going to happen. Because dreams,” he says.

   “Every power has a caveat,” nods the captain as she smiles and rubs Gen on the head again. “And while younger Glimpsers have potently clearer Glimpses, it's hard to determine what's real and what's imaginary since, well … children like little Gen here are quite imaginative. Isn't that right, my dear nephew?”

   “Another question, Chafa.” Watada's deep voice naturally fills the room. “I thought you would have Glimpsed into the future regarding the library, but it seems you know nothing about what's to happen.”

   “Because you are exactly right,” Chafa replies somberly as she drums her fingers on the table. “I know only what the previous expedition team knows.”

   Watada scratches his head and speaks up again as irritation bubbles up in his chest. Why is everything so inconsistent with this damn old captain? “So—”

   “Something is … preventing me from looking at it,” says Chafa, raising a paw facing skywards; a calming and placating gesture. “Is it some … anti-detection charm? Some kind of barrier raised to prevent Glimpsers like myself from learning about it? Whatever it is, I have tried — multiple times — to Glimpse at the library but I can only run into that wall of interference. I was planning to perform another Glimpse once we arrived, thinking it was some kind of distance-related issue, but it seems there is no need for that anymore.”

   “So why could the twig see it and not the experiencd bag of bones?” Dabir asks, using a fork dripping with tea to point at the golden nephew, then at the sky-blue aunt. A multi-pronged question.

   Watada slides the journal to himself and quietly analyzes the sketches up close. A thoughtful tip of the claw traces a circle on one of the doors in Gen’s drawing. He has always wondered the meaning of the circles on his abni's palms. 

   It seems they are going to find out what it means, after all.

   ‘Why would anyone want to see it anyway?’ Apei flippantly crosses her arms. ‘It looks like someone calculated everything about it with irrational numbers. It is an accursed building…’

   Everyone blinks as their navigator shudders at her disgust for irrational numbers. 

   “Right.” Chafa says and regathers her thoughts, patting Gen on the back. “There are two likely reasons, with the first reason being that child Glimpsers, like I said, have more potent, if not unpredictable, Glimpses than that of older ones. The second reason is … ”

   Chafa looks at the people around her. She looks at their faces, their eyes open, ears perked, their bodies leaning forward in her direction; using all their senses to peer for knowledge that could help them all; save them all. It's almost as if she's pulling at strings connected to each of them. 

   She then looks back at Gen with that indecipherable, queen-like smile.

   “That something wanted you, little Gen, to see it.”

   The light paw on the little boy's back suddenly feels a bit heavier. Gen swallows a lump in his throat as he tugs on the tassels of his yellow neckerchief.

   Is this the weighty power of knowledge?

   “So it would be in everyone's best interest to tell everyone as much as you can remember from your dream, Gen. Start from the top, won't you, dear nephew?”

   He does just so. And as he relays the contents of the dream as best he can, with Chafa taking dutiful notes; from peer to peer … the older captain ponders to herself and briefly thinks back to what she saw in her Glimpse, within her office, on the fateful night she was told to organise this voyage.

   Perhaps ... he can … ?

   Her nine-tiered tower of a forgotten breakfast sandwich grows cold atop her polished pewter plate.

Chapter Text

Plink.

   A lens falls into place in front of an eye.

   Plink.

   A second, smaller lens falls into place in front of the first, magnifying the image and bridging the gap of space; bringing what is far, near; indiscernible, discernible.

   Plink.

   The third and final lens, and the lone subject sailing on sunlit currents is reflected on the surface of the glass circle the size of a fingernail; a ship approaching from the distance bearing a large square sail dominated by the painted purple image of a cherry blossom in full, eternal bloom. There is only one authority in all of Kurestal allowed the use (and able to pay the staggering cost of the great amount required) of such an intense purple dye for their sails, as hinted by the sliver of islands in the even further distance draped in certain signature hues of pink and purple.

   Dabir raises the goggle from his eye and sighs as he reclines against the sturdy mast in the crow's nest, the cool wind blowing at his fur and his amber-dyed sash-garment; his trusty lantern still giving off its warm glow.

   I wonder what their lanterns will look like. They are probably pretty … but that is not the point.

   Save lives. Save the forests. Be the hero of this world. Forge the name you want for yourself. That's all that matters. That is your destiny.

   That will be your destiny.

   He is not the only one taking a peek at this ship and the forest it comes from, however.

   “Can we go there, abi? Pleeease?” Gen begs and clasps his paws together after passing the spyglass to Watada. “I wanna see the spring blossoms, and the Spirit Sakura, and Seip, and I wanna try the … uh … what was it again, Auntie Chacha? Su … tu-suk … ”

   “Tsukemen?” Chafa chuckles and pets the stuttering Gen on the head, her fingertips enjoying the softness and smoothness of his young and plush fur coat. “You can just call it dipping noodles.”

   And Gen chooses the path of least resistance, which is typical for people with circles as their spirit shape. “Dipping noodles!” he chirps accordingly.

   Watada sighs but smiles as he pensively rubs the lens of the spyglass with his thumb, his bone-white mane ruffling softly in the salty breeze that blows and flaps the triangular sails overhead. “Once we are finished with our expedition … yes, we can go on a nice and well-deserved vacation over there. Wouldn't you agree, Chafa?”

   “Most certainly,” nods the captain as her light blue shawl and its dangling tassels gently billow. “Plus, Seip would be able to relay our whereabouts back to Seir and Sein, which I am sure they would appreciate.”

   Gen hums pensively as Watada raises the spyglass to his third eye. “I hope Other Dad back home isn't worrying too much … ” 

   “Knowing Ori, he has probably worried the entire time,” shrugs Chafa. “That's just what loving fathers do. Right, Watada?”

   “Always.” Watada twists the spyglass slightly amidst the tender rocking and heaving of the Ivory Dove. “So, this boat from the Hoan Navy. They are to assist us?” 

   “Can't be too careful during the time we're swimming down there,” Chafa hums in reply as she turns her back to the sea and reclines against the sturdy wooden railing, keeping her staff close as the cloudy diamond on top catches and glints under the bright morning sunlight. “We are close to land, which is a breeding ground for pirate activity. Do you know how much a single ounce of Hoan Purple could sell for, under the right buyer? It is more than enough for pirates to accuse any and every ship they come across of carrying the pigment.”

   “But it still won't be as much as the cost spent to decorate the sail of the ship coming to us, that's for sure,” the practical Gorlek snorts and briefly bares his fangs as he flatly smirks. “Do they have such an excess of purple that they can divert this much to a protective force? Or do they really want to state how wealthy they are to everyone who happens to sail past?”

   “There is a slight misunderstanding,” Chafa chuckles. “It's true that Hoa is practically swimming in the stuff, but … them dying the sails like this actually paints a nice picture of one of their values: 'Strive for greatest function and seek the highest beauty.’”

   “Greatest function and highest beauty…” Gen echoes. Those words do sound very nice to say. Pleasing to the ear.

   But Watada simply shrugs as he returns the spyglass to Chafa. “Next, you'll tell me that they are pouring their purple into the sea to dye and ‘beautify’ it.”

   The captain shrugs again as she slides the viewing instrument into a leather pocket next to her crystal firearm. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

   Watada raises an eyebrow … but decides not to ask. Not everything is worth knowing about.

   “By the way…” Gen speaks up as he gazes back at the approaching vessel. “How do we know if that boat isn't a pirate ship just pretending to be from Hoa?”

   Watada blinks at such a question of suspicion, but Chafa places a paw on his shoulder. “What do you think? What does your intuition tell you?”

   The child of golden glow thinks for a moment, consciously wading around in his heart, then in his mind, to find a pool of that Nibellian intuition to drink from. After finding nothing, he instead goes with what his stomach is telling him.

   “I think … it's not a pirate ship,” he finally says.

   And Chafa rewards him with a pat. “And you'd be right. Because the Hoans would rather set fire to the sail and all its purple than let it be taken.”

   So begins his training to peer beyond sight.

❧

It's a fine and sunny Seipday, seventh of Paz, year 533 of the Millennium of the Wheel. The crew of the Ivory Dove had actually arrived a quarter of a day early thanks to Apei's ingenious calculations, and as signaled by the colourful and flag-adorned buoy bobbing in the Hoan waters left behind by the previous expeditioners and islands of pink and purple in the distance. This meant more time to lounge and to prepare (and for some, to preen) before the dive, which everyone appreciates. 

   Their luggage and their packs (waterproofed, naturally) to be brought along on the dive already sit among the boxes and wooden crates on the swabbed and sunlit deck. Cutlery, valuables, any other loose items and Ipu's refreezerator have also been stowed and locked in place for the duration of their dive. Everyone is prepared to leave.

  But as etiquette demands, and with Hoans being insistent followers of it, both crews are to meet and greet each other first. It's only polite to do so.

   Kamo hums and tilts her head as she fiddles with the tip of her triangular dagger. “Interesting.”

   “What is?” Sem asks and joins her by the railing. They then watch as the ship with the square sail and its big and purple cherry blossom release its anchor … from a bit of a distance. The red-caped warrior would estimate that an entire ship's length of a watery gap separates the two floating vessels, and he is fairly certain that there are no ladders of such length that could be used to bridge the two boats.

   “So …” Sem murmurs as he points to the Ivory Dove, then to the other ship. “How … ?”

   The healer hums and nods. “Exactly.” She then turns to the other spirit next to her. “Apei, how far away is the ship?”

   A series of floating numbers immediately spring up and dance above the head of the wisteria-glowing mathematician. Embroidered with the repeating pattern of the symbol of infinity, her scarf quietly flutters in the salty breeze as she and her numbers sort and calculate themselves the distance of the morning sun from the eternal horizon, figure out the length of the faint shadow cast onto the water by the Hoan ship and comparing it to the distance with the closest landmass (which she had calculated earlier). Bringing everything into consideration …

   ‘The distance between the two boats is 32.14 m,’ Apei writes with a satisfied smile. 

   Kamo grins as well, always happy to watch Apei do her work, and the way her numbers dance and shift above her head is always a show in and of itself. The jade healer then asks: “Do you know why they're anchored so far away? How will they get here?”

   “Using rowboats?” suggests Sem as he raises a paw to his brow, squinting his eyes and just making out several glows of purple buzzing around the deck of the Hoan ship. “But that seems extra, does it not?”

   But Apei shakes her head and uses a finger to draw a slightly curved line in the air. ‘The fastest way is by travelling in a low arc. Duh.'

   Kamo tilts her head in the other direction after reading Apei's words, but Sem's brow raises in surprise and understanding. “Are … are you saying they are going to—”

   The warrior is cut off by the stamping of a staff. “Places, people! Places!” Chafa barks, though she takes out the spyglass from its slot and raises it to her eye. “They are coming.”

   All of the purple glows on the Hoan navy ship have noticeably arranged themselves in a line lacing the railing of the vessel. Then, the one with the glow in the middle of the line steps onto the railing … and yet rises into the air, followed by the two glows that were originally on either side of them. The crew of the Ivory Dove watch as three glowing pinpoints of purple glide above the rippling seawater in a triangular formation (an equilateral triangle, Apei notes) as the wind blows in their ears and ruffles their fur and clothes.

   Chafa squints through the spyglass. “Now, who is … ”

   The captain trails off. Smirks. Lowers the copper tube from her eye. “Aha.”

   “You know ’em?” Ipu asks beside her. 

   She nods and chuckles. “We both do.”

   “So, I don't needa get me pans.”

   “No, pans not needed, but I appreciate the thought. Besides, we have a mission to carry out, do we not?” The cheeky captain smirks even wider. “So as much as he may be dying to get his paws on me, he can't touch me.”

   Ipu tilts his head. His deer-like ears flop in the same direction as the tassels of his blue headband flutter in the breeze. “... One pan, then?”

   Chafa hums. Thinks. Glances at him and nods. “Just to be safe, yes?”

   To which her trusty first mate nods and chuckles. “Always, Cap’n.” He then puffs away in a plume of azure smoke and returns the next second with a single frying pan held simply … casually … in his paw.

   All they can do now is to simply wait for them to draw nearer. As the flying trio grow closer, the crew of the Ivory Dove would soon discern just how they are moving themselves through the air.

   “Whoa…!” Gen chirps with ears raised. “Can you do that, too, Miss Apei? With your shapes?”

   Apei shakes her head and crosses her arms. ‘I like to stay on the ground.’

   “Aww … but it would be so cool, wouldn't it?”

   To which the mathematician can only shrug … just as three Hoan spirits arrive. 

   All eyes follow with the focus of eagles as they silently move and lower themselves onto the deck of the Dove, where they gracefully step off floating triangular platforms constructed with their own purple light and wave them off into dissolving, glittering and wispy swirls carried by the ocean wind. Flanked on either side by two other adolescent spirits; a male and a female, an older and bearded spirit of dimmer purple glow steps forward from the middle with an air of poise, walking with a gait as smooth as calm sailing as his hooves clop onto the floorboards. Despite being as small as Apei (and Hoan spirits are, indeed, the smallest among the seven forests), the fire in his eyes and the straightness of his back like wordless badges that demand respect and decorum.

   Said older spirit then performs a bow of exactly forty-five degrees, with the two other spirits doing the same, after which he stands upright, places his paw on the pommel of a sheathed rapier and splits a painfully forced smile onto his features as he gruffly spits out a single name as if it were poison: 

   “Chafa.”

   “Captain Tejun.” A playful moon-like smile carves itself on Chafa's face as she offers a light curtsy. “What a pleasure it is to see you. Again. How long has it been? Five months?”

   “Six months and twenty-three days,” Tejun corrects her with a snide snort. “Oh, but who is keeping count? Certainly not I, and certainly not after you dumped an entire cache of our purple from our docks!”

   Apei nods and looks at Kamo. Six. The perfect number.

   Watada and Gen, on the other hand, blink. 

   “Next, you'll tell me that they are pouring their purple into the sea to dye and ‘beautify’ it.”

   “Wouldn't be the first time.”

   Auntie Chacha just had not specified who'd done it.

   “Oh, come now, Tej…” Chafa coos and steps closer to the other captain, where by doing so the height difference between them is quietly emphasized as she looks down at him. “Can't we let this pass from beneath us, as we have done with many other things in the past? You were always so … cooperative, weren't you?”

   “Tej” may furrow his brow, bare his fangs, prick his fur and snarl under his breath … but what he cannot do is hide the soft orchid-coloured blush spreading across his cheeks like raspberry jam on toast. “I-I … you … !” he manages to sputter out.

   Sem leans closer and whispers to Kamo. “Did they…?”

   “Are they…?” Kamo softly giggles back.

   Even the Hoan captain's aides raise paws to their mouths to, surely, clear their throats and nothing more.

   “Are … are you okay, Mister Tejun?” Gen then asks from behind Watada's big leg. “You look like you're having a fever — !”

   “It's Captain Tejun, little grain stalk,” reminds the smiling she-spirit accompanying Tejun. “Address him by his correct title. It shows respect to him and to the efforts and sacrifices he made to earn that moniker.”

   The other he-spirit, meanwhile, gives Apei a subtle up-down. Kamo quietly clocks this wordless glance and senses recognition, perhaps even … pity? Disdain; deep in his eyes? The moment then passes as he takes a breath and uprights his perfect posture, with the mathematician able to only tilt her head.

      The flustered Tejun steps closer, almost chest to chest with Chafa as he looks her undaunted up in the eyes. Then he grins and chuckles like a cat having cornered a poor mouse as he strokes his manicured, perfect beard. “Mock all you want, Chafa, but I should remind you that you've nowhere to run anymore. Once you resurface from your mission, we are to immediately bring you back to Hoa to finally answer for your crimes. Unless of course — ha! — you plan to swim away with those rusty joints of yours?”

   The orchid captain's smile then grows wider as he catches, even for just a split second, the faltering twitch in Chafa's prideful, queenly smile. Ipu's face carries the colour of surprise … then concern, as his captain offers no usual witty jab in return. That's not like her.

   Chafa then steps back and calmly dusts off her shawl as the sea breeze blows and the sun shines oppressively upon them. “Anyways … thank you for your assistance. We leave the Dove in your capable paws.”

    “Hm!” Tejun juts his bearded chin high, as if acknowledging something obvious. “Defeat is a colour I've not seen on your face until now, Chafa. I already like it. But until then … this has been a pleasure.”

   Gen startles, his tail and ears flinging sky-high when the Hoan captain stomps an officious hoof. “Positions!”

   The crew is made to watch as Tejun and his aides extend their paws and a single finger skyward, which they use to draw for each of themselves an outline of a perfect triangle formed from their own light. The empty spaces in the outlines are then filled with orchid-coloured radiance like soapy water in a bubble frame, where they are brought down to their hooves, stepped onto and made to lift into the air. All passengers perform one more bow of exactly forty-five degrees before turning away and quietly flying back to the navy ship, their little figures growing even smaller the further they go until all they are little pinpricks of purple light once more.

   “He is not the forgiving type, is he? Something about triangles being stubborn and all that?” snickers Dabir, once the purple trio have put a considerable distance between them. “And someone's been very naughty, hasn't she?”

   All eyes turn to their captain. Ipu opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

   Gen steps a little closer to her. “Are … are you gonna be okay, Auntie Chacha … ?” he softly asks. “What did you do? Why do you have to go to … ?”

   To which she sighs and gazes at the other ship, hugging her staff closer to her chest. “I am not sure if things will be alright this time, if I'm being completely honest. And I can't waste a Glimpse on something like that ... "

   Ipu knows that look in her eyes; the glint of a thousand schemes bubbling to the front of her mind; pieces moving back and forth across a board. But this time, for the life of her, she cannot conjure any plans that could get them out of this predicament.

   A dreary air, worsened by the unadulterated heat of the morning sun, descends upon the ship. What a terrible way to start their mission.

   “Well! This won't do, will it?” Ipu then boisterously chuckles and shakes his head. “Y’know, Cap’n here may be going to jail — and it's been a looong time a’ comin’ — but right now, we can't start our mission all doom an’ gloom, now, can we?”

   Everyone turns their heads at the sound of rhythmic clopping as the azure sailor suddenly breaks into some fancy footwork, his hooves clicking and clicking on the swabbed floorboards as he dances backwards towards his large leather backpack. Once there, he stamps the floor, pushes off and uses the momentum to enter a spin, all while snagging the neck of his ukulele with his monkey-like tail and yanking it out amidst cooking and camping supplies. The instrument goes airborne, reaches its peak and falls squarely into Ipu's capable and sturdy arms.

   “Plus, yers truly’s got a song that comes to mind that … may be relevant to the mission, now that I think it,” he then adds with a wink.

   “You're saying this now?” everyone asks, though they all begin to find seats. A distraction and a morale boost at a time like this is most certainly welcome.

   To which Ipu places a fist on his hip while still holding the instrument by the neck. “Hey! In me defence, yers truly was helpin’ ye all pack!”

   Everyone then mutters in agreement. He did help them all, as always.

   “As I thought!” he lightly snorts in playful indignation before holding the instrument with both paws again. “But now, may ye feast yer ears on this shanty! Lil’ Miss Apei, a lil’ visual aid, why don't ye? This is … The Kingdom o’ Sails.”

   Dabir's fox-like ears flick up. They sang this song recently, did they not?

   A paw draped in deep blue light begins to move up and down against the ukulele, striking the strings and drawing out the lighthearted notes that fill the salty, dreary air. As the introductory melody continues, wisps of wisteria light begin to form in the air as Apei skilfully twists and shapes them into recognizable, geometric forms. Watada then looks and softly smiles at the way the light dances in Gen's smiling eyes, and he certainly doesn't resist when his abni leans against his arm.

Have ye heard tell, o’ the forest underwater?

Where their briny trunks have been turned into treasure?

Once a shining kingdom that fell down from grace,

For it could not bear the weight of greed it had attained.

So listen ye, hear ye! For I shall spell a tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail!

So listen ye, hear ye! For I shall spell the tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail!

   As Ipu begins to enter the second verse, he also begins to dance and clop around the deck, with his hoofsteps following the beat and inspiring the rest to clap along. Even Chafa shrugs, raises her paws and claps her paws in surrender to the smile growing on her face. 

Still unsatisfied with their slaves of flesh and bone,

So their brightest minds wove them out o’ light an’ stone.

But the passing o’ the ages in the dark have drove them mad,

So best leave ‘em be if ye want yer head intact!

So listen ye, hear ye! For I shall spell a tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail!

So listen ye—

   Ipu gestures to all as purple prisms, flying ships and people grabbing their heads dance around him. “Come on, everyone: ‘Hear ye!”

   “Hear ye!” 

For I shall spell the tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail!

   In one moment, Sem was contentedly seated and clapping his paws to the melody. In the next moment, a jade-glowing paw pulls him up and onto the deck. Kamo giggles as she likewise clops and twirls to the rhythm, with flecks of her light, the colour of the rainforest, scattering into the air and sky as she dances with him under the sun and the sails. 

   “You've got some moves!” Kamo chuckles in praise as she spins and hops from hoof to hoof.

   And Sem's fluffy wolf-like tail wags even faster as he laughs with her. “We make celebrations count in Altum!”

   Dabir crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, though his fox-like ears remain perked and alert to the lyrics.

Up or down, left or right? It really don't matter,

For in the fort o' knowledge, every plane is made to wander.

Show kindness to the Sage should she still draw breath,

For she guards the greatest treasure long after all our deaths.

So listen ye!

   “Hear ye!”

For I shall spell a tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail.

So listen ye!

   “Hear ye!!” 

For I shall spell the tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail…

   Ipu then slows, spins in place and stops as he enters the bridge, stepping from major chords to minor chords as he plucks and pulls slow and somber notes from the strings. The clapping from the audience also slows to match the ominous air.

But now, to issue ye a warning …

To me, an ear you should be lending:

As not every treasure's worth having …

Thus not everything is worth knowing.

   Amidst the crowd, a young boy falters in his clapping.

   Did he not hear those words recently?

We once stood mighty and tall …

Art and wisdom flowed through our great halls …

We thought we were free but we were Pride's thrall...

And that was what led to our faaall!!

   Like a sudden wave that washes over someone from behind, so sudden, too, is the shift in tone as they return to joyful notes, hearty clapping and boisterous singing. As a massive ship conjured from purple shapes falls and twirls in flames, Sem and Kamo resume their dance, paws joined as they clop together in circles, whereas Chafa notes the look of deep thought on Gen's face.

So listen ye, hear ye! For I shall spell a tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big to fail!

So listen ye, hear ye! For I shall spell the tale,

O’ the kingdom o’ sails that was too big … tooo faaail!

   And with a bold and brazen strum of finality from the plucky ukulele, the song comes to an end with the stomp of a hoof. Ipu pants as he grins, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, and bows with a flourish as the others whistle and cheer; Sem and Kamo also join the bow with joined paws. Even Apei converts the rest of her shapes into fireworks that soundlessly burst into spirals and little polygons that dissolve back into nothingness.

   “Thank ye, thank ye!” Ipu chuckles as he basks in the cheer of the modest crowd. “I hope this lil’ shanty did its work. Ye feelin’ better, Cap'n?”

   “For potentially my last expedition?” Chafa sighs and smiles as she pulls herself up with the help of her staff. “Sure. Whatever. You old lug.”

   “High praise comin’ from ya, Cap’n.” Ipu winks and returns his instrument to his backpack. “But now. We all in agreement that the song’s relevant, yeah?”

   “The first verse was just talking about the kingdom, or forest, that sank into the sea …” Kamo hums as she walks over and begins to prepare some ropes with Sem. 

   Dabir rubs his chin as he chips in. “Slaves of light and stone … but they've grown mad … so we have to avoid them.”

   “Could that be the weird ghostly lights Gen saw in the dream?” Watada asks. “You didn't see any stones, though, did you, abni?”

   Gen shakes his head, his gaze drawn to the floor.

   “And the part about the up or down, left or right,” Sem tilts his head and flicks his rabbit ears as he passes a loop of rope to Apei. “Every plane is made to wander?”

   ‘A plane,’ Apei begins to explain as she conjures a cube with her light and taps each of its six sides, ‘is the 2-dimensional side of a shape.’ She then takes the loop of rope and passes her arms, then head, then chest through it, finally tightening it around her waist like a belt.

   “Every side made to wander…” Watada tilts his maned head as he fashions a knot that bunches all ropes together. “Wandering on every side. Even the walls? The ceiling?”

   “This would be technology that predates even the Gumons…” Chafa taps her chin, setting down her staff to take some rope. “Interesting. But before you ask, I have no clue on who this ‘Sage’ might be.”

   “But how can there be anything or anyone living down there?” Dabir crosses his arms. “It's been such a long time.”

   Chafa tilts her head. Then she looks at her nephew. “What do you think, Gen? Does your intuition say anything?”

   Her question is returned with silence. The young boy continues to look down at the floor, his ears lowered and one arm draped across his chest to hold the other.

   Chafa approaches and grunts as he gets to a knee, smiling as she cradles his cheek. “What's on your mind?”

   “I just … don't get it,” Gen sighs and wipes at his eyes. “We're helping the entire world, but you're still gonna go to jail? Will I ever see you again? And … and I ... I'm scared … I don't wanna go down there … ”

   Not everything is worth knowing. The words keep replaying in his mind as incessantly as the nightly chirping of cricketsong back home. 

   Chafa, however, has anticipated this. This is not the time to get cold hooves. She sighs as her paw moves from his cheek to his shoulder. “Gen, I want you to imagine something. It won't be hard.”

   The little spirit looks up a little and timidly nods. The feeling in his gut tells him he's about to hear something he may not want to hear.

   “I want you to imagine yourself going back home, right now. Everyone is there to greet you, and everyone is eager to hear your story. In that situation, what will you be able to honestly tell them? What will we be able to tell them? That we left, right before we started, and we gained nothing that could help the world?”

   Watada tilts his head and quietly squints down at the captain with all three eyes as little Gen glances back down at the floor. But Chafa's finger gently guides his gaze back to hers. Her eyes in this moment are sharp and clear as cut glass; devoid of warmth and tenderness … but firm, transparent and honest. 

   “We all must make hard decisions at times. But each time, make decisions you know you won't regret. What will you choose, Gen?”

   The young child holds her gaze amidst the ripple of the waves, the wind in their ears, under the heat of the sun and the iron weight of expectation. He swallows. Bites his lower lip. Curls his tail around his leg. 

   Then, glancing down, a paw reaches out for a rope in silent surrender. 

   “Good lad,” Chafa sighs and pats his head as she also takes a rope. “Good choice.”

   Everyone glances at each other as they slide into their makeshift harnesses of twisted hemp.

   It is the only choice.

   The only path forward.

Chapter Text

Little Gen's dream got a few things right.

   For one, Waterbreather potions do, indeed, taste like a bowl of rotten apples and ripe blueberries. Swallowing it also conjures fleeting flicker-memories of candle makers and the wax they work with that clings and hardens on paws and fingers; a texture akin to half-melted paraffin solidifying along the walls of their throats, which then climbs back out of the mouth in the form of a thick and glossy bubble that firmly surrounds their heads like helmets. 

   Bubble-helmets.

   And finally, after forming a line in front of the gangplank with Watada and Gen taking the lead, with Kamo also uttering a quick and wordless prayer to the Law of Cycles and Dabir taking a sturdy grip on his pyramidal lantern, twelve hooves and two heavy paws dash and leap off the safety of the Ivory Dove and her wooden planks …

   As they all fall and are swallowed feet first by the big, swirling blue.

   A glow of gold as sunlit grain sinks into the depths with the help of Gorleki weight, followed by a glow of warm rainforest green, of bold cranberry red; amber orange, wisteria purple, azure blue and sky turquoise. Already does the deep and bassy tidal rumble enter the attentive ears of this rainbow crew, broken by the accompaniment of their breaths as the distance between them and the two ships above wordlessly widens and widens.

   Gen squints his eyes as he is embraced firmly by two of Watada's arms with the Gorlek's second pair of paws firmly grasping the long pole of a hammer. The little spirit's eyes follow the metal trail of chain links, with each iron loop as thick as his own torso, as they lead down and down into the depths where the anchor lies.

   Watada breaks the silence as he tightens his grip on his hammer. “You said you saw something swim towards us, abni?”

   Moki ears of soft sewn cloth raise skywards as even Captain Mokk pays attention. Gen simply nods and hugs the toy even tighter. “It was like a big fish,” he says, leaning back into the warmth and safety of his abi’s steadfast embrace. “A scary-looking fish…”

   Kamo, trailing close by with the help of her makeshift rope harness, firmly grips the triangular pruning dagger drawn from the leather sheath wrapped snug around her thigh. A second cranberry glow then flashes into existence from the darkness, with the new light glinting off her blade as Sem summons his billhook; his bubble helmet (of a larger size, to accommodate the length of his tall rabbit ears) likewise catching the hue of his radiance.

   Diligent and prepared as they are, however … no such creature swims out to confront them.

   All that accompanies their descent are their steady breaths, the clacking chain links, the cold that caresses their coats and the incessant bass-rumble of the dark and murky tides.

   But what is that beneath their feet? A shifting texture like another swirling sea, its edges illuminated by their glows, as dark as ink and spread out all around the sea floor like a carpet? 

   The seaweed is uncannily slick yet simultaneously rubbery as paws and hooves descend upon them, swirling plumes of silt kicked up only to fall back down to the floor. Several fish flutter away and a lone crab scuttles off as one by one, the Gorlek and his colourful “balloons” reach the bottom of these waters and land near the anchor which has currently clawed deep into the sand and also latched onto a sturdy cleft of rock jutting out from amidst the field of seaweed.

   Apei also looks back up to the distant surface of the sea overhead as a number dances above her palm. It currently reads 62.31 m. What an perfect set of numbers.

   “We’re finally here…” Ipu murmurs and looks around in wonder as his long and monkey-like tail swirls behind him, his azure glow more intense than the blueness around them. “S’like an entirely different world, with its own land n’ sky.”

   “What could possess someone to even swim all the way down here?” Sem asks as his dense fur coat swirls in the seawater all around him. He looks like the head of a janitor's mop submerged in a bucket; smooth when he moves, but a tangled mess when he stops. The woes of having a thick fur coat.

   Dabir smirks and sneers, his amber glow bright in the dimness from the light of his body and his pyramidal lantern. “And I thought you'd have a sense of adventure, mop head.”

   “Oh then please, by all means,” the Altumian rolls his eyes. “Let your sense of adventure make you the first one to walk into a room full of booby traps.”

   “And when that happens, you'll see just how ingenious I am,” coos the cheeky Kainari as he places a self-assured paw on his chest. “Now, where are we going?”

   Watada releases Gen from his embrace and allows him to float at an arm's length. “Where to next, abni?”

   “I … I saw a statue of a Mupo pointing to the sky … ” Gen dutifully recalls as his hooves tread the chilly water. “It’s wrapped up in a bunch of seaweed … and it was close to the edge of the shelf … ”

   At that, Chafa points her staff in a certain and decisive direction as a copper compass rests squarely in the palm of her other paw. “That way, everyone.”

   Watada is thus guided through the dark and leafy tendrils that curl and quietly sway with the cool and murky currents. More fish, little crabs and other sea life swim and scuttle out of their way as they pass through the rubbery plants in an inexorable march. Gen also spots a seahorse before beginning to drift off in its own solitary path … briefly conjuring in his mind's eye images of a seahorse figurehead somberly bobbing amidst debris — flotsam — in quiet waters; memories of sea-soaked scrap in the middle of the deck, a raging crustacean behemoth that emerged from a box they fished out and its child with a crossbow bolt lodged deep into its soft and immature shell; its features forever frozen in an expression of blind rage; an eternal, visceral snapshot of its final breath.

   Gen spares a glance behind him, only to lock eyes with Dabir as he is pulled along by the rope harness around his waist. The child then quickly turns back, causing bubbles to form and rise to the sky, keeping a firm hold on both Captain Mokk and Watada's sturdy paw as they pass by the chains and anchor of the Hoan ship floating far above them. Dabir notes how pristine the metalwork is; the iron still bright and polished, nary a scratch or scuff to be seen. New anchor, or new ship?

   “It's kind of beautiful down here, in a way, isn't it?” Kamo then asks, her glow of rainforest jade playing with the swirling seaweed and mingling with the glow of ruby cranberry as she kicks her hooved feet through the water.

   “Cold. Dark. Desolate.” Sem chuckles as he keeps his glowing billhook by his side. “At least in Altum, you can breathe.”

   “Yeah?” Kamo chuckles with him. She then tilts her head and hums. “Maybe after resting in Hoa, could we perhaps go there? To Altum? There's a flower there that I've always wanted to see, and it should be blooming soon.”

   Sem knows the one she speaks of. “Let me guess. The one on top of Mount Oplot; blooms only once every fifty years.”

  The healer eagerly nods. But then she remembers what they had discussed in private. “Oh, um … but only if you want, Sem. I know that … ”

   The warrior catches her meaning. He turns to her with an appreciative smile and reaches out to briefly squeeze her paw. “Thank you for being so considerate of me. But you know, after thinking about it … perhaps a quick visit home to see the flower should be alright.”

   “Are you sure?” Kamo tentatively asks and squeezes his paw back in return before retracting it. “Because I can be content with drawings of it.”

   It is like adding a single kilogram weight to one side of a pair of scales. Hearing her say that makes his heart come to a decisive conclusion, which in turn moves him to shake his head with an even wider smile. “No, no. We shall go to Altum and you shall see that flower. You have my word.”

   He then drops his voice to a softer volume, one only she can hear as his smile turns daring; mischievous, even. “After all, did we not speak of wanting to do what we wanted, for once?”

   To which Kamo smiles, nods and opens her mouth to say something but is cut off by a bubble-helmet-muffled cough from behind them. The jade healer and the ruby warrior turn back to see a miffed amber inventor, whose eyebrow has arched itself skyward, point to the area ahead of them.

   “The continental shelf,” is all Dabir says.

   The field of swirling seaweed, which at first seemed endless in this world of blue, abruptly plunges into a steep drop of silt and rock. As their rainbow glow hovers at the edge of this abyss; needlepoint-pinpricks of light in all-consuming depths, they are able to see it with ease: a sunken forest with leafless trees as white as bone, shrouded in an ever churning cloud of sand. Ghostly green lights aimlessly wander and weave through the lifeless trunks like fireflies fluttering through plumes of dense mist … with the library standing tall and proud in the center of it all like a marble pillar rising from a pit of darkness, its conical apex barely catching the distant sunlight and thus gleaming like a lighthouse; the illumination calling to and guiding them towards itself as one does a ship in foggy waters in the world above.

   “It's just like my dream … ” Gen murmurs in amazement. He then looks around as he hugs Captain Mokk tight. “But … where is the Mupo statue?”

   Watada looks to the left. Then to the right. From inside his bubble-helmet, all three of his eyes squint at something that does not follow the seaweed in their swirling dance. And after simply trudging towards it …

   Watada gestures to it. “Is this it, abni?”

   A flat and moon-like face, veiled in thick, mossy algae, with an expression forever frozen in abject horror. An outstretched arm with a hand eternally locked in an claw of agony reaching for heavens it will never touch or see again. Gen swims back and hides himself behind Watada's thick lion-like mane. This is indeed the statue he saw in the dream. How macabre … 

   But how could someone like Chafa resist from taking a closer look? She swims towards it with eagerness, her glow of sky turquoise further illuminating the upright statue buried waist-deep in sand as bubbles are excitedly kicked into the water. “How exquisite … !” she gushes.

   Everyone watches as she swims around the statue like a hungry fox circling a fallen bird's nest, or even a child drooling over a candy stand; her eyes glinting with glee. The gem on her staff is then lit and used to closely examine the figure, even rubbing away some of the algae as they fall to the floor like flecks of snow.. “Look at how smooth the curves are, his detailed veins and musculature, the perfect proportions … ! Such marvelous stonework, and almost in pristine condition!”

   ‘Almost’, due to the fact that its left arm, along with several pieces of its horns, are missing.

   “Hey, what is that?” Kamo also asks, reaching for something in the swirling seaweed. Her paw returns with what looks to be a fragment of clay attached to a circular handle. “Oh, this is … pottery, isn't it?”

   “They did say they found that ancient parchment-letter thing from Pazari in a jar or something down here, did they not?” Sem hums, kicking his legs in the water.

   Dabir meanwhile floats at the edge of the shelf with his multi-lensed goggle over his left eye, peering through the three delicate circular pieces of glass to try and make out any details of the sunken forest below them. Squint as he may, however, the swirling plumes of sand obscuring the bone-white trees make it hard to distinguish anything … but he does note that the wandering ghostly lights never seem to cross each others' paths; even observing two of the glows on an apparent collision course, but gently steering away from each other just before they meet. How strange.

   Apei also floats at the edge of the plunge close to Dabir and creates a purple sphere from her light. With the glowing measurement of their depth still floating above her paw, the ball is dropped and made to tumble and sink down the steep continental slope, making the wispy numbers rise steadily and consummately as it descends. 

   62.31 meters … 

   85.98 meters …

   102.57 meters … 

   The purple sphere finally touches the bottom and dissolves into triangular fragments with a final reading of 128.24 meters.

   “Kayaruka…” murmurs the amber inventor as he still squints through his goggle. “Apei?”

   The mathematician of amethyst glow turns to look at him. She tilts her head.

   “Do you have any stories or legends that tell of a sunken forest near Hoa?” he asks and lifts the goggle from his eye; his bubble still airtight despite pushing his fingers through the helmet. “Any folktales that may hint a place like this existing?”

   Apei taps her chin as a triangle draws itself and rotates above her head while she thinks. She never really paid much attention to her Literature and Mythos classes because, of course, she had other more concerning and important subjects to pursue. She does so happen to remember one thing, however.

   ‘I remember 1 story. Something about a ley line exploding or something? Which made this forest sink?’ she writes with a shrug.

   But to Apei's surprise, he finishes the rest of the story as he gestures to the valley below. “And this ley line was actually from Hoa, like — this sunken forest was originally part of Hoa … but the land itself was also connected to Niwen, like some kind of seabed-bridge. And then a lot of the land sank because of this explosion, leaving a big expanse of Niwenian waters and only the small forest of cherry blossoms we know today, right?”

   The starry-eyed savant finds herself nodding slowly. That does sound quite familiar. ‘How many stories do you know?’

   “Oh, you know … a lot,” Dabir suavely grins and places a paw on his hip while nonchalantly checking the perfectly filed claws on the other. “Because, of course, I read a lot. One must always read to keep their mind sharp, that's what I say!”

   Apei looks back down at the library. Back to Dabir. Tilts her head. Flashes a thumbs up. ‘K.’

   The inventor's fennec fox-like ears droop into perfectly flat, 180-degree angles at the lack of enthusiasm, but he is not allowed to dwell on it for long.

   “Dabir!” Chafa calls from the statue. “Bring your Qamura over here! We must document this find!”

   “Only if you snap a picture of me beside it first!” Dabir replies, his ears perking skyward again (a happy pair of 45-degree angles) and begins to swim back, his length of rope trailing and dragging into the sand and drifting seaweed behind him. Apei meanwhile makes a hoop, wraps her fingers through it and wills it to move her through the water as opposed to kicking her legs.

   The amber inventor reaches back into his pack. “Now, where is i—urrk!”

   There comes a sudden tug from behind as his legs are thrown in front of him, the rope digging into his chest and interrupting his flow. He is not being pulled back but rather held in place; his length of rope having snagged onto something nestled deep in the sand and aquatic plant life. Grumbling, Dabir buries his hooves into the sand and yanks at the rope, but it refuses to budge.

   “Pazari, be a darling and set me free will you?” Dabir sighs as the starry-eyed savant approaches the snag. 

   ‘Pazari’ takes hold of Dabir's rope with paws of amethyst glow as she follows the trail to the source of the hold-up, even extending two digits to create a long and glowing triangular blade that hovers over the pair of fingertips. But after parting and slicing away some of the seaweed … Apei pauses and tilts her head, her mouse-like ears flopping in the same direction.

   “Well?” the inventor impatiently strains and tugs at the rope again and again. “What … is … it?”

   Apei looks back at the statue amidst the incessant bassy rumble of the tide, then looks again at the snag wrapped amongst the tendrils. She finally turns to Watada and coolly gestures for him to come over with the Gorlek soon drifting over with Gen as the mathematician points and illuminates the tangle with her wisteria purple glow.

   “Well, well … ” Watada hums, temporarily releases Gen and delves all four of his paws into the sand and seaweed. 

   Carefully. Tenderly. Yet firmly. Something made of stone is pulled out from the silt as tufts of algae drift and flutter off with the currents. All eyes grow wide ... !

   “Does anybody … need a hand?” Watada cheekily grins from inside his bubble-helmet.

   And everyone — save for Ipu and Gen, who manage to chuckle in spite of the murky atmosphere — releases a collective groan as the Gorlek proudly presents the missing arm and hand of the Mupo statue. 

   “That, abi, was terrible…” Gen sighs, swimming back to his dad and nuzzling his cheek as they move to return the statue's runaway limb.

   With Dabir finally freed, he grumbles as he reaches into his pack and takes out the device used to eternally preserve moments in time in the shape of printed pictures. But as he passes the Qamura over to Chafa, the jade healer tilts her head and squints as she notices something about the stone arm; a detail faintly illuminated by the inventor’s pyramid lantern and amber glow.

   “Everyone, hold on,” Kamo gently yet urgently murmurs. “Let me see that.”

   “Myat?” Sem asks, but the healer leaves his side and swims towards Watada. “What is wrong?”

   “Hey, what's — hey, give that back!” Dabir protests as the lantern is pulled from his person. “That's not … yours … ”

   Dabir falls silent as an uncanny chill, colder than the murky waters around them, rattles his spine from the top of his neck bone to the end of his lowered tail-tip. Ipu grimly furrows his brow, Apei curiously tilts her head, Chafa clutches her staff tighter and Gen timidly finds refuge behind a confused Watada, with Sem quietly approaching Kamo, who holds the amber lantern high and sheds illumination upon where stone limb ought to join stone torso. In the neverending and crescendoing rumble of the bassy tides that fills all ears … the abyss and its mysteries stare back.

   Bone, veins, flesh; rendered immaculate and eternal in stone; perfectly cut through as if sliced in twain with a sword.

   “How … ” Watada murmurs and peers closer at the amount of detail found where the arm is severed, marvelling at all the stone arteries, the perfect cross-section of muscle, even the fat stored in the underarm. “How did the artist get all these details … inside the stone?”

   “Sem.” Kamo passes Dabir's lantern to the ruby warrior and floats closer to the stone arm, beginning to inspect the amputation with the help of the amber light.

   “Well, what … what if it was like this?” Sem nervously gestures to the two pieces of stone. “What if the artist … made it this way?”

   Dabir scoffs and crosses his arms as he floats in the water. “What, they carved the arm separately from the body? That's obviously very unlikely.”

   “Well, how else can you explain that?” Sem gestures again. “Unless this Kayaruka place had technology to do that. But even then, you would not even see the inside, so what would be the point of carving it this way?”

   Dabir opens his mouth. He then closes it. Briefly thinks about it, glances away with a huff, and finally snatches the lantern back from Sem and pushes him aside to continue helping Kamo. “My lantern. Thank you.”

   Sem just shoots the inventor a dirty look as he rubs his paw.

   “Cap'n,” Ipu then says and turns to Chafa. “Can ye gaze into the past o’ this statue? If the breakin’ o’ this arm was only recent … ”

   The Captain nods, knowing what that would mean. She turns back to the statue, shuts her sharp eyes and readies her tongue to utter the incantation as she presses the glowing gem of her staff against the center of her forehead …

   "Eshshuala wonishende histeii."

   The arcane song of a silver bell resounds in the caverns of her mind. 

   An ear against an ancient door. A whisper. A truth.

   Knowledge not meant to be known; a flame stolen from its cradle — not the first, and certainly not the last.

   Chafa tilts her head and moves the gem away from her face as she opens her eyes with an expression only Ipu could understand.

   “How long ago … ?” the azure sailor asks.

   The Captain replies. “His arm has made the sand and seaweed its home for as long as I've walked this world — for around sixty years.”

   Sixty years ago. And even before that — prior to when Chafa took her first breath in this world — this statue of a Mupo forever forever frozen in an expression of agony kept his grotesque innards of stone-carved flesh, sinew and bone hidden away from the world like a box of macabre secrets not meant to be opened or even found. And it would have remained a mystery were it not for the doctor's diagnosis.

   Kamo, now having examined the breakaway point at the Mupo’s shoulder, leans back and taps her lip with the tip of her triangular dagger. 

   “Instantaneous…?” she mumbles under her breath.

   Sem moves to float beside her as his cranberry glow joins hers of rainforest green. “What is it, Kamo?” he asks.

   Kamo moves her dagger to point out a series of stone muscles, the sharp apex of the blade ringing gently in the bassy depths as metal taps on rock. “See this set of muscles here, at the shoulder? See how tightly bunched it all is? It's almost as if this man were flexing or exerting some effort. But then the muscles we can see in the arm…”

   The healer points at the severed stone limb held in Watada's grasp with Gen now curled up on the Gorlek's shoulder.

   “...They are looser and more relaxed, which I find very weird.”

   Sem tilts his head and furrows his brow. “So what does it mean? What could it mean?”

   “Well … ” Kamo thoughtfully hums as if piecing together the fragments of a puzzle game. “Unless we can rule out that the Kayarukans had technology to carve such fine details inside rock without taking it apart … I have a theory.”

   “And that would be…?” Sem leans closer, his rabbit ears raised.

   Kamo looks at Sem. At her crew mates. At the Mupo; as an expression of pity spreads across her face.

   “Instantaneous petrification.” 

   Her diagnosis echoes through the water with the ripples of the meaning in the words stirring the cores of their beings. 

   “So … so you're saying … ” Gen trembles as he once again hides himself behind Watada's mane.

   “That this ‘ere statue ain't actually a statue … ” Ipu continues as he tightens his grasp on his pack, his monkey-like tail coiling in apprehension. “But rather … ”

   The stone arm slips from Watada's four paws. Plumes of silt and sand kick up when the seaweed and the seabed receive it once again, a gasp tumbling from the Gorlek's snout as his sturdy grasp moves to hold his trembling abni in reflex instead.

   Sem swallows hard, adjusts his grip on his billhook and completes the thought as he looks at Kamo.

   “A corpse,” the warrior grimly says.

   A burst of light from the darkness then startles them from their swirling thoughts. Chafa lowers the Qamura from her eye as the illumination from the attached glass flare dies from burning white to dim amber, with her brow quietly arching when everyone turns to look at her. She simply gestures to the petrified Mupo. 

   She did say she would document it. Unfazed, as per usual. But Dabir waves his paws as bubbles born from agitation begin their rise to the distant surface.

   “Wait-wait-wait, let me get this straight,” chuckle-sputters the amber inventor. “So … so you're saying that at some point waaay back in the past, this Mupo just … suddenly — emphasis on suddenly —turned into stone? How is that even possible? Is that even possible?”

   ‘In the world of matters, the probability of anything and everything that could happen is always above 0…’ Apei cryptically writes as her purple words glow in the aquatic depths.

   “I will say there are texts — ancient texts — that have been passed down and amongst our tribes in Noiton,” Kamo says. “And there have been written instances of people turning to stone, but since I never saw a corpse of such an example, I've had doubts for some time. But now … ”

   “Okay, doubts cleared, whatever, awesome. The real question now is what is making them turn into stone,” Dabir persists and dramatically flings his paw in gesture towards the statue. “Was it an illness? Is it contagious?”

   Watada and Gen immediately jerk away from the fallen stone arm before swimming towards Kamo, but the jade healer raises a calming paw towards them and shakes her head as an unsettling crescent of a smile spreads across her face. No, it's not an illness.

   “‘And after gazing upon that which should not have been seen,” Kamo murmurs in rote recitation, “‘The Law of Cycles punished the arrogant minds that sought to lay claim beyond their place in the universe; rendering them perfect and eternal in stone … as a lesson that not all is worth knowing.’”

   The knell of an iron bell clangs in Gen's heart. That phrase. That ear-raising, fur-prickling, intuition-alarming warning. Again.

   Not all is worth knowing.

   Dabir rolls his eyes and mock trembles his paws in the water. “And I quiver in my hooves in wait to hear — oh, let me guess: the thing that they saw was not recorded in your ancient texts, was it? Because of course, it never is."

   “If it was, I and so many of my fellow Noitoners would be stone,” Kamo chuckles as if they suggested something strange to have for lunch — and that is from someone who eats poisonous plants as a hobby. 

   Watada looks around. Gestures four incredulous paws towards them all as the seaweed continues to drift and sway around them. “Are we literally ignoring the fact that there is something out there that, once learned, could turn someone to stone?”

   Click-flash! Chafa lowers the Qamura from her eye after taking a picture of the stone arm. “And at a time a hundred years ago, Niwen once had a vengeful owl who damaged the land so badly that the area bordering her once-wasteland of a home — and everything in it — turned to stone, too. So, turning to stone? Unnatural? Most certainly. Unheard of, however? Get out more.”

   Watada lets out a stunned scoff, his sharp fangs showing and catching the multi-coloured of the seven spirits as he cannot keep the urge to laugh at bay. “But that isn't the same, is it? There is something — or somethings — that can immediately kill you if you just know about it —”

   “And what are the odds of you learning about them?” Chafa rebukes with a raised finger alongside a tongue lemon-tart. “There's so much information in the world that the chance of you getting to know it is practically zero!”

   ‘x > 0…’ Apei writes. Always above zero.

   “And yet we trudge towards a library — ” Watada gestures to the edge of the shelf with a pair of paws above a pair of arms crossed around his abni. “Full of information everyone has forgotten. Perhaps for a reason! And our stony fellow here is a warning for that.”

   Ipu glances at the horror-stricken statue-corpse nestled amongst the black and swirling seaweed as the abyssal rumble continues to drone in their ears. But the Captain simply grins and chuckles, the proud laughter muffled by her airtight bubble-helmet, as she passes the Qamura back to Dabir with a nod of thanks.

   “If you're so frightened, then stay away from the shelves and let the experienced ones — ” Chafa palms her own puffed chest. “Yours truly, handle it. Surely you can manage that, Watada?”

   The Gorlek, with a brow already knit tight, grumbles and hardens his expression even further with a pressure like that of two tectonic plates pushing and struggling against each other.

   Sem's voice speaks out amidst the rumbling air between the captain and the builder. “A-and besides, um, is it not the case that, uh, usually, what is written in such texts are just … exaggerations of something? What if it was just a creature who did this? There are creatures that can turn people into stone, right?"

   A paw comes to rest on Sem's shoulder. It's Kamo, who shakes her head. “In this case ... I think it would be preferable for it to be some creature.”

   As everyone continues to attempt to grapple, reason and etch comprehension into what all this could mean, Gen — whose little heart once tremored at the sight of the statue-corpse — can now only gaze upon the twisted Mupo’s face with a morbid curiosity that glints in his eyes.

   What did you last see, sir … before you turned to stone?

   An unspoken inquiry that will never be answered. At least, perhaps, not until they decide to move on, which is exactly what the amber inventor emphasizes as he pertly claps his manicured paws and — of course — tops it off with the flash of a charming grin when all eyes fall upon his lantern-lit form. “Lads, ladies and little twig, daylight is burning as we speak! Unless of course, we want the world above to continue being ravaged by calamitous phenomena?”

   “The solplume is right,” Chafa nods in agreement and gestures towards the edge of the shelf. “We must get a move on. Watada, if you please.”

   Gen turns back to the Mupo forever frozen in time. He raises a paw and gives him a little wave. “Goodbye, mister…”

   Watada lets out a heavy sigh as his thick fingers pass through Gen's bubble-helmet, patting his abni, who is ever so kind and polite, on his little head. “Goodbye, mister … Mupo.”

   “Oh, abi, could you … give him his arm back? Just put it next to him? Please?”

   “...sure, abni. Sure.”

   And so it is that after leaving behind the little detour (and his severed arm) by means of taking twenty paces towards the sunken library, that not much more preamble is needed as they simply walk (or float) to the end of the shelf and begin their further descent ingo the abyssal depths; a Gorlek stringing a tangle of radiant balloons through the darkness in thoughtful, questioning silence.

   62.31 meters. The shelf of sand and seaweed give way to floorless waters.

   85.98 meters. The rippling glass ceiling of the sunlit sea grows ever more distant.

   102.57 meters. The all-encompassing chill that wraps their bodies and seeps through their coats turns into a frigid embrace.

   128.24 meters. The deeper seabed receives the heavy footfalls of a four-armed builder. They are almost at their destination; all in the span of a minute.

   All that separates them now is a patch of barren abyssal sand plain and a bone-white forest shrouded in a swirling cloud of nebulous briny fog, looking akin to a tangle-mess woven with reams of wispy silk caught and doomed to spin forever in a hurricane-current. And beyond this sunken cumulus illuminated with those green, ghostly, wandering lights …

   The sunken library rises from the depths, catching a threadbare-sliver of sunlight with its needle-apex and irrational windows and curves, reflecting and magnifying the glow with the radiance of a forgotten lighthouse waiting to be found; remembered; known once again. It knows to expect them. It knows they are here. 

   It's been such a long, long time since they had guests.

Chapter Text

A tide that should be there, but isn't. 

   If a Mupo turning to stone by coming to know of supposed forbidden knowledge was not enough of an anomaly, it soon becomes evident by approach of the bone-white forest that the fog of brine now shrouding the pale, sunken trees … swirls thick with a blatant absence of current or undertow; like approaching the foot of a ravenous and silken whirlpool-blizzard yet not being swept away, pulled towards or even merely being jostled by the tide.

   All there is — all that awaits them — is the bassy rumble of the sea and the distant lights of ghostly green that wander around in the briny gloom in their aimless, eternal and unknown sojourns.

   Dabir raises his glowing amber pyramid high, places a paw on his hip and sighs with the shake of his bubble-helmed head. “This is … so cursed.”

   “Scared, city pup?” Sem asks with a slight, fanged smirk. 

   But the inventor just returns an even wider and prouder fanged smirk as he waves a dismissive paw over his shoulder. “Just taking stock of what will likely be the most haunted and thrilling chapter of my famous autobiography. Don't worry, my trusty meathead, for you won't be forgotten. You'll be included in the margins, too!”

   The smile vanishes from Sem's face as he rolls his eyes. “An honor. Truly.”

   Eshgranne kuinanishende luxellikos.

   The radiance of a pale blue sky shines forth from the top of Chafa's staff as the cloudy core of the crystal dodecahedron glows at the utterance of her incantation. Apei also extends two parallel fingers and blows gently onto the tips of the digits (as best as she can whilst submerged under leagues of seawater), bubbling forth a cube, a pyramid and a sphere of wisteria-coloured light that each grow and expand from their points of origin as they serve to shed more light upon their surroundings.

   “Listen,” Kamo then whispers, raising a paw to her twitching ear and tilting her head towards the briny fog as a wandering light seems to grow nearer. “Do you hear that?”

   The eternal bass-rumble of the watery depths is all that their ears first sense. Their minds probe into the veil in an attempt to latch onto something; a promised sound, some kind of pattern, a rhythm — a scrabbling of paws into the unknown desperate for something discernible. So not only do their ears pick up a certain noise …

   Gen pushes and presses his little back deeper and harder against Watada's sturdy chest as his little eyes see the sand beneath their feet … tremble. Ever so slightly. Then it stops before trembling again. Then stop. Tremble. Stop.

   The ground-up grains of mineral and silica seem to be moving in time with a regular and rhythmic series of laboured, grinding stomps — muffled in their ears thanks to unfathomable volumes of water between them, also held at bay from entering their mouths and lungs by the faithful service of their wondrous bubble-helmets. And as the wandering light of ghostly green treads further away from the rainbow-coloured crew, so too do the heavy, grinding steps and the shaking of the sand seems to grow distant and dissipate.

   “Never satisfied with their slaves o’ flesh an’ bone…” Ipu recites under his breath, his tail flicking nervously. “So their brightest minds wove ‘em … outta light an’ stone.”

   “And if we want our heads to stay on our necks, we'd best give them a wide berth…” Watada grumbles and keeps his paws firm on Gen.

   “Can anything cut through your neck, though?” Dabir raises a brow. “Yours has the circumference of a tree.”

   Watada blinks all three of his eyes. The barest sideways glance is spared at Dabir as the fog continues to swirl ahead of them. “That was … supposed to be a compliment?”

   The amber spirit purses his lips. Shrugs. “How'd I do?”

   “Like a rotten egg throwing itself at a wall in hopes of a breakthrough.”

   “A rotten egg, specifically? Wow. Anyways.” Dabir purses his lips. “We’re totally procrastinating, aren't we?”

   A hushed chorus of affirmative mumbles emerge from the crew. There is no avoiding what lies ahead of them, regardless of the threat that awaits them.

   “Abi …” Gen whispers up at Watada as a little paw tenderly strokes his left lowered ear. “I … I'm scared … ”

   Watada sighs as the beating of his thick and sturdy Gorlek heart brings the rumble of thunder to his ears. But he smiles, slowly nods and whispers back. “You know what, abni? I'm scared too. But do you want to know something else?”

   Gen tilts his head.

   “I've said it before, haven't I?” Watada continues. “We are often so much braver than we think. We're here — in the distant depths of the sea! And more importantly, we are not alone. We are together, are we not? And we have six more friends by our side.”

   Gen counts on his little fingers. Then he raises Captain Mokk with a soft smile. “Seven. The eighth one is keeping watch over the ship, remember?”

   Watada chuckles and presses an upside-down kiss to his forehead. “Yes, eight friends, and I'm sure Mokk the First is doing a good job back up there. But right now, do you think you can be a little braver for me for a little longer? For us all?”

   Captain Mokk's face of soft and woven felt is pressed against the little boy's chest as Gen gives a timid nod. 

   “And what do we focus on, on any given moment, abni?”

   “On what we can do,” is the dutiful reply that comes from boyish lips. “On what we gotta do.”

   Watada nods. Kisses him again. “Love you, abni. Ready?”

   “We’re together, so ... yeah. And love you too … ”

   As Watada nods and pets Gen on the head one more time, the Gorlek turns, raises his maned gaze and nods to the rest of the crew who in turn nod back. “Let's begin.”

   Equipped with their shapes made of bright light, radiant walking staff, glowing amber pyramid and dark-banishing billhook, Watada takes the first step and begins to push through the veil as the salt particles of the briny fog catch and cling onto their forms and clothes like the flecks of snow that fall and drift in the wintry months of Nim and Tev.

   All while the watchful needle-apex of the library gleams with the barest pale sliver of sunlight in forgotten, sunken silence.

❧

A blizzard of brine and sand snow-fine billows and blows at the bottom of the sea, shrouding a sunken and forgotten forest with lifeless and leafless trees frozen the moment they clawed out of the lifeless seabed — not a single stray fish or lone tendril of seaweed to be found lurking in this forsaken abyss.

   Sem hums as he keeps his cranberry-glowing billhook close. “Who would have thought that I would find my home nestled deep in these watery depths? It is like walking through a blizzard back in Altum.”

   “As it is above, so it is below,” Kamo replies and traces a circle — a cycle — with her tip of her finger as a steady flow of salt and sand particles brush against the surface of her bubble-helmet, with the sight akin to watching sugar being sprinkled onto and falling off a crystal ball; a Glimpsing ritual she witnessed their captain perform one night.

   “But instead of the howling winds, all I hear is the rumble of the sea,” Sem says. “Then again, should a wind be strong enough, even that could turn into a rumble …”

   Kamo smiles and strokes the warrior on his red-caped shoulder. “Your homesickness will be gone soon, Sem. Just a little longer.”

   Dabir rolls his eyes as he holds his lantern high, the amber glow shedding coloured illumination upon their surroundings.

   “Apei, how's the arrow?” Chafa then asks and turns to her navigator.

   As her dancing shapes shed further radiance upon their surroundings, the mathemagician of wisteria purple glow simply points to, indeed, an arrow of light floating above her head; firmly fixed in the direction of the sunken library of which its lighthouse-gleam is obscured by the briny blizzard. 

   The captain nods and slips her own compass back into her light blue shawl, with Ipu's ears picking up the mad whirring of a magnetized needle coming from the copper instrument. She then turns to Dabir. “Let me borrow the Qamura again, Mister Dabir.”

   Perhaps the inventor is too invested and wary of his surroundings, but regardless, his wordless acquiescence to the captain's assertive request raises an eyebrow and a tilt of the head from Sem as the one-eyed device of metal and glass slips from an amber paw to a turquoise paw.

   “Watada?” Chafa then asks. “Please move closer to one of the trees along the way. Documentation purposes, naturally.”

   Little Gen once again presses his back into the warmth and safety of his abi’s sturdy chest as Watada, following Apei's floating arrow, trudges towards one of the trees right in the middle of their path. Thrice as tall as the Gorlek, the barkless and bone-pale trunk claws out of the swirling seabed with a noticeable lack of natural imperfections often seen in these towering plants; no ridges, no lumps, no cavities or holes where a bird might make its home — just a tall, white, cold and branching monolith at the bottom of the sea with an uncanny smoothness to the touch.

   “Is this even a tree?” Watada's knuckle raps at the trunk with a few knocks. It certainly feels solid. “It looks and feels so … un-treelike. Much too smooth, as if someone sanded every edge and inch … ”

   “Also, remind me again.” Dabir turns to Chafa as she raises the Qamura to her eye. “Didn't another expedition team come down here? They should have recorded some of these things, right?”

   Snap-click! Snap-click! Snap-click! Chafa snorts as she returns the device to Dabir and makes a mental note to develop the shots later. “Those lot of cowards didn't dare venture into this place. The only reason they gave was that ‘it felt unnatural and way too spooky’. Some archaeologists they are, hah!”

   “Maybe they were right to listen to their instincts…” Sem murmurs as his rabbit-ears twitch which way a sound comes, eyes alert and billhook at the ready as the wandering lights continue to drift in the distance with those heavy, rumbling stomps.

   “Can … can we go now? Please, Auntie Chacha…?” Gen squeaks, looking at the arrow that guides their way.

   “One more thing, I promise.” Chafa then turns to the Altumian. “Sem, be so kind and put that blade to good use. Cut one of the smaller branches. We will take it as a sample.”

   Sem looks at Chafa. Then he looks at Kamo, who shrugs, then nods. The red-caped warrior sighs, aims his gaze at the nearest branch and raises his billhook overhead to slice off a twig with a clean swipe. The severed sample drifts down like a falling leaf in wordless silence and eventually finds itself clutched in Chafa's open paw of muted sky blue glow, where, out of curiosity’s call, she turns it around and inspects the cross section where it was cut.

   The captain blinks. Furrows her brow. Leans in closer … then leans back. “Kamo.”

   The jade healer swims up to her with the tether of rope, like the others, still tied around her waist. “Yes?”

   Chafa swallows and nods to the cross section. “What … does that look like to you? Is it what I think it is … ?”

   Kamo leans closer to the severed branch. Raises a paw and grasps her chin out of intrigue, though her brow likewise tightens above her eyes and her stomach churns from within her normally unsqueamish belly. “Is … is that … ?”

   She cannot help but nod. Confirm. It is.

   Teeth. Three adult molars from a Mupo, to be precise; still firmly attached to the home of its jawbone.

   Or rather, what should be a jawbone, save for the fact that the pale, smooth bone is twisted beyond recognition; looking as if having been pulled and stretched as if it were mere sugar taffy — debased, malformed and hidden within the shape of a bone-pale “tree.”

   'This is no forest,' is the fur-prickling whisper that hisses in Kamo's mind. 'This … this is …' 

   “Kamo?” Sem places a paw on the healer's shoulder, his eyes focused entirely on her as the sample slips silently under Chafa's shawl. “What is the matter? What did you see?”

   Kamo opens her mouth but the captain holds out a trembling paw. Chafa shakes her head and gazes at the numerous “trees” that surround them — their pale, smooth and twisted bodies of bone fused, remade and amalgamated beyond what is natural. What is sane. 

   Their contorted “trunks” are now torsos. Their angled “branches” are now limbs. The many grasping — too many grasping— “twigs” that sprout from each “branch” are now … what? Jawbones? Teeth? Skulls? An unholy mixture of the three — or more?

   But before such thoughts could continue, Chafa moves her staff and presses the cloudy diamond against her forehead, her lips moving and pulling mana from the weave by means of an incantation.

   Thexifsanna … thexifsanna … 

   The consoling coos of a mother to a babe. A bandage blessed by the kiss of a loving father. The tender tucking of a sleeping chick under an eagle's wing.

   Dandelion seed-specks of calm blue light spread and bloom from Chafa's glowing gem, spinning into waltz that swirls and bobs around them and the crew (with a starry-eyed savant pointing to and calculating the sine wave-movement of these many swirling particles). While the dreadful thoughts remain, however, Kamo — along with everyone else — finds her heart and mind being cleansed and steeled with a coolness like that of mint oil against the abyssal tide of dread. She opens her mouth, takes a deep breath of Waterbreather-bubble-filtered air, and exhales with a satisfaction akin to after eating a large meal. She then swallows, nods, reaches up to the sturdy paw on her shoulder and squeezes it.

   Dabir, in a matter of minutes while likewise sensing his worries melt away from the rooms of his heart, watches Kamo lower her shoulders and for the fur of her coat to return to smoothness. This is the first time he has seen this robust spirit look so shaken.

   “Feeling better, dear?” Chafa asks as she lowers her staff and the specks fade away.

   Kamo softly nods and palms the strap of her medicine sling bag. “Much ... much better. Thank you.”

   “Let’s ... do our best to keep what we saw between us, shall we?” asks the captain, though she casts a knowing glance towards the warrior floating behind the healer. She then looks and raises a tart eyebrow at the rest of the crew. “What are you looking at? Are we all ready to proceed?”

   “Auntie Chacha?” Gen speaks out. “That … was really cool. I also feel much better, thank you so much!”

   The captain straightens her back, clears her throat and smiles as he floats and pats the young spirit on the head. “Such a sweet lad. It was my pleasure. Now, let's leave this … thing behind, shall we?”

   Dabir tilts his head at that and glances, as if seeing through the rippling fabric, straight at the captain's light blue shawl. 

   What did they see? She didn't call it a tree anymore.

   The inventor isn't sure. He can only shrug and continue along as Watada resumes pulling them forward and through the frigid depths, the ropes around their waists still sturdy and taut. The faithful arrow of wisteria glow continues to point the way, directionally locked so that no matter where they go, it shall always guide and point the way to the sunken library. 

   It almost seemed like a straight shot towards the tower save for some bobbing and weaving amongst the not-trees … all of which seem to grow more gnarled and twisted the deeper they go into this brine-fogged forest, with the corridors and spaces between the bleached and smooth trunks squeezing tighter and more tangled by the not-branches. It soon reaches the point where the ropes around their waists are untied, coiled and put away; a rainbow-array of light trails now weaving through the pale not-forest as the father and his son find themselves in the middle of the line.

   “How much longer?” Gen asks from within Watada's embrace, glancing up at the faithful purple arrow hanging above Sem’s head (currently leading the line) as it phases through brambles of whitewashed, knotted branches, still pointing library-bound. “Are we there yet?”

   Watada shakes his head as he looks around. Those wandering lights seem awfully close now, especially in these tighter quarters. “I don't know, abni, but so long as we continue, we will—”

   “Everyone, get down! Get down!”

   Sem's whispered order combined with the wave of an urgent paw ripples across the line as everyone drops to their knees and presses themselves against the nearest (a particularly large) not-tree — the reason for his warning made evident by heavy, rumbling, approaching stomping just up ahead. The grains of sand beneath their feet and the tangled web of bone-pale branches overhead tremble and shake with every laborious impact as salt snow-fine swirls in this narrow and crooked corridor of desolation.

   “Everyone, snuff your lights!” Chafa adds from behind Sem and spears the glowing gem of her staff into the sand. "Make yourselves small!"

   Sem's radiant billhook dissolves into wisps. Apei's arrow and light-giving shapes shrink into the size of marbles. Dabir's amber lantern is wrapped in his own length of fabric as the ghostly green glow grows brighter and brighter … with Gen curled up into the tightest ball among them from within Watada's firm embrace, though his curious eye still peeks through a sliver of a crack in the Gorlek's four arms, reflecting the sight in front of them. His little ears also perk up from within the airtight confines of his bubble-helmet. 

   What is that … scraping sound?

   A foot as large and thick as a Gorlek's comes around the corner and slams into the sand before them, kicking up a plume that is swept away by the swirling brine amidst rumbling tides. Its other foot takes another hulking step, with both limbs hoisting up a large and pot-bellied torso. From its right stony shoulder drags and slumps a long, rigid and lance-like arm as the tip, trailing in the sand behind it, scrapes a line across the monochrome seabed while the other stony arm eternally hoists a formidable wall of a shield made of a radiant rock. And sitting atop its shoulders is the stoic, salt-eroded and multi-horned head of a mouthless he-Mupo, with burning stark white dots on its flat face for eyes; beacons in the forgotten depths; its entire form constructed of grinding and glowing parts made from sunken, chipped and worn green crystal.

   “A crystal golem…!” marvels Dabir as takes up the rear.

   “So their brightest minds wove 'em outta light an’ stone…!” Ipu recites the song once more with wide eyes. “And the passin’ o’ the ages in the dark have drove ‘em mad…”

   “So best leave them be if we want our heads intact…” Kamo finishes the thought with a pensive and curling tail as the hulking crystal construct continues to trudge along on its aimless path, somehow able to weave, maneuver and avoid knocking into any of the not-trees despite its large and wieldy body and weaponry.

   As the golem moves away (with the team hugging the trunk of the tree as they move back to avoid its line of sight), a small and wistful blue current stirs in Gen's heart as he remembers a paragraph from The Travails of Mokk the Brave: Edition XV:

   “I feel sad for that salamander knight. Her mission to help her village, aided by yours truly, was complete at last. But now, after having tasted the glory of adventure, she has nothing left to do but endlessly wander this world. Unlike her, I am happy to have the endless mission of letting everyone know how brave I am!”

   The current of blue in Gen's heart is lightly reassured by a bloom of warmth. He is happy to have a purpose now: to somehow find a way to open the doors to the library. But once that is complete, after they have finished their exploration and completed their vacation in Hoa … all that would be left for him and his abi would be to return to Niwen. What will he do once he gets back home? Run away from Samur, Chayat and Teref again? Back to having everyone discourage him from doing anything, unlike this crew? To have the weight of being his son placed on his shoulders again?

   “I'm sorry, sir knight … but I don't wanna be like you. But at the same time … what can I do?” the little boy ponders.

   Gen is then jostled from his thoughts when Watada rises to his feet again. The golem has now wandered a ways away in this flat seabed, almost obscured by the network of not-trees and the briny fog … but in the distance, they can discern and observe as another glow; another crystal golem, wanders in a path destined for imminent collision with the first. But before they could meet, like asymptotic lines on a graph, or like trying to force two strong magnets of opposing polarities to touch each other, they appear to steer clear of each other as they brush against an unseen boundary or force set between them (“perhaps their glows?” Dabir thinks), and both are diverted away from each other to aimlessly wander in new directions.

   “They don't seem … alive, do they?” Ipu ponders aloud as he flicks his perked ears in all directions.

   “Mindless servants, having lost their purpose ... ” Chafa murmurs. “But we mustn't linger. We need to continue. Apei, the arrow?”

   Apei nods, brings her palms together and pulls them apart, causing the shrunken purple dots to expand and return to their former sizes and shapes; the sphere, the pyramid and the cube that all shed wisteria light; an arrow overhead to guide the way.

   They follow. They can do little else.

   Thicker and thicker does the thicket weave still, and if negotiating with the denser spaces and passageways weren't enough, the glows of the crystal golems appear brighter due to a growing number seemingly stationed around them as they move further. Ears are raised skyhigh at all times, fur stands on end like needles, eyes swivel this and that way like sentries and grips are tense and knuckle-white amidst the incessant shifting, grinding and thunderous stomping of the crystal golems; ever close, ever-present like the thundering rumble of the tides. At the same time, however…

   “Is that…?” Chafa gasps and raises a paw to her eyes as her tail and her light blue shawl billows and sways with the swirling waters, the salt of the brine funneling through currents that dance and weave amongst the not-trees.

   It is. Visible in the distance, raised high above the forsaken seabed and peeking through the tangled mess of not-tree branches is the lighthouse-gleam of the library's apex. They are almost there. 

   The captain, wide-eyed with excitement and relief, raises her ears and continues to move forward. “We are almost—!”

   When the water around them shifts, dyes and bleeds from a sunken green to a dark and intense pink; the colour of old, withering roses. 

   Chafa is yanked backwards by Sem's firm paw as he pulls her by the shawl. The sand beneath their feet begins to shake and tremble again as a set of heavy, grinding steps stomp move closer to their position. Gen's wide eyes dart all over the space as he hugs his plush toy tighter against his chest whilst nestled deep in Watada's arms.

   “Back, back, back!” Sem whisper-yells at the crew and waves a frantic arm as they all shimmy-swim backwards, just as a crystal golem, armed with lance and shield and now gleaming that dark pink shade, storms into the spot Chafa was in just now. Its hornless head depicting that of a she-Mupo grinds against its mineral neck as it swivels and looks around, its burning-beacon eyes unblinking and searching … but finding nothing. At which point, after standing upright again, it calms and cools as its core returns to the sunken green hue like all the other wandering golems in the area.

   “Chafa, for Seven’s sake…!” Sem hisses.

   “That was … pretty stupid, Cap'n…” Ipu grimly agrees.

   Chafa sighs and dusts imaginary sand off her shawl as the golem walks off on a different path. “Thank you for that. But we're almost there! See?”

   “Yes, yes, at least your severed head will make it to the doors,” Dabir scoffs and smirks as he flicks his tail and shrugs dramatically. “Now that would be a success, wouldn't it?”

   Gen, breathing shakily, leans back into Watada's chest as the adults start arguing, but it's a spat that lasts for a mere moment. Lingering and exchanging barbed words could mean death.

   The Gorlek tightens his embrace around his abni and tenses his grip on the shaft of his hammer. They are almost there. Almost to the library. Almost to safety.

   Relative safety. 

   In either case, they cannot fail now. Not after they've come so far. 

   With beating hearts pounding in their dry throats and with their ears on the swivel, the crew allows a moment to pass before taking the next steps on their crawl, all now relying on the shining light of the library to guide them deeper into the mad, pale thicket. Sem leads the way as they weave through the ever twisting not-trees, avoid the reaches of their claw-like branches and pause to crouch when other crystal golems lumber close … followed by exhaling and flagging a forward salute as the signal to take the next step. At one point, Dabir urges them to move faster when a golem starts to approach from behind — while yet another stomps towards them from the front.

   The two golems meet. An unseen force drives them apart like asymptomatic lines on a graph. They continue on their separate, lumbering paths … as the crew swims down from the branches of the not-tree they clambered onto. Someone like Watada would have had a harder time attempting to climb a tree back on dry land. 

   They continue as the neverending rumble of the depths seems to almost fade towards the backs of everyone's minds after hearing it for so long. They move, stop, wait, continue — rinse and repeat, and so on.

   “How long have we been down here?” Kamo murmurs after a while as the inner sides of her head start to fog up. “It feels like hours…”

   The slinking of a thin metal chain. The click of a copper latch unclasping. The even ticking of a small and delicate mechanism. 

   “You’re almost correct,” Chafa sighs as she checks her pocket watch. It clicks again when it is shut once more. “We are approaching one and a half hours. How is everyone doing?”

   “I think … we need a break …” Sem grumbles and pinches his brow as Apei also rubs her eyes. 

   “I'm tired …” Gen understandably complains and shifts awkwardly in Watada's arms.

   “But is there a spot to take a breather anywhere?” Kamo asks. “For even just a short rest?”

   Heavy heads and weary eyes glance at the dense foliage of pale trunks and branches around them, and an amber-glowing finger eventually points to a tight but large ring of not-trees, each separated from each other by gaps in between that would allow for outward observation. “That might do. You're all welcome, by the way,” Dabir grumbles.

   And so it is that the members of the crew slip through the gaps of the not-tree ring (with Watada having to clamber upwards and into it thanks to his larger size) for a well-deserved breather, where Ipu immediately slings off his pack and sets it on the sand in front of him. The briny fog still slips through the gaps and swirling salt and sand particles brush against their bubble-helmets; their multi-coloured glows even spilling out of the cracks from within … but it's still something, and a circle, though the simplest shape, is still ‘a very solid form’ in Apei's words.

   “Everyone, mind ye, hold from the top what yers truly is ‘bout to give ya, lest yer refreshments make a break fer it and swim back up top!” chuckles the azure sailor.

   “How in the Seven are you able to laugh and smile at a time and place like this, eh?” Kamo asks, though the corners of her lips also curve upwards ('at an angle more than 45 degrees,' quietly notes Apei). 

   “Someone's gotta make sure morale be highest as can be in any circumstance, lest the crew fall apart!” Ipu warmly smiles back before glancing at someone else. “Lest our bodies fall apart.”

   The jade healer follows and casts her gaze towards the red-caped warrior once more as Sem walks the interior circumference of the bone-pale ring they've made their temporary shelter; eyes spying through the gaps, rabbit-ears raised skyhigh within his bubble-helmet, the billhook painting wispy trails of cranberry-coloured light as it finds itself still in his firm grasp. The dull, throbbing aches in his arms and legs, after nearly two hours of continuous swimming, beg that he rest … but this is not the first time he has felt this way, nor is it the first time he acted against the demands of his body. A duty he has, and a duty he shall perform so long as he has strength to spend.

   Kamo just sighs with knowing in her breath. The healer then moves her body, belly-down, as close to the sand as possible, where she digs her hooves and paws into the seabed … and strains herself backwards whilst arching her spine. Her long, flat tail twitches with the cricks, pops and cracks of ligaments and joints, releasing tension that dissolves into the cold, briny water and stretching not too unlike that of a feline.

   Something is then held out to her as she sits upright on the sand. Its shell is smooth and dome-like in shape, it dully gleams from all their glows and its colours are the welcome mottled hues of tropical palm leaves and clusters of seaweed that wash up on sandy shores. A palm also holds it from the top, as Ipu himself said and now does, to prevent it from fleeing to the distant and unseen surface above.

   “Have ya ever had the pleasure o’ diggin' into a meai nut before?” Ipu grins at Kamo.

   “Can't say I have.” The healer takes the large nut with two careful paws and looks over its smooth, round surface. “Are we supposed to … crack it open?”

   “Not quite, lass. ‘Ere.” 

   Kamo is then handed a long, thin tube composed of some form of hardened reed. Apei and Chafa also help to pass out more of these meai nuts and reeds to everyone else.

   “Allow yers truly to demonstrate!” Ipu says and holds out his meai nut for all to see. “On the rounder side o’ these delectable beauties, try and feel ‘round fer a spot that seems ta give a lil’. S’often near the middle o’ the dome … like so.”

   Ipu's finger glides and circles around the top of the mottled meai nut with practiced ease. A small and circular spot on the shell then seems to dip under his glowing digit. That's when he raises the reed, places his thumb on one end of the tube and turns it into a straw as he plunges it into the divot.

   “And ya needn't worry ‘bout seawater gettin’ into yer straws or meai nuts, ‘cause … somethin’, somethin’ … ” Ipu rolls his paw as he paraphrases whilst also notably giving the nut a vigorous shake. “The special make o’ the reeds just pushes the water out an’ keeps the nut airtight. So don'tcha worry and just take a sip!”

   And sip Ipu does as he pushes the straw through his unbreakable bubble-helmet, hollows his cheeks as he sucks on the straw and licks his fangs and lips. “Mm, mmh, de-lish! Come on, everyone, give it a try!”

   Everyone glances at each other before shrugging and starting to follow suit, with Watada helping little Gen locate the divot, holding the shell in a firm grip and watching as the young yellow spirit plunges the straw into the soft spot. And after giving it a shake as Ipu did, Gen then leans forward and takes a sip…

   As an explosion of sweetness flings his wiggling ears upwards within the confines of his bubble helmet. What then follows is a wave of fizziness that dances and prickles all over his tongue as a multitude of flavours mingle across his taste buds; notes of juicy watermelon and honeydew, sweet and tart blueberries and raspberries, creamy strawberry milk.

   Something then travels up the length of the straw and drops itself into Gen's mouth. And when the little boy chews, his eyes positively sparkle as he munches on a chunky mixture of things that taste like mango jelly, nata de coco and tapioca balls. It's like a fruit punch party in a single meai nut!

   “Pretty good, huh?” Ipu grins as he watches delight spread across the faces of his comrades, with Apei especially doing a happy wiggle-dance as she sips and chews on her food and drink whilst a glowing series of numbers dance around her.

   “Sugar and sweet things always help make things a little better don't they?” Kamo chuckles as she watches Apei satisfy her sweet tooth. 

   ‘As sweet as getting a full, non-decimal number from a long equation!’ Apei agrees with an eager nod.

   The effect of the meai nuts are evident. The sugary barrage of fruity flavours soothe their hearts and focus their minds on something else; something delightful, for even just a fleeting moment in this forsaken and sunless place. Hope and light are often found in the most unexpected of places.

   “Sem.”

   A warm paw of jade glow comes to rest on his shoulder. When the red-caped warrior turns his gaze to look, he is presented with a sweet meai nut and an even sweeter smile from Kamo.

   “Remember what we discussed. Please, take a break,” the healer gently urges before pulling him along.

   He simply follows and does as she says.

   The moment of peace soon comes to a close when the sound of hollow sucking fills their ears. The last drops of the juice are drunk and the final bits of fruity goodness are eaten, with Gen trilling a disappointed coo once the meai nuts are all finished.

   “Everyone had a good break?” Ipu smiles and looks around.

   Chafa sighs and rests her back against one of the trunks in the space. “Thank you, Ipu. You always have a good sense of when people need to rest, don't you? We really needed this."

   A couple of aye's resound from the crew. Ipu just bows his head in modesty.

   “Back in Friol, restin’ is one o’ the things we Friolans do best!” the azure sailor proudly chuckles as memories bubble to the surface. “Just layin’ in a hammock, baskin’ in the sun with a belly full o’ fruit and … plannin’ the next bunch o’ pranks to pull on me siblin’s … ”

The Friolan clears his throat as he gazes at the nut in his paws. “O’ course, I … haven't pulled many pranks as o’ late. Yers truly has outgrown ‘em, and pranks ain't exactly the best love language outside o’ good ol' Friol, as I've come to learn, heh.”

   “How long has it been since you went back to Friol?” Chafa then ponders aloud as she casts her gaze towards him. “And not just for trade or for rest. As in, actually speaking and spending time with your brothers and sisters; speaking with the Spirit Palm?”

   All eyes turn to Ipu. A sudden and unexpectedly expectant spotlight.

   “Well, it … uh ... ” the sailor rubs the back of his neck as he locks eyes with Chafa. “I s’pose it's been —  ”

   “A good couple of years, hasn't it?” the captain answers for him, slightly leaning forward. “A couple of happy years serving this dusty old captain, I hope?”

   Ipu's shoulders then relax a little as he then chuckles out a grin and a thumbs up. “Heh, yep! A couple o’ happy years servin’ ye, Cap'n.”

   Dabir is the one to raise an eyebrow at Ipu and Chafa, noting how one was quick to steer the conversation whilst the other happily followed … but he chooses to say nothing. It's not his business.

   He instead reaches out his paws to everyone. “Ladies and gents, if you would all be so kind as to hand over your nuts to me.”

   “What do you need them for?” Sem squints and tilts his head as Ipu and Gen quietly snort.

   To which the amber inventor rolls his eyes and bull-horned head. “Does everything I do warrant suspicion? I just wanna keep them and maybe find a use for them. Maybe even use them as ammo for your Bashing. You're welcome that I do the thinking for you so you can keep your pretty head … pretty.”

   “Sem's head is pretty, huh…?” Kamo amusedly hums.

   “Pretty empty, yeah!” Dabir sneers. “Full of hot air, one might say.”

   The red-caped warrior sneers back as he tosses the nut towards Dabir. “Is that what comes out of your mouth instead of where the sun doesn't shine?”

   Dabir catches the hollow projectile with a smug smile and an overhead paw as he begins to collect the other nuts. “Sorry, what was that? Couldn't hear you with the billhook lodged so far up your — ”

   “Sandy fart,” Sem growls with bared fangs.

   “Sopping mophead.”

   “Prideful prick.”

   “Uneven fangs.”

   Chafa, Ipu, Kamo and Watada cover their mouths and divert their gazes elsewhere as Altum's poster pup and Kainar’s greatest inventor bicker and exchange names, their paws doing quite well to hide the smiles behind them. Apei also quietly nods as she adjusts her scarf with a slight smile. Good. This set of numbers and shapes is behaving as they should. It means everyone is in relatively high spirits.

   'Heh.' Apei’s smile curves wider by two degrees. 'Ipu would laugh at that. ‘High spirits.’'

   “Eyy, you made a joke!” the azure sailor then cheers.

   The starry-eyed savant blinks before gazing upwards. Indeed, the words ‘high spirits’ are written above her head.

   “A pun, no less!” Ipu chuckles and pats the little purple mathemagician on the shoulder. “Fer that, remind me to give ya a free slice o’ me coconut milk pie when we get back on the ship.”

   The two glowing words above her head then swirl and form a single one as she claps. ‘Yippee!’

   The nuts do get collected eventually and after everyone does some much-needed cat stretches, the journey ahead beckons for them to continue. The reflected sunlight radiating from the library's needle-apex still shines through the branches of the not-trees; calling to them with the promise of knowledge and salvation as the wandering, sunken and forsaken crystal golems seem … a little daunting, with sugar in their systems and a (general) sense of unity.

   “Hey.” Sem gently calls Kamo as they swim out of the ring of not-trees.

   The jade healer turns to look back and smile at him. “Yes, Bajin?”

   The warrior returns the smile, though his is lightly dusted by a faint cranberry blush. “Thank you for … remembering to remind me. To take a break.”

   Kamo then takes his paws. Her eyes look into his. Her long, flat tail designed for swimming, something Noitoners are best known for, then propels her a little closer … so that she may tenderly nose against the side of his temple, right under left side of Sem's crown-like horn. Their bubble-helmets, of course, press and merge into a larger one so that they may touch each other this way.

   “So long as you repay me for … how many times have I saved your life by now?” Kamo chuckles as she leans back and parts their bubble into two once more.

   Sem squeezes her paws as glows of sky cerulean, ocean azure and dawning marigold drift past them. “Once, I think,” is his breathless answer. “You cured me of toxins from the flower that I should not have touched, back in Noiton.”

   “Ah, yeah, the ebullibloom! That already feels so long ago, no?” The jade healer chuckles again. “But I suppose, then, I'll have to stick by your side until you repay me for that. But we don't know the future, so perhaps I'll save your life a few more times. A perfectly good excuse for you to stay with me, hmm?”

   With a chest warmed by the curvature of her fanged smile, the warrior could only nod as his fluffy and wolfish tail happily swishes in the water. “I suppose so, Myat. But … of course, that won't be the only reason, will it?”

   “Of course not, you silly cranberry. Now, come on, I can feel Dabir burning holes through the backs of our skulls.”

   The amber inventor had indeed lingered a little behind the others as he kept watch over the two, his arms crossed and tail flicking in impatient irritation. Once Sem and Kamo begin to move, though, he begins to swim and follow the others … gazing at Ipu and Chafa as thoughts swirl in his mind like the brine fog and the neverending rumble of the abyss that fills his ears.

   Those two are hiding something. They have to be. But what, exactly?

   Whatever it is, no matter how interesting it might seem, Dabir decides that it's not important to the quest at hand. He continues to swim as he makes sure he places a firm grip on the pyramidal lantern attached to his sash-garment, his crossbow-gauntlet loaded and his ears raised and alert as they venture deeper; closer to the tower.

   They reassume the marching order they formed at the beginning with Sem taking the lead and Dabir taking up the rear. Like a worm inching through an enclave of birds, so too is their crawl just as arduous and slow with ears strained, muscles and knuckles tensed, stops and pauses frequent as they press their backs and sides against the many smooth pale trunks around them. Many a time do their eyes reflect the glow of a wandering crystal construct as it lumbers past them completely unawares, and many are the breaths both held in the hearts in their throats and exhaled with the thundering of the blood in their ears.

   Thanks to their break, they seem more alert than ever and able to evade and elude the mad golems, and the further they go, the pale thicket seems to thin and grow sparser with Sem even thinking he can spy the end of the not-treeline a barren field of seabed leading straight to the library. But just as he voices this —

   “Up ahead!” whisper-barks Sem as he halts and drops low. 

   An accursed green glow approaches from the front along with heavy steps and the scraping of a lance across the sand.

   “And back!” Dabir hisses from behind as a second sunken radiance stomps towards them. Another damn pincer!

   All glance at each other. All heads nod. They know what to do. They've done it before.

   ….Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. 

   The sand of the seabed shifts with every grinding, mechanical and laborious step. The branches of the not-tree that hold them up tremble and quake with each monotonous impact. The horns of a crystal he-Mupo golem brush against the lower rung of twigs as sand and salt billow around them all.

   Breaths are held captive in their throats. Hearts pound in their ears. The rumble, the incessant and pervading rumble of the sea surrounds their heads as if they were in the middle of a millstone. Watada, with Gen curled up tight in his arms, spreads his arms and his weight like that of a spider whilst praying that the branches currently holding him not fail them.

   Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

   Thud.

   The he-Mupo below meets with a she-Mupo … and for some odd reason, instead of brushing each other aside, they seem to linger and gaze at each other with the expressionless pinpricks of light that act in place of eyes on their smooth, moon-like faces. 

   Chafa's hooves find firm footing on the shaft of her staff after resting it across two branches in a V-shape; Apei doing something similar: creating and stepping on a rectangular platform of light laid across another pair of branches. Dabir, meanwhile, presses his back against the trunk as he stands on a sturdy branch, with Sem crouching on another steadfast limb of the not-tree and Ipu hanging upside-down from an even higher branch.

   Kamo, however, was the last to climb up after making sure everyone else had gotten and latched onto a branch. In the midst of her panicked scrabbling and clawing scratch marks onto the smooth pale branches, the Noitoner had chosen a limb a little too thin for comfort as she hugs it from its flimsy underside.

   All can only watch in stifled silence as the branch holding their healer starts to bend and dip — right above the two hulking golems as they continue their strange and silent stare-off in the midst of the fog.

   Sem's body screams. It yells at him to move. To get to her. To bring her to safety. But his added weight would most certainly snap the branch in two and bring everyone else in danger. The warrior can only watch, crouched on his own branch, eyes wide and muscles tensed … and pray all goes well.

   Kamo's bulky medicine bag was forgotten on the climb. With the canvas shoulder strap draped across her torso; sandwiched between her chest and the flimsy branch, the bag containing all her potions, bottles and ingredients now hangs just mere inches above the tip of the he-Mupo’s horns at an awkward angle. Awkward enough for an errant test tube to start slipping out from the flap. Kamo's shaky breaths amplify tenfold within the confines of her bubble-helmet as she watches the thumb of glass mercilessly inch its way out of her bag.

   But at the very last moment, a small flat triangle of purple glow glides itself like a bird to a stop below the test tube, preventing it from slipping further. Kamo glances up and grins wide at the mathemagician responsible, who simply looks back at her with her starry eyes as her rectangular platform is missing one of its corners.

   Apei cuts off another corner which turns her platform into a trapezoid. The new triangle now floats above her fingertip before she flings her arm out and away from their not-tree, sending it twirling through the water, through the swirling brine fog and nailing itself onto another nearby trunk with a muffled yet noticeable thunk.

   It is just enough to break the two crystal golems out of their anomalous stupor, who both turn their heads towards the source of the sound. They raise their feet in unison. A sigh of relief quietly slips out of Kamo's mouth.

   But the golems bring both their feet down in unison.

   THUD.

   The sand trembles. The branches shake. Hearts leap to their throats.

   Snap. Like a wishbone broken in twain.

   The tension in Kamo's branch becomes nonexistent. Cool, briny currents caress the healer's back as she sinks, wide-eyed, mouth frozen half-open in surprise, right in the middle of the two mad golems.

   What follows is the mechanical grinding of rock. The panicked shouts and bellows of the crew. The slowing of time as the healer of jade glow reaches heavenwards. The sharp intake of shallow breath.

   As throughout the whole forest, the sunken green glow of every brine-shrouded golem bleeds into the hue of old and withering roses.

Chapter Text

An unconscious moki was carried into Kamo's tent atop a stretcher one rainy afternoon. A large pair of straight, leafless and jungle-damp branches had lanced themselves right through his abdomen and left breast. Breath, by some Cycle's miracle, still graces his heaving lungs; every exhale excruciating, ragged, shallow and wet. But this blessing would not last for long, especially with the liters of blood gushing onto the foreign wood, which also seeps into and weeps across the length of his rain-damp coat and further stains the rough canvas of the stretcher.

   “Both of you, set him down, lie him on his side,” are Kamo’s concise directions to the paramedic pair as her steady paw lowers a steaming mug of herbal tea onto a wooden table, her voice gentle yet practiced — methodical — if not detached from years of servitude as a stalwart witness to blood, ear-piercing agony and all manners of malady brought into the fold of her healing tent. Despite this, her eyes still harbour the uncanny glint of hunger that partly lends to her name as the Woundeater.

   Blood. Illness. Death. Her three closest, bosom friends. She likes to think of them as red, yellow and blue in colour, respectively.

   She had also briefly wondered if she would have pursued medicine and healing if her senses, wired the way they were, did not bring about any flavours whilst weaving flesh, mending bone and siphoning sickness. She likes to think she would have. It would make her irreplaceable. An exception.

   Something that her sister is not.

   The spirit paramedics of similar jade glow obey her orders, set the stretcher down on a clean and natural stone table (of which the tent was built around) and turn the groaning moki over onto his with slow and careful paws. Kamo, with an absentminded song from a recent festival spilling from her lips, struts over to the other side of her operating table with a casual air akin to one perusing the options of a buffet. She then leans in and inspects the exit points of the injury, noting that the bloodsoaked branches piercing through his back were sliced clean through as if by a rather sharp blade. Her suspicions are confirmed when one of the spirits starts talking.

   “Ikal was in the area and stumbled across this poor guy,” sighs the he-spirit. “Thank the Cycles that his time is not up yet, and for the Mangrove for sending your sister, no?”

   To which Kamo lifts her gaze from the fur-coated mound of blood and injury, the colour of hope tinging her eyes as she gazes out towards the rainfall outside her tent, seeing the flickering glows of the village lanterns and the candlelit windows of stilt houses.

   “ … Is she here?” is the first question she asks during this check-up.

   But none of the glows belong to her younger sister. Because of course. How long has it been since they saw each other? Since Ikal was chosen? 

   Since the Mangrove took her away from —

   “U-um … Kamo, miss…” urges the other spirit as she nods down. “The … the patient … ?”

   Right. She has a job to do. The thought of not having seen her dear sister in so long; the unseen weight of it, is momentarily pushed aside from her heart. Kamo once again lowers her calm gaze towards the moki, his blood now running down the sides of the stone table where the crimson rivulets are swallowed by the soil and grass.

   “How did this happen?” Kamo asks. Her second question.

   “I-Ikal wasn't sure, but she thinks he must have fallen from … from a height.” The she-spirit swallows. “Maybe … maybe he was swinging from a branch but … didn't catch the next one.”

   “Mmm.” Kamo purses her lips and finally rubs her paws. “Alright. You two, each grab a branch; I will hold him down. When I count to three, and when I say three, that's when you pull as hard as you can.”

   The he-spirit’s eyes grow wide. “Won't … won't it be too much? Won't he asphyxiate?”

   As he says that, the moki starts to stir and groan atop the stretcher. His long, furry and roughed-up tail also starts to curl, shift and twitch as the adrenaline pumping through his veins begins to dwindle.

   “He will wake and feel every bit of it if you don't do as I say right now,” Kamo gently yet firmly urges with her tender, eerie smile. “And plus, I haven't eaten lunch yet, and I'm hungry. So grab a branch, now.”

   Left with no choice (and also not in want of staying with their eccentric sibling for longer than necessary…), the two paramedics each wrap their firm palms around a branch. Kamo holds her paws out, open and ready to perform her duty — fingers like jaws, claws like fangs; her belly hungry to savour what is to come.

   One.

   Two.

   Three.

   A sanguine song of wet, ripping flesh and tearing fat and sinew emanate from the grassy ground. Mud-caked hooves dig into the ground in search of a better foothold, sculpting miniature mountains of fertile earth from the grassy rainforest floor. Inch by agonizing inch, the branches are pulled and soon slide out of the moki’s torso with a gut-churning squelch, leaving gaping wounds that weep further crimson onto the stretcher, the stone and the thirsty ground.

   But not for long. Wispy tendrils of jade-hued light swirl and reach outwards from Kamo's steady paws, tenderly wrapping around the moki's punctured torso and soon weaving the soft and cloudy swaddle of a moth's cocoon. 

   Which is the cue for her siblings to look away.

   Both the he- and the she-spirit turn and avert their eyes as a shivering yet smiling Woundeater doubles over on her quaking feet before the stirring moki, both of the paramedics holding paws to their lowered ears; shutting them off from the world as a second song of squelches, rips and tears emanate from the healer's abdomen and left breast. 

   “Whatever hand the world may giveth, shalt another hand eventually taketh away,” quoth a line from the Texts.

   How true those words are. She lives them every day.

   White-hot agony claws and rakes her torso apart. Gut-deep nausea brands and churns the innards that throb against her aching ribcage. Dizziness pounds and vertigo fire at every neuron in her brain. The world around and the people before her spin, swirl and blend in a synesthetic kaleidoscope … as the sweetness of strawberries mixed with viscous cough medicine rends across her tongue; the flavor as intense as drinking from a bowl of herbal and saccharine concentrate, burns her throat, sets ablaze every nerve and fibre in her body and raises every radiant strand of fur along her jade-hued coat. His pain is her pain now, and how scrumptious it is.

   Ah … how delightful. Thank you for the meal, dear moki.

   A purring sigh of satisfaction shudders itself out of Kamo’s lips as she moves her tail to grace soothing strokes upon the moki's damp forehead. She lowers her trembling shoulders, rolls her head and cricks her neck, licks her lips and fangs as her tongue revels in all of the interesting flavours, its intensities, its nuances. All she has to do now is wait for the pain to fade as her healing factor kicks in, like it always has.

   … But it doesn't.

   The strawberry-flavoured agony continues to scream across her body. The wounds remain.

   Never having tasted pain for extended periods of time, Kamo shifts her feet on the grassy ground in discomfort. Strawberries and cough syrup continue to sear and rake into the folds of her throat, retching out a ragged cough from the depths of her lungs and chest. 

   This shouldn't be happening.

   What … what is happening … ?

    The healer opens her eyes. She furtively glances down. A choked gasp heaves itself from her pain-stifled mouth.

   Two thick, jungle-damp branches have lanced straight through her torso. Flecks of jade light — her light — begin to drift and bleed out of the entry points in her chest. Another ragged cough tears itself from her burning throat.

   H-how … ?

   A bloodcurdling scream rips from the she-spirit’s mouth. Dirt, grass and frightened fur fling skyward as the he-spirit falls onto his rear, kicks and scrambles back to his feet. He seizes his fellow paramedic by the shoulder, and soon, a pair of jade blurs dash out of the tent and back into the rain, long before Kamo could choke a word out; her vocal chords paralyzed and strangled by asphyxia, strawberries and cough syrup.

   A paw then rises from the stretcher and seizes her wrist. 

   But it's not the moki anymore. 

   Hot and torturous tears scald their way out of Kamo's eyes as the new paw, now glowing a similar hue to her own, connects to a lithe arm; a graceful neck; a bright head and a youthful pair of eyes she has not seen in years.

   “Atempuam,” Ikal addresses Kamo from within the cocoon with a deathly calm.

   Atempuam. ‘Older sister.’

   Why … ?

   “Why?” Ikal seems to echo yet ask back with a voice as gentle yet resilient as spider’s silk. She tilts her head with long and lowered ears, as is her habit whenever she does not understand something. “Shouldn't it be olders before youngers, Kamkam?”

   The rain outside then begins to slow. 

   Silvery sheets composed of myriad droplets linger, freeze and hover in the humid rainforest air, the rippling and translucent spheres like diamonds suspended by nothing … before the flow reverses and the rain precipitates skywards. 

   The branches in her chest frost over and crystallize into lances of glimmering green rock. Her wrist tries to pull away but the grip of her nenempuam is stronger. She's always been stronger.

   Strawberries and cough syrup. Rotten strawberries and sickly sweet cough syrup. More and more jade flecks bleed and drift into the air from her mortal wounds like a current of brine in the sea. 

   Kamo has tasted all of this before, except … 

   Wait ... Ikal’s wounds never tasted like —

   “Why did you get to have a longer Cycle than me?” Ikal interrupts. Her fingers further tighten like a vice around Kamo’s captive wrist, with the younger sister's claws digging into the older’s flesh as a deep, bassy and earth-shaking rumble fills the air and rocks the earth. “Why do you get to walk this world longer than me? Why, atempuam?”

   Ikal … I’m sorry, I — !

   “Didn't you promise we'd be together for as long we lived, atempuam? Why did you lie?”

   Strawberries, cough syrup. Asphyxia, agony. It all grips, lumps and rakes at her throat and body from inside; from the crown of her head to the lowest clefts of her hooves; a hive of hatching insects that seek the light and warmth of day — all burrowing, churning and feasting outwards from every inch of her writhing body.

   But … but you live on! In the waves of the sea, the clouds in the sky, the people around me! The Texts say so —

   “Texts this, Texts that. Do you genuinely put faith in all that, Kamkam?”

  A river swells and rises from outside. A torrent of silt, water and sand then floods into the humble healing tent, shakes its poles and beams, extinguishes the central flame and plunges all into a chilling darkness. The unforgiving tide rises to their chest, crawls up to their necks, and bites at their chins. 

   The world rises around them; the abyss swallows them. The tent is lifted and swept away to reveal the absence of the lush jungle canopy; an endless, rippling expanse of water suspended above their heads with a dense brine-fog as thick as gauze.

   Ikal opens her mouth again. She and the cocoon start to dissolve into nothingness. The rotten waves of strawberries and cough syrup, the earthshaking cacophony and the burning agony gripping her body all crash into a deafening deluge in Kamo's strangled throat, ravaged ears and lead-heavy yet hollowed, screaming heart.

   Then all else falls to silence as if plunged into frigid water once again.

   Save for her voice.

   “Or do you cope by grasping for things that simply are not there?”

   Ika — !

Chapter Text

“Ika-cckk—!”

   A blotch of potion crimson splatters against the translucent inner face of Kamo's bubble-helmet; the same runny liquid — a fluid with the flavour of strawberries drenched in sticky cough syrup — bleeds from the corners of her mouth as a sharp ringing pierces her eardrums, whilst a dull glow of recognition sparks in her hazy brain and the base of her skull inwardly pounds with the thunderous thrums of her desperate, gasping heart.

   “You wasted … a potion … on me?” Kamo wheezes between rasping coughs and ragged breaths, each torturous inhale and exhale of filtered air as heavy as blocks of lead slamming onto her mangled chest. The two abdominal wounds in her torso, each a hole as wide as a dinner plate, now glow a bright jade light as her healing factor kicks in to knit, weave and close shut the mending flesh.

   “Lassie, I didn't know what else ta do … !” pleads the muffled voice of a warm azure glow. Said glow seems to hold her tight to their chest in a bridal carry.

   She shakes. She trembles. She … no.

   She is being shaken; being rocked. Motion. They're moving. Fast. Posthaste, even.

   As the fuzzy static clears from her mind, Kamo has to wonder: “Why are we moving so fast…?” She then tilts her lolling head to the side in search of an explanation …

   Where two stark pairs of pinprick eyes shine blindingly in their direction as a pair of dark pink Mupo golems give unstoppable, stomping chase with their crystal lances as thick as pillars.

   “Ah. Understandable.”

   The slumbering bone-pale forest at the bottom of the Hoan Sea has roused to life in a silent yet oppressive rage. The sunken green glows of the mad, wandering golems have turned into the klaxon shade of old and withered roses. The lights of the crystalline constructs now flicker and weave through the dense thickets of the smooth, pallid not-trees with an agility and speed horrific and uncanny for their large and lumbering forms — their numbers, worst of all, closing in from all directions like the petals of a carnivorous plant having sensed its panicked prey; a shrinking aperture with the lone and forsaken library-tower at its center, where refuge lies.

   Salvation in the bloodshot eye of a sunken, silent storm.

   “To the library!” Dabir yells as his amber paws and legs desperately paddle and kick through the waters and the swirling briny fog, the flame in his pyramidal lantern flickering erratically. “Faster, faster!!”

   “Do you think we're not trying!?” growls an illuminated Watada after having scooped and placed Apei and Chafa atop his burly shoulders. Little Gen is a shivering ball of gold in the bosom embrace of his abi’s lower pair of arms, with the giant builder weaving through the thinning thicket of not-trees at a pace a bit too slow for comfort in this chase. The classic Gorlek situation: a strong and sturdy body in exchange for speed and agility — worsened by the wading through the murky medium of frigid seawater.

   The world then opens up before them as they dash out and away from the break of the pallid treeline. The last of the swirling murky brine-fog reaches out for the crew with feeble tendrils as they all, finally, swim past the last of the pale not-trees and enter a barren expanse of sand and strange rocks. The distant ‘sky’ of the sea’s rippling surface glimmers and gleams far above their heads, and with the forest now behind them, a clear view of the library in the distance with all its accursed geometry and windows is afforded to them.

   ‘2. 3. 5. 7. 11. 13 … !’ 

   Apei’s soothing prime numbers appear and rise from the top of her head like frothing bubbles. Her little purple paws keep a tight grasp on the ash-coloured locks of Watada’s dense and lion-like mane from within the Gorlek's bubble-helmet, her wisteria body and her orchid scarf rocking and fluttering as the builder hurriedly slogs through the opposition of water and sand. The starry gaze of the mathematician — always seeing something most cannot — firmly fixes itself upon the library's radiant needle-apex as the beads in the abacus of her gifted mind click and clack in a cerebral staccato of calculation.

   “Apei!” Chafa barks from Watada's left shoulder. The sky-blue captain also casts a look to the left and sees more withered-rose-glows approaching from the side. Not good, not good … ! “How far away are we!” 

   ‘The angle of the sunlight hitting the apex; the approximate height of the tower; the hypotenuse … therefore the base is … yes!’

   Apei extends a finger, quickly scribes a number in the water and flings it ahead of the crew as they flee. The radiant number of wisteria glow stays in front and follows them like a guiding star, where she then claps her paws together before pulling them apart; a gesture of expansion that enlarges the glowing digits so that all may see the shining measurement; a promise and a motivation.

   630 m … 620 m … 610 m … 

   Six hundred meters to sanctuary. 

   “Lassie, can ye stand — er, swim, now?” now asks the warm blue glow carrying Kamo, who is decisively revealed to be Ipu once the fog in her vision clears and the thunderous thrum of her heartbeat dies down to a manageable throb. 

   The healer sighs, nods slightly and rubs her chest and belly as she is briskly let down from the sailor's sturdy hold. After sensing the absence of any grievous injuries that would allow someone to see straight through her, Kamo soon kicks her hooves through the water with the rest of the crew as her long, flat tail and jade trails of light soon follow.

   But she then looks around as her bat-like ears flop inside her bubble-helmet. Someone is missing. “Where’s Sem?” she shouts.

   As if on cue, a burst of red light flares forth from Watada's back. The amalgamated head of blades that make up the warrior's billhook arcs and swings in clear view, leaving trails of cranberry light that pierce the darkness as Sem summons his weapon. Said head of blades then arcs in a downward cleave. It collides with a golem's lance mid-thrust. Deflects it to the side and prevents hardened crystal from plunging into the Gorlek's side.

   No snarls, no growls, not even a single grunt; not a single sign that would betray exertion slips from the nonexistent mouth of the hulking Mupo golem in its failed attack. It only persists in raising rocky foot after rocky foot in its mindless chase across the depths, its blinding pinprick eyes unblinking, unwavering, unrelenting; its stomps joining the merciless myriad that fills the bottom of the rumbling sea. This bloodshot aperture of tide-worn sentinels closes and circles tighter in on this radiant rainbow of a motley crew, promising only brutal death by jaws composed of crystal lances forged and shaped from a forgotten age.

   “I could use some assistance!” Sem yells as his paw keeps a tight grasp and bunch on the back of Watada's shirt.

   Ipu then vanishes from Kamo's side in an ethereal whirl of glowing azure wisps. He warps next to Sem in another wispy burst. Clings onto Watada's shirt. Swings his cast iron skillet and deflects another thrust from the second Mupo golem as sparks fly and instantly fizzle into nothingness.

   “Gotcha, brother!” Ipu grunts and flashes a daring, fanged grin. “Hope ye don't mind the added weight, Wats!”

   “So long as you're pulling said weight!” Watada grunts and continues charging ahead, clearly unaffected by the load of all five passengers; Dabir’s amber glow and Kamo's rainforest shine keeping the pace ahead of him, while Apei's glowing measurement continues to lead and light the way, ticking downwards as they all kick and dash though the water.

   530 m … 520 m … 510 m … 

   Five hundred meters to sanctuary. The shining tip of the approaching tower, as viewed from this angle, almost looks poised to pierce and ascend through the rippling ceiling of the surface above.

   “I’m going to try something!” Chafa announces before she spins around on her seat atop Watada’s left shoulder, coils her wiry tail tight around the circumference of the Gorlek’s arm and raises her radiant staff above her head. The dodecahedral diamond atop the rune-riddled shaft, the wood itself of once a branch that fell from the Nibellian Spirit Tree, shines a brilliant sky blue that momentarily dispels a sphere of the darkness the depths of the sea.

   Eshduconna perfexima!

   Heatless bright blue flames suddenly spark and flare to life, enveloping the entire crew and licking upwards from the heels of their feet and to the tips of their ears. It lasts for only a moment before the flickering sky-coloured tongues phase out of their bodies and take shape; with limbs and tails swimming and kicking in a different direction; bodies and forms duplicated in perfect, holographic likeness.

   “Come on, come on … please be stupid enough, please be stupid enough … !” Chafa begs in earnest as the fabric of her light blue shawl ripples in the water, the grip of her tail tight as she rocks and bobs atop Watada's shaking shoulder.

   But as the flickering decoys of holographic flame continue to swim and kick in another direction through the strange-looking rocks, the two pink golems giving chase still barrel in their direction, either unconvinced or undistracted by the effort. 

   Worse still, a third golem leaps into the fray from the side. One of the strange rocks is pulverized into dust as it lands on its crystalline feet and starts giving chase, its stomps as thunderous and lance as bloodthirsty as the first two. 

   The destruction of that rock draws the eye of the captain, who now spies some odd features about the field they swim through. As they dash past another scattering of these stones in a frantic paddle of arms and kicking legs, she can see that some of them are flat and upright, varying between horizontal and vertical, with evenly-spaced holes cut into them. It's almost as if they are …

   “Are these … windows?” asks the inquisitive voice in Chafa’s mind. “If so, these must be … ”

   But the historian shakes her head. That's not important right now. “Guess they're not so daft after all!” Chafa declares and slices the water with her paw, cancelling the incantation and extinguishing their flickering duplicates. 

   That's when Apei swivels around on Watada's shoulder and wraps her two fluffy tails around his bicep. She claps her paws together. Extends her thumbs and pointer fingers. Brings them together to form the shape of a rectangle, which turns into a peephole …

   And in its negative space, births an wisteria spark that illuminates its boundaries.

   ‘10 x 5 m!’

   A radiant wall of wisteria light erupts and crystallizes into being between the crew and the constructs — a dividing tactic neither of the three golems saw coming as they all collide headfirst into the structure and stiffly stagger backwards as if stunned.

  “BO-BO-BONGGG!” Ipu laughs as he mimics the sound of impact. “Well, that's sure ta put some distance, haha-hahh!”

   Sem, meanwhile, leans to the side and steals a glance at the path ahead. All he can see aside from the library looming from up ahead, aside from Apei’s measurement (470 m … 460 m …) as well as Dabir and Kamo dash-paddling towards it, is the oppressive, collective withered pink glow of the mouthless and ruthless golem army and how they're all getting brighter; running out from all sides of the sunken bone-pale thicket; their unified charge from all directions shaking the seabed their many unblinking pairs of ‘eyes’ that seem to pierce at his core.

    Sem tightens his grip on the back of Watada's shirt as his heart, thundering against the cradle of his ribcage, steels itself. “We … we must hurry!”

   “Well thanks, Captain Obvious!” Dabir retorts from ahead. “How very insightful of you!”

   The red-caped warrior growls from behind Watada’s back. “You know, for someone who claims to be all brave and glorious, I fail to see you contributing anything of note right now!” 

   “Are you two — ” Watada leaps over another scattering of rocks and lands with a muffled thump as he continues running. “ — seriously fighting right now?!”

   “My mind is the most precious thing here worth preserving!” is the amber Kainari’s reply, even throwing in a smirk most dry for good measure; an extra inch further under the Altumian’s skin. “It's called a long-term investment, Sem! Something you probably don't understand!”

   Sem snarls and bares his fangs, wishing he could grab Dabir by the horns and give him a shake that would mush his brain. “I swear, once we get inside, I am going to invent a new way to skin an amber-bellied cat!”

   As this little tiff between the two former tentmates carries on with no end in sight, the trio of golems held at bay by Apei's glowing wall raise their lances. With a shrinking pair of pupils, Ipu’s furrowed yet wide-eyed gaze reflects a blinding pulse of rose-coloured light, as radiant and potent mana, like drops of water that run down the length and coalesce at the points of crystal stalactites, is directed to condense at the tips of their mighty weapons …

   And the azure sailor deer-like ears are lowered like sails in the face of a storm. “Wuh-oh.”

   The three golems drive their lances through the construct and shatter it into fragments. The crumbling remnants spark, fizzle and dissolve into wisps and eventually return to the Weave. All too soon they resume their silent chase with searing and unblinking eyes, their thunderous stomps rocking the seabed behind them with Apei forming another rectangle with her paws.

   ‘10 x 5 m!’

   A new wall shines and shimmers into being. But the trio of mana-blessed lances pierce through it with horrific ease. The wispy fragments are shattered and dashed across the water, dissolving into wisteria particles and spirals.

   Wall, after wall, after wall. ‘10 x 5 m! 10 x 5 m!! 10 x 5 m!!! Everyone, this is a serious abuse of rectangles!!'

   But the golems pay no heed as they crash, sunder and pulverize through every constructed wall; a trio of rose-coloured boulders that shred and pulp canvas after canvas of purple paper maché. And while this happens —

   “Guys, p-please … please stop fighting … !” Gen pleads from within the tight cradle of Watada's embrace, his own embrace around Captain Mokk even tighter as Sem and Dabir continue exchanging barbed words. It's all so noisy. The world is so noisy … !

   Sem falls into silence after hearing the pleas of the child in their care.

   “Now look at what you've done, Sem!” snorts Dabir. “You've scared the little twig, o great and mighty hero! But, if you so insist that I do something … !”

   As yet another wall is reduced into nothing, Dabir spins around and faces the three approaching golems. His tail and hooved feet continue to swish and kick through the salty water as a paw snakes into his sash-garment and pulls out a metal bolt headed with an iron sphere. The slender and ball-tipped ammunition is slotted into the groove of the crossbow-gauntlet on his arm, the drawstring wound back tight, the weapon soon raised and level with his eagle eye.

   Wait for it … wait for it …

   Apei raises her paws once again and forms the shape of a rectangle with her digits. And as the wisteria spark within the frame of her fingers flares to life —

   Hang on … !

   ‘10 x 5!’

   Now!!

   Twang! The mechanism releases the drawstring. The taut metal band snaps back into a stiff, straight line. The ball-headed bolt takes flight from the crossbow and sails across the water in a low arc. It whizzes past Chafa's bubble-helmet. Sails further back as the three golems once again raise and aim their lances from behind the translucent wall.

   The bolt collides with the wall of light. The golems plunge their mana-blessed weapons into the radiant construct. The spherical shell cracks and fragments into pieces. And as the little energy crystal, affixed to the hidden top of the metal shaft, collides with the cradle concealed inside the ball-headed cage —

   Boom!! — a brilliant and sundering burst of blue radiance erupts where the three golems stand. Sem, Ipu, Chafa, Apei and Dabir’s faces (the latter of which has a mad grin on his face) are likewise illuminated as an arcane explosion of genius artifice sends a shockwave that ripples the water, the rocks and the sand. 

   The wall no longer exists. Neither do the golems' lances, now reduced to mere crystalline rubble that litters the seafloor.

   “How's that for doing something, huh?!” Dabir chortles triumphantly and continues to kick and swim ahead of them, his own prideful glow and trails of amber light seeming to shine a little brighter alongside the flickering radiance of his pyramidal lantern.

   Sem and Ipu, still clinging to the back of Watada's shirt, share a look and a begrudging nod. Ineffable as Dabir's pride may be, the results are inarguably useful and effective.

   It is, however, a short-lived victory. As the curtain-plumes of sand settle behind them, the blinding beam-gazes of the three damaged golems are the first to pierce through the swirling sediment, followed by their large, running and unstoppable crystalline forms. They now raise their thick and towering shields of unbreakable rose-colored rock without so much as a letup and proceed to swing, smash and pulverize any new walls thrown at them.

   320 m … 310 m … The towering library that hulks over the landscape with its accursed geometry and its too-many-numbered windows is close at hand.

   Three hundred meters to sanct-

   “Uh, everyone?!” shouts Kamo from up ahead. “Guys!!”

   Dabir and Watada have also seen it. It is only when Chafa and Apei turn around on the Gorlek’s burly shoulders; when Sem and Ipu lean out from behind the builder's big back; when Gen peeks over the refuge of his abi’s embrace, do their eyes all reflect the same scene.

   Kamo’s jade-hued finger points in the direction of the needle-shaped library as two crimson tides made up of bloodthirsty golems begin to flood in from the left and right. They converge and rise into an impregnable wall up ahead as its surface bulges with a messy amalgamation of lances, shields and unblinking eyes.

   “Are they learning from Apei or something?!” yells Dabir as his rapid paddles and kicks begin to falter. 

   At this, Sem releases his hold on the back of Watada's shirt. He swims up ahead of the group to paddle in pace with Kamo and Dabir as he holds his billhook close. “We … we may have to fight our way through!” 

   Chafa jabs an upturned palm towards the wall as several of the strange and standing rocks are demolished and consumed by the tide ahead of them. “Fight?! Through that?!”

   Ipu has to agree. He also lets go of Watada's back and swims up to meet with the rest at the front. “Not even a head as hard as yers can smash through a barricade like that, brother!”

   Apei’s little paws tighten their hold on Watada's mane as the star-shaped pupils in her eyes tremble and quake. The circumference of this murderous circle is growing smaller and smaller around them, and she doesn't want her body to be divided into fractions by these brutes!

   Where can they go now? 

   After looking around and racking the corners of his brain for the faintest inkling of an idea, Watada finally casts his gaze in a direction he hasn't looked at in a minute: downwards; at the soft, ethereal and radiant marigolden ball cradled in his paws. His own little sliver of sunshine.

   “Abni, if you have any ideas, now would be the time to share them … !” urges Watada as they all continue to swim and run towards the wall. “We need to … to get around something! Or get over it!”

   They mustn't stop. They cannot stop; kick and swim they must. They must continue when there is space between them; space for hope to breathe … and for a last-minute miracle to make its debut.

   Said miracle, within the walled safety of Watada's study arms, looks at Gen with a pair of button eyes, a daring smile and with a dashing tricorn hat atop his moki head. 

   “If I were Mokk the Brave … what would I do? What can I do?” Gen asks.

   And then it hits him. The bright little marigolden ball looks up at Watada as a single word departs from his boyish lips.

   “Mushrooms!” Gen says.

   Watada furrows his brow. “Mushrooms … ?” 

   “Remember … remember the part about the gorge? The crumbling cave! Mokk the Brave had to jump on massive mushrooms to get across a chasm! Maybe Apei could … make a mushroom??”

   It is only after speaking it aloud does Gen realize how silly those words must sound. But to his abi, whose engineer mind is likewise struck alight by the flame of inspiration, glances back at the three shield-bearing golems behind them as they pulverize yet another wall into a dissolving shower of radiant wisteria wisps.

   “That's definitely enough force … ” Watada turns to the little mathematician perched atop his shoulder. “Apei, how solid do your objects have to be?”

   ‘I can make it act like water. Why?’

   “Can you make a wall, as sturdy as you can, but also … bouncy?” Even Watada sounds unsure.

   To which Apei tilts her head. ‘Bouncy but sturdy wall … ? But why — '   

   But the Gorlek urges her to just do it. They have no choice; no time! “Trust us! And put it right behind us when you are done; the bigger, the better!”

   “Whatever you're planning, it better work, Watada!” Chafa barks and nods at the little mathematician. “Do it, Navigator Apei! Captain's orders!”

   And Apei promptly salutes. As the starry-eyed savant raises her paws once more and begins to weave this strange structure into being with her wisteria light; pulling, distilling and condensing more of her glow into this construct than her previous creations, the four spirits ahead of them continue to look and swim towards the library as the bloodshot ring of golems grows tighter; the wall of lances and unblinking eyes grows closer; their sanctuary towering above all with its many twisted and geometric windows for accursed eyes.

   “I … I can't die here!” Dabir pleads with lowered fox-like ears. “Not when my story hasn't been told and … and published!”

   Sem rolls furtive and furrowed eyes as the myriad of unblinking pinprick-eyes stare back at them from all directions. “”Story?” More like “Pitiful Misadventures!””

   “What do you have against me?!” protests the amber inventor with open palms. “Nothing provable, that's for sure!”

   Ipu jabs back with the shake of his head as he tightens his grip on the handle of his frying pan. “Whatever it be, Mokk the Brave has prolly penned a better fantasy than we all could ever conjure!” 

   Kamo, on the other hand, has simply and quietly drawn the triangular dagger from the sheath strapped to her leg. The earthshaking rumbling of the approaching golem stampede has now drowned out the bassy drone of the tides that permeates the sea, but her hardened gaze remains determined. 

   220 m … 210 m … 

   The tower, now two hundred meters away, is suddenly closer and dizzyingly tall. They can even see the stone doors now, each a formidable slate grey sentinel of a smooth slab with each bearing the mark of a perfect, carved circle. Gen, for a moment, glances down at the backs of his paws and looks at the pair of perfect yellow circles imprinted on his fur. 

   Is it time, already, for him to fulfill the reason for his coming and being here?

   Will they be able to go to Hoa, then home, after all this, as abi promised? Will they be able to then live on in peace?

   “Come on, come on … think, think!” Dabir smacks the side of his horned head and rattles the handle of his pyramidal lantern. “Come up with something alread—oomph!”

   The air is suddenly squeezed out from Dabir’s lungs (again) as the four spirits find themselves being scooped and held tight by one of Watada's arms. The two spirits on the Gorlek's shoulder tighten the coils of their tails around his biceps, and Gen also clings tight to his abi’s last free arm. 

   “Are you mad?! Unhand me, right now!” Dabir shouts and strains against Watada's arm as the Gorlek continues to run towards the wall spiked with lances.

   Sem, Kamo and Ipu simply hold on as Dabir continues to struggle, to no avail, of course. The swirling stampede of withered-rose golems is fit to crash upon them with their brandished lances and bloodthirsty shields. The multicolored radiance of the crew is almost swallowed by this whirlpool of unblinking eyes and mad, forsaken, otherworldly pink.

   Almost.

   “Apei, now!!” Watada bellows. 

   The little mathematician, with the final flourish of a paw, throws the globule of condensed purple light towards a spot on the sea floor right behind them. Upon contact with the sand, the construct balloons and expands to form, not a rectangle, but rather a thick, cloudy and bouncy blob that resembles one of the simplest creatures in all of Kurestal: the humble slime. 

   ‘Should be able to withstand several hundred pounds of force!’ Apei scribes in the water.

   That is when Watada, laden with the weight of seven spirits, jumps, spins to face the three shield-bearing golems and lands back down on the trembling sea floor. The momentum still drags his soles towards the rising wall of golems and digs up piles of sand that climb up his heels before coming to a complete stop. From behind the glowing bouncy blob, the three charging and lanceless golems begin to raise their shields.

   The bouncy purple construct sits between the three shield-bearing golems and the multicolored crew. The wall of golems behind them. An army of golems charging to converge upon them from all directions.

   Watada has just one shot at this. They all have only one at this.

   From within Watada's grasp, Kamo loops an arm with Sem and tightly clasps her paws together. “Cycles, keep us…!”

   The red-caped warrior pulls her closer to him, her shoulder to his fluffy chest. “Cycles, keep us…” he solemnly joins.

   As prayers and pleadings are uttered from breathless lips, as Watada begins to charge towards the wisteria cushion, Dabir plans; digging into his amber sash-garment, pulling out another ball-headed bolt and loading it into the slot of his crossbow-gauntlet. 

   Ipu loops his long monkey tail around Watada's wrist. “‘Ang on everybodyyy!”

   Apei and Chafa's tails tighten around Watada's shoulders once more, their backs hunched, their eyes wide, their hearts pounding against their ribcages. And as the engineer and the lanceless golem trio near the bouncy wall …

   Gen, curled up tight with the bundle of woven cloth cradled in his little arms, looks up at his dad as the Gorlek's ash-coloured mane ripples in the turbulent waters. 

   ‘A hero …’ Gen thinks.

   Watada heaves a mighty grunt. Sand kicks up as he jumps as high as his stocky legs can take him. He grunts again. Spins mid-arc. Crashes his big back against the slime-like wall. The bouncy construct begins to tighten and swallow the crew whole as they sink deep into the glowing cushion …

   Just as the three golems swing their massive shields in unison and bash against the wall with a single, mighty and thunderous blow.

   ‘Ooh.’ Apei hums. ‘That’s 20.6 tons of for — ’

   Much can happen in the span of a thought, such as the instant transfer of kinetic energy from one side of a bouncy wall to the other. For as the slime-like construct absorbs the force of the blow and dispels the sundering momentum through the other side, so too, does the crew receive this energy, condensed onto Watada's big and sturdy back —

   As the bouncy wall of wisteria glow, propelled by the SLAM! of the three shields, hurls them out in a skyward arc at the speed of a flare shot from Chafa's crystal gun.

   The waters ripple and whip past their bodies. Their innards sink and flatten against the bottoms of their bellies. The seabed falls away from beneath their feet as the army of golems shrink to a mere scattering of rose-coloured pebbles and gems.

   And as they continue to rise along the trajectory of this arc, they begin to see the sunken forest from a bird's eye view: the surrounding thicket of bone-pale not-trees, shrouded in that swirling and accursed brine-fog, wreathing the lone library-tower at its bloodshot center in the shape of a perfect circle.

   For a tingling and weightless moment with the bassy rumble of the tides permeating their ears … there is a sliver of peace. A second to breathe. A moment to let their hearts float back to their original space and simply beat in their chests. Even Gen, nestled in the cradle of his abi's arms, is able to peer down at the sea floor far below with a dashing Captain Mokk grinning wide in his arms.

   “Is this what flying is like, Sem?” asks a wide-eyed Gen.

   Sem laughs as he holds a smiling Kamo tight. “It ... it is close! But I usually have my arms open, of course!”

   Even Watada, in spite of the circumstances, manages a brief and light chuckle as his last free paw tightens its hold on the rod of his two-handed hammer. His three eyes reflect the sunlit ceiling of the surface above. 

   120 m … 110 m … 100 meters to the library. They comfortably sail over the dark pink barricade. The golems gaze up at them with unblinking eyes and their starved lances. Looking ahead, there even seems to be a space for them to land!

   ‘We have reached the highest point of this semicircle!’ Apei then happily reports.

   Kamo grins and dares to extend a paw towards the shining apex of the tower as the simple string bracelet of her sister ripples around her wrist. “Look, we're so high up … !” she gasps.

   There then comes … a sinking feeling.

   Slowly; surely, as their hearts and innards begin to rise and crawl upwards in their chests. 

   Gravity beckons.

   “Maybe … maybe a little too hiiigh!!!” yelps Chafa as a rising scream is ripped from her throat, with the cerulean captain forcibly tightening her tail around the Gorlek's bicep and fisting a lock of his thick, ash grey mane.

   Dabir, who originally struggled against Watada's hold, now sinks deeper into the builder's big chest as his throat, too, lets loose an uncontrollable and rising yell — alongside everyone else. “Do not let me goooo!”

   The water once again begins to whip and lash at their bodies as the sea floor begins to approach this clump of both Spirit and Gorlek in an alarming, rapid ascent. The landing spot, a platform of smooth grey stone surrounded by even more of those strange and wall-like rocks — perhaps the remnant of some ancient road — is coming fast, much too fast. All that is afforded them as they surrender to the pull of the planet are their shouts, the kicking of their legs and the pushing of their pounding hearts against their throats.

   At the very last second, right before their falling bodies meet their growing shadows, Watada tosses his hammer ahead of him. It noisily clatters on the smooth grey stone. Apei and Chafa are pulled off his shoulders and brought into the cradle of Watada's four arms. The builder himself then shuts his three eyes, hugs them all tight … and rolls.

   THOOM!! Clouds of monochrome sand are kicked up in plumes as the ancient road receives Watada's back. Try as hard as the Gorlek might, the sundering impact rocks loose the strength in all four of his arms. The seven spirits are thus launched outward from his grasp in seven different and violent directions as the guiding light of Apei's number shatters into erratic sparks.

   Chafa's radiant staff clatters onto sunken stone as her shoulder slams hard onto the path and screams with pain. The world and several swirling constellations swim in Apei and Kamo's eyes as their heads — temple and forehead, respectively — knock onto walls made of strange, dark rocks and begin to bleed wisteria and jade light. Dabir and Ipu, out of pure instinct, outstretch their arms mid-tumble in search of a handhold, only for their palms, wrists and joints to be battered, punctured and sliced by a blender of smaller rocks scattered like caltrops.

   “Aaaghh-!!” A whimpering scream torn from the boyish lips of another innocent; another discordant note added to the cacophony of yelps and cries.

   A shocking spark of heat — agony — flares, burns then radiates Gen’s right hip as if stung by an army of wasps. His little body roughly tumbles like a rolling, runaway log and slams hard onto Chafa's side, with Captain Mokk still hugged tight in his arms. Hot tears roll down his cheeks from within the resilient bubble-helmet, where he then tastes their bitter salt as they slip through the gaps of his clenched, grit teeth.

   “Gen … !” gasps Chafa as she grunts and turns on her side in spite of the aching agony gripping and twisting her shoulder … of which the alarmist voice in her head suspects it might actually be dislocated. With her good arm, then, she loops her limb under the boy's armpit and tries to bring him back up to his hooved feet, for as much as she wants to check him over for injuries, they cannot afford to linger. Lingering too long means death.

   The cerulean captain grunts again. “Gen, Gen, up to your feet, come … come on … can you stand —”

   “It … i-it huuurts … ” is Gen's reply, the words as thick as cotton in his throat as tears continue to roll down his cheeks. “Auntie, it hurts … !”

   Chafa sighs and hastily nods. She knows, she knows it hurts. But they can't stay. “We can't linger, Gen … Gen, come on — !” 

   But the boy's childish instincts take over as a tightness, akin to a washcloth being wrung of dirty dishwater, twists at his heart within his chest; his body curls into an even tighter ball. 

   “I … I wanna go home … ! I wanna go home … ! Abiii!”

   “Abni … !” Watada groans as he rolls onto his chest, his back gripped by pain and ribs still hot with the agony that results from a hard fall. But in spite of it all, the cry of his son stirs him back up to his feet, and he stumbles towards the golem glow that pierces through the swirling sand. “Abni … I'm coming … !”

   “Sem … !” Kamo shouts through the dizzying tides that spin and swirl her head, which soon clear up thanks to her inborn healing factor as she grips onto the wall she collided with and pulls herself to her feet. She can see an amethyst glow, an amber glow, an azure glow, but Sem — “Bajin, where are you … !?”

   “There … over there … !” Dabir, with a shaking amber arm sliced by rough rocks and now bleeding ribbons of crimson that disperse into the salty, stinging water, points to a dark mound of rubble where slivers of a ruby-red radiance shine out from cracks within the stone pile.

   In the blink of an eye, the azure glow is suddenly atop the rocky pile as Ipu begins to claw, dig and yank out rock after rock from the mound. His injured and bleeding paws, calloused and roughed after many years of working with ropes and learning lessons from the occasional kitchen burn, slowly but surely unearth his friend, his comrade, from this impromptu burial mound so far away from home, from the light of day. Soon enough, as the Altumian's bubble-helmeted face is revealed to this sunken world once more, Dabir swims up to Ipu's side alongside Apei and Kamo, all three of them free of the wounds on their arms and heads; a quick fix from none other than the Woundeater.

   “His eyes … huff! … are shut tight …!” Ipu grunts as he tosses another rough rock to the side and causes it to clatter down the mound that, likely, used to be a wall. “Dabir, help me drag ‘im out! Grab that other paw!”

   The amber inventor groans but tightly grips Sem's left paw and wrist and starts pulling it out with Ipu, soon tugging a limp and unresponsive warrior from the rubble. And with just a quick glance downwards …

   Ipu winces, lowers his deer-like ears and hisses through his teeth as a shudder runs up and down his own bones. His heart, as it thunders in his chest, tells him to turn and avert his eyes, but the alluring pull of morbid fascination simply makes it impossible to look away. “Ooh … that … ”

   Apei raises her paws, extends her pointer digits and draws a semicircle of which she gazes through and measures the angle. ‘The straight line of the calf bone has been set to a deviation of … 44°. Aw, almost a perfect right angle … ’

   Ipu finally tears his gaze away from the gut-churning injury to cast a bewildered look at their Navigator. Dabir, meanwhile, has to clamp his paw over his mouth and hold his belly as the churning begins to crawl up the tract of his esophagus. “That's … o-ouf … too many degrees … ! And is that his … his bone … ? And there's so much blood … !”

   “It ... it be fixable, aye?” Ipu turns to Kamo with a brow raised in expectation. “We've got Lil’ Miss Cure-all Kammy on our side …”

   “Lil’ Miss Cure-all Kammy” takes in a deep breath of bubble-filtered air through her nose. Hints of lemon-glazed chicken dance across her tongue as the wounds on her arms, elbows and legs, transferred from Ipu, weave and sew shut on their own accord. She then begins to step towards Sem, but her bat-like ears flick up and turn towards the ominous glow of approaching klaxon pink from all directions.

   “ … There's no time,” is all Kamo says, though her gentle gaze remains transfixed upon Sem's unconscious face, his battered body, the leg bone that's angled at too many degrees. She swallows. “I must … I must be able to sit for a while for injuries of such magnitude.”

   All those conscious glance at each other. They nod in understanding.

   Their destination isn't far now; the library and its many twisted windows and geometry loom oppressively over them, the distant and rippling sunlight gleams harshly against the panes of glass, its stone doors shut and waiting; the circles on the slabs like a pair of vacant, yet watching, eyes. With the stunt they just pulled, they've bought themselves a good chunk of time. The glory of mathematics and forms, made messy by the physical world of unpredictable and transient phenomena.

   Kamo begins to turn. “Watada—”

   “We’re here.” 

   Cradling a sobbing Gen in his lower pair of arms, grasping the long handle of his hammer in his upper and having Chafa perched atop his shoulder again, Watada staggers towards the mound as the sunken world around them begins to dye and flush pink once more. Gen's soft cries are further muffled when the Gorlek pulls him closer against his chest, so that the little one may not see Sem the way he is right now.

   Chafa nods at the jade healer with a tail wrapped tight around Watada's bicep. “My shoulder, Miss Kamo, if you would be so kind, along with Mister Watada's back and Gen’s hip. And Ipu, have you the strength to carry Mister Sem?”

   As the warm jade glow of the Woundeater swims up to the injured Gorlek and his passengers, Kamo begins to consume blooming notes of spring water clouded by alkaline puffs of sour chalk from Chafa's shoulder; bitter hues of medicinal mararoot dipped in liquid licorice with a stimulating aftertaste akin to coffee from Watada's fractured back; the sweet citrus tang of dew-kissed soldrop fruits that glisten under and greet the light of a new dawn from Gen’s bruised hip, Ipu lifts Sem into his sturdy azure arms as the warrior's head and long rabbit-ears loll limply like the loose limbs of a dashing moki doll. Apei also creates a long and thin rectangle out of her wisteria light, which then ripples and snakes towards the ruby warrior's leg and wraps itself tight around the wound angled at forty-four degrees, staunching the profuse plumes of crimson pouring and billowing from his body.

   And with that, they sprint-swim the final stretch of fifty meters. No fanfare, no triumph, no glorious radiance of the sun at their backs; just their own frail glows against the abyssal hum of the depths, the rumble of the sea bed as it trembles in herald of the approaching golem army and the thundering, thundering beating of desperate heartbeats clinging to their very lives in their ears.

   “Abni … abni, we are almost there … ” Watada pants as he runs through the waters as fast as he can. “How did you open the doors, abni? What did you see in your dream?”

   Images of what Gen glimpsed in his visit to the future resurface to the front of his mind. Himself, his abi and the six colourful and glowing balloons; his little paws pressed against the smooth stone gates; a simple, hearty push, and the doors swung open with a mighty rumble to reveal pitch darkness therein. And of course, that final scene …

   Of his abi and the balloons being swarmed by those mysterious figures that leapt from the veil of swirling green fog.

   But Gen simply swallows as he returns to the present. “I … I just need to push the gates … !”

   Could it really be that simple? 

   They nonetheless continue onwards, where upon reaching a certain distance, Chafa's sharp eyes can discern a certain detail about the doors.

   Script. Kayarukan Script, its circular characters carved into the slate grey stone above the doors with little mounds of sand having risen in its nooks and crannies. The cerulean captain briefly remembers the deciphered contents of that fragmented ancient letter penned by none other than Pazari, that famous mathe-philosopher Apei so adores … and the dread that came with it.

   And before they know it, after stepping off the ancient road, ascending a sandy incline that mostly blankets and conceals a forgotten staircase and running the final distance towards the dizzyingly tall tower, they finally reach the doors. 

   As expected, the massive rectangular stone slabs loom over them like slate grey sentinels, and the perfect circles carved onto the doors, matching those on Gen's little paws, beckon forth the young child of golden glow — awaiting his touch.

   “We're here … ! Gen, we're here … !” Watada pants and grunts with burning lungs and turns the little boy in his arms to face the door, and only the door — not at Sem hanging limply and glowing dimly in Ipu's azure arms, not at the rumbling and many-eyed charge of klaxon pink rapidly approaching the tower, not even at the sunken world around them or their faces coloured with fear, desperation and and expectation. Just the door, and only the door. 

   “Come on, hurry up already…!” Dabir urges pointedly as he turns around, his trembling eyes reflecting the savage crystal constructs that swarm onto the ancient road and desperately yet mindlessly climb and clamber over each other, surging forth with the lances and shields like a rampaging tide of fire ants.

   Gen, indeed hurrying, pushes himself off and out of Watada's embrace. All those who can, watch as the young spirit first looks at the backs of his paws.

   “This is it. The reason you're down here: to open the doors. After this, I just wanna go to Hoa, then go home … and sleep. And eat lots and lots of abi’s super spicy shakshuka. Yeah.”

   In spite of the circumstances, a faint smile tugs at the corners of Gen's lips. He swims a little more forward, presses his palms flat against the cold and towering stone doors … and he pushes.

   …

   And he pushes.

   Pushes again. Even his lungs heave and puff all the air they have.

   But the slate grey sentinels do not budge as his little hooves scrape against the sand-carpeted floor beneath him.

   A certain tightness begins to crawl upwards from beneath Gen's belly. It grips and spreads inside him from within, squeezes his stomach, clambers up his ribcage like the rungs of a ladder as it also starts to seize the air from his lungs and construct his dry throat.

   “Uh … u-um … guys … ?” Gen calls out as his rapid breaths begin to cloud the front of his bubble-helmet. His little paws tremble as he drifts backwards, though his eyes cannot tear themselves away from the immovable stone slab doors. “I … I don't know how … !”

   He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to, as the stomachs of all the crew begin to sink alongside his.

   “What … what do you mean you "don't know how?"" Dabir's voice begins to rise and prick like the fur of a cornered animal. “Gen, you … you said you could! What do you mean you — ”

   A sharp, guttural and fang-bearing snarl from the depths of Watada's chest silences the inventor as the Gorlek turns to Dabir with a searing, withering look. “Don't you dare talk to my abni in that way.”

   Chafa, from atop Watada's shoulder, butts in as she withdraws the crystal firearm from the folds of her cerulean shawl. Her old yet eagle-eyed gaze takes in the nearness of the golems before looking down at Dabir with a smoldering pair of eyes. “Instead of squabbling with my nephew, why don't you figure out a solution, O mighty mechanic?” 

   Dabir turns to the captain on Watada's shoulder with fangs bared and a face twisted in a snarl … though the ivory pupils in his eyes tremble like a bug in the night within the black sclera. “Well I'm sorry, but I don't see anything that resembles a damn mechanism! Do you?!”

   Chafa snarls and also bares her fangs, most tempted to aim her firearm at Dabir's head. “Useless!”

   Little Gen and the hero in his arms, in the midst of barbed words, backhanded insults and the rapid charge of death, lowers his ears and shrinks backwards until his tailbone hits the unmoving doors, his little paws twisting the tassels of his marigolden neckerchief in search of self-soothing.

   Kamo thankfully speaks and swims up between them, arms outstretched and jade paws open; the gesture of an appeaser. “Please, we can fight later! Captain, do you remember anything that might help decipher the inscription up there? Dabir, can you look around? Is there really no mechanism?”

   “We've still got time, so let's make the most of it, Cap’n!” Ipu nods in agreement. “And we've been through … actually, nah. This is the worst we've been through, heh!”

   Their captain, though easily irritable, thoroughly unpredictable and often tart-tongued, cannot help but smile when her first mate laughs. She then sighs, offers one more unsavoury glance at Dabir and finally nods in determination as the pink tide of death approaches ever nearer. There is still time. 

   And where there is time, therein hope lies. 

   “Navigator Apei, with me. First Mate Ipu, help Mister Dabir try to find a mechanism. And Mister Watada, though I am normally against the vandalism of sites that carry great historical value … the world as we know it depends on us and the knowledge we return with. Be a dear and try to smash the door open.”

   Watada hefts his hammer with a brusque nod. “With pleasure. Abni, stay close.”

   And Gen does stay close, all while asking a single question: “What can I do now … ?”

   As Ipu and Dabir begin to closely inspect every side and corner the doors may hold, the deliberate impacts of a cubical head of rock smashing onto the slate grey sentinels reverberate and resound across the water, all while a cerulean glow and a wisteria glow swim up to the carved inscription.

   Apei tilts her head as Chafa takes out a block of wax and begins to refer to it with a muttering on her tongue. The mathematician counts seventeen characters, but all of them look like circles holding different variations of scribbles or lines within — like bowls of tsukemen noodles with their chopsticks facing either north, south, east or west.

   Better to leave the deciphering of ancient languages to similarly ancient people. She does have a question, though, and she taps Chafa's shoulder.

   ‘Why am I with you?’ Apei shrugs. She doesn't know any this stuff.

   To which Chafa turns back to her block of wax. “Because you're quiet. Now, let me focus and record what I translate. "He … shi … ake … "the stars…’" 

   “Are you sure you looked at every corner?” Dabir shouts from the left side. “Have you pressed every stone!”

   “Sure as the seas an’ the risin’ o' the sun!” Ipu gruffly reports. “Nothin’. All them mechanisms must be behind all this stone!”

   Dabir sputters. “W-well … look again! We must get inside!” 

   Ipu casts an urgent look at Kamo before rolling his eyes and starting to search his side all over again. The jade healer currently sits on the sand-carpeted floor with the limp body of an unconscious Sem in her lap, the impacts of Watada's hammer slamming and creating dull thuds and reverberations. She normally would not be able to hold the warrior like this on dry land, but with the help of the water as it makes heavier things lighter … she cannot help but try and savor the weight; the warmth; the closeness, in what might be their final moments amidst the rumbling of the approaching golem flood. It was not too long ago that they slept in the same hammock for the first time. Is it normal to yearn for such a time not too long ago, as if it had taken place years before?

   “Hah … rraghh … grahh!” Watada heaves and grunts as hefty blow after hefty blow of rock hammer slams against the cold stone doors, the task worsened as he swings the brutish weapon; every downward momentum resisted by the thick, dense water. Worse still, the obstinate stone slabs have neither buckled, moved or suffered a mere dent or chip.

   “A-abi …” 

   Watada pants. “Not … not now, abni … raaghh … !”

   Another hefty swing. Another dull thud. 

   “Nothing…” Dabir laughs incredulously and grabs the side of his bull-horned head. “Nothing, nothing, there's nothing … ! How do we open this damn door?!”

   “Quit yer dramatics, princess…” Ipu sighs. “Entire thing's as smooth as melted butter that solidified again. If there's any mechanism to be had, it's prolly within the fort.”

   “Abi…” Gen speaks again.

   “Not … now … Gen … RRRAGH!” 

   Yet another hefty swing. Yet another dull thud. Yet another failed attempt as Gen falls silent. 

   “Na … nahanka. "Never … be adjust…"  — no — "change.’ ‘Never change.’" That's it. Show me, Apei.”

   Apei adds the last two words to a glowing sentence woven out of her light, allowing them to read the translated inscription in full. They read it again. And again.

   ‘This doesn't help us, does it?’ writes Apei after a few fleeting seconds. ‘We … don't know all the variables. Captain?’

   Chafa is silent for a moment as she glances off into an unseeable distance. Her lungs then exhale a heavy and shuddering sigh before her trembling fingers raise and gesture for the Navigator to follow her. They glide back down and congregate with the others once more as Watada, holding Gen, likewise ceases his efforts to smash open the door.

   The cerulean queen-like captain nods at them all. “Report.”

   There is no mechanism to be found in the exterior. The door cannot be moved by Watada's hammer. And as for the translation …

   “Stars die, mountains fall, but may that which holds true value never change.” 

   The purple words are reflected in their eyes, their ears facing forward and only forward … unless of course, they would like to hear the rising roar of the approaching army.

   “Perhaps … it be a riddle?” Ipu suggests. “Do we need to say an answer? A keyword?”

   Dabir crosses his arms. “But it doesn't have a ‘What am I?’ at the end. It's probably just some kind of motto of the place … ” 

   “Auntie Chacha … ?” Gen softly asks as he tightens his arms around the ever-smiling Captain Mokk. “What … what do we do now?”

   With her back turned towards the crew, Chafa's cerulean shawl ripples in the dark and salty waters, all while the fore of her mind recalls the night she Glimpsed her own future regarding this endeavour.

   “Will we come home once all this is over?” was the question she had sent into the Weave. Her Glimpses are inquiries; a copper key seeking a lock; a worn shovel that strikes the lid of a buried chest; a paw that grasps and pulls back a thick curtain. And her question was, indeed, answered. But as the door swung open; as the lid was pried apart, as the curtain was withdrawn …

   All that she saw that night was an incomprehensible, swirling and obfuscating pitch -black, yawning darkness — the exact same darkness she saw when she attempted to Glimpse any information about this Library during their voyage, with each attempt leaving her empty-pawed each time.

   Is that not the very definition of madness? Doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different result?

   Perhaps she is losing her rocker, after all, and a soft and conspiratorial chuckle snakes out from her lips. The captain turns back to face her crew with the ominous and all-surrounding glow of pink colouring her aged features and wiry fur. 

   “What can we do?” Chafa echoes Gen's question as she locks softened eyes with her young, precious nephew. “What we can only do. What we can. Even if that means going out with a bang.”

   The captain then lowers her head before raising her staff to the sky and begins reciting the words of a familiar incantation.

   Thexifsanna … thexifsanna … 

   Be calm, be calm. 

   The dodecahedral gem atop the rune-riddled staff shines a gentle blue light, reminiscent of the true sky beyond the ceiling of the sea. As it does, the fear and apprehension in their hearts begin to melt away as a wave of calm washes over the cores of their beings. If their lights are, indeed, to go out this day … at least it won't be with hearts full of fear and bodies full of trembling.

    A certain shine then dances across Gen's eyes. The little boy then looks down and buries his face into the back of Captain Mokk’s head, before squirming his way out of Watada's grasp and starts swimming back to the tower.

   Watada, with a sinking sensation in his calmed heart, reaches out. “Abni … ”  

   “Let ‘im go, Watada.” Ipu solemnly places a paw on the Gorlek's shoulder. “E’ll ... e'll come back at the last moment, I'm sure.”

   The golems are at hand. They now swarm the ancient road and funnel straight down the path like radiant, liquid metal following a stone channel, their wordless stampede full of lances and shields ravenous and clambering for their blood. In a few moments, they will begin to ascend the stairs to the tower.

   “So this is how this Cycle will end … thank you, Sem, for your care and kindness.” Kamo gently lays Sem down and draws the triangular dagger from the sheath at her thigh … where she glances at the simple string bracelet adorning her wrist. “Ikal … I hope to rejoin you soon … and that you forgive me.”

   Apei extends her paws outward and creates a series of circular shields that orbit around them as her purple scarf ripples in the water. Chafa, with the firearm still in her paw, clicks the hammer back whilst also holding tight to her radiant staff. Ipu holds the handle of his cast iron skillet with both paws, while a certain amber inventor, who has been silent since the gentle proclamation of their imminent demise, simply grasps the handle of his flickering pyramidal lantern with an oddly fearless expression.

   The golems, unblinking and sanguine in hue, have ascended and crested over the stairs and the slope from all directions. Their footsteps rock and quake the floor and the sand beneath their crystalline feet. The bloodshot aperture closes further in, poised to swallow and exterminate the radiant rainbow crew with their own oppressive light of withered, klaxon pink.

   “Ladies and gentlemen,” Chafa sighs as she aims and steadies her trembling cerulean paw whilst also holding her shining staff aloft. “It's been an … unforeseeably interesting journey with you all. The best in all my life, in fact. Thank you, especially, Ipu.”

   To which the azure sailor simply looks at her and nods with eyes tinged with the colour of fear, something unspoken … and deepest gratitude.

   Watada finally raises his hammer once more just as something small wraps its arms tight around his thick leg. A quick glance down would reveal that it is Gen, burying his little face into the Gorlek's side. In spite of their end just moments away, his abni is oddly quiet, too.

   “Gen?” Watada raises his voice above the ear-sundering rumble of the immeasurable weight of the sea and the clamour of a hundred pairs of crystalline feet running in their direction. “I'm sorry, you wanted to say something earlier, right? What was it?”

   Gen looks up at his father in all three of his eyes. “I just wanted to say I … I love you!”

   A solid punch to the heart. A laugh, wrenched from the deepest part of his core, tumbles out of his mouth as he falls to a knee, hugs his son tight and kisses him on the forehead. “I love you, too, abni. To the very end. We tried our very best and … and that's all I could ever ask.”

   “I know, abi ... so that's why this isn't the end.”

   “Ready yourselves!” Chafa calls out, her face free from fear, her finger on the trigger ... and the glory of the Nibellian Spirit Tree in the eye of her mind. 

   Watada's brow furrows in confusion as the golems nearest to them leap into the air and brandish their lances, the tips of their weapons ready to sink into glowing flesh and bone. But Gen simply smiles as he hugs his father even tighter; tighter than the grip of fear grasping his little heart, because he's with his abi. Together, they can do anything. 

   “It's kinda like what Auntie Chacha said. But we're not going out with a bang — we're going in!”

   “What — ” 

   Watada turns to the slate grey doors. His three eyes are widened and illuminated by another source of light.

   A little ball of potent marigolden glow.

   The second underwater explosion of the day erupts with a brilliant flash; the colour of the hopeful dawn. The base of the tower, its maddening geometry, its accursed, twisted windows and the many faces of the crystalline army are illuminated and rocked by the sundering radiance. The outward force expelled from Gen's explosive staggers the crew forward, halts the trajectory of the leaping golems and creates a perfect sphere of air where several gallons of where water used to be, before the void collapses into a rippling cloud of rising and dispersing bubbles.   

   There would have been a separate cloud of kicked-up dust and sand … but another void has been created.

   An undeniable force takes hold from behind the crew. The young he-spirit manages to turn his head as he catches a glance of the open maws where the slate grey sentinels once stood; the once immovable stone slabs reduced to rubble as the entrance, leading to a pitch-black space, sucks in the clouds of sand and the dust — and they are next.

   “Sem!!” Kamo turns around and reaches out, but her jade paw grasps only sand and silt as the ruby warrior's unconscious body tumbles and rolls across the sunken stone floor before spinning and vanishing into the dark and open doorway. 

   Chafa and Kamo right their bodies in the swirling water. They know an opportunity when they see one! 

   Chafa barks out as she grasps her staff tight. “We have to go! Come on, everyb-w-woooaaah!”

   The captain and the healer are all too quickly sucked in by the pulling of several hundred tonnes of water barreling through the doorway, where a cerulean glow and jade glow are swallowed by the hungry, stony maw.

   Dabir turns to follow, but he notices that the golems have all suddenly ceased their chase. Their lances and shields, in all their unblinking radiance, have pierced the ground as they all take an immovable knee around them. 

   Are they … hunkering down?

   They don't wish to follow them inside?

   “Come on, ye two!” Ipu grabs Apei and the inventor by the wrists as he kicks off the stone floor and pulls them along the tug of the water, their azure, amber and wisteria glows hurtling and disappearing into the dark and gloomy threshold.

   “Abi!” 

   "Abni!" 

   The force of the pull is much too strong for little Gen. His grasp on Watada's leg slips. He and Captain Mokk begin to tumble backwards, his little eyes wide with shock as the water pulls at his chest, his feet, the surface of his resilient bubble-helmet. Watada, of course, does his best to catch his son as he is also drawn in by the irrefutable tide. Their paws reach out to each other as they seek the refuge and little sanctuaries of each other's palm.

   But their fingertips only manage to brush each other as the water, funnelling and splitting across a spiderweb’s worth of corridors and pathways, rips father and son apart and plunges them into the darkness, where even their cries for each other are swallowed and silenced.

   The guests have arrived. 

Chapter Text

Character lineup (Watada soon to follow):

Character Voices (in no particular order):

Chafa's voice: Olenna Tyrell from "Game of Thrones"

(https://youtu.be/5_lFzL6TXaA?si=9jwp2Ka5GZqW9ZSL)

Watada's voice: Mansa Musa from Sid Meier's Civilization 6 

(https://youtu.be/aXPVTVve4f8?si=vDrvTijLmiMvukoY)

Gen's voice: David from Steven Spielberg's movie "Artificial Intelligence"

(https://youtu.be/5sgi_rlKSWc?si=1AzXNdrqoFJcxxVh)

Sem's voice: Colossus from "Deadpool"

(https://youtu.be/EsxQGQNwQD8?si=cT8QgbjEI78hOXqh)

Kamo's voice: Lauma from "Genshin Impact"

(https://youtu.be/tXO1Aaml-4w?si=-o5HyD25YjtAvqKp)

Dabir's voice: Oberyn Martell from "Game of Thrones"

(https://youtu.be/WY3X6Yx33eo?si=cOkKsibF7jZ1nlKa)

Apei's voice (should she ever speak): Beth Harmon from "Queen's Gambit"

(https://youtu.be/Wf97C6wm5Lk?si=ueNzxLTq0X2d8g2q)

Ipu's voice: Scrimshaw from Billie Bust Up

(https://youtu.be/3WDQ72o_sxA?si=N1x15ywbRSxgY2iw)

Additional: Ipu singing!

(https://youtu.be/imYn__hgT3A?si=Cq0MZtOcaUYQcqoP)

Friend Creations!

Talented friend and composer of Legacy Studios wrote and composed two songs for Sem. Please give them a listen down below!

The Glory of Sem: (https://youtu.be/ZYQz8v2iw8Y?si=DKiBeQb2SLIUxpnw)

The Fire of Sem: (https://youtu.be/f6DjjXmLgho?si=H_H6fvBxTqIeO_Sx)

Art of Gen:

 (by AmynXDDD)

(by AmynXDDD)

(by Keaton)

(by dramaticuser)

(by dramaticuser)

(by the ever terrifying yet skilled Dr.l3)

(a cute work by Nicogab123 on discord!)

Art of Watada:

(by sweetpastel from discord)

Art of Dabir:

 (by riffertyraff)

 (by AmynXDDD)

 (by dramaticuser)

Art of Sem:

 (by the talented riffertyraff!)

 (by Dr. l3)

(by Taro from discord)

(another cast artwork by Taro, with Sem and Gen at the bottom!)

Art of Apei:

(by SanityShore)

(by AmynXDDD)

(by Wail)

(by pookapufferfish on Tumblr)

Art of Chafa:

 Picture of the Ivory Dove

 Picture of Chafa's new weapon

(by dramaticuser) (girlie finally got art haha)

(Chafa in the prime of her youth by the amazing AmynXDDD)

(Chafa in the prime of her youth by the awesome dramaticuser)

Art of Ipu:

(by dramaticuser)

(by ff.fox.forever from discord)

(made by AmynXDDD, featuring her character, Ruutel!)

Art of Kamo:

(by AmynXDDD)

(a lovely sketch by a friend on discord)

Art of the cast:

(by the wonderful NicoGab123 from discord)