December, 1098

My slate tells me it's the 2nd of December.

I sit on the edge of the sheets, my legs dangling a few centimeters above the floor of the medical ward.

On the bedside tray, next to my water cup, rests my Arts Unit. A sleek black shaft topped with misty blue liquid suspended inside intersecting matte black magnetic halos, PRTS data streaming faintly across the metal in the dim light. My shield, my anchor, and — according to Closure — very expensive.

The pneumatic doors of the ward slide open with a pressurized hiss.

The second the seal breaks, Dr. Warfarin strides in, tapping her datapad.

"Well, look who's finally vacating my ward," she remarks, dry and clinical. "Your vitals are stable, your Oripathy hasn't liquefied your nervous system, and your blood is documented. You're officially discharged, little anomaly. Which means you're no longer my problem."

I open my mouth to thank her.

Before I can, a second figure steps through the threshold.

The air in the ward drops. What crashes into my channels is a monument of iron and old paper, cold as a glacier, so ancient and so heavy that my breath catches.

Dr. Kal'tsit.

She steps into the surgical light. A Feline, pale mint-green hair framing a severe face, sharp ears resting on her crown. An asymmetrical, off-the-shoulder white coat over a pale green tunic, her posture nothing but authority. Her green eyes fix on me.

"Pleasantries are unnecessary," Kal'tsit states. Her voice is level, cutting through the room with the precision of a scalpel.

My hands tighten on the edge of the mattress.

"Your abduction by the Confessarii and your retention in occupied Londinium were a severe operational compromise," Kal'tsit begins, in one unbroken stream. "The extraction required multiple Elite Ops in a Catastrophe-struck zone, risking a decapitating strike against Rhodes Island's command. Your pureblood Djall lineage and empathic Arts are a vulnerability the Military Commission sought to exploit as a psychological weapon against the resistance and against us."

I shrink back.

She doesn't stop. A deliberate step closer to the bed, and nothing in her thaws.

"However, the field reports from Elite Ops Logos, Blaze, and Raidian detail an unprecedented evolution in your Originium Arts," she continues. "You synthesize ambient emotional trauma into tangible, autonomous Arts Creations — the illusions and the defensive entity you manifested in the Victorian wastelands. That indicates stabilized neural pathways and an offensive potential exceeding your parameters in palliative care."

I can only look at her. The volume of it, the jargon, the logic — it washes over me like a tidal wave.

"Confining you to the Convalescent Garden is an inefficient allocation of your capabilities," Kal'tsit states, her eyes narrowing. "You are authorized for frontline deployment when necessary, under the strict tutelage of the Elite Ops. Your neural pathways are not to succumb to tactical overload."

Kal'tsit pauses.

"This authorization is contingent upon your volition. We do not conscript those who are no longer willing to kill. You will be deployed only if you will it."

Silence falls over the ward.

I sit there on the bed, paralyzed, while my brain tries to process the labyrinthine five-minute dissertation she just delivered.

Dr. Warfarin sighs and crosses her arms, the metallic buzz of her curiosity flashing with amusement.

"She is offering you a promotion to combat roles," Dr. Warfarin translates, watching my frozen expression. "If you want, little anomaly."

My fingers twist into the sheets.

Combat deployment. The last time I fought for the Military Commission I was draped in Kazdelian iron, commanding a Fear Beast to tear through the minds of terrified innocents. Dr. Kal'tsit is offering me that same power again — this time by my own choice, to protect the people of Rhodes Island.

I look up at her. I can't make this choice alone. Not with my hands still stained with the memories of Londinium.

"I… I need to talk to Amiya…" I look down at my hands. "…and Rosmontis… Erika, Lisa, Podenco… Eleanor, Adele… everyone…"

I need to know if they'd even want a monster like me standing beside them.

Dr. Kal'tsit's expression doesn't shift. She gives a slow, deliberate nod.

"I acknowledge," Kal'tsit says, with that same surgical calm. "I will await your final decision."

Beside her, Dr. Warfarin gives a theatrical sigh.

"Before you go consult half of the Operators on this metal box just to ask if you should be allowed to camp outside ever again," she interrupts, "Hibiscus is going to come and pick out a new uniform for you. See what you can afford at the other Vampire's."

I blink. "Closure…?"

"Exactly." Dr. Warfarin turns on her heel. "Anyways, you can always visit me… only if you want to donate your exquisite blood."

She strides out without waiting for an answer. The door opens and shuts, swallowing her flavor.

I'm left alone with Dr. Kal'tsit.

The supreme commander of Rhodes Island doesn't follow her out. She lingers near the foot of my bed, and in the clinical hum of the monitors her cold sits heavy in the air. I can taste the ancient weight she carries.

She looks at me for a long moment. There's no judgment in her green eyes. Only patience.

Then, without another word, she turns. Her coat sweeps over the polished floor panels as she exits, the doors sealing behind her.

I sit alone in the medical ward.

For three long minutes the only sound is the rhythmic hum of the landship's engines vibrating under the floor. I look over at the bedside tray, at the Arts Unit still waiting beside my water cup.

It is a weapon. It is a shield. It is up to me what it becomes next.

The pneumatic doors hiss open again, breaking the quiet.

The second the seal breaks, floral nectar floods the room, balanced by the clearing bite of medicinal eucalyptus.

Hibiscus walks briskly in, her dark purple uniform immaculate, her smile carrying its usual no-nonsense warmth.

"Well, Lita," Hibiscus says brightly, clasping her hands together as she approaches the bed. "Looks like you can go back to your dorm soon. Come, let's get you dressed up."

I slip out of the white hospital bed, my slippers hitting the floor panels, grab my Arts Unit off the tray, and follow her out.

The brushed-metal corridors of the landship are busy. As we walk, voices carry from a junction.

A Perro, a Liberi, and a Phidia stand clustered together, trading rumors, their expressions serious.

"Did you hear? Duke of Wellington's blockade on Na Saoirsí has ended," the Perro murmurs.

"Yeah, the capital of Tara, right?" The Liberi leans in. "Apparently the radical factions of the Dublinn forces are wiped out. It's a miracle they lasted three months after their heavy losses in Londinium after the Military Commission double-crossed them."

"Well," the Phidia sighs, crossing her arms. "Basically none of the major powers acknowledged Taran independence. Perhaps the Duke is just bringing it back to the de facto control of Victoria?"

"Hopefully there won't be more wars there," the Perro adds, his voice dropping into a tired register.

My slippers falter against the metal floor.

I look down at my hands. The words drag my mind back to the ruins of Londinium, and the scale of the world's endless conflicts presses down on my shoulders. Grand Dukes, blockades, radical forces, entire armies moving across the map just to tear each other apart…

A hand rests on my shoulder.

"Just focus on what you want to get for your uniform, Lita." Her smile is radiant.

I take a slow breath.

"Okay…" I whisper, giving my head a small shake to clear the ash out of it.

I walk past them with my eyes on the back of Hibiscus's coat, and we navigate the labyrinthine decks of the landship.

Eventually we reach Closure's general store.

I step through the open threshold and look around. The room is dim, lit by harsh rectangular overhead lamps and small track lights aimed at the merchandise. It smells of cardboard, machine oil, and new fabric. Grey metal shelving units line the walls, packed tight with neatly organized blue bins, stacked supply boxes, and assorted gear. In the center sits a long dark counter with an active terminal and small display racks of what look like data cards or rations. An empty metal shopping cart sits abandoned near a short set of concrete stairs.

And standing behind the counter is the Chief Engineer herself.

"Look who it is, kiddo!"

Her voice cuts through the industrial hum of the store, and her flavor is impossible to miss: a vibrating static of sparking copper wire and heavy machine grease, steeped in a velvet wave of dark cherry syrup.

Closure leans over the counter, a chaotic grin flashing on her face.

"Last time I checked, you're not getting paid and your account is empty," Closure says, her eyes glinting with unapologetic capitalism. "But lucky you. Amiya is paying for it this time."

My tail pins itself against the back of my leg, and I shrink behind Hibiscus.

"I… I brought my tablet with me…" I stammer defensively, hugging it to me. "Just in case I need to log my debt…"

Hibiscus lets out a long sigh and glares at her.

"Closure, please stop terrorizing my patient," Hibiscus scolds, putting herself between me and the counter. "She just got discharged ten minutes ago."

Closure laughs, the sound bubbling off the concrete walls. "Relax, Hibiscus! I'm just giving the kid a warm Rhodes Island welcome. Gotta teach them financial responsibility early!"

She gestures toward an alcove in the back corner, lit by cool white track lights. "Go on, kiddo. The clothing display is over there by the shelves. Amiya already cleared the requisition form, so pick whatever fits your style."

I peek out from behind Hibiscus and follow the gesture. Past the checkout terminal and up the short concrete steps is a wardrobe section built into the heavy metal shelving. Hanging neatly on display is a crisp, utilitarian white shirt with dark accents, and next to it a heavy, tactical dark grey jacket.

"Go ahead, Lita," Hibiscus encourages, nudging my shoulder. "Let's see what looks good on you."

I step up the short concrete stairs into the wardrobe alcove. The cool white track lights illuminate rows upon rows of pristine, untouched clothing. My fingertips brush the fabric of a tactical vest, then linger over a starched shirt before I let my hand drop.

Should I choose something more combat-focused? I think, my mind flashing back to Dr. Kal'tsit offering me a place on the frontlines. Or…?

I turn to look over my shoulder at Hibiscus, waiting patiently behind me.

"Should I… Should I choose something more combat-focused? Lisa and Podenco showed me pictures of my old outfit… Should I just have that?"

My old uniform was a white turtleneck and a dark pleated tech-skirt. The uniform of a girl who stayed in the Convalescent Garden, tucked away from the blood and the ash.

Hibiscus steps up to the racks, her expression softening.

"Well. It really depends, Lita," Hibiscus answers thoughtfully, her hand resting on her chin. "That old outfit is fitting for a Medic, Supporter, or a Caster. So I don't see why not. But you're free to add your personal spins. Closure can always manufacture them or source them."

I look back at the racks.

"Hmmm. I want Rhodes Island colors," I state, my voice finding a fraction of solid ground.

"Well, how about this?" Hibiscus asks, reaching into a neatly organized blue bin on the lower shelf.

She brings out a light grey tee and holds it up against my frame.

"It's soft and functional," she says, practical and reassuring. "Good for mobility, and it won't chafe if you end up having to wear tactical webbing over it."

I rub the material between my thumb and forefinger. It isn't starched or rigid. It yields to my touch.

"Okay," I nod, a small smile touching my lips.

With the top decided, I walk down the aisle, scanning the neatly pressed trousers and skirts, until I stop at one hanger.

A black skort, sleek, with asymmetrical pleated parts that give it a subtle look. It bridges the gap between the safety of the landship and the unpredictable reality of the wastelands.

I pull it from the rack and hold it up to my waist, and as I turn my spade-tipped tail swishes against the fabric and hits a solid back panel.

"Hmmm. I like this black skort with the asymmetrical pleated parts," I say. "No tail hole, though."

"I can fix that," Closure calls out, leaning over the counter with a confident grin. "Just toss it here when you're done. A quick cut and hem, and your tail will be swinging free in no time, kiddo."

"Thank you, Closure," I call back, draping the skort over my arm next to the light grey tee.

Hibiscus turns to a metal shelving unit dedicated to footwear, scanning the rows of reinforced combat boots, sneakers, and medical clogs.

"Hmmm. How about boots if you're heading out a lot?" Hibiscus suggests, pointing at a very specific pair sitting under a track light.

They're black with a thick, durable base and sturdy laces running up the front, but what catches my eye is the utilitarian zipper running up the leg part for quick equipping, and the fasteners secured on the left boot only. They look grounded. They look like shoes that will keep me standing.

"Those look perfect," I say, looking down at my soft hospital slippers. "Okay."

I tap my chin, visualizing the whole outfit. The soft grey tee, the tactical black skort, the boots. It needs one final piece to tie the Rhodes Island look together.

"Hmm, and a pair of knee-high socks that just peek out slightly from one of the boots," I add.

Hibiscus smiles and grabs a fresh pair of dark knee-high socks from a nearby bin, adding them to the growing pile of fabric over my arm.

"If you really want to bankrupt Amiya, kiddo…" Closure calls out from across the store.

"I got a waist belt that can hang up to four pouches, or two small bags, or however you want to combine them," Closure pitches, tapping a sleek, translucent belt on her display rack. "More importantly, on the back part, it has inert Originium circuits to magnetically suspend that Arts Unit of yours. It even has RHODES ISLAND printed in black right across it."

I stop, my arms full of the light grey tee, the black skort, and the knee-high socks.

I look at the belt, then at the Arts Unit propped against my shoulder, its misty blue liquid suspended within intersecting, matte black magnetic halos. Being able to magnetically secure it to my back instead of clutching it constantly sounds practical.

But then I think of Amiya, a young Cautus girl carrying the weight of the Black Crown and an entire ruined nation on her shoulders. And here I am, aggressively spending her money in the general store.

"Uhm… should I?" I whisper. The old guilt of being a burden creeps back into my chest. "Is it really okay?"

Closure lets out a loud, chaotic laugh that echoes against the metal shelving.

"Well, you're not exactly paying for it?" she points out.

I look up at Hibiscus for guidance. She offers me a reassuring smile, that sweet floral nectar and medicinal eucalyptus wrapping around my hesitation.

I bite my lip, my fingers tightening around the fabric in my arms.

"Sorry… Amiya…" I say into the air, offering a small, apologetic bow to a Cautus girl who isn't even in the room. Then I straighten my spine and give Closure a firm nod. "But okay! I want a small bag with one half of it being clear, the other half being fabric. And two medical pouches."

"Deal, kiddo," Closure replies smoothly, her fingers dancing across the checkout terminal.

Hibiscus giggles, the sound bright and musical in the quiet store.

"Now, your coat." Hibiscus turns back to the hanging wardrobe section built into the metal racks.

She sifts through the hangers for a moment before stopping.

"Oh, how about this?" she asks, pulling a jacket from the rack and holding it up into the cool white light.

A heavy tactical coat, dark grey on the outside — but the moment she opens it, a misty blue inner lining flashes into view. The color matches the liquid suspended in my Arts Unit, my tail, and my own eyes.

It's the cut that catches me. Oversized, the long sleeves hanging down, designed to swallow my hands. It makes me feel safe, like I could hide the hands I once thought belonged to a monster deep in the fabric.

And the hem is asymmetrical. The right side hangs noticeably longer, falling in a clean, sweeping line that would balance the pleated parts resting mostly on the left side of my new black skort.

It's me.

Looking at it, the mountain of guilt I've been carrying since Londinium feels a little lighter.

My tail gives a joyful flick, betraying my composure.

"Okay!"

I gather the massive pile of fabric and waddle over to the counter.

Closure leans over the register.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The digital scanner chimes as she logs every expensive tactical addition directly onto Amiya's tab.

I peer over the edge of the counter at the glowing red digits tallying on the checkout terminal.

"Uhm… that's a big number…" I'm bankrupting Amiya.

Closure snorts, resting her hands on her hips with a razor-sharp grin.

"Well, kiddo, if you want, you can keep wearing that hospital gown," she points out, gesturing lazily toward my rumpled, oversized white patient clothes.

I look down at the sterile white fabric. It feels too much like the pristine Kazdelian outfit I wore in the ruins of Londinium.

I shake my head, my horns tracing an arc in the air.

"I… I will pass," I stammer.

Hibiscus lets out a soft giggle and steps forward to take half of the clothing pile.

"Come on, Lita. Let's get you changed in the back," Hibiscus says smoothly, ignoring the teasing.

She leads me into a small, corrugated metal changing booth tucked at the back of the store. I slip out of the hospital gown and pull on the light grey tee, marveling at how easily it yields against my frame. I step into the black skort — true to her word, Closure has already modified the back, and my misty blue spade-tipped tail swings free, unobstructed and comfortable.

The dark knee-high socks go on next, then the thick, durable boots; I secure the fasteners on the left boot and stamp my heels into the concrete. They feel grounded. They feel like shoes that will carry me far from the ash-choked streets of my past.

Next, the translucent utility belt around my waist. The circuits on the back engage with a satisfying magnetic click, suspending my Arts Unit in place without me having to hold it like a lifeline.

Finally, I slide my arms through the oversized dark grey jacket.

The fabric settles over my shoulders, the misty blue lining brushing against my sides. The sleeves hang past my fingertips. I curl my fingers inward, hiding the hands that once commanded a Fear Beast inside the dark fabric.

I step out of the booth.

A full-length mirror rests against the wall. I stand in front of it and look at the reflection under the cool white track lights.

My woodsmoke grey hair falls wildly around my shoulders, framing my horns. My brow furrows.

"Something is missing," I say quietly.

Hibiscus steps up behind me, her reflection joining mine in the glass.

"What is it, Lita?" Hibiscus asks, gentle and patient.

I look at my own eyes in the mirror.

"Ah… can you tie my hair to a nape ponytail…" I ask, my voice trembling as my fingers trace the edge of the oversized sleeve. "I want my birth mother's… hairstyle…"

Hibiscus's expression softens into an ocean of tenderness.

"Of course."

She steps closer and gathers the wild strands of my hair with a practiced, methodical efficiency, pulling it back from my face and securing it neatly at the base of my neck.

"There, done!" Her floral resonance blooms.

I look back into the mirror.

With my hair pulled back, the asymmetrical fringe sweeps to the right, balancing my lopsided horns. I look at the dark coat, the tactical skort, the boots, and the low ponytail resting against my neck.

I don't look like an executioner. I don't look like a hollow, indoctrinated puppet. I look like a girl who has a future. I look like Lethia's daughter.

"This is me now…"

I turn away from the mirror, ready to walk out of the store and head straight to the Convalescent Garden.

"Hold it right there!"

Closure's voice slices through the quiet. She vaults over the checkout counter, lands with a thud, and marches into my path with a high-end camera suddenly in her hands.

"Before you go, kiddo! I'm going to take a picture for your profile, and to also advertise our clothing lines for magazines," Closure declares, her grin widening as she raises the lens toward my face.

I freeze.

My face plastered across magazines, on display for the entire world — my stomach hollows out. I cross my arms over my chest, pulling the sleeves over my hands.

"But…" I take a step backward, trying to hide behind Hibiscus's coat.

Closure lowers the camera a fraction, her red eyes narrowing as she calculates her angle of attack. She points a finger toward a display rack near the front of the store.

"You will get paid, so you can buy those plushies over there."

I blink.

I turn my head slowly, following the trajectory of her finger.

Resting on the top shelf under a warm spotlight is a stack of soft, colorful, ridiculously adorable plushies. A round, fuzzy beckbeast. A squishy Originium slug. A pastel pink Cautus-esque one holding a tiny carrot.

I short-circuit. Londinium, Kazdel, the camera in my face… all of it blinks out. There is only one mission now: the plushies.

I look at the plushies. I look at Closure.

My tail wags so fast it blurs into a misty blue fan. I drop my arms, square my shoulders, and stand at strict attention in the middle of the track lights.

"…okay!"

I hold there, spine ramrod straight, my hands lost in the oversized sleeves of my new dark grey jacket. I'm trying my hardest to look presentable.

"You are too rigid, kiddo," Closure's voice echoes from behind the camera.

She lowers the lens, her eyes rolling with amusement.

"Relax," Closure commands, waving a hand. "We're selling clothes, not declaring martial law."

I let out a slow breath and force my shoulders to drop, loosening my posture and letting my tail sway naturally behind the asymmetrical hem of my new black skort. I tilt my head a fraction and offer a small, hesitant smile.

"Like this?" I ask, my voice small in the industrial hum of the store.

Click. Flash.

"Perfect," Closure grins, the camera snapping rapidly as she catches the movement.

I endure the flashes for the next ten minutes. Closure directs me to turn, to adjust the collar of my jacket, and to show off the magnetic suspension of my Arts Unit on the back of my translucent utility belt. By the time she lowers the camera, my eyes are full of white spots.

"Okay. Good," Closure declares, scrolling through the gallery on the camera's screen. "I'll send the credits to your ID when we get these printed. I'll message you."

She shoos me away with a wave of her hand.

"Now shoo, kiddo. Unless you're actually buying something with your own money."

I step out of the track lights and look to the top shelf near the register. The soft beckbeast plushie sits under the warm spotlight, calling my name.

"Okay," I murmur, my fingers twitching inside the sleeves. "I will be back for the plushie…"

Closure laughs, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

I step back over to Hibiscus, waiting just outside the store.

"Well, Lita. That's it then," Hibiscus says. "You know how to navigate to the Convalescent Garden and the other places from here?"

I nod slowly. The corridors of Rhodes Island are vast and intimidating, but I haven't been blind these past two months.

"I… I think so," I reply, pulling my new jacket a little tighter around myself. "You and Erika have shown me the layout quite a lot during my walks. I think I got it now."

"That's good to hear," Hibiscus smiles.

I stand still for a moment and look at her. She anchored me when my mind was a terrified mess.

Feet together, hands pressed flat against my chest over the soft fabric of my new light grey tee, I bend deeply at the waist and bow.

"Thank you for taking care of me for the past two months."

Hibiscus reaches out, her hands catching my shoulders to guide me back upright.

"No need to thank me, Lita. I'm just doing my job," she replies. "I'm glad you're fully recovered now."

She steps back, her expression shifting into the clinical authority of a medic, and points a finger at me.

"But make sure to take your meds, eat your greens, and sleep on time even in your own dorm, okay?"

"I will, promise."

Hibiscus turns toward the main thoroughfare of the landship.

"See you, Lita."

"See you, Hibiscus."

I walk down the hallway, my new boots clicking quietly against the polished floor panels.

Rounding a sharp corner near one of the central junctions, I nearly run straight into someone.

I halt, my boots skidding a fraction against the metal.

Standing in front of me is a young Feline girl, slightly taller than I am. Pale green eyes, long silver-white hair falling neatly around her white ears. She's dressed in something close to my own new aesthetic: a dark oversized coat with a vibrant blue inner lining sweeping around her knees, and beneath it a complex white dress with translucent layers, dark crisscrossing straps wrapped around her thighs down to her black boots.

Her presence washes over my senses in the near-collision. Cool, smooth stone and a sharp crackle of static electricity, layered over the sweet flavor of pineapple soft serve.

She stops and looks at me, blinking in quiet surprise. Then she drops her gaze to the glowing terminal in her hands.

"Hi… Lethe…" she murmurs, her voice soft and drifting. She pauses, her ears twitching as she corrects herself. "Wait, no, Lita."

My tail gives a nervous swish. I remember her face from the pictures Lisa showed me back in the Convalescent Garden, and her name from Lisa's list. She's an Elite Ops. Someone of Blaze and Raidian's caliber. But they told me she was my friend.

"Uhm, Hi… Rosmontis, right?"

"Yes," she answers, her static-laced presence humming with an unthreatening calm. She tilts her head, taking in my new dark grey coat and tactical black skort. "You look nice."

A warmth blooms in my chest.

"Thank you. Uhm… right. I have a question for you, Rosmontis…" I start, my voice hesitant.

"Yes?" she asks, giving me her full, quiet attention.

"Dr. Kal'tsit offered me a chance to join the Field Ops… Should I? What is it like out there?"

Rosmontis looks at me for a moment. The cool stone of her resonance hollows out into a quiet emptiness I recognize.

"I don't remember much," Rosmontis answers, with a soft, melancholic weight. She looks at her terminal, then back up at my face. "But, there are friends who fight with you and camp with you and people who we need to protect."

Friends who fight with you. People to protect.

I let out a quiet exhale.

"I see… thank you," I murmur.

"Well. Lita," Rosmontis says. "Amiya said I should tell you to meet her in the café in upper deck 2. I need to be in the training hall soon. Take care."

She turns to leave.

"Okay," I call out. "Good luck, Rosmontis."

I watch her figure disappear down the metal corridor, leaving me alone in the mechanical hum of the landship.

Then it hits me.

Though… how do I get to upper deck 2 again?

Hibiscus and Erika had shown me the layout, but the endless, identical grey metal walls of Rhodes Island suddenly look intimidating. I look left, then right, lost in the labyrinth of the mobile city.

A figure is walking down the hall toward me.

"Uhm, excuse me!" I call out, stepping forward and raising a hand from the depths of my oversized sleeve to flag her down.

She stops. A Vulpo, dressed in a refined uniform with a distinctly aristocratic elegance.

"Yes, Lethe?" she asks, her voice gentle and cultured. She looks me over — the dark grey coat, the misty blue lining, the black skort — and breaks into a bright smile. "Oh, you got a new outfit! Looks great."

I shrink a fraction.

"Thank you…" I look at her face, trying to pull a name out of the void of my memories. "…uhm… sorry, you are?"

There's no offense in her at my forgotten memory. Expensive, delicate black tea blended with creamy vanilla, and beneath that refinement a quiet undertone of crushed dried lavender and sterile bandages.

"Ah, where are my manners," she says, placing a hand over her chest with a small, polite bow. "Breeze, a traveling scholar and medic."

"Breeze…" I repeat, committing the taste of vanilla black tea and lavender to my newly forming memories. "I would like to ask, how do I get to the upper deck 2 café?"

Breeze's smile softens. She turns and points a finger down the long, sterile stretch of the corridor.

"Ah, so head down this corridor and turn left at the intersection," Breeze explains, patient and clear. "Then, turn right at the next one. You'll reach the administrative elevator."

I trace her instructions in the air, mapping the route in my head. Left, then right, then the administrative elevator.

"Okay. Thank you," I say, offering her a small, grateful bow.

"No worries, good luck, Lethe," Breeze replies. Her lavender-laced presence lingers in the air as she resumes her walk down the hall, leaving me to navigate my way to Amiya.

I follow the path she laid out for me. Okay, turn left here, I remind myself, navigating the intersection.

I walk straight down the adjoining corridor, but my boots falter, and I pull myself behind the edge of a bulkhead.

Standing a few meters away is Erika. Next to her is another Vulpo, this one tiny compared to Breeze or Lena, in a somewhat oversized medical coat and carrying a clipboard.

"Sussurro, what do you think of the new formula?" Erika asks, her voice hushed and professional.

"It's far more expensive to make," the tiny Vulpo, Sussurro, replies, tapping her pen against her clipboard. "But from Lita's results, it's highly effective at suppressing even extreme cases of Oripathy."

My heart stops.

My fingers curl inward, digging into my palms inside the oversized sleeves. My results?

Are… are they actually experimenting on me? I shrink back against the cold metal wall. Can I… trust them…? Are these expensive suppressants just another way to control me?

Before I can spiral any further into the void, Erika turns around.

Her eyes land on me at the bulkhead, and the clinical posture vanishes.

"Oh, Lita! Look at you!" Erika gasps, her voice pitching up with delight.

She abandons her conversation, rushes over, and circles me, her hands hovering as she checks every piece of my new outfit. "That's so cute! And the hair is so nice!"

Then, without warning, she stops in front of me, leans down, and plants a firm, warm kiss on my forehead.

My eyes go wide, and my tail coils around my legs.

Erika pulls back.

"Oh, sorry, did I scare you?" Erika asks, gentle and apologetic.

"Oh. No, no. I just…" I stammer, my face flushing with heat.

I sweep the corridor for the stagnant rot of deception, the rusted iron of a mastermind's manipulation. I brace myself to taste the truth of their "experiments."

But there's nothing.

There's no malice in Erika, no lie. Only a sun-drenched field. Beside her, Sussurro is grounded and calm — unsweetened dark chocolate and black coffee, sharply focused, and safe.

They aren't experimenting on me to hurt me. They're trying to keep my Oripathy from consuming my life.

Sussurro steps up beside Erika, adjusts her clipboard, and offers a small, professional nod.

"Lita."

"Hi… Sussurro. Hi Erika," I murmur, lowering my hands. I look between the two of them, Dr. Kal'tsit's offer still pressing down on my lungs. "I do have a question. Dr. Kal'tsit offered me a place with the Field Ops… should I?"

Erika pauses.

A wave of worry bleeds into the warm honey, spiking with a tangy note of unripe fruit. She loses her focus for a second.

"I want to say no," Erika sighs, her voice thick with an aching tenderness. She looks back up at me, her eyes patient and sincere. "But that's your decision, Lita. You're strong, and you're smart. You'll survive out there."

She reaches out, brushing a strand of woodsmoke grey hair behind my ear.

"But I would prefer if you stay in the landship," she admits, with a strained smile. "Having you taken twice is really testing my heart strength."

"Twice?" I echo, my voice breathy and confused.

I know about Londinium. But the Confessarii hadn't kidnapped me twice, had they?

Erika lets out a long, exasperated sigh, the worry in her melting into a fond, exhausted resignation.

"Well…" Erika begins, her feathers shifting. "You got accidentally shipped in a crate once."

My jaw drops.

"Good thing Texas and Exusiai decided to drop you off at Siracusa before they actually reached Lungmen," Erika adds casually, dropping the names of people I don't remember yet as if this is a normal logistical error.

I can only look at her.

"Shipped…?" My voice cracks in the middle of the corridor.

Erika pats my shoulder, her smile returning with a devastating serenity.

"Yep."

"Oh… well… okie…" I squeak, my brain failing to compute the image of myself stuffed into a wooden logistics crate and shipped across the continent.

Erika lets out a warm, musical chuckle and smooths down my hair.

"Like I said, my little Lita," Erika murmurs. "It's best for you to decide for yourself. Whatever path you choose, we'll be right here for you."

Beside her, Sussurro adjusts the clipboard in her arms.

"Just be sure to take appropriate rests, Lita," Sussurro adds, her voice shifting into a clinical authority that rivals Hibiscus. "Work and relaxation are equally important. Especially with your condition. Do not push your Arts past their limits."

"Okay. Thank you," I say.

"No worries, Lita," Erika smiles, the exhaustion bruising the skin under her eyes eclipsed for a moment. "Where were you headed, by the way? Going to see Dr. Kal'tsit about your decision?"

I shake my head, my hair swaying. "Ah, no. Not yet… Amiya wants to talk to me at the café on upper deck 2."

"Oh! Well, you shouldn't keep our CEO waiting then. See you at dinner?"

The thought of sitting down for a warm meal with Erika warms me.

"Okay. See you, Erika. See you, Sussurro," I reply.

I take a confident step forward and march past them, prepared to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the mobile city.

After exactly three steps, I freeze.

My boots halt on the polished steel. Identical grey bulkheads, intersecting hallways stretching in four directions. Breeze had given me directions… Left? Right? The administrative elevator?

My mind blanks.

I pivot slowly on my heel, my face flushing, and look back at the two of them, my fingers twisting the zipper pull of my coat.

"…wait… where do I turn again?" I stammer, my voice shrinking in the sterile air.

Sussurro sighs, a tiny, amused sound, while Erika just beams and raises her hand, pointing a guiding finger down the opposing hallway.

After one more hesitant turn and some careful double-checking of the signage on the bulkheads, I finally navigate my way to upper deck 2.

The metallic scent of the corridors is replaced by roasted coffee beans, toasted bread, and warm vanilla. The café is a wide, open space in soft light, scattered circular tables and plush booths, a low hum of conversation floating through the room as Operators take their breaks.

I step inside and scan the room.

I spot her immediately.

Amiya is sitting alone at a small table near the far end of the café, beside a reinforced glass window that overlooks the world outside.

I walk over, drawn to the view beyond the glass. The landship is charting a course through the barrens, the expanse of them sweeping out to the horizon. Flat-topped mesas and sharp cliffs of rusted red rock jut from the cracked earth, casting long shadows under a heavy sky of layered grey clouds. In the far distance, the angular silhouettes of Originium ores pierce the horizon line.

Amiya catches my reflection in the glass.

"Lita," she says softly, turning in her seat and offering me a warm smile. "You made it. Love your new outfit."

The air around her is soothing. The spun sugar is still saturated in an ocean of aching sorrow, but here, away from the weight of her office, the sorrow feels quieter. More manageable.

"Thank you… Hibiscus and Closure helped pick them… Thank you for paying for them, Amiya," I pull my hands free from my sleeves just enough to grasp the back of the chair. "You asked for me?"

"Always, Lita. I cannot allow you to walk around in a gown, can I? And, yes," Amiya nods, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. "But before that, have a seat, Lita. What do you want to drink?"

I slide into the chair, my tail curling against the backrest, and look down at the digital menu. My mind flashes back to the clinical authority of the medical ward.

I shrink a fraction, my fingers twisting the misty blue inner lining of my coat.

"Uhm… something sweet and no caffeine…" I say, a shiver running down my spine. "If I have caffeine, I'm sure Hibiscus and Erika are going to teleport here somehow."

I can taste it already — Hibiscus's strict medicinal eucalyptus and Erika's protective warm honey, zeroing in on me the moment I violate my discharge orders.

Amiya blinks, then lets out a soft, bright giggle. The sound cuts right through the shadows of the deaths she carries.

"Hot cocoa it is," Amiya smiles.

She taps her ring-clad fingers against the slate on the table to input the order.

We sit in a comfortable silence, watching the rusted canyons roll past the thick glass, until a low whir approaches and a small, boxy Castle bot trundles up with a steaming mug of hot cocoa and Amiya's own drink on its flat surface.

"Thank you," I whisper to the bot, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic.

The bot beeps, pivots on its treads, and rolls away to service another table.

Amiya blows softly on her cup and takes a slow sip, then holds the mug between her hands.

"Well, Lita," Amiya begins, earnest and curious, leaning forward a fraction. "What do you think of Rhodes Island?"

I lower my mug, the sweet scent of chocolate warming my face.

What do I think of Rhodes Island?

I think of the people on this ship.

I think of Raidian, holding me on the cracked asphalt while I wept. I think of Blaze, throwing me over her shoulder and launching us off a hundred-meter defense wall just to keep me safe. I think of Lisa and Podenco, burying me in confetti and promising we could go eat towering stacks of Columbian pancakes together. I think of Dr. Warfarin, working day and night on new Oripathy suppressants alongside the Medics; I even think of Closure, threatening to charge me for the oxygen I breathe just to make me laugh.

Some of them could probably flatten a whole city if they wanted to… and instead they spend their days making safe places for people like me.

I look into Amiya's eyes, tasting the spun sugar of her.

"Everyone is so nice…and just a bit chaotic."

Amiya lets out another soft giggle.

"Sounds like you're getting the real Rhodes Island experience then."

She takes another sip, but as she lowers the mug she lets out a weary sigh.

"Unless, of course, you have to somehow pay for the daily repair bills," Amiya adds, deadpan.

"Daily?" I think of Blaze casually tearing through a reinforced concrete ceiling with a superheated chainsaw just to make a shortcut.

Amiya nods, slow and solemn.

I'm definitely keeping my PRTS slate tucked away.

Amiya's expression softens. She sets her mug down and folds her hands in her lap.

"Anyways, Lita," Amiya begins, quiet and earnest. "For your future… what do you plan to do? And what about your name here?"

I look down into the dark, sweet depths of my hot cocoa.

"I… I only remember Lita…"

"Well, Lita is your birth name," Amiya affirms gently.

I trace the rim of the mug with my thumb.

"Amiya…" I look up, my eyes meeting hers. "Do we know each other well? From back in Babel?"

Amiya pauses. The ocean of her sorrow parts a fraction, letting a bittersweet, nostalgic warmth blend into the air of the café.

"Well, not exactly," Amiya answers, a fond, fragile smile touching her lips. "We played with each other a few times. But that's about it. You were mostly glued to your mom back then… or you disappeared into the libraries or dorms."

A smaller version of myself, clinging to the sun-warmed earth and jasmine of the woman who fought for the light. A girl who hid in libraries instead of marching through ash-choked streets. It feels like reading a beautiful storybook about a stranger.

"Oh… I am…" I trail off. I want to apologize for not remembering her, for not remembering the quiet moments we shared before the world caught fire.

Amiya reaches across the small table.

Her hands close over mine, enveloping my fingers in unconditional warmth.

"Well, Lita," Amiya says, her voice an anchor. "You're back with us now. But I don't want you to feel like you owe us anything. Dr. Kal'tsit gave you an offer, but your choice matters. Whatever you decide, it has to be for you."

I look down at our joined hands.

Past the reinforced glass, the rusted canyons of the barrens roll by. I think about the life I built here on this landship over almost three years, even if I can't reach the memories of it. I think of Breeze in the hallway, vanilla black tea and crushed lavender, offering me patient directions.

"I had been Lethe to a lot of people, right?" I ask softly, turning back to Amiya. "Breeze earlier… she called me Lethe, too."

"Yes," Amiya answers quietly. "You were Lethe to everyone here."

I take a slow, deep breath.

"I think…" I begin, my voice steadying. "I will keep Lethe as my codename."

Amiya's ears rise, her blue eyes reflecting the warm light.

"I don't think just tossing the name away is right," I continue, squeezing Amiya's hand back. "Lita is who I was born as. But Lethe… Lethe is the girl who found a home in the Convalescent Garden. Lethe is the girl who made friends with Lisa, Podenco, and Adele. If that name means something to them… I want to keep it."

Amiya nods.

"Okay. I will let Closure know to update that on your profile." She reaches across the table to tap her ring-clad fingers against her PRTS slate and log the decision.

She lets her hand rest on the polished glass screen and looks back up at me.

"What about your birthday?" Amiya asks.

"Birthday?" I echo, tilting my head.

"Yes," Amiya says, a fond smile touching her lips. "You chose the 2nd of January, the day Caladria rescued you, as your birthday. But we could dig into the old logs to see if your real birthday is still on our servers."

The real day I was born. The day Lethia brought me into the world.

I look down into my hot cocoa. My reflection looks back at me from the surface.

I think of the countless people I ordered to die in Londinium.

Birthdays are for people who bring joy to the world. They're days of colorful confetti, sweet pastries, celebrations of life. They aren't meant for executioners who wear the enemy's colors and feed on the rotting nectar of terror.

"I… I don't know. I don't know if I can have a birthday."

Amiya's expression softens.

"Everyone can have one, Lita."

"But…"

Amiya leans back, her tone lightening.

"You can decide later," she says with a wry smile that reaches her eyes. "But please don't make me turn it into an order from the CEO."

I pause, the fog in my mind parting a fraction at her words.

The scent of chocolate and warm vanilla grounds me in the present.

"I…" I say, offering Amiya a tentative nod. "I'll think about it. I'll message you."

Amiya's smile widens into an ocean of tenderness.

"Okay, I'll wait, Lita," she replies softly.

The comfortable silence between us is broken by a long, hollow growl from my stomach.

My face burns. I shrink into my chair.

"Oh… sorry…"

Amiya lets out a soft giggle.

"Well, I'm a bit hungry too." She rests a hand against her own stomach. "Didn't get time to get a full lunch. Hmmm, want to have a cake to share?"

I peek out from beneath my messy fringe, thinking of the red digits that tallied up on Closure's checkout terminal an hour ago.

"I keep spending your money though…" I whisper, my fingers twisting the inner lining of my coat.

Amiya waves a hand.

"Don't worry about that today," she reassures me, her tone easy and warm. "Closure is still setting up your new account, since your old one got frozen and purged because you lost your ID card."

"Just think of it as making up for your lost credits," she adds.

I hesitate, but the aroma of toasted sugar and vanilla lingering in the café is too persuasive to ignore.

"If you say so…" I murmur.

Amiya pulls her slate closer, scrolling through the menu.

"How about your favorites?" she suggests, scanning the glowing screen. "Leithanian chocolate cakes. We can have the cherry one or the lava cake."

I think about it.

"Cherry one, thanks," I reply, pulling my hands free from my sleeves to rest them on the table.

A low mechanical whir approaches our table again. The boxy Castle bot rolls up to the edge, this time carrying a ceramic plate with a dark Leithanian cherry chocolate cake resting in the center.

"Thank you," I whisper to the bot as it beeps and rolls away.

Amiya smiles, setting the plate squarely between us, and hands me a small polished dessert fork.

I take a hesitant bite. Dark cocoa and tart cherry melt on my tongue. It's amazing. The sweetness chases away the chill of the wastelands outside our reinforced window.

Amiya takes a small bite too, her long ears giving a happy twitch.

Then a new flavor hits my channels.

A sweeping wave of golden sunlight. Polished gold, sun-baked wheat, and a righteous conviction that makes the shadows in the room evaporate. It's heroic enough to warm the air around our table.

I turn my head.

Walking down the aisle of the café is a tall Kuranta woman, the manifestation of her own flavor: long blonde hair framing her face, fluffy ears perked on her crown, a thick tail sweeping behind her. She wears an asymmetrical white coat layered over metallic leg armor, accented by gold shoulder plating and a black collar.

But it isn't her presence or her weapon that makes my jaw drop.

It's what her gauntleted hand is casually dragging across the polished floor panels.

"Doctor?!" I yelp, my dessert fork freezing halfway to my mouth.

The hooded tactician trails behind her limp as a sack of flour. His heavy dark coat sweeps the tiles, his head lolls to the side, and he's soundly asleep. Clutched stubbornly in one gloved hand is a half-opened, foil-wrapped energy bar.

She stops near our table and offers a polite nod, her golden eyes warm.

"Miss Amiya," she greets, her voice steady and resonant. Then she looks at me, her smile softening. "Greetings, young lady."

I look at Amiya, expecting the CEO of Rhodes Island to react. She doesn't flinch. She just blinks and lets out a soft sigh.

"Ah, Ms. Nearl." Amiya offers a smile. "You found Doctor!"

"Ah, yes," Ms. Nearl replies smoothly, her grip on Doctor's collar unmoved. "He was in a maintenance vent, hiding from the Medical Department. I'll bring him back to his quarters. Enjoy your break, young ladies."

"Thank you, Ms. Nearl," Amiya replies cheerfully.

I sit there paralyzed in my chair, watching her resume her march down the corridor, the sleeping tactician sliding across the floor behind her, energy bar and all.

"Thank… thank you," I stammer.

I stare at the empty stretch of corridor where the knight and the floor-sweeping tactician vanished.

"Don't mind him, Lita."

Amiya's voice pulls my attention back to the table.

I blink, turning to look at my CEO friend. "Doctor?" I ask, trying to believe that the terrifying genius who plans all of Rhodes Island's battles is the same man who just got dragged away clutching a foil-wrapped energy bar.

"Yes."

"He works very hard to keep all of us alive and Rhodes Island intact," she adds. "He forgets to sleep sometimes."

I look down at my plate and pick up my dessert fork, my fingers tracing the smooth metal.

"Okay." The scent of the cherry chocolate cake grounds my nerves. "Ah, right, Amiya… about my deployment. Should I?"

Amiya pauses. She lowers her fork.

"Dr. Kal'tsit's job offer?" she asks, considering it carefully. "Well. You have to pass Instructor Dobermann's tests before I can sign it off. Whenever you're ready to decide, just let me and Dr. Kal'tsit know."

"Instructor Dobermann?"

A phantom shiver runs down my spine.

Amiya offers a small, wry smile.

"She's one of our two instructors," she explains, her tone reassuring but firm. "Her tests are very thorough. It will ensure you're ready for the deployment."

A thorough test. A combat evaluation.

"I see…" I whisper. My attention drops to the half-eaten slice of Leithanian cake between us. "I… I think I need to talk to Adele, Eleanor, Skyfire, Lisa, Podenco, Lena…"

The names tumble out of my mouth like a protective litany.

Amiya's smile softens into something boundlessly tender.

"Then let's finish the cake." She picks her fork back up. "I need to get back to work, with Doctor being out of commission."

My fingers tighten around my own fork.

"Okay," I say, my voice steadying. I stab a piece of the dark chocolate and tart cherry and bring it to my mouth.

I'll finish this cake. And then I'll go find my friends.

We finish the rest of the chocolate cake in a comfortable, grounding peace.

Amiya sets her dessert fork down on the empty ceramic plate.

"See you sometime again, Lita," she says, offering a gentle smile.

"See you, Amiya. Thank you for… for everything."

She smiles once more and stands up from the table. I watch as the King of my people turns and walks away, her long pale ribbons drifting behind her as she navigates the café tables and disappears into the bustling arteries to shoulder the weight of the world.

I sit alone a moment longer. Then I slide out of the chair.

Middle Deck 1. Archives.

I navigate the labyrinthine corridors with a new focus. The identical grey bulkheads of Rhodes Island feel less intimidating now. I check the signage at the intersections, my dark grey coat swaying around my knees.

Approaching the observation corridors of middle deck 1, before I turn the corner, two clashing flavors reach my channels.

From one side, crisp freshly printed parchment and sweet mint leaves, buzzing with academic excitement. From the other, sharp chili pepper and cinnamon, aristocratic composure layered over the warmth of a roaring hearth fire.

Eleanor and Skyfire.

I step around the bulkhead. The two of them stand by a reinforced observation window, looking out at the rust-red canyons of the barrens rolling past.

I slow my boots, not wanting to interrupt.

"Skyfire," Eleanor says, her voice quiet. "Our country is safe… again."

Skyfire stands with her arms crossed, her brown-crimson hair catching the light of the corridor.

"The throne stays empty," she replies, her tone carrying the refined cadence of a noble, underscored by exhaustion. "Vina Victoria is the last of House Victoria. She has chosen to be our Lord Protector and Speaker of the Parliament rather than a King."

Skyfire closes her eyes.

"The future is uncertain," she continues, turning her gaze back out toward the horizon. "But you are not incorrect, Mint. A greater bloodshed has been averted."

I stand still in the corridor, waiting to see if they'll continue.

But they're both quiet.

"Uhm…" I finally speak up, stepping out of the shadow of the bulkhead. My boots click against the metal. "Excuse me…"

Both of them turn from the observation window.

"Lita!" Eleanor gasps.

She bounds across the corridor, stopping just short of tackling me, taking in my black skort, my knee-high socks, the lining of my jacket.

"Oh my goodness, you're out of the medical ward! And look at your outfit!" Eleanor beams, her hands hovering excitedly. "It looks so incredibly tactical! And the magnetic suspension for your Arts Unit on the belt? Fascinating engineering!"

Skyfire steps away from the window.

"Lita," she greets. She sets a hand on her hip, looking me up and down. "It's good to see you walking the corridors again. That hospital gown was doing nothing for your aesthetic."

"Thank you, Skyfire. Thank you, Eleanor," I say. "Closure and Hibiscus helped me put it together."

"It suits you perfectly," Eleanor adds, her smile wide.

I pause.

"Actually… I came looking for you both," I start. I look up, meeting Skyfire's eyes, then Eleanor's. "Dr. Kal'tsit… she came to my ward today."

"She… she offered me a chance to join the combat roster. To be a Field Operator. To deploy on the frontlines."

Eleanor breathes out. "The… the frontlines? But Lita, you're in palliative care! Your Arts are for siphoning trauma, not…"

"I summoned things in Londinium," I interrupt, my eyes dropping to the polished floor panels. "I manifested emotional trauma into physical Arts Creations. Dr. Kal'tsit said my neural pathways stabilized… and that my offensive potential is high."

I look back up, my fingers curling into the fabric of my sleeves.

"She said it's entirely my choice. But if I want to… I have to pass Instructor Dobermann's combat evaluations first. I… I don't know what to do. I wanted to ask you both. You're Casters. You know what it's like out there."

Skyfire is silent for a long moment, looking at me.

Then she takes a slow, deliberate step forward.

"The battlefield is not a controlled thermodynamic experiment, Lethe," she states, her voice dropping into gravity. "It is chaotic. It is loud. And it forces you to make decisions that will haunt you long after the ash settles. I saw what happened in Chernobog. You have seen what happened in Londinium."

She reaches out, her hand resting on my shoulder. The heat of her palm seeps through the fabric of my coat.

"But," she continues, her eyes softening, "you're not the girl I found hiding behind a bunch of children's primers in the Archives anymore. You've survived the worst of our land."

Skyfire stands tall.

"If you choose to step onto the battlefield to protect," she declares, "I will tutor you in offensive Arts theories and calculations myself. I will ensure you know exactly how to cast Arts without propagating your Oripathy."

Her belief in me makes my vision blur with hot tears.

Eleanor steps up beside her, reaching out to squeeze my arm.

"When you deploy, I could always come along," she adds. "I had so much fun camping with you in Ascarat! There are so many more rocks we could collect!"

I look at the two of them.

"Thank you… both of you."

"Well. I won't take more of your time," I add.

I plant my feet together and press my hands flat against the grey fabric of my new tee, offering them a deep bow. "I want to ask everyone else before I make a final decision."

Skyfire's chili-pepper sharpness settles back into composure. She offers a firm nod. "When you're ready to pick up the books again, just let me know."

Eleanor waves enthusiastically. "See you in the Archives, Lita!"

"I will. See you!" I reply, offering them a small smile before turning away.

I walk toward the Archives, hoping to find Adele there. She's the world's best Catastrophe Messenger; her volcanic resolve and quiet endurance are exactly the perspective I need right now.

The heavy pneumatic doors hiss open. The familiar scent of old paper, binding glue, and quiet preservation washes over me. I step into the dim, cavernous room, scanning the towering rows of bookshelves and the scattered reading tables.

I spot her easily.

Adele is sitting at one of the wide wooden tables near the center of the room. But she isn't alone.

Beside her sits a young Feline girl with two tails swaying behind her chair. She holds a book open on the table, her finger tracing the lines as she reads the words aloud, patient and soft.

As I step closer, a new flavor reaches me. Delicate and sweet — the two-tailed Feline tastes of freshly baked bread and whipped cream, underscored by a nervous flutter of powdered sugar. A timid warmth that makes the air feel welcoming.

And beside her, Adele's presence radiates through the room: the familiar dormant hearth fire, mixed with the earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts.

My boots scuff against the floorboards and Adele's head lifts, her ears twitching, straining toward the sound.

"The heat…" Adele says, her voice carrying that quiet, enduring warmth. "Lita?"

The girl looks up from the textbook. Her eyes widen, and she manages a polite, welcoming smile.

"Oh, hi, Lethe," she greets softly.

"Sorry to intrude."

"It's all good, have a seat," Adele says warmly, gesturing toward the empty chair across the table. "Lita, this is Mousse. She was with us in County Ascarat."

"Hi, Mousse," I say, pulling the chair out and sitting down.

I settle into the seat, and as I look across the table, I notice Adele isn't looking at me.

Her face is turned in my direction, but her eyes are unfocused, fixed past my shoulder, not tracking my movements, my face, or the new dark grey coat I'm wearing. Her hands rest flat against the table, her fingers grazing the edge of the book as if touch is what anchors her.

"Adele…" I whisper, the weight of it pressing down on my chest. "Your eyes…"

Adele's smile doesn't fade, but the dormant hearth fire of her flickers with a melancholic resignation.

"Ah…" she breathes out, her voice even. "My Oripathy is flaring up slightly…"

My hands twitch toward her across the wide wooden table.

I look at her unfocused eyes. Her Oripathy is severe.

"Can I help? Is it painful? …I… I can try to make it feel better."

Adele shakes her head. The dormant hearth fire doesn't waver; it stays comforting, saturated with roasted chestnuts.

"Don't worry, Lita," she smiles, her voice carrying that quiet warmth. "I'm used to this by now. Mousse is helping me to read. Everything is fine, this will pass."

Beside her, Mousse looks up from the book.

"Your new outfit is nice…"

"Thank you."

Adele tilts her head toward her reading companion, a curious spark in her unseeing eyes.

"Mousse, you have to describe it to me," she requests gently.

"Oh… oh! Of course, Miss Adele," Mousse stammers, sitting up a little straighter.

"She… she's wearing a very nice, oversized dark grey coat," Mousse begins, her voice quiet but earnest. "It has a really pretty misty blue inner lining that matches her eyes and her tail. And she has a black skort with asymmetrical pleats, and these really sturdy-looking black boots with zippers. Oh! And a translucent belt holding her Arts Unit on her back… and her hair is tied into a low ponytail at her neck."

Adele listens, her fingers resting against the edge of the open book. A soft smile touches her lips.

"That sounds really fitting for you, Lita," Adele says. Her eyes seem to look through the dark of her vision, finding the shape of me. "So, I take it you're finally discharged?"

"Yes… I'm no longer required to stay in the ward now…" I start, my voice dropping. I look between the two of them. "…but I'm debating whether I should take Dr. Kal'tsit's offer on becoming part of the combat roster…"

The quiet hum of the Archives stills.

Adele folds her hands together on the table.

"The frontlines are dangerous, Lita," she states, her voice stripped of its softness, carrying the gravity of someone who has looked into the molten heart of a disaster. "The world outside this landship is loud, and it's unforgiving. It will test everything you are."

She pauses.

"But…" she continues, her expression softening back into that patient, enduring smile. "If you feel that there are people out there you need to protect… if you believe your Arts can act as a shield against that beautiful, unforgiving world… then it's a very brave path to take."

Her volcanic resolve wraps around my shoulders like a sheltering heat.

"Lita, we all know Dr. Kal'tsit wouldn't have offered it to you if she didn't believe your mind was strong enough to handle it. And neither would Amiya."

Adele reaches a hand across the table, navigating the empty space.

I pull my hand free from my oversized sleeve and meet her grasp. Her palm is warm.

"Whatever you decide," she adds, the earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts wrapping around my anxieties, "just remember that you don't have to carry the weight of the Catastrophe all on your own. We'll always be right here to support you. I've been studying with you for almost two years. I trust you'll make the best decision for yourself."

Mousse nods.

"You were really brave in Ascarat… you disarmed three rebels without hurting them… so we can finish our mission."

"I… I was?"

Then Adele giggles, a bright sound that rings across the Archives.

"You do need to get used to Originium slugs though, you were screaming at me to melt a cave because it had a few slugs in there."

"While hiding behind Suzuran…" Mousse adds.

"Oh…" I blurt out, the word escaping me before I can stop it.

I stare across the table, trying to piece together the girl they're describing. A girl who screamed at Originium slugs and hid behind the fluffy tails of her best friend. A girl who happily collected rocks in caves instead of hunting informants through the ruins of an occupied capital.

"So the me before was like that…" My tail drops dead against the back of my chair. "That's the Lethe you lost…"

How could I ever live up to that innocent girl? How could I replace her when my hands are stained with blood?

But Adele's hand stays wrapped around mine.

"Don't stress too much, Lita," she says. "You're still you."

Beside her, Mousse shifts in her chair and leans forward.

"And combat deployment… is not a full-time job," she says, her voice earnest. "Unless you're in the dedicated Field Ops or Elite Ops… most of us do civilian jobs on Rhodes Island."

She pauses, her hands resting on the open book, and offers me a timid smile. "We only really go out when Doctor decides he needs our specific skills or Arts for a mission."

Wait. Maybe I don't have to pick one or the other after all.

I look at Mousse, then back to Adele's enduring face.

"So…" I start. "So I could be in palliative care… and still deploy?"

Adele's smile widens, radiating the quiet heat of a sheltering fire.

"Yes, Lita," she affirms.

Beside her, Mousse brightens.

"Why did no one tell me…" I pull my hands into the sleeves of my coat, pressing the fabric against my burning cheeks. "I was… I thought I had to choose to be a full-time soldier…"

"Well…" Mousse trails off, her tails swaying as she struggles to find the right words.

"I can't speak for everyone, but I did think you were asking about stepping off the landship again," Adele adds.

My mind flashes back to the medical ward, to Dr. Kal'tsit talking about integrating me under strict tutelage so my neural pathways would not succumb to tactical overload.

"Wait…" I lower my sleeves just enough to peek over the fabric. "Dr. Kal'tsit said Elite Ops' tutelage…"

"I would presume she meant training on Arts theories and combat positioning," Adele clarifies, her tone even.

My brain stalls.

Arts theories and combat positioning. Like… classes. Just training to make sure I don't hurt myself or others when I do choose to go out. Exactly like the thermodynamic tutoring Skyfire just promised me.

"Oh…"

The full weight of my misunderstanding lands on me. Blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Ohhhh."

I groan, sliding down in the chair until my horns are level with the table, burying my face in my sleeves, my tail wrapping around my ankles in defeat. I'd been walking around the whole landship thinking I was getting drafted forever, and it was only ever a part-time thing.

Adele lets out a soft giggle that rings through the dusty aisles of the Archives.

"That's alright, Lita. You're still adjusting."

"Mousse… Adele… I think… I need to go to the garden."

I push my chair back, the legs scraping against the floorboards, and scramble to my feet.

"See you two later…" I add, offering a hasty, embarrassed bow.

"Bye," Mousse waves.

"Take care, Lita," Adele says, her eyes directed toward me.

I turn on my heel and flee.

I burst through the doors. The second the scent of old paper and binding glue seals away behind me, I break into a dead sprint.

My new boots thud against the metal floor panels of Middle Deck 1. The oversized sleeves of my jacket whip through the air, the inner lining flashing as I navigate the labyrinthine hallways, my tail streaming out behind me.

My mind is racing as fast as my legs.

The relief makes my chest feel light. I need to get to the garden — to the sunlit greenhouse, to bury myself in the ferns and tell Lisa and Podenco I'm not being drafted into an endless war.

I round a corner near a central junction, my boots skidding against the polished steel.

Before I can register the blur of dark blue fabric at the edge of my vision, an arm shoots out from the intersection and takes me by the shoulder, effortless.

I'm stopped dead in my tracks.

"Eh?!" My boots slide to a halt, and my tail whips around my legs in surprise.

I try to brace myself, but before panic can set into my chest a comforting flavor washes over me — sun-warmed linen and polished oak, anchored by a density that hits like a wall of safety.

I look up. Standing in front of me is Raidian.

She looks down at me.

"No running like that down the corridors, Lita," Raidian scolds me. "You might hurt yourself. And someone else."

"Sorry!" I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

My face flushes as I realize how chaotic I must look, sprinting through the decks like a panicked beckbeast.

Raidian's strict posture softens. Her eyes crinkle into a warm, squinting smile. The playful, carbonated spark I tasted back in the Victorian wastelands dances over the top of her polished oak.

"You're so flustered," Raidian observes.

Her hand slides from my shoulder to smooth down the grey hair that escaped my low ponytail during the sprint, her gaze sweeping over my flushed face and new uniform.

"What happened?" she asks. "Running to show your new outfit?"

I take a slow breath, trying to quiet the hammering of my heart.

My eyes come up to meet hers.

"I… well…" I start.

The floodgates open. I spill the whole humiliating story right there in the corridor.

I tell her about Dr. Kal'tsit stepping into my ward this morning, her presence a glacier of iron and old paper, and about the clinical dissertation on my neural pathways and the offer to integrate me into frontline combat.

"She said it would be under the strict tutelage of the Elite Ops," I explain. "And I thought… I thought she meant I was being conscripted for life! I thought I had to be a full-time frontline soldier!"

Raidian's eyes widen a fraction, the carbonated spark in her fizzing brighter.

"I asked Amiya, and Skyfire, and Eleanor…" I continue, my words tumbling out in a rush. "And then I went to the Archives to ask Adele and Mousse. And they had to explain to me that it just meant part-time deployment and taking Arts theory classes! I ran out of the Archives because I was so embarrassed!"

"I thought I was getting drafted into the Elite Ops…" I whimper, burying my face into the soft fabric of my jacket.

The air in the corridor ripples. The playful spark in her erupts into a warm, musical laugh that echoes against the bulkheads.

One of her hands pats the top of my head.

"Oh, Lita," Raidian chuckles. "That's so cute."

I peek over the edge of my collar, my face still flushed.

Raidian offers me a wink.

"There's no way Kal'tsit is going to put you in Elite Ops," she states. "Or probably even Field Ops anytime soon."

She shifts her weight, her lower hands gesturing casually as she speaks.

"Your Arts are very strong, Lita, yes," she continues, her expression composed but warm. "But consider how Blaze can probably bench press ten of you without breaking a sweat. You need quite a lot more practice before that can ever be considered."

I freeze.

My hands drop from my face and I cross my arms, my fingers swallowed by the long sleeves of my jacket.

I pout.

"Ten of me?" I mumble, my tail giving a slow, indignant swish behind my back.

I want to argue. I want to summon the ruthless pride of a Kazdelian noble to defend my physical honor. But standing there in my black skort and new boots, I realize she is, mathematically, correct — I probably weigh exactly as much as Blaze's chainsaw.

"Well…" I sigh, letting the last of my adrenaline evaporate into the sterile air. "I suppose thermodynamics tutoring with Skyfire is a safer start…"

Raidian smiles, her upper hand giving my shoulder one last squeeze.

"Exactly," she replies. "You have all the time in the world to grow, Lita. There's no rush."

She steps smoothly to my side, guiding me down the corridor.

"Come, let's walk you to the garden so you don't run off the landship just to prove a point."

I fall into step beside her.

"It's Amiya and Skyfire's fault!" I whine. "Even Adele misunderstood at first! Amiya brought up Instructor Dobermann! 'Instructor' sounds like a boot camp! And Skyfire was all dramatic about war and everything!"

I throw my hands up.

Raidian doesn't stop walking.

"I'm sure everyone is just looking after you," she says, her tone softening into a solemn gravity. "And everyone is still grappling with Londinium, Lita. They're all still on edge."

My boots falter.

The energy drains out of me, replaced by a drop of realization. I think of Amiya sitting in her office, the weeping sorrow of the Black Crown hovering over her head. Skyfire looking out at the barrens, speaking of the empty throne and a country barely clinging to peace. The scale of the Catastrophes the Regent pulled down upon the land.

They aren't just being dramatic. They're all still carrying the weight of a war that nearly broke the world.

I lower my arms, my shoulders slumping under the oversized jacket.

"Oh… right… sorry…" The guilt of being so self-absorbed tightens my throat.

Raidian stops.

She turns to face me. Before I can even process the movement…

Poke.

I blink, my eyes going wide as I look up at her.

"You're so adorable."

The wartime fatigue vanishes from her.

"Kal'tsit didn't allow me to visit you back then for fear of triggering Babel drama," she continues, her tone light. "I really wish I could have, though. You're much easier to tease than the other young ones."

My face burns.

I bat her hand away with my sleeve and take an exaggerated step backward, forcing my spine straight, trying to summon the cold authority of a Kazdelian executioner.

"Hey!" I gasp, pointing a trembling, fabric-covered finger at her. My tail whips through the air. "I will have you know I am a pureblood noble! I am a Djall of the Royal Court! I am a creature of nightmares! I am absolutely not adorable!"

Raidian just smiles, her upper hands resting on her hips.

She steps back, sweeping one of her natural arms in a grand arc, her other hand resting over her chest, and executes a flawless bow right in the middle of the corridor.

"Okay, young miss. Shall I escort you to the garden?" she asks, her tone dripping with reverence.

My face, only just cooled down from the sprint, floods with fresh heat. I stare at her.

"Uhm… uh… oh… yes."

I pull my hands free from the sleeves and reach tentatively toward her offered hand, my fingers barely brushing the glove.

"Thank you…"

Raidian takes my hand.

"Let's go."

We walk the rest of the way at a steady pace. The identical grey bulkheads feel far less intimidating with her density anchoring me.

Eventually we reach the doors of the Convalescent Garden. The seal breaks with a familiar hiss, and the metallic scent of Rhodes Island is swallowed by damp earth, blooming lavender, and lush ferns. I step across the threshold into the sunlight filtering down through the glass canopy.

The second my boots touch the tiled pathway, a bright, familiar flavor washes over me: sun-ripened yuzu tempered by smooth green tea.

Podenco pops up from behind a row of leafy planters, a pair of pruning shears in her hand. Her eyes dart from me, to the new black skort and boots I'm wearing, and finally up to Raidian standing by my side.

A teasing grin spreads across Podenco's face.

"Oh look," she calls out, her voice ringing across the sunlit greenhouse. "Miss Sarkaz Royalty needs an Elite Ops escort just to walk the corridors now!"

"I… just drop me off in Kazdel so I can disappear forever…"

The heat on my cheeks is scorching.

"Awww, Lita is abandoning us already?"

A wave of crystallized sugar washes over the humid scent of the greenhouse. I peek out from the safety of my sleeves.

Lisa pops up from behind a nearby table, holding a half-finished woven flower basket. Her tails sway as she trots over to join us.

"Your new outfit looks so good," she adds, her voice earnest.

Before I can thank her, another soothing flavor reaches me — warm lavender and steeped chamomile, a blend that feels safe.

Lena walks over from a row of flowerbeds, wiping her hands on her apron, offering a soft, mature smile.

"Thank you, Raidian, for delivering our Lita," Lena says gently.

Raidian gives a casual wave. The polished oak and sun-warmed linen of her radiates a dependable reliability.

"No worries, Lena," she replies.

"Want to stay for some tea?" Lena offers, gesturing gracefully toward the sunlit seating area where a ceramic teapot is already resting on a table.

"Sure." Raidian turns and walks over to the table, her coat shifting behind her as she takes a seat.

As Raidian settles in, Lisa and Podenco step closer, circling me, inspecting my new gear under the warm light.

"Not bad indeed," Podenco nods, tapping her chin with the handle of her pruning shears. "You look far more ready to be my logistics assistant now."

"I… I was?" I stammer, my voice shrinking.

Did I really spend my time running around the barren lands carrying logistical supplies and plant samples for a botanist?

"Of course." Podenco crosses her arms with a confident grin.

Before my mind can spiral back into wondering how the girl with blood on her hands in Londinium can be the same girl who apparently lived this sweet, sunny life here, Lisa reaches out and grabs the oversized sleeve of my coat.

"We can discuss your work later!" she declares, dragging me firmly but gently away from Podenco. "Miss Lena baked your favorite oat cookies!"

We settle around the wooden picnic table.

Lisa reaches toward the plate and picks up a dried berry and oat cookie, offering it to me with both hands. It's still warm, the scent of toasted oats and sweet fruit rising from the dough.

"Thank you," I carefully take it from her.

Lena moves around the table with a painted ceramic teapot, pouring a steaming cup for each of us, the amber liquid swirling in the porcelain.

"Thanks, Lena," Raidian says.

I bring the cookie to my mouth and take a bite. The tart, sweet berries and warm oats melt on my tongue.

"This is so good," I say, my voice slightly muffled as I swallow the first half of the cookie.

Lena smiles, satisfied.

I look down at the remaining half of the cookie in my hand. The sweet taste lingers on my tongue, but the mountain of guilt tries to creep back into my chest. I think of Amiya in her office, carrying the weight of the Black Crown, and the conversation we had just shared over Leithanian cake.

"Though… everyone," I start. "I do have a question…"

The cheerful, comfortable quiet around the table shifts.

"Yes?" Podenco asks, tilting her head. The bright yuzu of her quiets into a focused attention.

I trace the rim of my teacup with my thumb, looking down at my reflection in the tea.

"Amiya asked about my birthday," I confess. "She offered to look into the old server logs to find out my actual birthday, or she said I could keep the 2nd of January. I am… I'm not sure what to do."

"Well, you can tell her you choose every day as your birthday," Podenco says, leaning forward over the picnic table. "So we can just celebrate birthdays every single day."

Lena lets out a soft, long sigh.

"Only if Kal'tsit gives me enough budget," she murmurs, setting the painted ceramic teapot back down onto the wooden table.

Raidian chuckles, leaning comfortably back against her chair.

"That would be great, wouldn't it?" she adds, crossing her arms. "Come to the garden for Lita's bday cake every day."

Beside me, Lisa looks at the tray of cookies, her tails drooping.

"Going to be hard to maintain health and body shape that way…" she ponders, her brow furrowing with earnest seriousness.

I just stare at them across the rim of my teacup.

They are… they're seriously thinking about that.

I thought this would be a big, heavy talk about my lost past. Instead they're arguing about whether anyone could survive three hundred and sixty-five birthday cakes in a row.

Lisa blinks and turns her bright eyes back to me.

"Well, Lita, it's your choice of course!" She reaches out to pat my sleeve. "No one can choose that for you!"

My choice.

I look down at my lap.

"I… I want to honor the day my mom birthed me…" I say, my voice quiet in the sunlit space. "Lethia… she fought for the light, and I don't want that day to be lost to the dark."

I take a slow breath.

"But…" I continue, looking up toward the greenhouse canopy. "But the day Erika saved me is also very important… If she hadn't found me… I wouldn't be here with any of you."

I look back at the group, my brow furrowing in conflict. Both days are the beginning of my life. How can I possibly choose between the mother who gave me life, and the… I suppose… another mother… who gave me a future?

"Maybe… maybe I can just have two?"

Podenco points directly at me, a grin breaking wide across her face.

"See!" she declares to the rest of the table. "She just wants more cakes."

I think of the two mothers who gave me life. Lethia, who brought me into a world of ash and fought for the light, and Caladria, who pulled me from the ruins and gave me a future. I can't choose between them.

"Maybe… but I'll keep the 2nd of January for sure…"

I look up at the sea of smiling faces gathered around the wooden table.

"I'll message Amiya everything," I announce, offering them a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, everyone."

I pull my slate out of my belt-hooked bag, open the encrypted messaging application, and begin to type.

[Lethe]: Amiya. I have decided to take the field deployment offer. And I want to see if I can keep both of my birthdays…

[Amiya]: Sure thing, Lita. I will see if Closure can find your real date of birth.

[SYSTEM ALARM]: Chief Engineer Closure has joined the encrypted chat. Closure has accessed all chat history.

I jump in my seat. She can just do that?!

[Closure]: Kiddo, I have delivered your new ID and the beckbeast plushie to your dorm. So consider your modeling credit all spent. And as for your birthday, don't get your hopes up, Babel records are mostly lost.

I stare at the screen in disbelief. My credits! She already confiscated my entire paycheck before I even saw the digital transfer! But… a soft, fuzzy warmth blooms in my chest. She actually delivered the massive, squishy beckbeast plushie straight to my room.

[Lethe]: Thank you, Amiya and Closure. Where is my dorm by the way?

[Closure]: Just ask anyone in the garden, they know where, you are already there anyways.

[Amiya]: Also, Lita. Be sure to be ready for Instructor Dobermann's test.

[Lethe]: Okay.

I power the slate's screen down. My own face looks back out of the black glass for a second, and then I look up at the group.

"Uhm… Is Instructor Dobermann scary?"

The second the name leaves my mouth, the sunlit cheer of the Convalescent Garden stalls.

The air in the greenhouse ripples. Beside me, Lisa's crystallized sugar spikes with a flutter of apprehension, and her tails drop and pin themselves against the bench. Across the table, Podenco's sun-ripened yuzu turns sharp and sour, and her ears flatten.

Even Lena sighs, her lavender shifting into a tired dread.

I look between them. Their reactions are terrifying. Are we talking about a combat instructor, or a literal Catastrophe walking down the hallways?

I turn to Raidian for an anchor of sanity.

She just crosses her arms. The polished oak and sun-warmed linen of her doesn't move. She gives me an amused smile.

"You'll have to see for yourself," Raidian says.

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