July, 1097

June went the way February did.

I press my hands against the cool reinforced glass of the upper deck hallway, my breath fogging the pane, mesmerized by the panorama laid out in front of the landship.

The world outside is painted in impossible colors.

Water stretches toward the horizon, a shimmering gradient of shallow turquoise that deepens into sapphire. The waves lap against sweeping white sand beaches. To the right, dominating the landscape, is a colossal mountain. Its slopes are carpeted in green forest that cascades all the way down to the shoreline. On the left, tucked between the turquoise water and the foot of the mountain, sits a sprawling city of white and grey buildings under a blue sky dotted with clouds.

"Whoa! This is the sea?"

I can't peel myself away from the window, held there by the wild beauty of it.

Then, the air in the corridor shifts.

The recycled chill of the hallway is washed away by a wave of heat. Roasted spices, sharp cinnamon, and the crackling comfort of a hearth fire.

"This is Siesta, Lethe. One of the few stationary cities on Terra bordering the Inland Sea of Clariside. Under the de jure control of the Columbian Union."

I whip my head around.

"Ms. Skyfire! Ms. Skyfire!"

I don't even hesitate. The window is forgotten; I launch myself forward and crash into her, wrapping my arms around her waist and burying my face in her coat, giving her the tightest squeeze I can muster.

For a fraction of a second, she stiffens. A startled spike of spice flares in the air. Then the spice melts, banking into a simmering fondness. She sighs, but one of her hands comes down to rest on top of my head, navigating around the bases of my horns.

"Honestly, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire chides. "I leave you to Ms. Naumann's care for a few months, and you regress into a completely unruly child. Unhand me before you wrinkle my attire."

I giggle into her coat, then pull back and look up at her, my tail fanning the air.

"What are you doing back on Rhodes Island?" I ask, my eyes shining with delight. "I thought you were in Victoria!"

Ms. Skyfire clears her throat, adjusting the collar of her coat to reclaim her composure.

"My work in Victoria is ongoing, but it requires occasional… logistical interludes," she explains, her amber eyes flicking toward the mountain outside the window. "However, my presence here today is strictly academic and preventative."

She gestures toward Siesta.

"That colossal landmark you're staring at is Siesta Volcano. It is an obsidian volcano," Ms. Skyfire lectures. "I am here to conduct extensive geological surveys of its subterranean Originium veins and thermal activity. I will be working alongside Ms. Naumann and a highly specialized Catastrophe Messenger named Provence. We must ensure the tectonic stability of the region is not compromised."

My eyes go back to the blue water and the green slopes, still enthralled by it.

I turn from the sea to look up at my original tutor.

"Ms. Skyfire and Miss Adele are so smart!" I chime, my eyes wide. The scale of what they do—surveying Originium veins under the ground to keep whole cities safe from Catastrophes—feels heroic.

Ms. Skyfire clears her throat, her posture straightening as she lifts her chin. The crackling heat of her flares with pride, and she masks it.

"Flattery won't get you less homework now that I'm here again, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire declares, tapping a finger against her arm.

"Aww," I whine. My shoulders drop, my tail slumping toward the floorboards.

Ms. Skyfire ignores my pouting, though the corners of her lips twitch. She glances down the quiet corridor of the administrative deck.

"What brings you up here, Lethe? This deck is usually reserved for department heads and executive briefings."

"Amiya called me up here earlier," I explain, bouncing back up on my heels. I gesture out at the sun-drenched city. "She told me since it's July, and she's decided that Rhodes Island will participate in the annual Obsidian Festival!"

I lean forward.

"Amiya told me Sarkaz are welcome too!" I beam, the relief of being allowed onto a foreign beach ringing my voice down the hallway. "She said Hibiscus is going, and two other Sarkaz Operators named Ifrit and Vigna are going too! We won't have to hide on the landship!"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, something in the corridor changes.

The hearth fire stutters. It doesn't go out, but a prickly flavor bleeds into the roasted spices. It hits my nose like scorched cinnamon bark and the acid bite of an unripe orange.

I blink up at her, unsure what to say.

Before I can even open my mouth, Ms. Skyfire clears her throat again. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, turning her gaze from the sun-drenched beaches outside the window.

"Well," Ms. Skyfire scoffs, her voice dripping with a disdain that doesn't cover the bitter orange leaking into the air. "The sun is dreadful for the skin, anyway. Sweating on a crowded beach with blaring music is an unrefined way to spend one's time. I much prefer the quiet rigor of a geological survey."

Ms. Skyfire adjusts the cuff of her sleeve, ignoring the paradise waiting beyond the reinforced glass.

"I must take my leave," she announces, her tone crisp again. "I have entirely too many topographical maps to finalize before Provence and I deploy. Do enjoy the festival, Lethe."

"Laters, Ms. Skyfire!" I call out, waving hard.

She turns on her heel and marches down the corridor.

Once she disappears around the corner, I turn and run for the central elevators. My thick-soled sneakers squeak, and my tail sways with the bounce of it.

I swipe my ID card, and the elevator cabin hums to life, carrying me downward.

The doors part at Middle Deck 2.

Out in the lobby, the recycled air is washed away. A wave of honey floods in, warm and familiar.

Mom is standing near the elevator banks, her eyes on the scrolling text of her digital slate. The moment the doors part, she looks up.

"There you are," mom says.

"Yes, mom?" I ask, stepping out of the cabin and tilting my head.

She lowers the slate and brushes a stray lock of hair back from my bangs.

"I've been looking for you. We need to get you ready, Lethe."

We are going to a festival.

"Can I finally wear my kitten hoodie again?" I ask. I bounce on my heels, desperate to trade my uniform jacket for the comfort we bought back in Trimounts.

Mom laughs, a small breath of it. Her feathers fluff up.

"Of course, Lethe," mom promises, reaching out to tap the tip of my nose. Her smile turns conspiratorial. "And maybe we can even get you new clothes while in Siesta."

Mom all but shoves me into my dorm room, her own excitement bleeding into the air in carbonated flashes of honey.

I shed my uniform and pull on my only civilian clothes: the oversized, fleece-lined kitten hoodie, my denim shorts, the thick tights, my familiar sneakers.

Mom stands behind me while I sit on the edge of my mattress. Her fingers are gentle as she works the brush through the heavy mass of my long hair. She gathers the strands, pulls them back from my face, and ties them into a straight ponytail at my nape. My head feels light, the curtain of it no longer draping over my shoulders.

"All done, Lethe." Mom gives my shoulders a squeeze. She steps back, smoothing down her own uniform. "Well, I need to change too. Just don't run too far. Wait in the garden."

"Okay!" I chirp, already halfway out the door, my Arts Unit forgotten against the nightstand.

I trot out of the dorm and make a beeline down the metal corridors toward the Convalescent Garden.

The doors of the garden open. The air inside is humid and earthy, and three figures are gathered near the central flowerbeds. They have all shed their standard attire for the festival.

Lisa looks lovely. She is wearing a white blouse with puffed sleeves, tucked into a teal skirt trimmed with white lace. A small round brown bag rests against her hip, and a woven wicker basket hangs from her hands. Nestled among her nine fluffy tails is a plush black cat.

Just past her, Podenco is in a breezy teal and pale green dress with black ruffled trim and a small emerald gemstone at her collar. She looks a little sleepy, leaning near her mechanical Arts Unit.

Miss Lena stands beside them, though her clothes stay practical. She is wearing a crisp white blouse fastened with a blue ribbon tie at her throat. A black utility apron is strapped around her waist, packed with small glass vials, gardening shears, and botanical tools. Thick black tights and buckled black platform shoes finish it.

"Everyone is going?" I ask as I step down the path.

Miss Lena adjusts the strap of her utility belt.

"Podenco and I are going to the botanical reserves, Lethe," Miss Lena explains. "Siesta has an incredibly unique microclimate due to the obsidian volcano, and we're going to look at the tropical plants."

"And I'm going to explore the commercial districts!" Lisa chimes, her eyes sparkling. "I'm so excited to see the city and all the festival shops!"

I stop in my tracks.

My tail halts its happy wagging and drops toward the floor tiles. The bubbling excitement in my chest deflates, replaced by a small hollow pang of disappointment. Miss Lena's gardening shears. Lisa's woven shopping basket.

No one mentioned the sand. Or the ocean.

I'm standing here in my oversized hoodie, ready for the shimmering blue waves of the Sea of Clariside, and the realization settles over me quietly. Out of all of us, I am the only one who actually wants to go play at the beach.

Before my shoulders can droop, the doors of the Convalescent Garden hiss open.

I turn my head.

Mom steps onto the garden path.

I blink. She is dressed in a breathable tank top and a pair of fitted denim jeans. A pair of dark sunglasses sits on the crown of her hair. She looks so normal, unburdened for one day.

And she is not alone.

Standing right beside her, gripping mom's hand like a lifeline, is Opal.

She is no longer drowning in an oversized hospital gown. She is wearing a breezy white sundress that flutters around her knees. The thin straps sit high on her shoulders, deliberately clear of the jagged black crystals lying dormant near her collarbone. Her ears twitch in the humid air, and her free arm holds the plushie against her chest.

"Hi everyone!" mom calls out, her voice ringing clear and bright.

Opal peeks out from behind mom's leg. She hesitates for a second. Then she raises a small hand.

"Hi," Opal whispers, offering a meek wave to the group.

A timid flutter of emotion that tastes like diced strawberries and warm milk. Fragile, but alive.

Lisa's ears snap straight up.

She bounds across the floor tiles and stops a respectful pace short.

"Oh! Oh!" Lisa's eyes go bright with joy. She leans forward, clasping her hands together. "Opal, do you want to go shopping in the city with me? There are so many bright stalls, and we can look at all the festival clothes and souvenirs together!"

Opal freezes.

The fizz of Lisa's invitation makes her shrink back against mom's jeans. Her grip on the plushie tightens. Her eyes skip around the garden in a searching panic.

She looks at me. Then at Lisa's beaming, hopeful smile. Finally up at mom, asking without words for permission to step out of the safety of the landship.

There's nothing in me that needs to think about it.

My own heart gives a protective flutter at the thought of her out in the loud, crowded streets of Siesta, but I know exactly what this moment means. She is being invited to step out of the shadows and actually live.

I meet Opal's uncertain eyes with the brightest smile I can manage.

One slow, deliberate nod of encouragement.

You can do it.

Opal takes a slow breath. Then her chin dips.

"Okay," Opal whispers.

Lisa nearly vibrates out of her shoes, her tails wagging like they could lift her off the floor.

With our paths decided, we filter out of the landship.

Down the deployment ramp, the change comes all at once. The conditioned air of Rhodes Island is swallowed by the sun-drenched heat of Siesta. The breeze coming off the Inland Sea smells of coarse salt, warm sand, and blooming tropical flowers.

But it's the noise that hits me next.

Even from the docking station, the Obsidian Festival is a roaring, vibrating entity. The heavy thrum of bass guitars and shouting crowds carries across the city plates. The emotional air is an exploding symphony. It tastes like popping candy, fizzy fruit punch, and the electric static of adrenaline.

Months ago, a crowd this size and this loud would've sent me spiraling. I would've gone down on the ramp, choking on the cocktail of thousands of strangers' emotions.

But I close my eyes and take a slow breath, reaching for the quiet lessons Amiya had spent hours teaching me in the safety of my dorm. In my mind there's a smooth glass wall. The popping flavors of the festival wash over it; I taste them and refuse to let the static stick. It slides right off the glass.

I open my eyes. My heart is going fast, but I'm steady on my feet. I can handle the crowds now, just like in Trimounts. The volume of the music itself still leaves me disoriented, my ribs buzzing with the heavy bass.

"So, Lethe," mom asks, stepping up beside me and resting a warm hand on my shoulder. She looks out over the city. "Where do you want to go?"

I look at the towering volcano, then at the lit stages flashing in the distance.

"This is a music festival, mom…" I shrink into my oversized hoodie as another roar of the crowd carries over the bay. "But I don't like loud music… It makes my head spin."

Mom's expression softens. She reaches up and slides the dark sunglasses down from the crown of her head over her eyes.

"Well, the beach it is then, Lethe," mom declares. "There are some parts along the shoreline that are quite tucked away. No massive speakers, no mosh pits. Just the waves and the sand."

Sitting by the ocean, far from the chaotic noise, sounds like paradise.

"Let's stop by a swimsuit place if you want to swim," mom adds, tapping my nose.

"I don't know how!" I gasp, looking up at her, half panicked and half thrilled. "But… I definitely want to try!"

Mom looks at me, fond, and laughs, and the sound of it falls in with the distant festival music.

"Don't worry, Lethe. I'll teach you," mom promises, her hand sliding down to take mine. "Come on. Let's go find you a swimsuit."

The shop we stop by is too much all at once. The walls are lined with racks of bright fabrics, floral patterns, and strappy designs that look like they need a degree only Ms. Closure has just to put on. I stand in the center of the aisle, dazzled and a little terrified by the number of choices.

Mom, however, navigates the racks with practiced efficiency. She goes past the colorful strings and pulls out a plain white one-piece swimsuit. It has a reinforced tail hole stitched into the back. She pairs it with a lightweight sun jacket in dark blue.

"Go put them on," mom instructs, handing me the hangers. "I'll carry the change."

I step into the cramped fitting room. Peeling off my beloved hoodie and my shorts feels like shedding a layer of armor. I work my way into the white one-piece, feeding my tail through the opening made for it. It settles against my skin with an elastic snap. The dark blue sun jacket goes over my shoulders, zipped halfway up my chest.

I step out from behind the curtain with my arms crossed over my torso, tugging at the elastic hem of the swimsuit where it cuts across my thighs.

"This is a bit tight, mom," I say, my voice dropping into a self-conscious whisper. My bare legs look wrong without the baggy layers I hide behind, my skin too pale. "Is it supposed to be? I feel exposed."

Mom steps forward, her eyes going soft with adoration. She straightens the collar of the sun jacket over my shoulders.

"Yes, little Lethe," mom replies. "Looks cute. Let's go."

I take a slow breath and let my shoulders come down out of their rigid line.

We step back out into the sweltering Siesta heat. Mom takes my hand, and we walk past the festival stalls, including one where a Sarkaz girl is grilling barbecue like it's nothing. The air is thick with the scent of grilled skewers, melting sugar, and coconut sunscreen. My glass wall stays up, and the flavors slide away.

Mom guides us away from the booming speakers and the packed main stages, down a quieter winding path toward the tucked-away sands of South Beach.

The music fades into the crash of waves against the shoreline. The glaring signs give way to the dappled shade of broad-leafed tropical trees.

We step off the pavement and onto a wooden boardwalk. Ahead is a small secluded lounge area, marked by a rustic wooden sign that reads SOUTH BEACH E-4.

And sitting right in the middle of it is Miss Sussurro.

The stern senior Medic who marches through the landship's corridors in a spotless uniform is unrecognizable. She is lounging on a blue-and-white striped beach chair, in the shade of a large blue umbrella. She is wearing a black two-piece swimsuit with translucent off-the-shoulder sleeves and small black bows.

Her tail rests beside her leg on the striped canvas, covered in soft fur of a pale lilac-silver that matches the light purple-grey of her hair.

A pair of large headphones is pushed off one ear. But it's the small white table next to her lounge chair that short-circuits my brain.

Resting on the glass surface is a bright blue drink garnished with a lemon slice, beside a brown glass bottle, a large blue bottle, and a red can.

The colorful arrangement of glassware stops me. I blink, looking from the drinks back to Miss Sussurro.

She is… drinking alcohol already.

Seeing strict, no-nonsense Miss Sussurro like this, on a beach chair before noon, is so weird that my tail twists into a small question mark. The flavor bleeding off her tastes like dark chocolate with sea salt melting in the late-morning sun.

"Lethe. Erika," Miss Sussurro greets, her voice softened by the sun and whatever is in that bright blue cocktail.

"Hi. Miss Sussurro," I say, offering a small wave.

Miss Sussurro lowers her headphones a fraction, resting her glass on the table. She points a stern finger at mom. "Keep a close eye on her in the shallows, Caladria. The undertow can be unpredictable. Make absolutely sure she doesn't go under and get saltwater in her lungs. Her respiratory system is still fragile."

"I promise, Sussurro," mom replies, the medic's steadiness settling into her voice. "I won't let her out of my sight."

Miss Sussurro gives a satisfied nod, slips her headphones back over her ears, and leans her head against her lounge chair, checking out of the conversation.

Mom squeezes my hand. "Come on. Let's go see the water."

We walk down the white beach. The powdery sand gives way to a darker packed surface near the shoreline. I let go of mom's hand and take one tentative step forward.

The wet sand squishes beneath my bare feet. A moment later the foamy edge of a wave rolls up the shore and washes over my toes. The water is cool, a shock against the sweltering heat of the sun. It retreats, pulling the sand out from under my heels, and I sink a little deeper into the beach.

I grin so wide my cheeks ache.

"Mom! This is fun!" I call out, turning around to share the thrill of the ocean.

No reply.

"Mom?"

Behind me, the space where she stood is empty. I blink at it.

I spin around, my eyes darting across the shoreline. A few tourists are lounging in the distance, but the figure in the tank top and sunglasses is gone.

The endless ocean behind me is suddenly loud and frightening.

She's gone. Did she get lost? Did she leave me?

I scramble away from the water line, bare feet kicking up clumps of wet sand, and break into a desperate sprint back to the E-4 lounge area where Miss Sussurro is still relaxing.

My feet skid to a halt beside the striped canvas chair, my mouth opening to beg Miss Sussurro for help finding my mother.

But before a single word can tear out of my throat, a figure pops out from behind the wooden lattice fencing of the lounge area.

"Surprise!"

Mom steps out, a playful grin stretched across her face.

The panic in my chest flatlines, washed out by her honey and something new and sugary.

Mom is holding two huge clear plastic cups.

I gape at the cups, my panicked breathing stalling, my eyes blowing wide with wonder.

They're towering mountains of finely shaved ice, though the ice is almost hidden beneath a chaotic deluge of sugar. The peak is drenched in cherry-red syrup that pools at the bottom of the cup. Thick ribbons of gooey sweetened condensed milk are drizzled over the red ice, with a dusting of powdered milk clinging to the sticky surface. And balanced at the very summit of this architectural sugar marvel is a round scoop of vanilla ice cream.

"Here Lethe, Siestan classic," mom announces. "I saw a stall selling them right behind the lounge area. Figured a certain little Djall with an insatiable sweet tooth couldn't survive a beach day without one. You've been behaving yourself, barring Amiya's smuggled sweets, that is."

She holds one of the towering cups out to me.

"I… I thought you disappeared!" I whine, my lower lip trembling with the residue of my panic.

But my hands betray my scolding. I reach out and grab the freezing plastic cup, my tail already wagging again against the Siesta breeze.

The rest of the day melts away in a sun-drenched haze.

Armed with the sugary mountain of my shaved ice, I sit under the shade of the blue umbrella next to Miss Sussurro, digging my plastic spoon into the cherry ice while mom wades into the turquoise shallows.

Once my cup is scraped clean of every last drop of sweetened condensed milk, mom finally coaxes me out of my sun jacket.

The Siesta sun is sweltering against my skin, but the moment the foamy tide washes over my ankles a chill shoots up my legs. Mom holds both of my hands, walking backward as she guides me deeper into the Sea of Clariside. The water rises past my knees, then my waist.

"Just kick your legs, Lethe," mom encourages, her voice steady over the crash of the waves. "I have you. I won't let you sink."

I grip her fingers as if my life depends on it, my tail floating behind me beneath the surface. I screw my eyes closed, take a breath, and lift my feet off the sandy bottom.

For exactly one second, the gravity of Terra lets go of me. I am floating. I am actually paddling.

But then I open my eyes. Past mom's shoulder the blue ocean sprawls out toward the horizon, so vast that it has no end to it—a bottomless well of water that could swallow the entire landship.

My bravery goes out of me.

"Nope!" I squeak, panic spiking through my paddling.

My feet come down, splashing water everywhere as I scramble past mom. The swimming lesson is over, and my feet kick up sprays of saltwater and wet sand as I run back toward the safety of the dry beach.

I don't stop until I'm back under the shade of Miss Sussurro's umbrella, chest heaving as I grab my dark blue sun jacket and wrap it around my dripping shoulders.

Mom wades out of the water a few moments later, hands resting on her hips, and her laugh carries down the beach.

"I thought you wanted to swim!" mom teases.

I scrunch my face up and shake my wet hair at her. Then I point a dripping finger at the wet sand.

"I've officially decided," I declare, lifting my chin with as much dignity as I can muster. "I am a land Djall. The ocean is entirely too big."

Miss Sussurro doesn't open her eyes or lift her headphones, but a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. Mom laughs harder, stepping over to wrap a dry towel around my shoulders and pull me into a damp hug.

The sun-soaked paradise shatters just as the afternoon starts to wane.

"We should go get dinner and head back." Mom stands up and pats the sand off her jeans.

A bone-deep vibration travels up through the white sand and thrums against my ribs.

Then, the noise hits.

A guttural rumble, so loud and so impossibly low that it swallows the heavy bass of the festival music playing down the shoreline.

I freeze, my hands tightening around the edges of my towel. The popping candy and fizzy fruit punch of the festival crowd curdles, replaced by a static-laced wave of mass confusion and spiking alarm.

Rumble.

A second roar echoes across the bay. This one is louder, carrying a cracking resonance underneath it, like the very earth being torn in half.

Mom's playful posture vanishes in a heartbeat.

Her head snaps around, her eyes locking onto the horizon.

Miss Sussurro tears her headphones off her ears. She bolts upright, her tail bristling as she stares in the same direction.

I follow their gaze.

Looming over the sprawling city of Siesta is the silhouette of Siesta Volcano. Obsidian, colossal.

The green forests coating its slopes are dwarfed by a billowing plume of dark smoke rising from the summit. The sky, unblemished blue only moments ago, is already bruising with a creeping grey.

My breath stalls in my throat. Ms. Skyfire in the administrative corridor flashes behind my eyes.

A tremble starts in my hands. The towel slips from my shoulders onto the sand.

"Mom?" I whisper, the word fracturing. My fingers grab for the damp fabric of her jeans. "Mom! Ms. Skyfire… Miss Adele… they're studying it!"

RUMBLE.

A third tremor tears through the land beneath our feet. It isn't just a sound; it's a shockwave, and it nearly knocks me off balance. The turquoise water of the sea churns, the gentle waves warping into choppy swells. Above us the grey plume of smoke from Siesta Volcano expands, blotting out the sun.

"Mom?!"

Mom drops to her knees in the sand. Her arms wrap around my trembling frame and pull me flush against her chest. The air around her is laced with a sour spike of her own anxiety, but she drowns it out with a rushing wave of protective honey.

"It's okay. Don't worry, Lethe," mom promises, her voice an anchor against the roaring panic of the beach.

"Everyone! Evacuate now!"

The shout slices through the rising screams of the fleeing tourists.

I peek out from mom's embrace. Two figures are striding across the sand. The first is an impossible contrast to the sun-drenched beach—Doctor. His heavy dark coat drinks the ash-dimmed light, his face obscured.

Running beside him is a Sarkaz girl, the same one grilling barbecue earlier.

She has fiery crimson hair and short curved horns jutting from the sides of her head. Despite the tropical heat she's carrying a heavy lance, her grip on the weapon tight and uncompromising.

The moment she closes the distance, her presence hits me all at once: bursting cherry cola, hot coals, adrenaline.

"Doctor! Vigna!" mom calls out.

Vigna doesn't hesitate.

"Caladria, Sussurro, Lethe," she orders, her voice carrying a militarized urgency that demands obedience. She points her lance toward the panicked crowds stampeding toward the paved streets of the city. "Help Doctor and I make sure everyone is evacuated back into the city, we'll look for other Operators."

Miss Sussurro is already moving, her cocktail and her lounge chair abandoned. Mom stands up, pulling me to my feet, her posture snapping into that of an Operator.

But my feet are rooted in the sand.

"Wait!" I cry out, my voice cracking high. My eyes dart between Vigna and Doctor. "Ms. Skyfire, Miss Adele. They…"

They're right there.

Doctor steps forward. His boots crush the sand.

He looks at me through the opaque visor.

"They are fine," Doctor says.

His voice is muffled by the fabric and the mask, without any inflection of warmth or comfort. But the certainty in it drops into the chaotic air like a lead weight.

Mom, Miss Sussurro, and I exchange a silent look. The gravity of his command overrides the terror in my chest. If Doctor says they are fine, then they are fine. We have a job to do.

I force my spine straight.

"Yes, Doctor!" we answer in unison.

The stampede of tourists tearing across the beach is a vibrating blur.

My hands drop to my sides, my fingers curling for the familiar weight of my staff. They close on nothing but the thin fabric of my jacket.

The realization hits me like a bucket of freezing ocean water. My lungs lock.

"I didn't bring my Arts Unit, mom," I gasp, barely audible over the roar of the distant volcano and the screaming crowds. "What do I do?"

Without the Kazdelian artifact to buffer me, I have no shield. If I try to siphon the collective terror of thousands of panicked civilians, the unfiltered trauma will tear my mind to shreds. The air is already thick with it, a smog that tastes like battery acid, crushed glass, and the electric tang of hysteria. It burns my tongue with every breath I take.

Mom doesn't miss a beat. She reaches out, her hands gripping my shoulders to hold me in place.

"Just follow me," mom commands, her eyes locking onto mine. "We make sure people don't panic. We establish triage areas for anyone who might be injured in the crush. You don't use your Arts, Lethe. You just use your voice and your hands. Understood?"

"Understood," I say, my voice steadying.

Beside us, Miss Sussurro steps forward.

She raises her hands, her voice slicing through the din of screaming tourists and crashing waves.

"Listen to me!" Miss Sussurro shouts, her tone ringing with a clarity that stops the nearest fleeing civilians in their tracks. "We are Rhodes Island medical personnel! Do not run blindly! Walk in an orderly line toward the paved streets! If you're injured, or if you've inhaled ash, move to the blue umbrellas immediately! We are establishing a triage center here!"

Her words act like a localized anchor. The trampling panic of the crowd around us stutters, then organizes into a frightened but manageable flow.

Doctor gives a single nod. He doesn't say another word. He just turns his back on the safety of the shoreline, his coat snapping in the wind.

"We're going to find the others," Vigna calls out over her shoulder, already falling into step beside Doctor. "Hold the line here!"

Without looking back, the two of them sprint against the current of the fleeing crowd, toward the towering shadow of the city, to gather the rest of our Operators.

Doctor's dark coat disappears into the chaos, and mom's hand tugs at my sleeve.

"Lethe. With me," mom orders.

I tear my eyes away from the city and follow her and Miss Sussurro toward the abandoned lounge chairs. The sky above is bruising into an ash-choked grey, but down here on the sand, we have a job to do.

One minute. Ten. An hour. Two.

The screaming stampede bleeds out into an exhausted shuffle. The bruised grey sky that had threatened to swallow Siesta whole fractures at last, giving way to the velvet dark of night. Moonlight bathes the city, silvering the calming waves of the Sea of Clariside.

Whatever terror had gripped the crowd dissolved as fast as it erupted. The triage center we threw together beneath the blue umbrellas was quiet. Very few people are actually injured; the chaos yielded nothing worse than scraped knees, bruised elbows, and the breathless shock of a Catastrophe that never arrived.

I sit on the edge of a lounge chair with a roll of sterile gauze in my hands. Beside me is Hibiscus. She had found us shortly after the evacuation cleared the beaches, and jumped straight into the work.

Even in the exhausted aftermath of a near-apocalypse, the flavor radiating from Hibiscus stays stubbornly bright: sweet floral nectar with the clearing bite of medicinal eucalyptus underneath.

"Just like this, Lethe." Her hands guide mine, her fingers warm and steady, showing me how to angle the white fabric over a shallow scrape on a civilian's arm. "Not too tight, so it doesn't pinch, but firm enough to keep the sand and dirt out."

I follow her movements, wrapping the bandage and pressing the small metal clip into place to secure it.

The patient, a middle-aged Perro man with drooping ears and dust-stained clothes, looks down at the neat bandage, then up at us, his eyes shining with exhausted relief. There is no hate in him for the two Sarkaz at his side.

"Thank you," he exhales, his voice thick with gratitude. He looks past me, taking in mom and Miss Sussurro sorting the remaining medical supplies near the boardwalk. "Having Rhodes Island here… it's a pure blessing. We thought the mountain was going to bury us all."

I offer him a small smile, the tension in my chest loosening another fraction.

The mountain didn't blow.

Siesta Volcano's colossal peak stands silent against the starlit sky. The billowing plumes of black smoke simply stopped, the tremors sinking back into the deep earth as if the volcano had changed its mind.

With the last of the minor scratches bandaged and the civilians dispersed toward the city's stabilized sectors, the adrenaline finally leaves my bloodstream.

Mom, Miss Sussurro, Hibiscus, and I gather around a small round plastic table near the boardwalk's edge. In the center of it sits a huge coconut, just cracked open.

I lean over it, both hands gripping the fibrous shell, and drink the sweet coconut water through a plastic straw. It washes down my throat and clears away the phantom taste of panic and dry sand. It is heaven.

Miss Sussurro leans back in her chair and lets out a long sigh, rubbing her temples, her bitterness settling into an exhausted calm. Mom watches me drink.

Hibiscus rests her chin in her hands, her purple hair swaying in the cool ocean breeze. Her attention is out past the water, locked onto the silent silhouette of the volcano.

"I wonder what happened," Hibiscus ponders, her voice a hum in the moonlight. "Catastrophes don't just… stop."

None of us have an answer.

We sit in the moonlit chill of the beach, looking up at the colossal silent shape of Siesta Volcano. The plumes of black smoke are gone, the starlit sky left unblemished. Catastrophes are supposed to be Terra's anger, and Terra doesn't just change its mind… does it? But the mountain is fast asleep.

With the crisis averted and the shoreline cleared, we finally pack up our medical supplies and filter back to the landship.

Going from the humid salt air of the beach to the climate-controlled arteries of Rhodes Island feels like stepping into a different world. We make our way to the residential block.

The moment the doors to the lounge open, the last of the tension in my chest dissolves. Lisa, Podenco, Miss Lena, and Opal are all gathered there. Lisa's tails puff into a frantic blur of relief, and Podenco produces an exaggerated exhale. Miss Lena is serene, while Opal sits on a sofa watching everyone, her newly acquired Siestan collectible in her hands.

Everyone is safe. The landship is whole.

The exhaustion of the day catches up to me. I'm too drained to think about a proper dinner. I grab an egg salad sandwich with gooey boiled eggs from the late-night cafeteria trays. The soft bread and creamy filling settle my empty stomach.

Back in my dorm, peeling off the salt-crusted white swimsuit feels like shedding a second skin. I step into the shower and let the warm water run over my shoulders, watching the fine sand of Siesta wash down the stainless-steel drain. The swimsuit and the sun jacket go into a laundry bin, flagged to be scrubbed clean by the logistics department overnight.

The moment my cheek hits the pillows, the darkness pulls me under.

The next morning, Siesta is roaring again.

Even through the reinforced bulkheads of the landship, the rhythmic thrum of heavy bass guitars and cheering crowds reaches me. The city has shaken off the terror of yesterday afternoon; the Obsidian Festival has resumed with a defiant energy.

I'm safely back in my civilian armor. The soft fabrics are a comfort against the chill of the morning cycle.

In the recreational lounge I sit with my legs tucked beneath me on the sofa, a warm ceramic bowl of oats resting in my lap.

Still exhausted, I'm content to hide inside the oversized fleece of my hoodie.

"No going out today?"

The voice materializes beside my ear, soft and unannounced.

I flinch so hard my shoulders jump to my ears. The spoon slips from my fingers and clatters against the rim of the ceramic bowl. My tail, draped over the arm of the sofa, snaps rigid, pointing straight at the wall.

My head whips around.

"Mom?!" I gasp, pressing a hand to my hammering chest. "You scared me!"

Mom stands right behind the sofa, wearing an amused smile.

"Sorry, my little Lethe," mom chuckles.

She steps around the back of the sofa and slips into the empty space beside me. Without another word she reaches out, her fingers sinking into the messy mass of my hair, and works the tangles I slept on loose, section by section.

I lean back into her touch, my shoulders dropping.

The oats blur, and the black plumes of smoke choking the sky flash behind my eyes.

"Is it safe?" My voice is tiny in the quiet lounge. "The mountain?"

Mom's fingers pause in my hair. A crisp note of cool ozone and victorious static bleeds into the honey.

"Yes," mom replies, her voice steady. "It's safe. I just caught up with Skyfire and Eyjafjalla."

"They told me what happened," mom continues, her hand moving through my hair again. "It wasn't a natural eruption, Lethe. The city's Catastrophe Messenger, a man named Cronin, was secretly mining obsidian deep within the mountain behind the Mayor's back. His illegal operations opened up pathways, causing wild Originium slugs to find their way directly into the magma chambers. The slugs were destabilizing the volcano from the inside out."

I go still. My stomach twists, hollow. An entire city of innocent people, the beaches, the tourists—all of it nearly buried in fire and ash just so one man could secretly sell rocks.

"But…" Mom's voice swells with pride. "They went in. Skyfire, Eyjafjalla, and a few other Operators pushed deep into the subterranean tunnels. They cleared the slugs out, and stabilized the magma chambers. For now, the mountain is asleep again."

My lungs empty and refuse to refill.

The far wall of the lounge goes out of focus. My mind races back to the hushed aisles of the Archives.

They didn't just run from the Catastrophe. They didn't just hide and hope nobody got hurt. They walked straight into the burning heart of a volcano, figured out why it was angry, and switched it off.

"They… they tamed nature?"

Mom's hands gather the smoothed sections of my hair and tie the heavy strands back, off my neck.

"They did, Lethe," mom murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of my head. "They did."

"Both of them are down on the beach right now, taking a very well-deserved rest," mom says. She tilts her head. "You don't want to join your tutors?"

"Of course I do!" I exclaim, the exhaustion in my bones evaporating.

I grab my spoon and attack the warm oats with reckless abandon. The ceramic clinks as I inhale my breakfast. I don't even wait for the milk to settle in my stomach before I slide off the sofa.

"Have fun out there, Lethe!" mom calls out.

I charge into my dorm, tearing off my oversized kitten hoodie. I pull on the one-piece swimsuit mom had bought me, and zip the sun jacket halfway up my chest to shield my skin. I grab my Arts Unit and charge right back out into the arteries of the landship.

The moment I step off the deployment ramp, the blazing heat of Siesta washes over me. The Obsidian Festival is in full swing, a roaring entity that makes the pavement hum. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and visualize my glass wall, blocking out the fizzy static of the crowds.

The street is bustling.

As I skirt the crowd, I spot a familiar Sarkaz. Vigna is leaning against a wooden railing in the shade of an awning. She is dual-wielding her lunch with alarming efficiency. In one hand she holds a caramelized skewer of grilled meat, dripping with a tangy yellow glaze that sizzles under the midday heat. In the other she balances an absurdly large hollowed-out coconut overflowing with a pink slush of crushed ice, topped with three bendy straws. Her adrenaline-laced cherry-cola has mellowed into a lazy hum.

I offer her a quick wave, and she returns it by raising her skewer in a silent salute. Then I steer away from the deafening music of the main stages, toward the quieter shorelines.

The roaring music fades into the rhythmic crash of waves against the beach. But as I reach a quiet section of the boardwalk, the air sours. A metallic tang of stagnant water drifts in over the sea breeze.

Near a shaded cabana, two Siesta officials are speaking in hushed tones.

"They'll have to move the city to nomadic plates," one of them says, staring out at the silent peak looming over the bay. "It's just a matter of time…"

"But if we're a nomadic city, Columbia is going to try to enforce their Infected laws on us… either pay health insurance premiums or join Pioneer Vanguard services…"

I slow my pace. The reality of Terra presses against my chest.

But out over the water, a familiar crackling warmth pushes back the cold dread.

"Ms. Skyfire! Miss Adele!" I call out, my voice chiming over the crashing waves.

I step off the boardwalk and sink into the warm white sand.

Just ahead, at the frothing waterline, are my two tutors. They have shed their coats for the blistering Siesta heat, and they command the beach anyway.

Ms. Skyfire turns at the sound of my voice. She is wearing a sleek black swimsuit with a delicate halter neck.

Standing right beside her is Miss Adele, dressed in a ruffled pink two-piece swimsuit with a gingham pattern. A sheer pink overskirt flutters in the sea breeze around her hips, and a pink tropical flower is tucked behind her curling horns.

"Lethe!" Miss Adele chimes. She steps forward, her overskirt fluttering. Her eyes sweep over my outfit. "Look at you! You look absolutely adorable. It suits you perfectly."

My ears go warm before my face does. I duck my head just a tiny bit.

"Mom picked it out for me." My tail gives a shy swish behind me. I look back up at her, and then at Ms. Skyfire beside her. "But you both look so beautiful. Like actual princesses from the storybooks."

Ms. Skyfire scoffs, though the crackling spices swell with a note of burning pride. She crosses her arms, her posture as confident as ever.

"Naturally," Ms. Skyfire declares. "One must maintain a certain standard of elegance, even when forced to endure the sweltering humidity of a tropical shoreline."

"Mom told me what you two did," I say, my voice trembling with reverence. I look toward the silent peak of Siesta Volcano in the distance, and then back at my tutors. "You walked right into the mountain. You stopped the rocks from exploding. You saved the entire city."

Miss Adele's smile softens into something sadder. The chestnut warmth of her presence dims a fraction.

"We didn't save it forever, Lethe," Miss Adele whispers, her eyes reflecting the turquoise waves. "We cleared the immediate danger and stabilized the pressure, but the damage isn't something that can be permanently undone. We only gave them time."

Ms. Skyfire nods slowly. She turns away from the volcano and looks down the long white shoreline.

"Surely you've overheard the municipal officials on the boardwalk, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire states. "Siesta cannot remain a stationary city forever. The subterranean chambers will inevitably destabilize again. The Mayor and the city council already know this. Soon, this city will be ripped from its foundations, rebuilt on massive platforms, and converted into a nomadic one to outrun the next eruption."

Ms. Skyfire looks back out at the shimmering blue water.

"And when they move the city," she continues, her voice quiet and final, "this ocean, these shores, and this beautiful white sand… it will all be left behind. It will just be another memory."

The paradise I'm standing in is already living on borrowed time.

But then, Ms. Skyfire turns back to me. The solemn mood shatters.

She reaches out and taps her index finger against my forehead.

"Which is precisely why," Ms. Skyfire commands, her eyes flashing with authority, "we are not going to waste a single second of today mourning the inevitable. The skies are clear, the Catastrophe has been averted, and we have earned our reprieve."

Miss Adele smiles, and it pushes back the shadows of the future. She takes my free hand, her touch warm and grounding.

"Ms. Mountbelan is right," Miss Adele adds, her voice full of encouragement. "The future will come, Lethe. But today, the water is cool, and the sun is beautiful."

Ms. Skyfire folds her arms, fixing me with a stern glare.

"As your tutor, I am officially assigning you your practical task for the afternoon, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire declares. "You are to leave your heavy thoughts on the landship, put down that Kazdelian artifact, and simply enjoy the sea."

"Yes! Ms. Skyfire!" I give her my best salute.

I hold the salute, trying my hardest to look like the serious medical student Ms. Skyfire expects me to be.

Miss Adele brings a hand to her mouth, a giggle escaping her lips as her curling horns shake. The hearth fire of her presence flares with a joyful spark.

Ms. Skyfire lets out a long sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Perhaps she's a lost cause," Ms. Skyfire mutters. She shakes her head. "I leave her alone for a few months, and she's perfectly ready to trade Originium thermodynamics for building sandcastles."

Before I can open my mouth and defend the architectural integrity of my future sandcastles, the broad-leafed tropical plants at the top of the beach begin to rustle.

The air of the beach shifts.

Salt air and the chestnut warmth of Miss Adele are pierced by a spike of cold copper and expensive old wine. Beneath that familiar predatory taste is a heavy note of sour, bruised grapes.

The green fronds part.

My hand drops from my salute, and my jaw unhinges.

Stepping out of the tropical foliage is our resident Haematologist. But she's not wearing her lab coat.

She's wearing a dark summer ensemble that drinks the blistering Siesta sunlight. A black off-the-shoulder top with delicate ruffles pairs with dark ruffled bottoms. It's all layered beneath a translucent grey jacket that slips off her shoulders.

A black strap emblazoned with white RHODES ISLAND lettering crosses her chest, securing a small medical box at her hip. In her left hand she clutches a furled red umbrella like a makeshift spear. Her long white hair and pointed ears frame her face, her crimson eyes gleaming against the greens and blues around her.

"Dr… Dr… Dr. Warfarin?!"

The name tears out of my throat in a terrified squeak. My tail whips into a tight coil around my leg. My hands fly up to cover the crooks of my elbows.

Is she here to draw my blood on the beach?!

Dr. Warfarin rolls her eyes, stepping out of the bushes and onto the sand. She uses the pointed tip of her red umbrella to push a stray palm frond out of her way.

"What are you staring at? Cannot little old me go on a mandated vacation and enjoy the ocean breeze?"

My brain short-circuits.

A vacation? The only breeze she has ever willingly enjoyed is the exhaust vent of her beloved centrifuges.

"You… you don't do vacations," I stammer. "You hate the sun! You said a sweaty gymnasium was a gross misuse of your time!"

Dr. Warfarin scoffs. She rests her umbrella against her shoulder. The sour taste in the air spikes.

"Tell that to your Kal'tsit," Dr. Warfarin grumbles, her fangs flashing in a scowl of outrage. "The infernal Lynx literally changed the biometric locks on my laboratory doors this morning. She claimed my 'refusal to leave the middle decks was compromising my baseline sanity' and evicted me. Evicted me! From my own lab!"

Beside me, Miss Adele covers her mouth again, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles. Even Ms. Skyfire looks away toward the waves, her ears twitching as she tries to suppress an undignified smile.

"So now," Dr. Warfarin sighs dramatically, popping her umbrella open with a sharp snap, "I'm forced to wander this sweltering, sand-infested land until Kal decides I've absorbed enough 'vitamin D' to be allowed back to my samples."

She tilts the umbrella back, her eyes locking onto my swimsuit-clad form. That familiar predatory smirk creeps back onto her lips.

"Though," Dr. Warfarin purrs, "I suppose monitoring the heart rate and sun exposure of my favorite little anomaly might make this dreadful vacation marginally more tolerable."

Dr. Warfarin on a beach, under a red umbrella. I'm writing that down first thing so I can't lose it.