November, 1097

The ambient temperature of the landship has begun to drop as we edge into early November, bringing a biting chill to the outer corridors. But inside the Convalescent Garden, the air remains a perfect, humid sanctuary.

I am lying flat on my back on one of the curved, golden-brown wooden benches, my head resting comfortably on Lisa's lap. She is sitting sideways, her legs pulled up, and her nine fluffy tails are draped over me like the softest, warmest blanket in the world. It is the perfect defense against the creeping winter.

"I wonder what Ms. Skyfire is doing," I ponder.

It has been a while since my fiery tutor finally boarded her transport back to the Victorian Empire. I miss the roasted spices of her emotional resonance.

Suddenly, the dappled sunlight filtering through the broad-leafed ferns is completely eclipsed.

A face pops into view directly above us, blocking out the canopy. A pair of Perro ears twitch playfully.

"You two sure look comfy," Podenco teases, her cheeky grin upside down from my perspective.

I blink up at her, unbothered by the interruption. I just snuggle a little deeper into the auburn silk of Lisa's tails. "We are," I state proudly. "It is cold outside."

Lisa giggles softly above me, her hands resting gently on my shoulders.

Podenco leans her elbows against the back of our wooden bench, her eyes shining with fresh logistics intel. "Well, since you were wondering," Podenco says, her tone taking on a slightly more serious, informed edge. "I heard Ms. Skyfire is actually in Caladon right now. It is a port city in Victoria. She is there with some of our personnel, protecting an Infected district."

The words make my heart give a sudden, proud leap.

Caladon.

My mind flashes back to the day she stood in the Archives, throwing her crimson and black coat over her shoulder, and declaring that she couldn't just throw fire at rioters anymore. She had promised to be an advocate in the courts, a voice for the Infected where the nobility turned a blind eye.

She is doing it. She is standing between the vulnerable and the dark, just like she said she would. A profound, swelling pride fills my chest, tasting like a spark of warm, unyielding fire.

"She is going to keep them safe," Lisa chimes in, her voice ringing with absolute certainty. The brittle, damp sugar that had clung to her emotional resonance after the horrors of Wolumonde has slowly, beautifully healed over the past two months. Today, her presence is a steady, radiant light.

"I have no doubt she will," a smooth, grounding voice echoes down the path.

Mom steps out from behind a row of medicinal herbs. She has a digital manifest tucked under her arm. She and Miss Lena have been moving methodically through the greenhouse all morning, meticulously checking the soil acidity levels and fertilizer stocks to ensure the delicate micro-climate pods are prepared for the coming winter cycle.

Mom stops near our bench, her eyes filled with absolute, unadulterated fondness as she takes in the sight of me buried under Lisa's tails.

"Skyfire is a force of nature, Lethe," mom says, her smile warm and reassuring. "The Infected in Caladon are very lucky to have her watching over their district."

"Do you think she still remembers to yell at people about thermodynamics?" I ask, a teasing, nostalgic smile tugging at my lips.

Miss Lena steps up beside mom, her pruning shears resting in her apron pocket. A graceful, melodic chuckle escapes her lips. "I am quite certain Ms. Mountbelan is delivering rigorous academic lectures to anyone who will listen, Lethe. Even in a port city."

I let out a soft, contented laugh, my tail giving a lazy, happy swish beneath the bench.

Mom taps her finger thoughtfully against the edge of her digital slate, her eyes scanning the scrolling logistical reports. The warm, protective honey of her presence ripples with a brief, chilling undercurrent of cold iron.

"Good thing she is not in Londinium, though," mom murmurs, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks up from the screen. "On my last mission, the Field Ops have been talking. They say eight Grand Dukes are preparing an assault to take back Londinium."

I shift my weight, sitting up from the comfortable pile of Lisa's tails. Eight Grand Dukes. It sounds less like a military maneuver and more like a Catastrophe made of people.

"Don't they have Steam Knights like in Crowns of Victoria?" I ask, my brow furrowing in deep confusion.

"How come Londinium fell?" I press, looking between mom and Miss Lena. "The books said the city never fell ever since its conversion to a nomadic city hundreds of years ago."

Mom lets out a slow, heavy sigh. She lowers her manifest, the flavor around her turning distinctly grey and somber.

"The rumors have been that no one has actually seen a Steam Knight for years, Lethe," mom explains quietly.

I blink, the grand, romanticized image of Victoria I had built in my head stalling. I look down at my hands. "So… they are a myth?"

"They weren't. Before," mom corrects, her voice dropping into a hushed, heavy whisper that echoes terribly under the greenhouse canopy. "They say the Military Commission of Kazdel just walked into the city."

And then, a horrifying realization clicks into place for me.

I whip my head around, my eyes blowing wide. I grip the edge of the wooden bench tightly.

"Wait," I gasp, my voice pitching up into a frantic, trembling squeak. "Are we going to Victoria to help? We are heading that way, no?!"

The panic claws at my throat. The beautiful canopy of the Convalescent Garden blurs, replaced by the phantom memories of the past year. I see the burning skyline of Lungmen. I taste the rotting, acidic sludge of Gummy's survival, and the suffocating, freezing ash of the Operators who didn't return from Chernobog.

"Are we going to go to war again?!" I cry out, my tail wrapping into a rigid, terrified coil around Lisa. My chest heaves with shallow, ragged gasps. I cannot do it again. I cannot stand on the flight deck and watch the VTOLs bring back shattered armor and empty beds.

"Lethe! Hey, look at me."

Mom drops her slate onto the bench with a sharp clatter. She immediately steps forward, her hands firmly gripping my trembling shoulders.

"No, Lethe," mom promises, her voice ringing with a fierce, uncompromising certainty that anchors my racing heart. She ducks her head to meet my terrified eyes. "We are not going to Victoria. We are not going to war."

I let out a ragged, stuttering exhale, my shoulders slumping under her hands. "We aren't?"

"No," mom murmurs, her thumbs gently brushing the fabric of my oversized jacket. She offers me a soft, reassuring smile, the tight, anxious lines around her eyes melting away. "We are heading toward Kjerag."

"Kjerag?" Lisa echoes from behind me, her tails giving a curious, tentative twitch.

Miss Lena steps closer.

"It is a mountain nation, nestled right between Columbia and Victoria," Miss Lena explains, her serene voice acting as the final balm to my frayed nerves. "It is a deeply religious, isolated territory. It is very cold, and very snowy, but it is peaceful."

I stare at mom, the freezing dread in my chest finally beginning to thaw. The phantom ashes of Chernobog and the neon glare of Kazimierz recede, replaced by the mental image of quiet, snow-capped mountains untouched by the fires of the world.

"A mountain nation…" I whisper, the rigid coil of my tail finally dropping limply toward the floorboards. I lean forward, resting my forehead against mom's collarbone with a massive, exhausted sigh of relief. "Okay… Okay. Mountains are good."

"What food do they have?" I ask. "Do they have sweets?"

Mom lets out a soft, breathy chuckle.

"Well, Lethe," mom says, crossing her arms loosely over her translucent coat. "Because Kjerag is a freezing mountain nation, their cuisine is heavily built to keep the cold out. They are famous for their hot cheese fondue. It is a massive, bubbling pot of rich, melted mountain cheese, set right over an open flame. You take long forks and dip chunks of roasted root vegetables, cured meats, and thick, crusty bread directly into the melted cheese."

My mouth waters. The savory indulgence of a bubbling pot of cheese sounds heavenly.

"And for sweets?" I press, leaning forward on the bench.

"They make these incredible, soft milk-fudges," Miss Lena chimes in gently, stepping closer to our bench. "They use the thick, rich milk from the mountain burdenbeasts, churning it with sweet alpine berries and pure honey until it becomes a soft, melt-in-your-mouth candy."

The image of the warm, melting cheese and the sweet, berry-infused milk candies overwhelms my senses. The terrifying thoughts of war and Catastrophes are forgotten, replaced by a desperate, bubbling thrill.

"Can I get a shore pass?" I ask, my eyes wide and shining as I look up at mom. My tail begins to give a happy, rhythmic thump against the wooden slats of the bench. "I want to see the snow and try the melted cheese!"

The rhythmic thumping of my tail is the only sound in the garden.

Mom and Miss Lena pause.

The serene, domestic warmth of the greenhouse stalls. The flavor bleeding off the two adults shifts to cold granite and crushed, wilted leaves. It is a profound, protective sorrow.

Mom's hand drops to her side. She looks at Miss Lena, sharing a dark, silent look over my head.

"Lethe…" mom begins, her voice dropping into a gentle but incredibly heavy murmur. She steps closer, resting a warm hand over my knee. "The nation is deeply religious."

I blink, my smile faltering. "Religious?"

Miss Lena folds her hands together over her apron, her eyes reflecting a quiet, aching sadness.

"Kjerag has been completely isolated from the rest of Terra for centuries, sweetie," Miss Lena explains softly. "They worship their own Feranmut Goddess, Kjeragandr, and their entire society is deeply bound by ancient traditions, myths, and superstitions. They do not welcome outsiders easily. And because they are so secluded…"

Miss Lena pauses, her focus dropping to the long horns sweeping out from my crown, and the spade-tipped tail resting limp against the wood.

"…they are very afraid of things they do not understand," Miss Lena finishes, her voice a fragile whisper.

The realization hits me like a bucket of freezing water, extinguishing the bright, bubbling thrill in my chest.

I reach up with a hand, my fingertips brushing against the hard, smooth curve of my left horn. I am a pureblood Sarkaz. In a secluded, deeply religious mountain nation that has never seen the outside world, I wouldn't just be a tourist. To them, I would look exactly like a devil pulled straight from their darkest, oldest scriptures. They wouldn't sell me sweet milk-candies; they would look at me with absolute terror and hatred. Or worse. A bolt straight to my head.

I lower my hand, my shoulders slumping heavily. I pull my knees up to my chest, tucking my face into the oversized collar of my jacket.

"Oh," I whisper, my voice tiny and fractured. "I understand. I will stay on the landship."

Mom leans down, her arms reaching out to pull me into a tight, desperate embrace, ready to apologize for the cruelty of the world she cannot shield me from.

But before mom can even wrap her arms around me, a blindingly bright, effervescent wave of crystallized sugar shatters the sorrow in the air.

"Then we will just bring Kjerag to you!"

Lisa practically launches herself forward. Her arms wrap securely around my neck from behind, her nine tails puffing up into a massive, auburn shield that envelops us both.

I peek out from the collar of my jacket, blinking up at her.

"I am going to ask the logistics teams where the absolute best markets are in the mountains," Lisa declares, her eyes sparkling with a fierce, uncompromising determination. "And I am going to buy the biggest pot of cheese fondue they sell, and an entire bag of those sweet milk-fudges!"

She squeezes me tighter, her bright, musical voice chasing the cold dread entirely out of my bones.

"We will bring it all right back here to the Convalescent Garden!" Lisa promises, her smile as radiant as the sun. "Podenco can set up the table, and Miss Lena can brew us a special tea, and we will have our own Kjerag picnic right here where it is warm and safe! You won't miss a single thing, Lethe! We will invite Opal, too!"

I look at Lisa's beaming face, and then at mom, whose exhausted, sorrowful expression has melted into a look of profound, teary-eyed gratitude.

The heavy, hollow ache in my chest slowly begins to recede.

"Okay, Lisa," I whisper, a genuine, wobbly smile finally breaking across my face. "I would really like that."

"Ow!"

A sudden, sharp, pinching pain shoots directly up my spine from the very tip of my tail.

The peaceful, comforting atmosphere of the garden shatters. I gasp, my survival instincts immediately taking over. I desperately thrash my tail, trying to shake off whatever just bit me.

But it feels wrong. The usual aerodynamic, fluid sweep of the spade-shaped tip is dragged down by a clunky, foreign weight. It swings wildly like an unbalanced pendulum, the awkward momentum nearly throwing me face-first into the dirt.

I twist around, my eyes blowing completely wide.

Clamped aggressively onto the tip of my tail is a small metal crab. Its little claws are pinched securely over the skin, its legs kicking frantically in the air as my thrashing takes it for a wild, chaotic ride.

"Miss Beanstalk! Help!" I yelp.

I start spinning in a desperate, clumsy circle, trying to reach behind my own back to pry the little menace off, but my uncoordinated flailing only makes the crab clamp down harder.

"Stop squirming, Lethe," Podenco sighs, her voice devoid of panic and dripping with dry exasperation.

"It hurts!" I whine loudly, my hands grasping blindly at the air behind me.

Suddenly, two hands clamp down firmly on the midpoint of my tail.

The sudden, unprompted touch to the appendage sends a shocking jolt of electricity straight up to the base of my horns. The frantic spinning is arrested.

"Eh?!" I squeal, my entire body going rigid in absolute shock.

Podenco holds my tail perfectly steady, unfazed by my startled, wide-eyed paralysis. She grips the appendage like a piece of unruly logistics equipment, holding the tip steady so the frantic breeder can swoop in.

Miss Beanstalk practically dives into the fray. With a practiced, frantic precision, she wedges her fingers between the pincers and gently pries them open. The metal crab finally detaches from my tail with a soft click.

"Oh, my poor baby!" Miss Beanstalk gasps.

She immediately pulls the metal crab flush against her chest, cradling the little critter as if it had just survived a horrific battlefield. She ignores my throbbing tail, her eyes meticulously scanning the joints of her pet. "Are your little pincers okay? Did the scary Sarkaz tail dent your claws?"

I stare at the Reproba in absolute, unadulterated disbelief.

The unapologetic audacity of her concern drains whatever remaining energy I had left. My tail slips limply from Podenco's hands, dropping to the floor tiles with a dull thud. I let out a long, pathetic groan.

My knees buckle. I collapse onto the floor of the Convalescent Garden, melting into a dramatic, defeated pile of grey hair and oversized clothing.

I press my cheek flat against the cool tiles, closing my eyes against the harsh injustices of Terra.

"Just wake me up when the candies are here," I mumble miserably into the floorboards.

Before I can fully sink into my puddle of self-pity, a familiar, incredibly gentle pair of hands scoops up the limp, spade-shaped tip of my tail from the floor tiles.

The ambient air immediately sweetens. Mom kneels down beside me, her touch feather-light as she carefully inspects the misty blue skin for any lingering dents or scratches from the crustacean ambush.

"It doesn't look damaged."

I feel the soft press of her lips directly against the very tip of my tail.

"There, there, Lethe," mom whispers, as she gently strokes the appendage. "It will stop throbbing soon."

I can hear her clothing shuffle as she reaches behind her back, drawing her new Arts Unit. As she channels her Arts, the interlocking segments of the cube smoothly rotate and click into place, emitting a quiet, satisfying mechanical hum. A wave of pure, comforting warmth sinks directly into my skin. The sharp, lingering sting of the crab's pinch melts away, replaced by the soothing relief of her healing Arts.

I let out a long, contented sigh, pressing my cheek against the floor tiles.

"Thank you… mom…" I mumble into the dirt, ready to just take a nap right here on the ground.

Mom lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. She puts her Arts Unit away, her hands coming down to gently pat my back.

"Now, now, my little Lethe," mom says. "Want to get up and help us check the inventories? Lunch break is almost over for you."

I groan, closing my eyes tighter. The thought of counting sterile gauze pads and medical vials sounds incredibly unappealing when the floor is this comfortable.

"You don't want Dr. Kal'tsit to have reasons to dock your pay, do you?" mom points out smoothly.

My ears give a tiny, nervous twitch. The terrifying image of the Grand Dame of Rhodes Island personally zeroing out my hard-earned internal credits makes me crack one eye open.

"And besides," mom adds, leaning in just a fraction so her voice drops into a conspiratorial, devastating whisper. "The shark plushie is almost out of stock in Ms. Closure's store."

My heart stalls.

The shark plushie. The massive, incredibly soft, perfectly round shark plushie I have been meticulously saving my salary for to add to my dorm bed collection.

Out of stock?!

The exhaustion and the lingering phantom pain of the crab pinch evaporate in an absolute instant.

I shoot straight up from the floor. My hands plant firmly on my hips, my posture snapping into rigid, flawless attention.

"I will be the best Djall at counting in all of Terra!" I declare, my voice ringing with absolute, uncompromising resolve.

I immediately march toward the medical supply cabinets, ready to earn my plushie.

Podenco leans against the edge of her pristine botanical workstation, crossing her arms as she watches my sudden, highly motivated march toward the medical supply cabinets. A bright, cheeky laugh bubbles out of her.

"Just don't mislabel the Oripathy suppressant crates with the nutrient pastes like last year, Lethe," Podenco teases.

I whip my head around, puffing my cheeks out as I grab a digital clipboard. "I won't!" I huff. "That was one time! And the boxes looked exactly the same in the dark!"

Lisa covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking as a bright giggle echoes through the greenhouse. "I'll go help Miss Beanstalk count the crab feeds!" she chimes, her tails swaying happily as she trots over to the enclosed nursery, tactfully leaving me to my high-stakes inventory duties.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of digital tallies, stacked boxes, and the relentless, driving motivation of securing my shark plushie. But as the daylight simulation in the greenhouse begins to dim, signaling the approaching end of my shift, my biology overrides my corporate ambitions.

My stomach gives a sharp twist. A loud, undeniable rumble echoes right as I scan the final crate.

I slump my shoulders, dropping the clipboard onto the counter. I am starving.

Mom steps out from the nearby aisle, already shrugging off her heavier medical gear.

"Want to head to dinner together?" mom asks, offering a warm smile.

I don't even hesitate. I give her a massive, vigorous nod, practically dropping my pen. "Yes, please."