September, 1097

The observation window of the middle deck lounge usually offers a peaceful view of the night sky. But tonight, there's no darkness.

We're hovering near Kawalerielki, the capital of Kazimierz. I press my hand against the cool glass. The metropolis sprawls below us, and Ms. Skyfire hadn't exaggerated when she described the nation. Towering skyscrapers curve and jut into the sky, their dark glass facades overwhelmed by holographic billboards. One screen in our line of sight blazes with the stark white silhouette of a knight's helm, advertising the "Kazimierz Major." So much artificial light bleeds into the low-hanging smog that the midnight sky has become a sickly, perpetual twilight. It is blinding.

I pull away from the window, my eyes aching from the glare, and turn back to the table. Mom sits across from me, reviewing a medical manifest on her slate.

It's late September now, and the passage of time feels a little more manageable.

Mom's birthday had come and gone. Instead of emptying my entire internal savings account into Ms. Closure's greedy hands, I'd planned ahead. On my second logistics mission out into the barrens with Podenco and Miss Beanstalk, I'd searched the ground until I found a resilient little wildflower. When we returned, Miss Lena taught me how to press and preserve the petals, sealing them into a clear resin clip pin. When I gave it to mom, her smile had been brighter than the neon outside. She hasn't taken it off her uniform lapel since.

I'm also, miraculously, still alive.

Lisa's "Arts training" had nearly broken me. Between dodging foam projectiles from the training drones and trying to push the right emotional buffs and debuffs, I'd seriously contemplated unfriending her. I'd drafted the verbal resignation of our friendship in my head while lying face-down on the training mat.

But then she'd shown up to my dorm with a peace offering. It was a thin crepe, folded with care. Inside, it was filled with velvety green matcha cream. The earthy bitterness of the cream cut through the heavy sweetness of the chunky red bean paste hidden in the center. It was a masterpiece of a dessert, and it melted on my tongue. I'd devoured it in under two minutes, and Lisa was forgiven.

I take a slow sip of my water.

Then the doors to the lounge slide open with a hiss.

I don't need to look up to know who it is. The air always announces her arrival. But as the empathic wave hits the back of my tongue, my tail stops moving.

The sugar of Lisa is still there, but heavy and damp. It tastes like caramelized syrup left out in the rain, with a sinking undertone of bruised peaches.

I look up.

Lisa steps into the lounge. Her tails droop toward the floorboards. Her ears are pinned against her hair, her shoulders slumped. She clutches her digital slate against her chest, her eyes cast downward, away from the neon glare of the windows.

Across the table, mom sets her own slate down.

"Lisa?" I call out. "What's wrong?"

Lisa doesn't answer right away. She shuffles forward, her shoes dragging.

I pull out the chair beside me. She climbs into it and sets her slate on the table. Her tails pool against the backrest, without their usual bounce.

She looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with a frightened resignation.

"I am getting deployed, Lethe," Lisa whispers.

My fingers, resting on the tabletop, curl into fists. The neon glare of Kazimierz bleeding through the window stops mattering.

"To where?" I ask.

Lisa lowers her gaze to the dark screen of her slate.

"A nomadic town named Wolumonde," she replies. "In Leithanien."

Across the table, mom freezes. Her hand, resting near her own slate, stiffens. The honey of her curdles in an instant into something cold and tactical: cold copper and medical iodine.

"Wolumonde…" mom repeats, her brow furrowing. She leans forward. "Didn't the town recently get damaged by a Catastrophe?"

Lisa nods.

"Dr. Atro…" Lisa's voice catches, the news wavering in it. "…an R.I. Medic that was dispatched there has completely lost contact for a few days now."

"Dr. Atro? Oh no…"

Mom covers her mouth with her hand, a horrified gasp escaping her. The air in the lounge sours, the sharp alarm dissolving into a heavy wave of dread.

I stare at my best friend in bone-deep terror.

"But… but you're just a Support Operator!" I blurt out, my hands flying out to grab hers. "Why are they sending you into a post-Catastrophe zone?! Where are the Elite Ops? Where is Ms. Blaze or Ms. Raidian?!"

Lisa squeezes my trembling fingers. The damp sugar of her fear is everywhere, but beneath it a fragile spark of her bravery tries to push through.

"With most of our people busy around Kazimierz, they have decided to send me with Dr. Folinic to investigate what has happened," Lisa explains, her voice steadying a fraction as she names her escort.

Dr. Folinic.

I know the name. I've seen her marching through the medical wards, strict and fierce, her presence tasting of medicinal alcohol and uncompromising lethality. She's protective of her patients and her colleagues, but she's still just a Medic. Just the two of them walking into a ravaged town.

"The Major in Kazimierz is drawing too much attention, and the administrative operations here require almost all of our active Field Ops," mom says. She lowers her hand from her mouth, her eyes shining with worry for the girl sitting across from her. "They're stretched entirely too thin."

"I have to go, Lethe," Lisa whispers, looking back at me. She offers a tiny smile. "Dr. Atro is our friend. We can't just leave her behind in the dark. And Dr. Folinic needs a Support to help her."

I want to tell her to refuse the order, to hide in the Convalescent Garden behind Miss Lena's flowerbeds and never come out. I want to use my Arts and siphon the damp sugar from her mind until she forgets she ever received the deployment notice.

We do not ask them to stay. We keep the hearth warm.

Miss Lena's voice anchors my spiraling mind.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, forcing the tears back. I grip Lisa's hands tighter and pour every bit of sweet warmth I can muster into the empathic channel between us.

"Okay," I manage, my voice shaking, but resolute. I lean in, my lopsided horns dipping as I press my forehead against hers. "You go find Dr. Atro, Lisa. But you promise me you will stay right behind Dr. Folinic. You don't take a single step without her."

Lisa shudders out a breath, the tension in her shoulders melting a fraction under my touch.

"I promise, Lethe," she breathes out, her nine tails giving a weak but genuine swish against her chair. "I will be careful."

"Let's have breakfast together tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

The fragile promise we made in the lounge echoes in the quiet of my dorm room.

I lie on my side, unable to sleep. The neon lights of the city bleed through the reinforced glass of my pill-shaped window, refusing to let the room fade into the dark. That sickly twilight casts unnatural shadows across the brushed steel walls.

I pull my knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around my plushies, crushing them against my oversized hoodie. I bury my face in their fabric and keep my eyes closed, but the exhaustion refuses to pull me under. Every time I drift close to sleep, my mind builds the same picture: Lisa walking away from the landship, stepping into the ash-choked ruins of Wolumonde.

By the time the landship's morning cycle clicks over, washing away the neon glare with a clinical white, my eyes are burning and my body feels hollowed out.

I drag myself out of bed. The tangle of my hair stays as it is; I pull my Medic jacket over my shoulders and grab my Arts Unit.

The walk through the hallways toward the cafeteria is a slow trudge. Mom is already gone; a glance at my slate earlier confirmed she had been pulled into an early shift at the medical wards alongside Miss Sussurro.

The dining hall is full of the usual morning clatter of trays and overlapping conversations. I join the serving line and reach for the things I know will settle my twisting stomach. Onto my tray goes a folded yellow omelette, then a soft red bean roll, then a glass of warm milk. It's my classic, an anchor of comfort.

I turn away from the counters and scan the sea of plastic chairs and tables.

I spot them near the back. Podenco sits with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug, her citrus muted and heavy. Across from her is Lisa.

I adjust my grip on my tray and walk over.

The moment I approach, Lisa turns her head.

"Good morning, Lethe!" Lisa chimes.

Her voice rings out with that familiar musical cadence. Her smile goes wide, her eyes crinkling at the corners. To anyone walking past our table she looks unbothered. Exactly like a normal girl ready to enjoy a sweet breakfast with her friends.

But she can't lie to me.

The moment she brushes against my Arts, the air in the cafeteria shatters and betrays her brave smile.

The bright crystallized sugar of her usual presence is there, but stretched thin. It tastes brittle, like a sheet of caramelized sugar under a weight it can't hold, splintering at the edges. Bleeding through the cracks is the acid tang of bruised peaches and the cold flavor of stagnant rainwater.

I take a slow bite of my roll. The earthy paste is usually my favorite, but today it sits heavy and thick in my mouth.

Across the table, Podenco is steering the conversation.

"I finally got the ambient humidity regulators perfectly balanced in the third pod," Podenco chatters, leaning forward and gesturing with a piece of her toast. "The spore density was getting a little too high, but once I tweaked the exhaust fans, the nutrient substrate stabilized. The mycelium networks are expanding exactly how Miss Lena predicted."

"Really?!" Lisa asks, leaning in. Her eyes sparkle with a manufactured curiosity. "Does that mean the bioluminescent moss from the underground caverns is going to sprout soon? Will it glow in the dark?"

"It should!" Podenco beams, though her ears droop a fraction before she forces them back up. "I'll make sure to save a cutting for you to see when you get back."

"I can't wait to see it, Podenco."

I watch them. My fingers inch toward the black shaft of my Arts Unit resting against my leg.

My empathic instincts scream at me to open the channel. I want to throw the limiters wide open, reach across the table, and siphon every drop of that panic right out of her chest. I want to swallow her nightmares so she can just be a happy girl eating breakfast.

But my fingers freeze just inches from the staff.

My mind flashes back to the quiet safety of my dorm room, bathed in the dim amber light of the night cycle. I'd asked Amiya about Miss Lena's teachings.

Amiya had been sitting beside me on my bed, our hands clasped together as she taught me how to navigate the noise of the landship.

"It's terrifying when you can feel everything they're hiding, Lethe," Amiya had murmured, her ears swaying. Her blue eyes were the eyes of a leader who felt the death of every Operator under her command.

"When someone is hurting, your first instinct is to completely take it away. To burn your own memories to give them peace," Amiya had explained, her thumb rubbing the back of my hand. "But you can't always erase their fear. Sometimes, out in the barrens or in the ruins of a city, fear is the only thing keeping them sharp. It keeps them careful. If you hollow out their terror, you might take away their survival instinct."

I'd looked up at her, my chest aching. "But it hurts them. And tasting it hurts me."

Amiya had offered me a sad smile.

"I know it hurts," Amiya had whispered. "But being an empath doesn't mean you just erase their struggles. It means you stand beside them. You let their pain wash over you, you let it hurt you, and you help them carry the weight so they don't have to bear it entirely alone. You hold their hand in the dark, Lethe, and you let them be brave."

The memory anchors me to the cafeteria chair.

I pull my hand away from my Arts Unit. My fists unclench, and I press my palms flat against the metal table.

Lisa doesn't need me to hollow her out. She knows the post-Catastrophe zone of Wolumonde is dangerous. She knows Dr. Atro is missing. She is terrified, but she is choosing to pack her bags and walk into the ruins alongside Dr. Folinic anyway. She is choosing to be brave.

I can't steal her bravery just to make myself feel better.

Instead, I close my eyes. I dig into the core of myself, gathering up the warmest sensations of safety I own. I pull from the memory of mom's protective hugs, Miss Lena's teas, the starlit shores of Siesta. I channel that comfort outward, wrapping it around the brittle edges of Lisa's emotions, lending my strength so she's not carrying the weight alone.

Lisa looks across the table at me, her eyes softening.

Eventually the plates are cleared. The morning cycle marches forward.

Lisa stands up, gathering her empty tray. She smooths down the fabric of her skirt, adjusting the small brown bag resting against her hip.

"I have to go meet Dr. Folinic at the flight deck now," Lisa announces. Her voice still trembles at the edges, but she holds her chin high.

Podenco stands up with her and gives a short nod. "Be careful out there, Lisa. We will keep the garden perfect for when you get back."

I look Lisa in the eyes. My smile does not waver, and I hold onto the promise of our home.

"We will see you, Lisa," I tell her.

Lisa's ears perk straight up. The damp shadows in her are eclipsed, for a moment, by a spark of her true light.

"See you, Lethe! See you, Podenco!" Lisa calls back, offering us one last wave before she turns and marches out of the dining hall, stepping into the dark of Terra to save a friend.

I watch the cafeteria doors shut, swallowing the last glimpse of Lisa's tails. The dining hall feels colder.

I turn to Podenco.

"I'm going to find Miss Adele first. Tell Miss Lena not to worry about me. I'll be in the garden later."

A cheeky spark pushes through the heavy air, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Good idea, Lethe," Podenco teases. "Maybe studying with the Professor will help boost that Kazdelian intellect of yours."

I puff my cheeks out, indignation warming my face. I point at her, leaning across the space between our chairs.

"I'm going to break your… ten-time win streak next time, Podenco! Just you wait!"

Podenco laughs, and the sound brings a badly needed lightness to the cafeteria. "I'd like to see you try!"

With our battle lines officially drawn, I offer her a small wave and turn my steps downward, threading the arteries of the landship toward the Archives.

The air inside is cool and hushed. I navigate the labyrinth of bookshelves, letting my Arts brush the air, expecting the dormant warmth of my tutor to wash over me.

But as I turn the corner to our usual table, my steps falter.

The aisle is empty.

The absence makes my heart stutter, a spike of panic tightening my throat. Did Dr. Kal'tsit deploy her, too?

I pull out my slate. The screen lights my face in the dim aisle as I tap open the messaging application.

[Lethe]: Miss Adele, are you free?

My thumb hovers over the glowing glass. A few long seconds pass before a chime echoes in the quiet library. Relief washes the cold dread out of my stomach.

[Eyjafjalla]: Yes, Lethe. I am at the Middle Deck 3 lounge. Do you want me to come to the Archives?

[Lethe]: I will come, Miss Adele.

I slip the slate back into my bag and check that the flap is shut.

The elevator doors part, depositing me onto Middle Deck 3.

I step out into the lounge, a sprawling modern room. Floor-to-ceiling glass partitions divide the space, reflecting the cool glow of a circular halo light suspended from the exposed ceiling ducts. Black leather sofas fill the center, arranged around low tables, and large potted plants add green to all that polished monochrome.

Sitting alone on one of the dark leather sofas is Miss Adele.

A warm ceramic mug of cocoa is cupped between her hands. She isn't reading her geological maps or peering through her magnifying glass today. She is just staring into the dark swirl of her cup.

The air in the lounge is different. The enduring flavor of her fire is still there, but smothered. It tastes of scorched chestnuts and the crushed bitter petals of mountain flowers.

"Miss Adele…"

No reply.

"Miss Adele."

Miss Adele lifts her head. Her kind eyes meet mine, and a tired smile touches her lips.

"You want to ask me about Wolumonde, don't you, Lethe?" Miss Adele asks, her voice barely rising above the hum of the landship's ventilation.

I stop beside the glass partition.

"Yes…"

I pull up a small stool across from her and rest my staff against the table. I lean forward, desperate to understand the exact shape of the dark my best friend is walking into.

Miss Adele takes a slow sip of her cocoa. The scorched flavor bleeding off her deepens, and her homeland fills the quiet between us.

Miss Adele begins, her focus dropping back to the ceramic mug in her hands. "I want you to know, Lethe, the town itself is relatively safe. It wasn't crushed or entirely leveled. But…"

She pauses, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic.

"But a Catastrophe, a devastating phenomenon known as the Great Rift, tore through the surrounding region," she explains, her tone taking on the precise, solemn cadence of a researcher detailing a disaster. "The sheer geological devastation of the Rift has unfortunately cut Wolumonde off entirely from the rest of the nation. They are isolated."

I swallow hard, the phantom taste of scorched chestnuts making my chest ache. "If they're cut off, why isn't the Leithanian army going in to help them? Why are we sending Dr. Folinic and Lisa?"

Miss Adele closes her eyes. The breath goes out of her.

"Because the situation there is intensely complicated, Lethe. The Leithanian aristocracy has long let that town fend for itself. They have no strategic interest in saving it. In fact, they're simply waiting for the situation to develop; waiting for the town to fail entirely so they can legally decommission it and absorb its remaining resources into other, more compliant communities."

"And the danger isn't just from the aristocracy's neglect," Miss Adele continues, her eyes opening to meet mine. "Within the town itself, there is a deep, festering anger."

She reaches out and closes her hand over my fists.

"The Caprinae natives of Wolumonde, who call themselves the Winterwisps, have long harbored a bitter, generational grudge against the Elafian majority," Miss Adele explains. "The Winterwisps deeply resent the Elafians' historical decision to uproot their once-stationary town and convert it into a nomadic one. To them, it was a desecration of their ancestral home. Now, trapped together by the Great Rift with dwindling supplies and no outside help, that old hatred is a powder keg waiting for a spark."

The realization hits, and my blood turns cold.

Lisa isn't just deploying to an empty post-Catastrophe zone to search for a missing Medic. She and Dr. Folinic are walking into an isolated town with no backup, starving, abandoned by its rulers and tearing itself apart from the inside. They're walking into a cage match between people who have hated each other since long before any of them were born.

"It's a trap…" I choke out.

Miss Adele squeezes my hands, her thumb brushing over my white knuckles.

"It is incredibly dangerous," Miss Adele agrees. "But Amiya knows this. Dr. Kal'tsit knows this. They did not send Lisa and Dr. Folinic in blindly. They are Rhodes Island Operators, Lethe. They are trained to navigate the dark."

I promised Miss Lena I would keep the hearth warm. But knowing the exact shape of the nightmare Lisa is facing makes the waiting feel like a punishment all its own.

I stand up from the small stool.

"Thank you, Miss Adele." I give her a deep bow. "For telling me the truth, even when it's scary. I will leave you to your rest now."

Miss Adele nods, serene. I step away from the partitions of the lounge and back into the pathways.

"Hi, Lethe!"

The cheerful greeting echoes down the hallway.

I look up. Two Field Operators in heavy armor are walking toward me, and I recognize them both. Mr. Zip and Mr. Fourteen.

I stop in the middle of the corridor, pulling my staff close to my chest, and smile at them. The promise I made to myself on the Columbian barrens still holds. I will not leave them nameless in my mind.

"Hi, Mr. Zip. Hi, Mr. Fourteen," I greet them, my voice chiming in the quiet hallway. "No deployment order today?"

Mr. Zip chuckles, tired and content. He rolls his shoulders, the plating of his armor shifting with a dull clank.

"We just came back from a logistics run yesterday," Mr. Zip explains, offering me a weary smile. "Just taking a breather for the afternoon. Heading toward the garden?"

"Yes. Miss Lena is expecting me."

The ease between us shifts. Mr. Fourteen crosses his arms over his chest. The earthy flavor of him is pierced for a moment by a metallic sting of tension. His grey ears twitch.

"Good luck, kid," Mr. Fourteen says, his voice low. "I heard the Area 0 investigations have been chaotic."

"Area 0?" I repeat, the name leaving an unfamiliar chill on my tongue.

Mr. Zip exchanges a dark look with his partner before turning back to me. The relaxed posture is gone.

"That's where the Infected live," Mr. Zip says, his tone heavy and bitter. "And where corporate assassins, the Armorless Union, hunt in the dark underbelly of Kawalerielki. Some of our people have come back from the operations."

Everything in my chest goes still.

I never knew those glittering lights were hiding something this ugly. People cheer in the arenas up top, and underneath them, the Infected are chased and hunted down because some company wants them gone.

And our Operators had just walked into it.

"Assassins…" I breathe out, the word fracturing into a thin squeak.

"Yeah. It's a mess down there," Mr. Fourteen adds, offering me a sympathetic look. "The medical bays are already getting busy. Pace yourself, Lethe. Don't take on more than you can handle."

I force my chin up, meeting the eyes of the two Operators I'd helped put back together.

"I will be careful, Mr. Fourteen. Mr. Zip," I promise, putting as much steadiness into my voice as I can find. "Enjoy your break."

They both give me a solemn nod before walking on.

I force my feet to move down the corridor, but at the next panoramic observation window I slow, then stop.

Outside, the sickly twilight of Kawalerielki burns against the glass. A colossal billboard is plastered across the mirrored face of a skyscraper.

The screen blazes gold, dominating the skyline.

24th Kazimierz Major.

The stylized letters flash across the display, followed by a sweeping cinematic banner. Centered in the projection is a woman. She is clad in gleaming white armor, her long blonde hair catching the artificial wind. She is majestic, holding her weapon with a fierce dignity at odds with the corporate neon drowning the city around her.

Beneath her, the text declares: The Return of the Radiant Knight.

"Is that… our Nearl?"

The murmur drifts through the corridor. I turn my head. A logistics worker has stopped a few paces away, a clipboard clutched to his chest, staring out the window in disbelief.

Nearl.

The name echoes in my mind. Mom had told me stories about her during our quiet dinners in the cafeteria. She is one of the Followers. Mom spoke of her with reverence. Nearl travels the scarred lands of Terra alongside two Sarkaz Medics, Shining and Nightingale, dedicating her life to healing the discarded and protecting the Infected who have been left to rot in the dark.

Out the window the broadcast rolls on into Radiant Knight merchandise, pins and standees.

My brow furrows.

Why would someone like her… a noble warrior who heals the broken alongside my own kind, willingly step into a corporate arena?

She has joined the Major?

My family aren't just fighting Catastrophes in the barrens or investigating ruined towns; they're throwing themselves into those giant city arenas too, where people get hurt so somebody else can get rich.

I press my hand flat against the cool glass for one last second.

"Please be safe, Ms. Nearl," I whisper to the glowing billboard.

I pull my hand away and turn my back on the lights of the capital. I have my own battlefield waiting.

I step inside the garden, my sneakers squeaking against the floor tiles.

Deep within the foliage, Miss Lena is already standing by one of the benches. She is holding a small tray. Sitting on the bench, her hands trembling around a steaming porcelain teacup, is a Feline Operator.

I recognize her.

It's the Caster I'd treated back during the thunderstorm of Tkaronto. The one who had wept over the frozen defender she had accidentally trapped in the path of a collapsing building. Her uniform is different now, updated and repaired, but her posture is the same. She's hunched forward, her white ears pinned flat against her skull, her chest heaving in jagged gasps.

I don't know her name.

I made a promise to myself. I will not leave them anonymous anymore.

I step forward through the hanging ivy until I'm standing beside Miss Lena.

"Hi," I say, keeping my voice as soft as the leaves rustling above us. "I'm Lethe… can I have your name, please?"

She flinches, a sharp breath tearing through her throat. Her head lifts slowly, her bloodshot eyes locking onto my face.

She pauses.

"Fres," she whispers, her voice ragged and wet.

I take a tiny step closer. "Ms. Fres… are you okay?"

The teacup rattles in her hands. The dam shatters.

"I… I am…" Ms. Fres stammers, her voice cracking as fresh tears spill over her cheeks. "It's just… what I saw in Area 0, Lethe."

The air in the greenhouse ruptures. It is cold. It is sterile. It tastes like bleached iron, frozen ash, and a sweet synthetic syrup.

"It was a slaughter," Ms. Fres chokes out, bowing her head.

"The Major… it's just a farce," she sobs, the words scraping against the quiet of the garden. "A neon distraction so they can clean the entirety of Area 0. Of the Infected. Dead… dead bodies are everywhere…"

My lungs seize. I see the billboard in the corridor again. The gleaming armor of the Radiant Knight, broadcast to millions of cheering fans across the nation.

It is a distraction.

While the uninfected citizens of Kazimierz stare up at the blinding lights and cheer for their corporate-sponsored "Knights", the people in charge are sending assassins down into the dark. The arenas are so loud that nobody up there can hear the Infected screaming right beneath their feet.

They planned all of this. The companies know about it, and they're killing the Infected on purpose.

Miss Lena closes her eyes and lets a heartbroken breath go, sorrow settling over her shoulders.

Ms. Fres's hands are shaking so badly she can barely hold the tea. She survived the horrors of Tkaronto, only to walk into a slaughterhouse beneath the capital.

I swallow the synthetic taste coating my teeth and push the neon-lit circus out of my mind.

I step right up to the bench.

"You're safe now, Ms. Fres," I tell her, my voice trembling but sure.

I reach out. My left hand settles over her shaking knuckles, covering her grip on the teacup. With my right I grip the staff tighter. Eyes closed, I picture the invisible channel opening, and prepare to siphon the bleeding nightmare of Area 0 out of her mind.

She doesn't need to carry this alone. None of our Operators do.

"It's safe here, Ms. Fres," I whisper.

Slowly, the rattling of the porcelain teacup stops.

"Are they still there?" Miss Lena asks, her voice a murmur under the canopy of the greenhouse.

Ms. Fres draws a shaky breath, staring down at the steaming liquid in her cup.

"Yes…" she answers, her voice barely a rasp. "Doctor and Kal'tsit, with the House Nearl and allied Knights, are trying to resolve the crisis…"

The moment the words leave her lips, my Arts catch a silent shift in the air.

Miss Lena's tranquil aura flutters. A prickle of worry, tasting of crushed petals, pierces straight through.

But Miss Lena masks it. The serene smile is back on her face before Ms. Fres can look up.

"Take as much time here as you need, Fres," Miss Lena says, her tone wrapping her in a velvet blanket of safety. "I'll get more tea."

Miss Lena turns and heads back toward her tea counter.

I watch her walk away. My ears catch the fragile whisper she lets slip as she disappears behind the ferns.

"Please be safe, Doctor."

I grip the black shaft of my staff, her prayer aching in my chest. My left hand stays steady over Ms. Fres's.

Then the sludge I swallowed from Ms. Fres turns on my stomach. The bleached horror of the Kazimierz underground comes up like boiling acid.

I want to throw up so badly.

I pull my hand away. Not a word. I turn and leave the seating area, quick and quiet.

"Lethe!" Miss Lena calls out from her counter.

I can't answer. If I open my mouth, I'm going to be sick right on the polished floor tiles of the Convalescent Garden. My hand presses hard over my lips, and I keep my head down as I push through the doors.

I stumble into the corridors, my vision blurring into a spinning smear of grey and white. I barely make it past the primary intersection before a familiar figure steps into my path.

Mom.

She takes one look at my sweating face and the grip I have on my mouth. She doesn't ask a single question. She steps to my side, slips an arm around my shoulders and sets her hand against the center of my back. Then she moves me forward, her pace brisk and uncompromising, carrying most of my swaying weight as she hurries me toward my dorm room.

We barely cross the threshold before I break away from her and crash through the bathroom door, dropping to my knees before the toilet.

The spasms are agonizing.

I slump back against the cold tile, my chest heaving with shallow gasps.

Mom is kneeling beside me, a bottle of chilled water in her hand.

I look up at her. The air in the cramped bathroom is thick with the acidic bite of alarm. Her face is stern, her light eyes flashing with medical authority and panic.

"Lethe!" mom says, her voice cutting through the echoing quiet of the bathroom. "I can't let you keep doing this! This is the fourth time you've thrown up like this."

I reach out with a trembling hand and take the water bottle from her grip. A desperate swig, a hard rinse, and I spit the acid into the bowl before letting my head fall back against the tiled wall.

"But mom…" I whisper, my voice raw and fractured, tears standing in my eyes as I find her face. "She was hurting so much. They all are. I have to help them…"

"No but!" mom snaps, cutting me off.

Her voice cracks against the walls, echoing with desperation.

Mom holds my eyes, her hands trembling where they grip my shoulders.

"You left your slate open one time…" she breathes out, her voice coming apart. "I had a look, Lethe… Be honest with me. Dr. Warfarin said your Oripathy gets destabilized when you push your Arts like this… what do you actually remember?"

The cold tiles of the bathroom floor seem to vanish beneath my knees.

She had seen my pillars of truth. She knew about the distilled paragraphs I had carved into the digital glass.

"I… I…"

Eyes closed, I dig for the memory of Opal. I know she's my friend. I know she loves the brown Amiya plushie. I know her Oripathy numbers. But when I try to picture the exact moment I met her… It is a bottomless freezing well.

The memory is gone. Burned to ash to fuel my Arts.

"I… only back to a few days before Tkaronto…"

The horror that crashes over mom's face is unbearable. The air in the cramped bathroom turns, thickening into a wave of curdled milk, soured honey, and agonizing devastation.

"You need to stop this!" mom cries out, her voice breaking, tears running over her cheeks. She lets go of my shoulders and pulls back, her hands clenching into fists against her thighs. "I am going to tell Dr. Kal'tsit and Amiya."

Those words feel like the end of the world. If she tells them how much I've forgotten, I'll just be a burden again.

"Mom… no…" I plead. I scramble forward on the cold tiles, grabbing the fabric of her coat. "Please, no!"

"Lethe!" she sobs, her eyes shattered by grief. She looks down at me, her chest heaving. "We love you for who you are. We want you to enjoy the light! Why do you keep trying to push yourself into the dark?"

The question rings off the walls and hangs there.

I stare at her tear-streaked face. The honey of her love comes through desperate and overwhelming, soured by her terror of losing me to the black crystals in my brain.

"Because you are in the dark, mom!" I cry out. My own tears finally spill over.

I squeeze the fabric of her coat, trying to anchor her to my words.

"You, Amiya, Ms. Skyfire, Ms. Blaze… all of you," I sob, the truth tearing out of my throat. "You walk into Catastrophes. You walk into meteor showers and burning cities. You throw yourselves into the freezing dark so that I can have the light."

I look up into her devastated eyes, my vision blurring with saltwater.

"If I just sit in the sun and hide while you're out there bleeding… if I don't take your nightmares when you come back…" My voice cracks under the weight of my love for her. "I don't care if the crystals take my memories. I don't care if I forget the past! As long as I can write down your names on my slate… as long as you all exist for me in the present… that's all I need."

Mom doesn't say another word. She just throws her arms around me.

She pulls me flush against her chest, the embrace crushing enough to force the last breath out of my lungs. We collapse together onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Her hands fist into the fabric of my oversized jacket, holding me as if her grip alone can pull me back from the void expanding inside my mind.

"You need to take a break," mom cries into my shoulder, her voice muffled and trembling against me.

My hands come up, weak. I try to pull back, needing her to understand.

"How can I? How can I just sit and rest when Lisa is out there in Wolumonde? She's walking into a bloodbath… she's in the dark, mom. How can I stay in the light when she's terrified?"

Mom's grip tightens. She refuses to let me pull away, burying her face deeper into my hair.

"Don't argue with me. Please, Lethe," mom begs.

She pulls back just a fraction. Her eyes are bloodshot and overflowing.

"Me, Miss Lena, Podenco, Lisa… no one wants to see you like this. Do you understand? No one!" she sobs, her thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks. "We spent almost two years pulling you out of the dirt, feeding you, and taking care of you to make sure your body and mind are healthy again. We fought so hard to give you a future."

She rests her forehead against mine. Her breath shudders against my skin.

"I will not stand by and watch you shatter it again just because you think you have to bleed for us. I won't allow it, Lethe. Please."

The rigid coil of my tail drops against the bathroom tiles. The fight drains out of my muscles, leaving me small and exhausted.

I slide my arms around her waist and bury my face in the warmth of her chest.

"I…" I close my eyes. "I… I will. I'll take a break, mom."

Mom lets her breath go, ragged. The trembling in her shoulders eases as she rocks us back and forth on the cold floor, wrapping me in her warmth, anchoring me to the present before my Oripathy can steal another second away.

The cold seeping into my knees from the bathroom tiles finally becomes too much. Mom shifts her weight, her arms still around my shoulders as she helps me up. We shuffle back into the dim light of the dorm room with the heavy steps of the exhausted and collapse together onto my bed.

I lean my head against her shoulder, my tail curling around our legs.

"Mom…" I mumble, my voice barely a hoarse whisper. "Can I have a cake laters?"

Nothing in the room moves.

Mom pauses.

"Oh, my little Lethe," mom breathes out. A wet chuckle escapes her, vibrating against my cheek. "Of course. I'll see what the cafeteria has. If not, I'll go to shore to get you some."

"Is it safe on the shore?"

"For me, yes," she promises, the gentleness going out of her voice, leaving no room for my anxiety to take root. She covers my trembling hand with her own, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Don't worry, Lethe. I will always come back to you."

"Have some rest, Lethe," mom says, pulling the thick blankets up to my chin and tucking them in. She lingers for a second, her thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "And don't forget to check in with Dr. Warfarin later."

"Okay, mom…" I whisper, my eyelids already fluttering shut.

The exhaustion drags at my bones. The moment the door of my dorm shuts, the darkness pulls me under. The sleep is deep and dreamless, and it shields my mind from the psychic noise of the landship.

I sleep all the way through the night, not stirring until the clinical white of the morning cycle floods the room.

The new day begins in routine. Breakfast in the cafeteria is a monitored affair. True to her authority, mom sees to it that my tray is loaded with her mandated diet: a bowl of fortified oats and berries.

Then comes the laboratory. The scent of bleach and ozone bites at my nose as Dr. Warfarin subjects me to her rigorous check-up. The sharp pinch of her needle digging into my arm makes my tail coil against my leg. I squeeze my eyes shut as she draws the blood, her predatory hum echoing over the whir of her centrifuges.

But I survive it. I'm finally allowed to retreat to the quiet safety of my dorm.

I step inside, and a new addition catches my attention.

Sitting squarely in the center of my desk, resting on a white paper plate, is the promise mom made to me last night. It's a thick slice of Leithanian chocolate cake.

I approach the desk, pull out my chair and sit down. The cake looks like a masterpiece, exactly the thing Miss Adele described to me in the Archives.

I pick up my fork and press the edge through the delicate layers. I take a small bite.

The taste is staggering. The bitterness of the dark chocolate melts into the heavy cream, cut by the tart sweetness of the cherries. It's a grounding comfort.

But as the sweetness washes over my tongue, my thoughts drift away from the safety of my dorm room and out into the unforgiving expanse of Terra.

Wolumonde.

I think of Lisa, with her nine fluffy tails and her bright heart, walking into a town cut off by a Catastrophe and tearing itself apart from the inside. A cold shiver traces down my spine. I grip the fork tighter and push the dread away.

Lisa will be safe, I tell myself, swallowing the rich chocolate. She has to be. There are people in that town that still want to see another day… they'll ally with her, I'm sure. Her light is too bright to be swallowed by the dark.

Needing a distraction to keep my mind from spiraling into the ashes of Leithanien, I reach across the desk and pick up my slate. I tap the glass, navigating away from my personal logs to the standard news feed.

The screen explodes into saturated glare.

It's the Kazimierz Major. The broadcast is a sensory overload of sweeping camera angles, flashing neon banners, and the static-laced roar of tens of thousands of screaming fans.

The camera zeroes in on the center of the arena, huge and blazing with light. Two knights are locked in combat.

One of them is a hulking armored warrior with a halberd, his chest plate plastered with a dozen corporate logos that gleam under the stadium lights. He swings the weapon wildly, the heavy blade tearing through the air with desperate force.

But his opponent is untouched.

She is a towering Elafia, moving with a fluid grace that makes her opponent's heavy-handed strikes look like a child flailing. The commentators scream her name over the broadcast. Viviana the Candle Knight.

She doesn't just fight; she dances. With a flick of her wrist, her Arts ignite. Bursts of golden light flare across the arena with pinpoint precision. The light overwhelms the armored knight. He stumbles, blinded and off-balance, his halberd swinging into empty air.

Viviana steps inside his guard. A final clash rings through the speakers of my slate, and the armored knight crashes to the arena floor, defeated.

The crowd erupts. The roar of the audience shakes the tiny speakers of my tablet as Viviana stands victorious, the golden light of her Arts fading into the artificial neon of Kazimierz.

Then the roaring crowd is cut off.

The screen flashes white, cutting from the arena floor to a pristine studio set. A man in a sharp suit smiles into the camera with bleached teeth.

"What an incredible victory! We'll return to the glorious 24th Kazimierz Major in just a moment," the announcer's voice booms, dripping with manufactured enthusiasm. "But first, a quick message from our sponsors!"

Upbeat synth music begins to play. The screen cuts to an animation of a smiling family in front of a suburban home.

"Catastrophes can strike without warning! But that doesn't mean your peace of mind has to suffer!" A tone-deaf voiceover chirps. "With Szelest Corporate Insurance, your assets are protected against everything from Catastrophes to active Originium contamination! Secure your family's future today. Szelest Insurance: Because your tomorrow is our business!"

I stare at the glowing screen.

The absurdity of it makes my stomach heave. People are bleeding out in the dirt of an arena for entertainment. A town in Leithanien is torn apart from the inside out. Children are turning to crystal. And on the screen, a corporation is using cheerful music to sell Catastrophe insurance during a commercial break.

I press the power button. The screen snaps to black, cutting off the cheerful jingle mid-note.

The beautiful slice of Leithanian chocolate cake is still sitting on the desk. I pick up my fork, but the sweetness turns heavy in my mouth.

I turn to the two Cautus-esque plushies on my desk.

The soft brown one with the blue button eyes, and the floppy-eared grey one. I reach out, letting my fingers brush the stitched fabric of their long ears.

"Are you two safe?" I whisper into the quiet of my dorm room.

Beside them, my slate sits dark and silent. I tap the glass, pulling up the messaging application one more time, just in case the notification chime had failed.

Nothing. My messages to Amiya are still unread. And the one I tried to send to Rosmontis didn't even send. A red error icon sits next to the text bubble. She must be outside communication range, swallowed by the Originium interference of an active Catastrophe zone, or buried so deep in the combat sectors that the landship's network can't reach her.

I set the slate face-down on the desk.

Terra never gives anyone a break. It just keeps grinding forward, dragging the people I love into the freezing dark and the burning cities. And here I am, stuck taking another break because mom made me promise.

I can't just sit here in the silence. The quiet of the dorm is too loud, leaving too much room for my mind to conjure images of suffering.

I guess I'll visit Opal.

I step out into the corridors. The landship is in its usual state of hurried efficiency. I keep my head down and just walk.

I approach the familiar doors of her ward.

But before my hand can reach the control panel, a small figure steps into my path.

Miss Sussurro.

Her coat is rumpled, and her face is drawn tight with an uncompromising severity.

Her usual grounded taste is scorched. Over it sits the acidic bite of iodine, and the vibrating static of medical emergency.

She reaches out, her hand closing around my wrist with surprising strength. She pulls me aside, steering me away from the threshold of the doors.

"Miss Sussurro? What's wrong?"

She doesn't let go of my wrist. Her eyes lock onto mine with no comfort in them.

"Lethe," Miss Sussurro says, the words a clipped whisper that carries too far in the quiet corridor. "Opal's lungs are failing. She just came out of surgery."

My fingers go numb.

"Surgery?" I choke out. "But… but she was just starting to smile… she was getting better…"

I can siphon the nightmares of a Catastrophe. I can pull the terror out of a broken mind and swallow the venom of the battlefield. But Miss Sussurro's exhausted face is right in front of me.

I cannot pull the black crystals out of Opal's lungs.

"Is she safe?"

The words tumble out of my mouth, fragile. I search Miss Sussurro's stern face for any sign of a miracle, my eyes wide and pleading.

Miss Sussurro releases my wrist. The frantic static of the emergency in her settles into a blanket of exhausted resignation. Her breath empties slow and measured, her shoulders dropping.

"She is," Miss Sussurro replies, her voice steady but hollowed out by the number of tragedies she has overseen on this landship. "For now."

For now.

The two words echo in the corridor. I think they're the worst words a Rhodes Island Medic can ever say. It means the scalpels and the tubes and the suppressants only pushed the black crystals back for a little while. They didn't fix anything. The Oripathy is still there, just… paused.

"How long…" I whisper, my jaw trembling so hard my teeth click together. "How long…"

"Months," Miss Sussurro states.

The word falls like an executioner's blade.

Months. Not years. Not enough time to grow up, to explore this brutal but beautiful world. Just a handful of pages left in a book that had barely even begun. The tears well up.

But as the first tear spills over my lashes, I think of the soft Amiya plushie Opal clutches like a lifeline. I think of the tiny giggle she had let out when Ms. Blaze carried me like a sack of flour, and the diced-strawberry flavor of her tentative bravery when she first stepped out of her quarantine ward. She had survived the destruction of her hometown and the void of her own grief, just to have her own body betray her.

If her body is going to be consumed by the dark, then I will make sure her mind never has to touch it again.

I reach up and scrub the tears from my cheeks with the oversized sleeve of my jacket.

"We…" my voice wavers, catching on a sob before I force it clear in the quiet hallway. "We need to make sure those months are filled with nothing but light then."

Miss Sussurro's ears give a slow twitch. Her nod is slow and solemn.

I do not write down what she told me. I write down what I said back.