31.4:《?》are you sure those who are weathered can weather this?

「page vi」

°

「

I wonder what would happen
if humans were plants
each one individual blossoming into
a specimen, unique and beautiful.
Would they feel pain when stepped on?
Would the owner of that stomping foot
even know a living being had cried out?

」

°

“So, what does it say?”

Atienna glanced up from the page. Sefu sat across from her, leaning forward with interest. The apartment lights above them flickered. She looked back down at the page before running her thumb along its spine. The groove of the  ‘Q’ beneath her finger felt more prominent than the other letters that followed it.

“It’s… blank.”

As were the pages before it.

As were the pages after it—save for the very last page where typed in bolded, 12-point font were two words. 

■■■ End.

* * *

“You spoke with an Aquarian agent?”

Atienna nodded. 

“Cvetka Akulova…” The name sounded trained on her tongue.

“You’ve heard of her?”

“In passing. I heard she was working with Leona during the winter. I was always curious over the choice since Ophiuchus had marked Cvetka Akulova as an individual of interest.”

“A person of interest?”

“A person capable of potentially influencing political tides in SIgnum. Prior to becoming a political advisor, she worked as a spy for Aquarius for one of their political parties during a tumultuous time for the country after the war.”

“And also a True Conductor…”

“She’s presenting as the Cvetka Akulova we’re familiar with here, correct? Hm—you weren’t able to glean anything from her from your conversation? Perhaps when she believes she arrived here or the manner in which she believes she arrived here?”

“It’s… rather difficult to tell what she’s thinking,” Atienna admitted.

“You mean she’s a difficult person?” 

“Oh, I don’t know if I would say that…” Atienna murmured.  

“Did you ask?”

“Our conversation was quite brief,” Atienna replied. “I wasn’t able to. I’m sorry.”

Alice, arms folded, leaned back in her chair. “I’d like to examine that book she gave you if you don’t mind.”

Atienna nodded. “I’ll be sure to bring it next time.”

Alice moved to flip the files in-between them. “Back to our investigation: the P.D. Oran that we know of is missing. Presumed either dead or under the captivity of ELPIS. Given the in-fighting within ELPIS this past year and their lack of activity in recent months, however, we can’t be sure of his whereabouts.”

Atienna nodded.

“That brings into question whether the P.D. Oran here is aware of Signum. If he is, we may be able to identify some sort of motive there connecting him to these crimes.”

“The P.D. Oran that we know… ” Atienna drew slowly. “He doesn’t seem the type to be the machinator behind events, don’t you think? From what we’ve witnessed so far, he seems much more likely to be used as a… tool, to put it lightly.”

“You don’t think he’s capable of doing things like that.”

“It’s not that I think he’s not capable. He certainly is capable of letting things happen and becoming an indirect culprit.” Atienna stared past Alice’s shoulder. “He was responsible for much of the research regarding human-vitae conversion, after all.”

“It sounds like you don’t view him highly.”

“Do you?” Atienna fired back. She smiled. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so forward, but I’m sure you also have complicated feelings about him since he was at the heart of the Week of Blindness.”

Alice’s expression remained unreadable. Atienna wondered what she was thinking²³. 

“In any case, P.D. Oran should be our next investigative priority. It’s most likely that he’ll be able to shed light not only on these murders but also on Ndoto itself.”

* * *

According to some scrupulous files, Professor Oran usually taught morning classes throughout the week. In the afternoon, he’d go to his office for lunch before finishing off research or his talk sessions in the evening.

Nico drove Atienna, Alice, and Sefu to college campus at noon exactly and they caught Oran just as he was leaving his lecture hall. The man was dressed in a tweed suit and had a hop in his step as he exited the hall. He was just having a few words with lingering students outside the lecture hall door when he spotted Nico approaching with Atienna, Alice, and Sefu.

The professor immediately ushered his students away just as Atienna and the others reached his side.

“Professor Oran.” Nico flashed the man his badge. “We need to talk.”

P.D. Oran swallowed, gaze lingering on Alice and then Atienna, and nodded. 

Nico drove them all to the local guidance officer station where they situated themselves in a small interrogation room furnished with glasses of water and a plate of cookies. Atienna made sure to provide Sefu with several cookies from the plate as he was made to wait outside. 

“What is this all about?” Oran pressed as he seated himself across from Atienna, Alice, and Nico. 

It probably felt very intimidating to the man—to be pinned down 3-vs-1 like this.

“You’re aware of the recent Raincoat Killings?” Nico pressed.

“I don’t know anyone who isn’t,” Oran muttered. “It’s terrible.”

“It is,” Nico agreed. He slapped down a thick packet of files. “An autopsy report on all of the hands that were at the most recent murder site was completed just the other day.”

P.D. Oran nodded.

“Half of those hands belonged to new immigrants living in the district edges.”

Oran paled. “That’s awful.” His brows met a moment after. “That’s…”

“Impossible?” Atienna found herself wondering.

Oran stared at her, shifting in his seat.

“Why would that be impossible, Professor Oran?” Alice asked. “Would it be impossible for the killer to target people in those districts or would it be impossible for an Ndotoan to commit such a crime?”

Oran stared at her. “Professor Kingsley—”

Atienna added, “Or perhaps… it’s that targeting groups like that is uncharacteristic of an Ndotoan—”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Nico interjected. He slapped his hand on the table, regaining Oran’s attention. “That half that’s from the immigrant areas, Professor Oran—all of them were reported to have attended your talks. Your talks that are funded by ELPIS.”

Oran frowned. “What… what are you implicating?”

Nico flipped open a folder, revealing a photo of a youthful smiling girl.

“This is Parvana, a new resident of Ndoto.”  He turned the photo, revealing another one underneath. A dismembered arm holding a handful of petals. “This was all that we found of her.” He turned over another photo—this time of a shy-looking man. “Domingo.” Another photo flipped. Again a dismembered hand, index finger pointing forward—towards Oran. “Sachi.” Another photo. Another name. Another photo.

It took a moment for Atienna to realize that Alice was not watching Oran closely but watching her closely instead. What was she trying to do?

“Do any of these people look familiar?” Nico asked.

Oran was quiet, pale, pallid. His eyes were glued to Atienna’s face. “No—I mean, I’m… not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Nico pressed, brow raised. “These people went to see you speak personally and you don’t know?”

“I see so many students every single day,” Oran tried to explain, “I can hardly keep track of them. Keeping track of people who I only see once off at my orations no less is practically impossible.”

Nico pulled back and slapped the file shut.

“Don’t worry, Professor Oran,” Alice reassured him. “We’re only trying to understand what happened here and why it happened. Did you notice anyone particularly suspicious at your recent talks?”

“Professor—Miss Kingsley…” Oran stared at her, gaze flicking to Atienna every so often. Atienna couldn’t comprehend why. She had never met him in person before. If Olive was here in her stead then his reaction would be somewhat understandable—that was, if he was in fact the Oran that Atienna knew from Signum.

“You’re not in trouble, Professor Oran,” Atienna tried next in the gentlest voice she could muster. “We just don’t want people to get hurt…” She paused, looking him in the eye. “… again.”

Oran looked as if he had been slapped, somewhat confirming Atienna’s suspicions that this Oran was the Oran that she knew. For some reason, he was playing along with things here just like some of the others were. 

Curious.

“I did notice… a woman”—Oran swallowed— “There’s a woman who’s been coming to my talks frequently. I only noticed her since she comes so frequently.”

“A woman?” Nico arched a brow. “Do you have a name?”

Oran shook his head, swallowing again. He was sweating now. Alice visibly frowned at this and moved to close the files and photos Nico had left open.  Why was he so nervous—was what Alice was most likely wondering. Atienna was wondering that too. Was he afraid of getting caught? Of being discovered? Being falsely accused? What was it…?

“Do you have a roster with the names of people who’ve signed up for your talks?” Alice asked. 

Oran nodded before he began to tap down his suit. “Actually—I-I happen to have the most recent roster on me.” He procured a folded paper for them and pushed it towards Atienna. “This is for my talk this weekend.”

Atienna accepted it and spread it out on the table so Nico and Alice could quickly go through it with her. She’d only gone through the first five nonconsequential names when Alice suddenly stiffened beside her. The woman then pointed to a name near the bottom of the list.

Flannery Caertas.

mbili—sphacelating seed

---

“A little to the left.”

The canvas nearly lurched forward as the men in navy blue shuffled to the left.

“Perhaps a bit to the right.”

This time the canvas lurched backward, tapping against the wall behind it. 

Cadence Foxman clapped her hands together. “Perfect!”

She admired the oil panting as the men began to fixate to the wall. A thick white line divided the black canvas horizontally. Wisps of white dotted with six-petaled flowers sprouted from the top and bottom of the line.  Swimming in between the wisps on the top half were bright, detailed, colorful fish. On the bottom half, with wings spread wide and proud, soared psychedelic birds. 

“Looks expensive,” Allen noted from behind her.

“Looks creepy,” Carl muttered from beside him. 

Cadence tutted her tongue. “It was a gift from Jericho. Someone commissioned it from him recently but never stopped by to pick it up.” She looked back at it and interlaced her fingers together. “The person wanted to name it ‘On the Path to the Syzygy.’”

Allen and Carl fell silent. 

Allen asked after a pause, “Who commissioned it?”

“It was an anonymous commission,” Cadence replied. 

“You don’t find it weird or creepy?” Carl asked..

Cadence gasped. “Oh, don’t be rude, Carl!” She tutted. “Just because you don’t appreciate the particular qualities of a particular piece of art doesn’t mean you should be rude about it. How do you think Jericho would feel if he heard you say that?”

She was speaking from experience of course. When she’d first started off on this musical endeavor, the people of Ndoto had been rather resistant to her. She wasn’t sure if it was because initially her type of music was a cultural clash. Her music didn’t fit the ‘vibe’ of Ndoto. When she tried to adjust her sound to be more in line with what was popular, people accused her of ‘selling out.’ People were never satisfied. Well, they were never satisfied forever. That was why the guidance council was so particular about plucking people up to see the tree as soon as they achieved that ‘life goal.’ Certainly if they waited too long that happiness would wane. 

“What—you don’t think it havin’ ‘syzygy’ in its name ain’t creepy?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean…”—she could hear him rubbing his chin—“guess you wouldn’t know two cens about the syzygy we’re thinkin’ about but don’t get spooked thinkin’ about how it’s named the same thing as what that guy spelled out with all those hands and flowers?”

Cadence covered her mouth and turned to them. “Must you be so morbid…?”

It took a moment for Cadence to realize that her two brothers were now staring at her rather intensely. They had also begun to pale.

“What…?”

The two exchanged a look—one a question, the other an answer.

Allen jerked his head at the painting again. “You sure it ain’t upside down?”

That was odd. Then again, everything they had been saying and doing had been odd since they’d gotten VNW. It was a troubling condition, but her brothers had stuck through it with her whenever she suffered the ailment so she felt a bit guilty complaining—even if it was internally. Besides, Cadence was quite used to dealing with it.

Cadence placed a hand on her cheek and sighed. “It’s abstract, Allen. There’s no up or down—no right or wrong way to see it.”

A light draft wafted into the hall. As expected, Francis entered not soon after, tangerine light bathing his back. He stepped beside Cadence and looked up at the painting.

“Looks nice, Cadence,” he remarked. “Nice spot too. You do have an eye for interior design.”

“I’m glad someone appreciates it,” Cadence huffed. “Carl and Allen said it looked creepy.”

Francis glanced back at the two and patted her on the shoulder. “Well, that’s just because it wasn’t made for them.” He faced forward, admiring the canvas. “That’s a mistake a lot of people make—assuming that something has been made and tailored for them. To suit their tastes and whatnot.”

Cadence nodded.

“What’s that supposed t’mean?”

Francis chuckled. “Maybe you’ll know once you’ve recovered from your VNW.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” Francis replied, a faint smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

Oh dear.

Cadence couldn’t practically hear Carl bristle as he snapped, “The hell you’ve gotta be so ominous for? What’s the big idea? Was that a—” He caught himself. “You’re just tryin’ to get a rise outta me.”

Francis turned to Carl and gave a one shoulder shrug  paired with a smile. “That’s a grand accusation—but… weren’t you trying to get a rise out of Cadence just now?”

Cadence swiveled with him, tossing her hair over her shoulder out of habit. It was her signature move when she got on stage. “Oh, was that all it was?” She felt relieved Carl wasn’t targeting the piece itself. “Maybe it’s best to stop trying to get a rise out of each other?”

“Francis,” Allen cut through the conversation. “Where were you?”

Francis made a face for a moment before his face smoothed over. “I usually have classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I got out a bit early today but I had to swing by our bar to check on some things—”

“A bar”—for some reason it sounded like Allen was laughing even though his lips were straight— “and going to school.” He eyed Cadence. “Rich and a performer. Okay.”

Cadence shared a look with her youngest oldest brother. 

Francis continued with that nonchalance of his, “I also swung by the care center to check on the kids—”

“Oh!” Cadence clasped her hands together. “Speaking of the children, just the other day, I came across this girl with a beautiful butterfly birthmark on her face. Oh, she was absolutely gorgeous—but, it seemed as if she was in trouble. She came to me for something, but I couldn’t quite catch what. She left before I could get anything from her. Does she sound familiar?” 

Francis shook his head.

“Matilda!” Carl shouted suddenly. He whipped to Allen. “She’s here too—wait, she wasn’t with us when we got here. Did she come with you?”

Allen shook his head. “Last time we saw her was the last time we saw you.”

VNW again, Cadence supposed.

Cadence shared a look again with Francis who cleared his throat and said, “Oh, by the way, Charite is here again.”

As if on cue, Charite entered the room and made her way to them in a rush. She was dressed in a rather beautiful Sunday lilac dress that Cadence had suggested Francis buy her the previous weekend. Cadence internally applauded her sense of fashion.

“Sorry. Lady’s room.” Charite cleared her throat as she gestured to Carl and Allen. “How are you two feeling?” 

Allen stared at her long and hard. Cadence clicked her tongue and swatted him on the shoulder before answering for him, “Oh, they’ve been doing just fine, dear. Thank you for asking. You know how it is.”

Charite smiled warmly, glancing at Francis who looped his arm around his hers and held her hand. “We just wanted to say…” she drew. “… we’re most likely moving the engagement party back a few weeks.”

Cadence gasped. “Oh no! Why?”

“With everything that’s been going on,” Charite explained, “it feels like it would be in ill taste to hold it….”

Francis nodded. “Besides, I heard they might even move the tree festival back a few weeks.”

Cadence gasped again. “Oh dear… How awful.”

The irony didn’t escape Cadence. The misfortune of the murders postponing her brother’s happiness just like how she tried to postpone others from going to the tree with her music.

Abruptly, the door at the end of the hall blew open and a howling wind tore through the area. Cadence yelped. Francis curled around Charite to block her from the torrent. When the wind died down, a slender figure stepped into the hall from the door.

“Fortuna!” Cadence gasped. “Where have you been?”

Fortuna, hair looking tousled, eyes wide, stopped short and stared at her before her gaze flicked to Allen and then to Carl.

“Are you alright?” Francis asked, unlooping himself from Charite and approaching her. “I haven’t heard from you since our demonstration the other week.”

Charite tensed and reached for him.

When Francis reached Fortuna’s side, he stopped short and arched a brow. “You’ve got something in your hair…” He began to pull long, large flower petals from her dark locks. “What happened?”

Fortuna stared at him.

Charite began to slowly approach the two, stopping only when Fortuna locked eyes with her.

“I need a minute,” Fortuna said flatly, pulling away and darting into another room.

Francis slid his hands in his pocket and stared after her. “Looks like she headed to the pantry.” He examined the flower petal in his hand before offering it to Charite when she reached his side.

“Maybe she’s hungry?” Cadence suggested.

“Maybe…” Francis murmured. He abruptly glanced at his wristwatch. “Don’t you have a lot on your itinerary today, Cadence? I’m surprised Stefano hasn’t come by to pick you up yet.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. 

* * *

Stefano was an amazing manager and agent. Cadence had little to worry about with him at the helm. He scheduled all of her events, interviews, and meetings and even kept a schedule for her meetups with friends too. She didn’t know what she’d do without him, and she made sure to let him know how valuable he was to her and her family.

Stefano was a rather serious young man, but the compliments and flattery always managed to crack through that tough exterior of his. It also usually earned her a treat on the ride home—Stefano would swing by her favorite ice cream parlor to buy her gelato just before taking her home.

Today—just like every day—Cadence’s schedule was full of studio sessions, makeup time, fan meetups, and interviews. She loved having a busy schedule. It always kept her on her toes. The busier, the better. The more people she met in a day, the sweller.

It was the year of love and peace and that was the theme of her past few songs. She had enough experience with the romantic variant of the former to be done and over with it, but she knew the same didn’t apply to others. There were so many little boys and girls who had yet to experience their first heartbreak, and Cadence wanted to be sure she was there to comfort them in song when they did experience it.

Love is a Two-way Street was her most recent single and had hit the top 10 on the charts. Her pride and joy. She was set to perform the song at the tree festival this weekend, but she supposed if what Francis had said was true, her performance would be moved back a bit. That made her quite sad. 

Oh, how she loved performing on stage. Standing there beneath the spotlight, singing and dancing her heart out, synchronized and in unison in heartbeat, melody, and soul with the people who watched her. It was a thrilling experience—to express and experience so much love in a single moment. She wished she could captivate her audience forever.

This was why whenever she performed on stage, she would think and wish with all her might the same word over and over again—

Stay. Stay. Stay.

* * *

After completing a recording session at her studio and meeting up with VIP fans and giving out autographs, Stefano took her to the side to remind her of her last event of the day. 

An interview was scheduled at 6 in the evening. Cadence wasn’t quite fond of interviews. She wasn’t quite adept in maneuvering in them since they required an expertise in the art of artificiality. She’d much rather be her dazzling honest self on stage. Alas, Stefano advised that she should only shower her honest self to people who paid for it otherwise people would take her honest self for granted. 

Fortunately for her, Stefano would usually help her practice for her interviews so she could practically predict and answer questions before they were even asked. Unfortunately for her, today’s interview was a joint one with a man whom she vehemently despised. 

Kafke Nezche, a man who had somehow risen to popularity in the sports world despite his unruly attitude. Cadence supposed that the public didn’t know him like she did since he somehow kept his affiliation with his gang perfectly concealed. A liar, in other words.

Ugh! Why did Stefano have to sign an advertising contract with Kafke’s sports team? She loved Stefano to death, but he should’ve known how much she hated him. However, Cadence knew that there were people out there who adored both Kafke and Cadence herself,  meaning that this interview meant the world to them.

So, Cadence attended the interview with the air of professionalism and held back her disdain when Kafke was sat beside her for the interviewer. The interviewer, a woman dressed in a light green suit, had the most adorable loop earrings on—which Cadence complimented her for causing the interviewer to flush. 

The interviewer was quite cute. The interview studio was set up cutely too, Cadence thought as the interviewer started off by introducing them to the camera recorder.  They had sat Cadence in a heart-shaped chair and Kafke a baseball-themed one. The wall behind them was made of shiny wood and hosted pictures of previous interviewees.  Soon, her own face would be on those walls too, Cadence thought. Hopefully not in the same frame as Kafke.

“Cadence,” the interviewer turned her attention to her now, “you’re known for being at the helm of the music video phenomena and have blown Ndoto back with how captivating each and every single one of them are. Just how do you do it?”

“I wouldn’t be able to do it without the videographers and choreographers,” Cadence assured her. “I’m just so happy we were all able to come together to create something everyone can enjoy.” 

“Aw, that’s great.” The interviewer applauded as did Kafke. “Now, your most recent single Love is a Two-way Street is getting a music video soon, isn’t it? Tell us a little more about your inspiration for that song. Is it true that it’s inspired by personal experience?”

Cadence let out a quiet breath just as Stefano had her practice but then spoke from the heart, “It is from personal experience. When I was much younger and much more foolish, I fell in love with a blooming artist. She wasn’t a rising star yet, you see. An aspiring one. I thought at the time that her sound was so unique and lovely that I was absolutely captivated. She taught me how to play piano, you see.” 

The interviewer nodded. “What happened?”

“What happened was that she loved starlight more than me and even more than herself. I wrote her a song once. She claimed it was hers.”

The interviewer gasped. “We’ve got to get a name!”

“I’ve learned to love myself. She never did. She doesn’t preoccupy my thoughts anymore, but I’ll always preoccupy hers. Let’s just leave it at that okay?”

Kafke was giving her a creepy sympathetic look and tapping his chest.

Cadence pointed to the camera. “I want to let all the little girls and boys out there know that they’ve just got to love themselves first before they can love others, m’kay?”

Clapping resounded in the background.

The interviewer clapped along before she straightened herself and asked Kafke a few questions. Eventually, it was Cadence’s turn again— “Now, going back to the topic of your music videos and your songs in general, Cadence. They’re so full of vibrancy and life. Your lyrics are so robust and well-crafted, your melodies exceptional. However, there’s a very specific criticism that all of your songs have received—they lack substance.”

Huh?

“It’s all smoke and mirrors. Just fancy words and sounds with little meaning behind them.”

Cadence was caught off guard. Stefano hadn’t ever prepared her for a question like this. In a panic, she sought his face in the dimly lit studio. 

Oh no—

“You better watch your mouth,” Kafke interjected. 

The interviewer did a double-take. “I’m sorry?”

“I said you better watch your mouth,” Kafke repeated. “Cadence’s songs are works of art.”

The interviewer chuckled airily after a pause. “Why, Kafke, I’m merely telling you what the people are asking. Don’t shoot the messenger now.”

For once, Cadence was grateful for Kafke’s distraction which allowed her to collect her thoughts. The topic was not one that she was unfamiliar with. It was a criticism she received with every other song release. Usually she would go to Allen when those critiques began to weigh her down, but he had been on that trip and subsequently been afflicted with VNW, so she hadn’t been able to confide in him recently. However, she had brought the topic up once during a lunch date with Atienna several weeks ago.

Cadence had been so caught up about it that she had ranted for over an hour to her friend without even realizing it. Atienna had patiently listened the entire time, only speaking when Cadence asked for her advice—

Atienna had said, “Curious how people who aren’t even aware of what ‘substance’ is accuse others of lacking it.” She had sounded rather angry when she had said that and it had touched Cadence. Atienna getting angry on her behalf, that was.

And so, even though it was quite off-script, once the interviewer turned her attention back to her, Cadence responded just the same. The applaud that resounded shortly after acted as reassurance.

moja/mbili—mycorrhizal network

---

Fortuna awoke to light streaming in through the blinds. She caught the rays on her fingers before staring past them. A chandelier dangled over her head. Despite the brightness from outside, the little bulbs on top of the fake candles there were shining. They always were shining. The light coming from outside was the same. 

Fortuna rose, dusted herself off, and approached the window. A small stone courtyard was laid out ten floors below her. A small white table set for three sat at the center of it and was surrounded by garden arbors full of crawling vines. To the north of the courtyard was an intricate hedge maze that spawned almost beyond what Fortuna could see. Barely—just barely—she could see rippling splotches of bright colors. She didn’t know what it was but the only thing she could imagine it to be was a garden of some kind. Whatever it was, Fortuna knew she hadn’t seen it when she’d arrived at this mansion.

Fortuna turned back around and approached the table at the center of the room. There was a bowl of fruit set on the table. Beside it was a full and open jar of strawberry jam, a slice of bread on a silver plate, and a glass of water. The only cutlery was a silver knife.

Fortuna placed the knife into a compartment within the makeshift bag she’d made by tying together the arms of her suit jacket. It clattered onto the pile of identical knives inside the bag. She pulled out one of the other knives from within the bag. It was stained with dry peach jam.

She stuck the knife into the jar and slathered a thick dollop of the jam onto the bread. She finished it in six bites before plucking an apple and orange from the fruit tray and dropping into another compartment in her bag. They toppled onto identical oranges and apples that were already residing there. There were no bananas in her bag even though there were plenty in the bowl. Bananas ripened too quickly to keep long term. 

Her stomach grumbled so she grabbed one banana from the bunch and ate it as she brushed past the table towards the door at its end. Tossing the peel aside when she finished, she pushed open the door and crossed the threshold.

A long hall—though Fortuna could barely consider it that—extended ahead of her. The walls were overgrown with grape vines but blossoming with lilies, daisies, and other flowers Fortuna did not know the name of but knew did not. The overgrowth was broken up by long mirrors that ran parallel along the center of the walls. Since the mirrors were directly across from each other, they captured reflections of reflections of reflections. Like an echo. 

Fortuna stepped forward and watched many iterations of herself appear in the mirrors within the mirrors. Her reflected faces seemed to become more and more distorted with each replication.  It unsettled her, but she didn’t let it show on her face.

After drawing out one of the knives from her bag, she scratched onto the closest mirror an arrow pointing forwards. Forwards towards the door at the end of the hall. She walked to it, etching arrows into the mirror as she went along. She didn’t hesitate at the door and ripped it open as soon as she reached it without a pause.

Inside lay a familiar room. One with a chandelier, a table topped with a platter of fruit and a slice of bread, and a window.

Fortuna pulled back into the hall and observed the closest arrow she had etched into the mirror. It pointed forwards into the room. She stepped in and closed the door behind her.

It was a maze that defied space. One that she had been wandering ever since she’d slipped away from the guidance officers in the Foxman’s mansion. That was where she’d initially assumed she was given that she’d never knowingly stepped off of the premises. 

She didn’t know how long she’d been wandering around here for. The view from outside the window was always bright despite the fact that she hadn’t ever spotted the sun. She’d only assumed days were passing because of her hunger and exhaustion. 

In the beginning, she’d been cautious about the food and even the idea of sleep. Nico had once said something about humans being able to live so and so days without food and so and so days without water. With no way to track days here, Fortuna had given in. Death by dehydration and exhaustion and starvation or death by poison and getting jumped in her sleep. Only a fool or a martyr would try to choose a slow death.

It was irritating—how logic and reality had fallen away piece by piece month by month out of the blue. When had it all begun? When she had asked Cadence to spy on the Foxmans? When Cadence had become a True Conductor? When Francis had become an ELPIS Leader?

Fortuna approached the window and pressed her palm against the windowpane. She had broken this window in several of the other rooms she’d been in so far with the same thought: jumping. It was too far of a jump, however. She would certainly become a splatter on the ground. She had tried to test the physics of this maze by leaving a torn piece of her pants in a room before leaving in hopes that it would appear in the next room. A duplication of sorts. The plan was to use that duplication factor to slowly grow a mound of clothing strips that could be fashioned into a makeshift rope. Shimmying down would be the next challenge.

Of course, that plan was a failure and she’d lost part of her expensive clothing for nothing.

So, she had bided her time until the opportune moment.

Now.

Fortuna rounded the table and picked up the wooden chair sitting in the far corner of the room. With a grunt, she swung it with all her might at the window. The effort was followed by a crystalline shattering. After using the chair to clear the shards from the bottom of the frame, Fortuna looked out the window.

She was only three floors up. The closest she’d ever gotten to ground level.

Fortuna glared challengingly up at the sky before leaping out—

—and hurtling downwards, downwards, downwards.

Something was wrong.

Hadn’t she been falling for too long? In fact, being able to think that she’d been falling too long was indicative that she was definitely falling for too long—

Smack!

Fortuna did not feel the pain she’d been expecting. In addition to that, even though her face was pressed up against the ground, she was not lying down but standing up. Soon she realized that what she was pressed up against was a brick wall—not the ground.

Fortuna stumbled backwards, regaining her balance and immediately grabbing her makeshift bag. She quickly took note of her surroundings. For a moment, as she took in the brick walls that rose to either side of her and the posters plastered on them, she thought she was back in an alleyway in the Twin Cities—but she realized the streets were too clean for that.

“Miss Fortuna…?”

Fortuna whipped around and paused. “Albatross?” 

The pirate captain’s boy was standing a few steps away at the lip of the alleyway. She didn’t have a chance to be befuddled by the sudden change in scenery as there was someone standing beside the boy. Yuseong Haneul, preferred name Claire, a former prince of  Sagittarius. 

Fortuna tensed. People who thought Ndoto was the actual state of things was one thing. Walking corpses were another. 

“Looks like you managed to slip between the roots,” the Sagittarian prince mumbled. “Now that’s interesting. Where… exactly did you come from…?” He trailed off, staring over Fortuna’s shoulder. 

Fortuna followed his gaze.

At the opposite end of the alleyway stood a vaguely familiar young boy. A few steps ahead of him stood a very familiar man and woman. The man’s eyes were glued onto Claire.

“Andres,” Fortuna identified. “And you—you’re El.”

She had lost contact with them around the same time the others had gone missing so she had assumed that they had disappeared in the same manner. Now, she wondered if they had arrived here at the same time as herself.  During unexpected reunions like these, however, oftentimes what was important was not the familiar but the unfamiliar. 

The boy. 

Fortuna had seen his face somewhere before. In a photo. Yes—a photo in a file passed to her from the Campanas. A file that had not even been labeled with a name. Deceased. Body seen being carried away by Ophiuchian peacekeeping agents on the night the Twin Cities nearly collapsed. 

“Kovich…?” Albatross whispered.

The boy, who had been facing Andres and Ilunaria up until that point, craned his head in Fortuna’s direction.  There was something off about his eyes. They gave off a rather ominous feeling—

Abruptly, before Fortuna could even finish her thought, the boy’s face split open. Her first thought was that they were under attack. Her second was that the boy was definitely dead and she would be soon after if she didn’t find an escape. Her third thought was that not a single drop of blood had hit the ground. As she came to terms with this thought, she realized that there were flower petals gathered at the boy’s feet—falling from his head which had blossomed into a sunflower.

Fortuna took a step back. 

Transmutation? An illusion? Conducting. With or without a conductor? Saint candidate? 

“That’s a real gruesome display,” the Claire look-a-like noted, eyes focused on the boy. “Are you trying to fit in?” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re allowed to do this?”

The boy—the creature—turned back to Andres and El.

“Hey, now—I know it’s you,” Claire continued. “Don’t go ignoring me.”

“They don’t belong in this one,” the creature said. Its voice was odd, itswords coming out muffled as the petals of his face rustled. A dark liquid began to pool beneath his feet and spilled down towards Andres and El. The liquid began to pulsate with faint light and sprouted sharp crystalline protrusions as it neared the two.

Diverger conducting?

“Alrighty then,” Claire popped, “since you’re ignoring me—”

A howl tore through the alley and Fortuna suddenly found herself tumbling through the air. Her hair whipped at her face, nearly blinding her as she was tossed violently left and right. Through the chaotic winds, she could barely catch sight of the flower headed creature, Andres, and El being tousled through the alley too. She barely managed to register the blue flecks of light drifting through the air before the wind was knocked out of her as she was thrown against the wall.

But the wall was in fact not a wall but a floor. Not a brick floor but a linoleum floor. Fortuna immediately scrambled to her feet, digging into her intact bag and pulling out a knife. Her head spun as she tried to wrap her head around her surroundings.

She was now standing in a long and white hall that went on for so long that it seemed to go on into nothing. Black glass doors were spaced far and few in-between on the walls. They were so opaque, however, that if it were not for the way the overhead lights hit them, she would’ve thought they were mere decoration.

Wishing she had her pistol with her instead of this flimsy knife, Fortuna hesitantly approached the closest door. It was dark, so she had to shield the light from the hall with her hand to be able to see anything inside. Faintly, she could make out a rather large room populated with a bed, a desk, a bookcase, one of those television sets, and a shirtless man.

The man had his back turned to her and seemed rather invested in what was on the television screen. His back was broad and decorated with twisting, sharp tattoos that Fortuna was able to recognize as Piscese.

“Veles,” Fortuna identified, mind reeling. She made to knock on the door to get his attention but paused. Reckless. Nothing was as it seemed here, after all.

This was ridiculous. None of it made any sense. There one moment. Here the next. Francis’s gates were her first thought but she had not seen the familiar characteristic pale tangerine glow even once.

Damn it. 

This was frustrating—

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

Fortuna felt her blood run cold as she slowly turned her head.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was coming from the glass door behind her.

Of course. She was an idiot. If she could see who was in the room then they could most definitely see her. 

Knockknockknock.

The pounding became more aggressive.

Fortuna weighed her options before she approached the door and hesitantly cupped her hand so she could peer inside. The layout of the internal room was slightly different with another bookcase set in the place of the television.

A rather handsome man stood at the center of it all with his hands held placatingly in the air. He was fair, tall, and dressed in a simple white shirt. His face was quite familiar to Fortuna, having seen it both in newspapers and in brokered information reports she’d requested.

Albertine Echecs of Cancerian Dukedom. 

He waved madly at her.

Fortuna frowned.

“You—you’re from Signum, aren’t you?” his voice surprisingly was not muffled through the door. He came closer. “You must listen to me. I am not crazy or anything like they’ve been saying.”

Fortuna hadn’t heard what ‘they’ve’ been saying about the man.

“Do you know what’s going on here?” Fortuna cut to the chase. “Where are we really?”

Albertine made a face before glancing over his shoulder and muttering something irritably under his breath. “What do you mean where? We’re still in Signum. We’ve never left.”

What?

“But I did overhear the gardener—” 

Gardener?

“—mentioning something about a threshold of some kind.”

“Threshold…?”

Fortuna blinked and found herself staring up at a web of branches that just barely concealed a hazy sky.  She was flat on her back, her knife still gripped tightly in her hand. 

What the hell?

A shadow passed over her face.

“Are you alrig—”

Fortuna brandished her knife as she scrambled to a stand. The man who had once been hovering over her stepped back with raised arms. She recognized his face as one she’d seen not too long ago.

“You’re Arjun Uttaretara,” Fortuna realized. “The outlaw prince. A general.”

Arjun studied her before he inclined his head and pressed his palm to his chest. “Yes, that would be my name—although I must correct you on that occupation. I am not an outlaw.” He cleared his throat. “And you are Miss Fortuna Romano. We didn’t speak often, but I am grateful for how you  assisted Claire and me during the spring.” He held out his free hand. “It’s been some time. We didn’t get the chance to speak earlier, but —”

“How did you end up here?” Fortuna wouldn’t reveal anything until something more was revealed to her first.

Arjun kept his hand extended. “I believe in the same way you did.”

“And that would be?”

“When those ‘guidance officers’ stormed the residence, I slipped away same as you. I…” He seemed to think over his words carefully. “… ended up in a strange building. I would liken it to those rooms the ELPIS Leader had us in before. I believe his name was…Francis?”

Fortuna revealed nothing.

Arjun didn’t appear perturbed. “It was like a maze. I was only able to escape it because I eventually found a room where I was able to get out through the window. I found myself here and have been trying to get a grasp of the area.” He looked up. “That mansion seems to have disappeared.”

Hm.

Arjun lowered his hand and placed it on his stomach. It grumbled rather loudly.

Wait.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not sure,” Arjun admitted. “There was food in that maze of a mansion, but I was wary.”

Fortuna procured an apple from her bag and held it out for him. Arjun reached for it and then hesitated.

“It’s not poisoned,” she reassured him. “I tried it myself. Besides, I doubt any of your clan rivals have the ability to do this level of set up.” 

“You are aware of the political intricacies of my country, I see,” Arjun noted. He smiled rather charmingly. “I expect as much from a person of your caliber.”

“Information flows quickly through dirty streets compared to cleanly kept ones,” Fortuna replied flatly. “There’s nothing swept into the drains.”

Arjun stared at her for a moment before accepting the apple and glancing up at the sky. “Is it good or bad that streets are kept clean? On one hand, no one sees the dirt. On the other hand, no one notices the dirt that was once there.”

A philosophical type then. Like Francis after he was initiated. Francis had reverted to his previous self here though from what Fortuna could tell. Well, aside from the fact that he was not a bachelor for life. 

“I’m not talking down to you by any means,” Fortuna clarified. “We’re opposites. A dirt spoon in my mouth, a diamond spoon in yours. A diamond spoon in my mouth, a dirt spoon in yours.”

“If only all spoons were silver.”

A dreamer.

Deciding not to address the topic any further, Fortuna pressed, “Anyways, what were you able to glean from your surveillance?” 

“There is a river a few meters away from here,” Arjun provided, inclining his head to the treeline behind him. “My plan was to follow along that river until we reach some sort of civilization.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Pardon?”

“Going to where people are,” Fortuna said. “Especially when people are the opposite of what they should be sounds questionable.”

“What other direction do you suggest we take?” Arjun asked promptly. 

Fortuna let out a breath after some thought. He was right. “Let’s head out then.”

Arjun eyed the knife in her hand before he nodded and began leading her through the trees.

“This place makes little sense,” Arjun said as they walked on through the thrushes. “It’s as if the laws of the universe have been bent out of shape to make this place possible.”

“That’s why we need to get out of here,” Fortuna muttered. “You can’t outwit the illogical.”

Arjun hummed in response. After a while he asked, “Have you any thoughts on the people who are already here?”

“Do you mean the people who went missing a couple months ago or”—she paused for effect— “the people who should be dead.”

Although Fortuna could only see the back of Arjun’s head, she imagined his jaw tightening in response.

“You are very familiar with that ELPIS Leader, right?”

Francis.

“We knew each other during childhood.”

“You were childhood friends?”

“If you’d like to call it that, then go ahead.” Fortuna panted as Arjun helped her over a large wall of boulders that broke up the treeline. After they paused to catch their breath, Fortuna studied him for a moment and asked, “And you and Claire?”

“Half-brothers, as I’m sure you know,” Arjun responded after a pause. He glanced at her. “I’m sure he would appreciate you calling him by that name instead of Haneul.”

“You saw him not too long ago and yet you’re speaking about him like he’s dead.”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“On that, I know as much about it as you,” Fortuna replied honestly. She thought for a moment of the alleyway. “I think you’re right in your suspicions. He seems to know more than he’s letting on.”

“Did you speak with him… recently?”

Fortuna sighed. “If you have any questions on that topic, I think it’d be better to ask that Xing Clan woman.”

“Mai?”

“She’s easy to read. By the way she reacted to Claire, I bet she knows more about his circumstances than she’s letting on.” She rose to a stand and dusted off her clothing. “Familial blood relations are complicated. Half-blood relationships even more so.”

“And non-blood?” Arjun asked, rising with her.

Fortuna frowned.

Arjun abruptly stopped short in front of her.

Fortuna peered around him and found a small clearing a couple steps away. At the center of it was a stone structure consisting of three gray slabs standing tall and parallel on top of a stack of darker slabs. There was an engraving on the tallest slab in some foreign language. Before all the rocks sat a bouquet. It seemed like a gravestone. Still, she asked, “What is it?”

“It’s a shrine,” Arjun whispered.

“A shrine? Like a temple.”

“Somewhat…”

Fortuna peered at the stone structure. “This is a good sign. If there’s evidence of saint candidate worship here, then that’s an indication of Signum.”

Arjun shook his head. “These types of shrines in my country aren’t dedicated to saint candidates. They’re dedicated to our ancestors.”

“…Like the saint candidates.”

Arjun shook his head again. “Humans. The ones who came before us. Blood, family, friends. A remembrance and acknowledgement and honoring.” He looked around. “Finding one here is…”

“Unusual?”

Arju nodded before extending his hand. “May I have another fruit?” 

Fortuna obliged his request out of curiosity. He accepted an orange and placed it onto the shrine beside the bouquet. Then, he got onto his knees and bowed. Despite her confusion, Fortuna kept her mouth shut until he lifted his head. It seemed irreverent to interrupt.

“What are you doing?”

Rising to his feet, Arjun answered nonchalantly, “Giving my gratitude and callously asking for good fortune.”

Fortuna frowned. In this situation? In this place? She was too tired to dissect his lack of logic. 

Fortuna didn’t understand these spiritual types. It was one of the reasons she avoided the Gamma District of the Twin Cities like a plague. All those temples and their worshippers hoping for a deus ex machina or some sudden bout of wisdom to save them from their circumstances. Folly.

“It’s a waste of food,” Fortuna muttered under her breath.

They continued forward again until a faint rustling sound could be heard in the distance.

“The river,” Arjun explained. “We’re close.”

Fortuna wondered about that. Their journey seemed to be taking them deeper and deeper into these  woods. The overgrowth was so thick now that they had to physically pry and cut open a path through the branches to move forward. 

As they continued, however, the air began to cool which Fortuna assumed was a good indication of their progress. Arjun looked back at her as if to confirm this. He pried open another network of branches and took a step forward as he said, “Not much longer—”

—and suddenly he disappeared. No, he’d fallen forward. No, he’d fallen downwards.

On instinct, Fortuna lunged blindly and grabbed at his receding ankle. She managed to grab hold of it but not much else and was sent tumbling down a grassy slope with him. She tried to grab hold of something—anything—to stop their momentum but it was impossible. Arjun abruptly wrapped himself around her as they rolled chaotically forwards.

“Hold on—”

In-between tumbles she spotted the edge of a cliff.

Shit.

And suddenly they were tumbling through the air. Somewhere along the way, Fortuna lost hold of Arjun. As she searched wildly for him, she was able to make out the deep blue of the river approaching below her.

Damn it.

Instinctively, just before impact, she squeezed her eyes shut.

But—nothing.

Fortuna jolted and then felt a press at her back and the back of her knees. A warmth pressed against her side. Someone had caught her, she realized. Arjun—

“άλακ ιασίε?”

Fortuna blinked up at her rescuer. It was a vaguely-familiar, fair-haired, rather androgynous individual with piercing brown eyes. A gold circlet rested just above their brow and a blemishless white robe hugged their body. They were ankle deep in sparkling azure water that stretched endlessly into the distance.

Familiar. Again. From a distant memory. A ghost. Impossible. Far more impossible than the walking dead—

“Fortuna!”

Fortuna looked ahead and spotted Arjun in the arms of another man dressed in similar clothing as the person holding her. Not so far behind that duo floated a long, white boat dotted with a handful of men and women in robes. Fortuna could barely make out their features. Their reflected features in the rippling waters seemed paradoxically  much more distinguishable, drawing Fortuna’s attention. One reflection in particular standing out amongst the crowd. This was because this individual—adorned in a suit and tie—was dressed so unlike the others they were surrounded by. 

Fortuna whispered, staring at the reflection, “Francis…?”

The man’s reflection was sitting on a small luxurious couch that was set on a small elevated deck on the boat. In his hand was a thin book.

Francis’s reflection seemed to look at Fortuna as he wedged he half-closed the book. “ςονέμεδ ιασίε υοπ?”

Fortuna looked up, finding herself suddenly able to identify the distinct features of those on the boat. Standing opposite of Francis’s watery reflection was a beautiful woman with dark hair and adorned in even darker robes. A delicate laurel with only a few leaves rested elegantly on her head and gave her an air of wealth.

“Vega,” Fortuna realized, recalling the time she had imbibed Epsilon’s vitae and seen—perhaps, remembered—the past.

“που είσαι δεμένος?” Vega repeated. 

What?

She couldn’t understand him—her. 

“Είπε,” the person who held Fortuna said, “‘where are you bound to?’”

Fortuna looked up at them. With the knowledge that the woman on the ship was Vega, Fortuna was able to conclude that this person holding her was in fact a woman and that this woman’s name was Altair. A logical conclusion drawn from illogical facts. 

Fortuna’s mind raced as she tried to comprehend what was happening. Was this an illusion of some kind? Or maybe a conducting similar to Epsilon’s had drawn her in here? What the hell.

Vega’s eyes narrowed slightly as she approached the edge of the vessel.

“Pandora,” Fortuna decided, tensing. “We are bound to Pandora.”

Vega hummed. Following a minute pause, she returned her attention to her book and receded back to the center of the deck. “You may come onboard. We are bound to the same destination.”

Just like that?

Altair set her down and beckoned her to follow. The man who carried Arjun set him down and did the same. Arjun did not follow and waited for Fortuna to wade her way to him.

“You know of them? What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Fortuna whispered under her breath, peering up at the elevated deck. She could barely see Vega from this angle.  After a pause, she said, “They’re Ophiuchians.”

“They don’t look like peacekeepers.”

“No,” Fortuna corrected, “they’re the original Ophiuchians.”

Arjun quieted, eyes wide. 

“The 1940s there, the 1960s elsewhere, and the 1400s here,” Fortuna muttered. “There’s no logic to it.”

“Is it wise to go with them?” he asked.

“You wanted to find civilization, didn’t you?”

Upon climbing onto the ship with Arjun, Fortuna was greeted by curious whispers and charming smiles. No one seemed to be apprehensive of them, however, which was suspicious in itself.  Wouldn’t they at least question why they were dressed so strangely?

“Fortuna…?”

Fortuna scanned the crowd and found two women peeling out towards them. She recognized one of them instantly.

“Agape?” Fortuna stared incredulously. 

It indeed was Agape Rosario, hair done up into an elaborate bun held in place with an ivory pin. A navy blue robe hugged her figure.

Was she the Agape that Fortuna or was she like Francis—affected by this place?

“How…?” the woman standing, dressed rather similarly, asked in confusion. She took in a deep breath and smoothed out in her expression. “You’re Miss Fortuna Romano of the Twin Cities Romano Family, correct? How did you get here? When did you get here?” She gestured to herself. “My name is Ferris—”

That confirmed things.

“I’ve heard of you, Peacekeeper Ferris Hart,” Fortuna interjected.

Ferris almost seemed to squeak and became tense. “You have?”

“Associates of Cadence are on my radar,” Fortuna informed her. “Therefore, associates of that peacekeeper Jericho are also on my radar. Your name was also thrown around recently.”

Ferris’s lips thinned. Her eyes were apprehensive and full of judgment. Fortuna hated these types. There were such things as sugar spoons too. 

Fortuna turned her attention back to Agape. “Agape, you’ve been missing for several weeks now. I heard from someone that you were at something called the Small Services District–“

Agape and Ferris shared a look.

“–do you know what’s going on here? Why are you dressed like that?”

“You’re wearing similar clothing, Miss Romano,” Ferris drew slowly, gesturing to her. “You didn’t notice?”

Fortuna looked down at herself in confusion and found that—much to her shock—she was indeed dressed in robes similar to everyone else here. When she touched her hair, she found it woven through with intricate braids. Her bag was gone as was her knife.

“Arjun—” 

When she looked at the man, she found him bewildered and dressed very similarly.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Miss Romano,” Agape said. “Miss Hart and I here have been somehow sliding between two different times and places. Here and—”

“Ndoto,” Fortuna muttered.

Agape nodded. “It’s the same for you, I see.”

“Save for the fact that we arrived here not too long ago,” Fortuna murmured, “yes. This is my first time here.” She let out a breath and nodded at Agape. “It’s good to see you, Agape.”

“Likewise.”

Fortuna looked past Agape and towards the stairway behind her that led to the elevated deck. “There’s no point in wasting time with formalities.”

Agape, Ferris—fretting somewhat—and Arjun followed her up. When they reached the top deck, Fortuna found it sparsely populated. Only four people were here. One was Vega who was lounging on a velvet couch and reading a book. The other was Altair who was leaning on the railings at the corner of the deck with crossed arms. The third was a dark-haired man dressed in robes with sky blue lining. The fourth was a woman with long braided hair. She was talking rather animatedly—

“That’s Vincente,” Agape whispered to Fortuna, “even though she doesn’t look it. I caught a glimpse of him earlier. It doesn’t make sense, but it is him. They call him Themis here.”

“—if I have to be the one to suggest, implement, and enact these changes,” Themis was saying, “then does that not mean that I care about these things than others?”

“There’s folly in holding one’s self with a degree of importance,” Vega said. “The innate desire to be seen and differentiated from the masses will only bring about personal suffering and the suffering of others.”

Themis flushed. “I assure you that I do not disagree with you there, Vega, but I am not saying it has to be me who does these things, but someone must. We already know what didn’t work in the past and we’ve put forth barriers to prevent those occurrences in the future. But we should be even more preventative. We should think of what could possibly go wrong and create legislation and measures from there. Waiting until disastrous events occur before acting is injudicious.”

Fortuna was surprised that she hadn’t choked or coughed in her rant.

Vega hummed faintly. “You are always so concerned about the future and the past, Themis.”

Themis gestured to herself and nodded.

“But you shouldn’t worry in excess. In the end, we’ll turn to dust and become the foundation for a different era. Even the stars will have the same fate.” Vega turned a page. “Fertilizer for the new age. They too will follow the same route. So you shouldn’t worry too much.”

Altair noticeably frowned.

“Well, when you put it that way,” the sky blue-robed man in the corner interjected suddenly, “won’t that just ruin things for the ‘next era.’ I mean, you can’t make for a good fertilizer or a good foundation when the material is flawed. So wouldn’t we make a bad head start for that ‘next era’?”

“That’s impossible,” Themis retorted. “Our Ophiuchus is close to perfection.”

“I suppose in that case it would be necessary to burn the bridge.” Vega eyed the man reverently. “Of course, I defer that judgment to you.”

The man merely shrugged. 

“The bridge?” Altair asked, eyeing the man with less reverence.

“The foundation,” the man provided, “so to speak. Right, Vega?”

Vega nodded. 

Altair took in a breath and crossed her arms. “With that frame of mind, we might as well not do anything at all.”

Vega shut her book slowly and held Altair’s gaze.

Altair held up her hands. “I am merely saying that thinking deeply is one thing and living is another.” She smiled rather wryly, as if she was enjoying Vega’s attention. “Of course, if you want to debate the matter, how about we do it over a round of Itero Recino?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” Fortuna interjected, “but I wanted to thank you for letting us on board.” She paused and then said, “You’re Vega, aren’t you? You teach at the Asclepium.” 

“It is nothing.” Vega didn’t even glance in her direction. “And that I am.”

“I’m a fan of your teachings,” Fortuna lied.

Again, Vega didn’t look at her. Altair gave her a sympathetic smile. Flattery didn’t seem to do much for Vega—although Fortuna supposed that if Cadence was the one doing the flattery, perhaps the outcome would be different.

Fortuna decided to cut to the chase. “Might I ask if this is a passenger ship?” 

Vega finally looked at her. “This is my private ship.”

Wealth.

“Are you headed to Pandora to teach?” Fortuna tried playing along the same lines. “I’d love to attend—”

“Our return to Pandora is not that. As I am sure you are aware, it’s time to choose a new Knowledge Bearer. We are headed to converse with Ophiuchus and the other Knowledge Bearers to discuss the matter.”

Alarm bells started ringing in Fortuna’s head. Knowledge Bearers, the original saint candidates. Perhaps it was one of them that was behind this.

“I see…” Fortuna retreated back to where Arjun and the others were leaning against the railings. She muttered to them, “We should gather our resources and send someone to investigate—”

“You shouldn’t be here, even though I have to thank you for helping me find my way here,” the blue-robed man from earlier said, sliding in-between Arjun and Fortuna. He leaned back against the railings and turned to Arjun. “Don’t you remember what I told you about that book?”

Arjun turned to him, brows meeting.

“Is it such a good idea to be fraternizing with another group of people who’re also wielding a sword? You know that only one can be chosen in the end, right?”

What the hell? What was he on about?

Arjun seemed to know what he was on about because the man visibly stiffened. “How—”

The man abruptly hopped onto the railings and precariously walked to the corner closest to the river. He turned to Vega and Altair with a wave. “I’ll be heading off now. It was nice meeting you again. It’s been a while.”

“We’re almost at Pandora,” Vega called out to him. “Please do stay, Sagittarius. Your presence has only been a pleasure.”

Sagittarius? The saint candidate?

Fortuna felt her blood run cold. She had been standing so close to one without even realizing it. Arjun, eyes widening, started towards them just as Sagittarius leapt off the railings and into the river below. Fortuna quickly joined Arjun at the railings and peered down. Vega and Altair soon joined them.

Sagittarius, hovering just above the water, stared up at them. He grinned, locking eyes with Arjun before he waved. There was something in his hand. An orange.

“Arjun—” Fortuna began, turning to the prince. 

She blinked.

The ship was gone. The river was gone. The people on it were gone. Arjun was gone. She was standing in a pantry of some sort that had shelves filled with neatly organized spices. Glancing down at herself, she found that she was wearing her suit again—her jacket intact and no longer a makeshift bag.

Not again.

“Arjun?”

Silence.

“Agape?”

Again, silence.

Fortuna swiveled around and thankfully found a door just behind her. She steeled her nerves, reached for the knob, and pulled open the door. When she stepped out, she found herself in a rather familiar dining hall. Sitting at the table beneath the chandelier there were two familiar men.

“Carl…?” Fortuna tried in confusion. “Allen?” 

The two turned to her.

“Well, that was quick,” Carl noted. “What’s the big idea, Fortuna? Were you being chased?”

Allen muttered, “It was smart of you—slipping away like that. You gotta be careful from now. Not get on their radar.”

Fortuna pushed down her relief. “What are you talking about?”

“We should be askin’ you the questions. Not the other way around,” Carl snapped. “You disappear on us and suddenly came back actin’ weird before goin’ in there to stuff yourself.”

Allen rose from his seat. “Where’ve you been?”

“It’s a long story,” Fortuna said, eyes narrowing, “but this is my first time seeing you both since the mansion was raided.”

Carl made a face. “What?”

Allen appeared grim. “We just saw you a few minutes ago. Couldn’t have been Cadence’s transmutation ‘cause she was right there with us.”

Carl seemed to catch on. “Then who the hell was that?”

Allen stared over Fortuna’s shoulder and into the empty pantry. “And where did they go.” 

tatu—invasive wildflower

---

Charite Haussman was caught between two emotions these past two weeks. Happiness and anxiety. It was as if she was walking on clouds and pins all at once. If she closed her eyes and stepped in the wrong place, she—with a toeful of pins—would fall right on through. She knew she shouldn’t think or feel this way. She’d finally gotten all she could wish and hope for.

A place to call home. A warm family. A loyal group of friends. Attendance at a good university. A loving fiance she could pour all her worries to and who would confide in her everything. And a second family that accepted her as their own. A dream come true. A dream so intoxicating that she did not want to wake from it. And she would do anything to keep the dream alive for Francis too.

And yet the anxiety remained.

During her more anxious bouts, Charite would busy herself with helping Donato and his son around with the chores in the mansion. Francis had tried numerous times to dissuade her from her hobby—kissing her delicate hands and even promising to do the tasks in her stead—but she refuted him with ‘Oh, darling, but what about your delicate hands?’. He spoiled her rotten sometimes, and she was always looking for the opportune moment to do the same.

He had left earlier not so long after Cadence had left with Stefano. Apparently there had been a problem with the bar. Fortuna, Carl, and Allen had departed not so long after that, leaving Charite alone in this mansion with Donato and his son. It wasn’t so much a bad thing. There was a particularly dusty shelf in Francis’s room that she’d been meaning to get too.

Charite was halfway through organizing the books in her fiancé’s library when the doorbell chimed.

Maybe Francis had returned? Her heart fluttered at the thought.

“I’ve got it!”

Charite headed to the main door and pulled it open. She paused when she found a familiar figure standing there. A familiar figure that was not familiar in this setting.

“Atienna?” Charite asked, unsure of what else to say.

Atienna smiled. “I was hoping to catch Cadence….”

“Oh…” Charite couldn’t help but chuckle awkwardly. She felt rather out of place. “Her agent Stefano picked her up a couple hours ago. I can leave her a message for you, if you’d like.”

“No, it’s alright.” Atienna peered into the mansion. “Have you seen…. Fortuna around recently?”

Hadn’t she been looking for Cadence?

“Oh no,” Charite lied. “I haven’t seen her in about a week. Why? Is there something wrong?”

“I was hoping that she could help with something that I’m investigating…” Atienna murmured. 

“I’ll let her know that you were asking for her if I see her,” Charite reassured her.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that either.” Atienna smiled lightly. “I would hate to be a bother…”

She was fishing for something, Charite realized. 

“I hope you don’t feel like I’m fishing for something,” Atienna said, “but I do have one more question—when will Francis be back?”

Charite felt the hairs on her arm stand. She felt as if she couldn’t even swallow.

Atienna pulled away abruptly. “I’m sorry if I bothered you. I’ll come back another time.”

The woman turned away without saying anything else and slowly descended the stairs into the garden.

moja—incognizant herbicide

---