December, 1097

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caladon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I let out a soft, contented laugh, my tail giving a lazy, happy swish beneath the bench. Mom taps her finger thoughtfully against the edge of her digital slate, her eyes scanning the scrolling logistical reports. The warm, protective honey of her presence ripples with a brief, chilling undercurrent of cold iron.

"Good thing she is not in Londinium, though," mom murmurs, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks up from the screen. "On my last mission, the Field Ops have been talking. They say eight Grand Dukes are preparing an assault to take back Londinium." I shift my weight, sitting up from the comfortable pile of Lisa's tails. Eight Grand Dukes. It sounds less like a military maneuver and more like a Catastrophe made entirely of people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, a horrifying realization clicks into place for me, I whip my head around, my eyes blowing completely wide. I grip the edge of the wooden bench tightly.

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

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

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

"Lethe! Hey, look at me."

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

"No, Lethe," mom promises, her voice ringing with a fierce, uncompromising certainty that instantly anchors my racing heart. She ducks her head to meet my terrified eyes.

"We are not going to Victoria. We are not going to war."

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

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

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

Miss Lena steps closer.

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

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

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

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

Mom lets out a soft, breathy chuckle.

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

My mouth instantly waters. The sheer, savory indulgence of a bubbling pot of cheese sounds absolutely heavenly.

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

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

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

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

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

Mom and Miss Lena pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," I whisper, my voice tiny and fractured. "I understand. I will stay on the landship." Mom leans down, her arms reaching out to pull me into a tight, desperate embrace, entirely ready to apologize for the cruelty of the world she cannot shield me from. But before mom can even wrap her arms around me, a blindingly bright, effervescent wave of crystallized sugar violently shatters the sorrow in the air.

"Then we will just bring Kjerag to you!"

Lisa practically launches herself forward. Her arms wrap securely around my neck from behind, her nine tails puffing up into a massive, auburn shield that envelops us both. I peek out from the collar of my jacket, blinking up at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ow!"

A sudden, sharp, pinching pain shoots directly up my spine from the very tip of my tail. The peaceful, comforting atmosphere of the garden shatters instantly. I gasp, my survival instincts immediately taking over. I desperately thrash my tail, trying to violently shake off whatever just bit me.

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

I twist around, my eyes blowing completely wide.

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

"Miss Beanstalk! Help!" I yelp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stare at the Reproba in absolute, unadulterated disbelief.

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

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

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

"Just wake me up when the candies are here," I mumble miserably into the floorboards. Before I can fully sink into my puddle of self-pity, a familiar, incredibly gentle pair of hands scoops up the limp, spade-shaped tip of my tail from the floor tiles.

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

"It doesn’t look damaged."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My heart completely stalls.

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

Out of stock?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I slump my shoulders, dropping the clipboard onto the counter. I am absolutely starving. Mom steps out from the nearby aisle, already shrugging off her heavier medical gear.

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

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

"Yes, please."

We leave the sanctuary of the Convalescent Garden, stepping back into the metallic corridors of the landship. As we make our way toward the cafeteria, we pass by one of the observation windows spanning the outer hull. I casually glance out the glass, fully expecting to see the usual rolling, muted barrens or the bruised skies of the wastelands.

Instead, the sight completely steals the breath from my lungs.

I step right up to the reinforced glass, my hands pressing flat against the cool pane.

"Woah..." I whisper.

The scenery outside is absolutely breathtaking. We are completely surrounded by towering, majestic peaks that pierce straight into the clouds, their jagged slopes blanketed in pristine, blindingly white snow. The sheer, staggering scale of the mountains makes the colossal landship feel incredibly small.

Mom stops beside me, her gaze following mine out into the winter wonderland.

"We are navigating into the Kjeragi basin," mom explains, her voice a soft, steady hum over the ambient vibration of the engines. "There is a lake down there, completely walled in by the mountains."

"It's so beautiful… Are we docking?"

"We are staying just outside their official territories. Kjerag is deeply traditional, Lethe. The city itself won't welcome us. They are not fond of outsiders, let alone the Infected or the Sarkaz."

"But, I will double confirm with Amiya and Dr. Kal’tsit," mom continues, a bright, conspiratorial smile breaking across her face, "the snowy plains outside the city borders are open. You can still play out there in the snow, under our watch of course… if you want to join the expedition."

Snow. I imagine the freezing, powdery white crunching under my sneakers, the sheer thrill of a world painted entirely in white.

"Can I?"

Mom laughs, her eyes shining with pure joy. "Only if you finish your vegetables at dinner.”

The next two days blur into a comfortable, exhausting loop .

My mornings are spent in the humid sanctuary of the Convalescent Garden, sitting beside bruised Field Ops and pulling the lingering dread from their minds. My afternoons are buried deep in the Archives with Miss Adele, tracing the sprawling mountain ranges of Kjerag on her topographical maps until my eyes cross. And my evenings are spent safely tucked into my dorm, waiting for mom to finish her shifts in the triage bays.

It is a quiet, steady rhythm.

Then, a high-priority chime from my slate breaks the loop. A direct summons to the upper decks.

I make the long trek upward. The administrative levels are always scrubbed completely clean of the landship's usual bustling chaos. The reinforced blast doors of the CEO's office slide apart with a quiet hiss as I step inside.

The moment I cross the threshold, my Arts brushes against the ambient air.

Amiya’s usual, blindingly bright spun-sugar sweetness is there, but it is stretched terrifyingly thin. It is smothered beneath a thick, suffocating layer of dull, grey dust. The taste of endless bureaucratic reports, diplomatic standoffs, and bone-deep exhaustion. I look past the massive desk in the center of the room. It is completely empty.

Tucked away in the far corner of the office, half-hidden by a stack of filing cabinets, is a large, plush beanbag sofa. And completely melted into it is the leader of Rhodes Island. Amiya looks incredibly small. Her signature jacket is slightly crumpled, her eyes are closed shut, and her long ears are drooping so heavily they are practically brushing the floorboards. She is completely, utterly crashed out.

I take a slow, quiet step forward.

"Amiya?" I whisper, pitching my voice as softly as I can.

Thwack.

Her ears snap perfectly rigid, hitting the sterile air with an audible, whipping snap. She violently flinches, shooting upright from the beanbag so fast she nearly trips over her own shoes. She scrambles to stand, her hands frantically flying down to smooth out the wrinkles in her jacket and straighten her collar.

"Lethe?!" Amiya gasps. She lets out a sudden, nervous cough, a hot flush of embarrassment immediately warming her cheeks. "I… I didn’t hear you enter. You are earlier than expected."

I look at her flushed face, and then down at the severely dented beanbag chair.

I bring a hand up to cover my mouth, completely failing to suppress the giggle bubbling up in my throat. I tilt my head, offering her a highly exaggerated, conspiratorial wink.

"It is okay," I assure her, keeping my voice hushed. "I wouldn’t dare to spread rumors about our CEO slouching on a sofa during working hours."

The frantic, panicked static in the air completely flatlines.

Amiya stares at me for a fraction of a second. Then, her shoulders drop entirely. The rigid, professional posture melts away, and a soft, genuine laugh escapes her lips. The heavy, grey dust of her exhaustion is instantly pierced by a radiant wave of her natural, sugary warmth.

"Thank you for your discretion, Lethe," Amiya teasingly replies, offering me a brilliant, tired smile. She lets out a long sigh and collapses right back onto the beanbag, patting the empty space next to her.

I happily jog over and sink into the plush cushions beside her.

"You look really tired, Amiya.”

"Just a lot of paperwork regarding our holding pattern outside Kjerag," she admits, rubbing her eyes. But then, she lowers her hands, turning her full attention to me. A mischievous, exciting spark suddenly dances in her eyes.

"Actually," Amiya begins, her tone dropping into a hushed, secretive whisper. "Caladria has been asking about letting you off the landship."

My tail gives a sudden, involuntary thump against the beanbag. Mom had actually gone to the administration for me?

"Well," Amiya continues, her ears giving a dramatic, theatrical droop. "Dr. Kal’tsit will deny a purely recreational shore pass in a heartbeat. Especially in a closed-off, deeply religious territory like this."

My shoulders immediately slump, the brief flare of hope extinguishing. I should have known. The Grand Dame of Rhodes Island doesn't do vacations, and she certainly doesn't do snow days for pureblood Sarkaz.

But then, Amiya leans in closer. Her smile widens into something undeniably cheeky.

"But…” Amiya whispers, her eyes sparkling. "If you really want to see the snow… I don’t see how we couldn’t authorize an expedition. With Podenco and a Field Ops escort, of course. To study mountain florals in the outer snowy plains."

My brain desperately processes the loophole she just effortlessly carved straight through Dr. Kal'tsit's absolute authority. A logistics mission. A perfectly valid, academically sound excuse to step out into the freezing, untamed winter of Kjerag.

"Really?!" I gasp.

I don't even think. I throw my arms around her neck, pulling her into a massive, crushing hug, burying my face into her jacket.

"You are the best, Amiya!" I cheer, my tail wagging so wildly it practically beats a drum rhythm against the floorboards. "You are the absolute best!"

Amiya’s arms wrap securely around my shoulders, returning the hug with a bright, musical laugh that completely banishes the heavy, bureaucratic grey dust from the office. She gently pats my back before I finally pull away, my cheeks slightly flushed with excitement.

"I cannot assign an Elite Operator to escort you, though," Amiya warns gently, her smile turning a little sheepish. "If I pulled Ms. Blaze or Rosmontis off the active duty roster just to watch you and Podenco play in the snow, Dr. Kal'tsit would probably suspend me from the outer hull by my ankles and force me to manually scrub the landship's treads with a toothbrush."

A cold, sympathetic shiver races down my spine. Given what Dr. Kal'tsit had allegedly done to Dr. Warfarin with duct-tape, scrubbing the heavy, mud-caked treads of a colossal mobile city with a toothbrush sounds terrifyingly plausible.

"I understand, Amiya," I nod solemnly, entirely unwilling to risk our CEO's life against the Grand Dame's wrath.

Amiya taps her chin, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling as she mentally scrolls through the active personnel manifests.

"Aurora would have been absolutely perfect for this," Amiya sighs softly, her ears drooping just a fraction. "She is a Kjerag native and a seasoned defender. She knows those freezing mountains better than anyone else… but she is currently deployed on another front."

Amiya hums thoughtfully, her attention shifting back to me. "And our partnered Blacksteel personnel are not onboard right now, either. It is a shame. I know Miss Franka was quite fond of you during your first logistics mission in the barrens."

My tail instantly drops, smacking against the floorboards with a dull, indignant thud. I puff my cheeks out, crossing my arms tightly over the front of my oversized jacket.

"She wasn't fond of me," I grumble, fixing Amiya with a highly exaggerated, betrayed pout. "She just wants to haze me."

Amiya covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking as a bright, breathless giggle echoes across the cavernous office.

Amiya lowers her hand, still smiling, but her eyes suddenly glaze over with a deep, calculating focus. She stares at the floor for a few seconds, piecing together the logistics, the schedules, and the sheer practicality of a snowy field trip.

Amiya's ears snap straight up, pointing directly toward the ceiling. Her eyes light up with absolute, undeniable brilliance.

"Wait!" Amiya gasps, her hands clasping together as she leans forward on the beanbag.

"I have an idea!"

"Well," Amiya begins, her blue eyes sparkling with practical brilliance. "The Ursus are built for this climate. And it will be good for the U.S.S.G. too."

The U.S.S.G. The Ursus Student Self-Governing Group.

"Gummy?"

"Gummy and Zima are available right now," Amiya confirms. "They are very capable. Frostleaf can join you as well."

I swallow hard, forcing the phantom ash out of my mouth.

I promised I would just be her friend, let her cook, and tell her it tastes good. If I have to navigate the freezing snow alongside her, I will keep that promise.

As for the other two…

"I haven’t met Zima and Frostleaf," I admit, nervously wrapping my fingers around the dark shaft of my Arts Unit. I look up into her earnest eyes. "But if my CEO says so, I will."

Amiya’s smile widens into a brilliant, radiant beam. The ambient air in the office sweetens with a rush of pure, spun-sugar relief.

"They will be great companions!" Amiya promises.

She pushes herself off the beanbag, entirely shedding the exhausted slump from earlier. Her posture snaps back into the crisp, undeniable authority of Rhodes Island's leader as she steps toward her massive desk. She taps her digital slate, bringing up the administrative deployment forms.

"I will submit the paperwork now," Amiya announces, her fingers flying across the screen. She doesn't look up, but a distinctly cheeky, playful lilt bleeds into her voice.

"You should go to prepare, Lethe. Unless you want to stay in my office like a couch potato."

"Hey!"

I scramble off the beanbag, quickly brushing the wrinkles out of my jacket.

"I am not a couch potato!" I grab my staff firmly. I step backward toward the blast doors, offering her a deep, slightly flustered bow. "I will excuse myself then. Amiya. Thank you."

The corridors of the upper blocks are usually a blur of grey steel and uniform white lighting, but today, I can barely keep my eyes on the path ahead.

Every time I pass an observation window, my attention is immediately hijacked. Outside, the majestic, towering peaks of Kjerag pierce the sky, their slopes completely smothered in a thick, pristine blanket of blinding white snow. I watch the fat, gentle flakes drifting lazily past the reinforced glass, my mind already racing with thoughts of the upcoming expedition. I am going to step out into that freezing, beautiful winter. Thud.

I walk straight into a solid, unyielding wall of fabric and hardware. The impact throws my center of gravity entirely off.

"Owie!"

I hit the steel floor hard, landing squarely on my backside with a dull, echoing smack. The Kazdelian Arts Unit slips from my grip, clattering loudly against the grating.

"That’s going to cost you more than you can afford in your lifetime if you damage the focal unit, kiddo."

The voice slices through the quiet corridor, dripping with a sharp, highly caffeinated drawl.

The ambient air tastes like ozone, and expensive caffeine.

I slowly tilt my head up.

Standing directly over me, balancing a towering stack of glowing digital slates in one arm and a half-empty mug in the other, is the Chief Engineer. Her dark hair shifts as she looks down at my crumpled form, a sharp, fanged smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Ms… Ms. Closure! Sorry!"

I frantically scramble to my knees, my hands shooting out to snatch the twisted branch from the floor. I hug the priceless Kazdelian artifact defensively to my chest, thoroughly inspecting the ancient wood for any scuffs or cracks. If I actually broke the relic Dr. Kal'tsit handed me, the Medical Director would likely turn me into a permanent biological exhibit.

"What are you doing here, Lethe?" Ms. Closure asks, raising an eyebrow as she takes a slow, deliberate sip from her mug. "Shouldn't you be watering the ferns or terrorizing the medical wing?"

"I was just looking at the snow!" I defend myself, quickly pushing myself back up to my feet and furiously dusting off my skirt. "Amiya approved a logistics mission for me. I am going out into the mountains!"

Ms. Closure pauses, the rim of her mug hovering just below her chin. Her eyes narrow slightly.

She leans forward, her grin widening into something entirely predatory.

"Oh, a snowy field trip, huh?" Ms. Closure’s voice dropping into a hushed, conspiratorial whisper. She glances casually up and down the empty corridor before looking back at me. "You know, the situation down there in Kjerag is a massive, tangled web of company secrets right now. Lots of moving parts. Lots of highly classified operational intel."

She shifts the heavy stack of slates in her arm, leaning in just a fraction closer.

"I could fill you in on the real reason we're parked outside this frozen rock," Ms. Closure offers, her tone dripping with the slick, manufactured charm of a backdoor merchant.

"Completely off the record, of course. But high-level intel doesn't come cheap, kiddo. I know you've been hoarding your salary… If you are willing to part with that little plushie fund of yours, maybe I can accidentally let a few classified details slip."

My jaw completely unhinges.

She wants my plushie fund. The hard-earned internal credits I have meticulously, desperately hoarded for weeks just to buy the soft, oversized shark plushie from HER own general store.

"No!"

I take a frantic, staggering step backward. The shark plushie is the ultimate goal; no amount of geopolitical Kjeragi secrets is worth sacrificing my cozy dorm decorations.

"I don't want to know any secrets!" I declare, vigorously shaking my head so hard my horns cut through the air with swoosh. "My plushie fund is classified!"

Before the Ms. Closure can conjure another scheme to drain my bank account, I spin on my heel. I don't even wait to excuse myself properly. I clutch my staff and break into a frantic, squeaking sprint down the corridor, leaving Ms. Closure's caffeinated laughter echoing behind me in the hallway.

With my internal credits safely secured against the predatory capitalism of Ms. Closure, I make my way down the remaining corridors.

The doors of the Convalescent Garden part, and I eagerly step inside.

The garden is relatively quiet this afternoon. Lisa is still off at her tutoring sessions, Miss Beanstalk, is, well, probably taking her metal crabs to Doctor. Leaving only Miss Lena and Podenco among the greenery. Miss Lena is standing near her tea counter, organizing a row of small glass jars, while Podenco is a few paces away, carefully tilting a green watering can over a bed of fragile sprouts.

"Miss Lena! Podenco!" I call out, practically jogging down the winding path.

"What has you so excited, Lethe?" Miss Lena asks, her tail gently swing.

I come to a halt right between them, my hands clasped together against my chest. I cannot contain the massive, bubbling grin stretching across my face.

"We are going on a logistics mission!" I announce proudly. "Outside the landship! Into the Kjerag snow!"

Podenco pauses. The stream of water dripping from the spout of her can slows to a trickle. She lowers her arms, turning to face me with a highly perplexed expression.

"We?" Podenco repeats, her ears twitching in confusion.

"Yes! You and me!" I nod enthusiastically, listing off the rest of the roster Amiya had just assembled. "And we are going with Gummy, Zima, and Frostleaf!"

Podenco stares at me, her brow furrowing deeply.

"Wait," Podenco says, pointing the spout of the watering can vaguely in my direction.

"I'm the primary botanical logistics operative for this sector. Shouldn't I know about a deployment order that includes me?"

I blink, my own excitement stalling for a brief second. That is a very valid point.

"Well…" I tap my chin thoughtfully. "Amiya just approved the idea in her office, like, twenty minutes ago. She was just filling out the digital paperwork when I left. It probably hasn't even hit the logistics terminals yet."

Podenco lets out a soft, amused huff. She sets the watering can down on the edge of the planter box. She looks at me, her eyes narrowing with a highly scrutinizing, critical stare.

"So," Podenco starts, tilting her head. "What exactly are we doing in the snowy wasteland?"

I lean forward just a fraction, lowering my voice into a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper.

"Do you want the official version, or the unofficial version?"

The rhythmic clinking of glass jars at the prep counter abruptly ceases.

Miss Lena stops her organizing. A long sigh escapes her lips. The serene lavender in the air ripples with a fond, exasperated amusement.

"Oh dear," Miss Lena murmurs softly, shaking her head. Her Vulpine ears twitch slightly. She turns to look at me, a highly knowing smile playing on her lips. "Dr. Kal'tsit is going to love this."

Podenco blinks, her eyes darting between Miss Lena's resigned smile and my proud, secretive grin.

For a second, my Perro fruend just stands there. Then, the realization clicks into place.

"Ohhhh…" Podenco breathes out, her eyes blowing wide before she bursts into a ringing laugh. "Lethe! You are going to get Amiya into so much trouble!"

"I am sure if we bring back some sample," I insist, waving my hands in a vague, dismissive gesture toward the empty air, completely committed to my and Amiya's master plan. "Any sample! A frozen twig, a handful of snow, a really interesting rock… As long as we hand something over to the logistics desk, no one will look too closely! It is a foolproof plan."

Podenco just crosses her arms, the cheeky smirk on her face widening into a full, sarcastic grin. Her tail gives a slow, rhythmic sway.

"Sure, Lethe," Podenco drawls, her voice dripping with playful indulgence. "I will just use my Arts to create some rare mountain flowers right there in the frozen field, just so we can bring back perfectly pristine samples for the Director."

The master plan completely stalls in my brain. My eyes blow completely wide, I lean forward. My tail, which had been swaying happily, stops dead in the air.

"Wait?" I gasp, staring at Podenco in absolute, unadulterated awe. "You can do that?" Podenco stares at me for a flat, agonizing second.

The ambient air in the greenhouse bubbles. The citrusy yuzu flavor of her aura practically explodes with the carbonated fizz of pure, unrestrained amusement.

"Of course not, Lethe," Podenco laughs, shaking her head as if she cannot believe I actually fell for it. She rests her hands on her hips, fixing me with a highly exaggerated, teacher-like stare. "Haven’t you been studying your Arts theory? Creating organic life from scratch is impossible. Originium Arts just manipulate existing energy and matter. They don't just spawn plants out of thin air."

The realization hits me. The hot, prickly flush of absolute, undeniable embarrassment violently crashes over my cheeks, burning all the way up to the tips of my ears.

I just failed a basic pop quiz on the exact material I had spent the last two months agonizing over in the Archives.

"I mean… I…"

I instantly duck my head, my hands flying up to cover my burning face. The sound of Podenco's bright, ringing laughter fills the Convalescent Garden, joined a second later by the graceful, melodic chuckle of Miss Lena from behind the tea counter.

I peek through the gaps in my fingers, looking desperately between the two of them.

"Please don't tell Miss Adele," I whine, a muffled plea vibrating against my palms. I shrink back, trying to make myself as small as possible. "If she finds out I forgot the fundamental limits of energy manipulation, she is going to tell Ms. Skyfire… and Ms. Skyfire is going to send me a pop quiz from Victoria! I will review the chapters tonight, I swear!"

Miss Lena covers her smile with her hand.

"Your secret is safe with us, Lethe," Miss Lena promises gently, her eyes crinkling with profound fondness. "But I highly suggest you do review those chapters before your excursion. The snow is beautiful, but the cold is unrelenting."

"I will. I promise," I declare, giving her a firm, deeply solemn nod. "I will study the limits of energy manipulation tonight."

Before Podenco can tease me any further, a sharp, synchronized chime suddenly echoes through the humid air of the greenhouse.

My digital slate vibrates heavily against my hip from inside my bag. Right beside me, Podenco reaches into her apron and pulls out her own terminal.

I hastily fish my slate out, tapping the cool glass screen. A high-priority deployment banner drops down from the top edge, stamped with the official black and white Rhodes Island rook logo.

Podenco reads the screen, her eyes scanning the dense, bureaucratic text. Her ears slowly perk straight up.

"Well," Podenco announces, her voice dropping into a mock-serious, highly official drone. "Here’s the order. Research and reconnaissance mission. Cataloging local fauna and flora. Confirm topography matches existing records."

She lowers the slate, the professional facade completely melts..

"Well, Lethe," Podenco teases, giving me a cheeky wink. "It is safe to say, Amiya crafted a complete mission just to let you build some snowmen."

A massive, unrestrained smile breaks across my face.

Amiya actually did it. Our CEO had woven a flawless, undeniable web of administrative paperwork, entirely bypassing the freezing logic of Dr. Kal’tsit just to give me a chance to play in the snow. My tail gives a rapid, involuntary thump against the floor tiles, completely betraying my bubbling excitement.

"A snowman!" I gasp, my eyes shining. I look down at my hands, my mind already buzzing with the architectural possibilities of packing freezing powder into perfect spheres. "I am going to build the biggest one in the entire barrens!"

"Not in that outfit, you aren't."

The grounding voice of Miss Lena cuts through our celebration.

I look up. Miss Lena has stepped out from behind the tea counter.

Miss Lena's eyes sweep critically over my current attire: the dark pleated skirt, the insulated stockings, her knitted leg warmers and the oversized grey jacket.

"Well, since you two are going out, we need to make sure you have high-altitude and winter gears," Miss Lena instructs. "Catastrophes don’t hit Kjerag. But the altitude and cold themselves are dangerous enough."

I look down at my knees, suddenly feeling vastly underprepared for the reality.

"I… I don't have a winter coat," I murmur, my ears drooping slightly. "Or snow boots. I only have my sneakers."

Podenco tucks her slate back into her apron. "Don't worry, Lethe. The Logistics Department has specialized gear for all deployment environments. We just need to go down to the department storage and get you properly fitted."

"We will do exactly that," Miss Lena agrees, stepping forward to gently rest a warm hand on my shoulder. "I will speak with Erika. We will ensure you are layered, insulated, and perfectly safe before you take a single step off this landship. We cannot have our favorite palliative care assistant catching frostbite."

I spend the rest of the afternoon dutifully fulfilling my shift in the Convalescent Garden. I help Miss Lena measure the precise doses of dried chamomile and sort the sterile bandages, keeping my hands busy so the anticipation of the snow doesn't completely overwhelm me. But my mind is already racing with visions of pristine white powder and freezing alpine air.

Eventually, mom comes. She is practically glowing, the delicate feathers near her temples puffed up in absolute, unadulterated joy.

Mom walks right up to our table. She doesn't even look at the botanical charts. Her eyes sweep critically over me. She taps her chin thoughtfully.

"She just really needs a new jacket, a pair of boots, and a scarf," mom muses. She turns her head slightly, looking toward the counter. "What do you think, Lena?"

Miss Lena sets down her jars.

"That would work, Erika," Miss Lena nods serenely. "With proper layering, she will be perfectly insulated against the Kjeragi winds."

Mom smiles, satisfied with the secondary opinion. Then, she pivots, her sharp gaze landing directly on my Perro friend.

"You too, Podenco," mom instructs. "You need much thicker jackets and snow boots if you are going to be digging through the frozen dirt out there.”

Podenco doesn't even attempt to argue. She gives a brisk, affirming nod.

"Let's go together," Podenco suggests, a bright, eager smile breaking across her face. The logistics department absolutely did not hold back.

Beneath the heavy, insulated fabric of my brand-new winter gear, I am still wearing my dark pleated skirt and thick tights, but my familiar oversized grey jacket has been entirely replaced. The new parka is thick and incredibly heavy, shielding my frame from the biting draft of the open deployment bay. Printed diagonally across the back in bold, unmistakable white lettering are the words RHODES ISLAND. Wrapped snugly around my neck, resting securely just above the black monitor collar, is a soft, thick woolen scarf that smells faintly of fresh laundry detergent.

"Since this is a short-range mission, you are only provided a tracked vehicle for snowy conditions."

The voice belongs to Miss Whislash. She is a Kuranta, a member of House Nearl who officially joined us as a training instructor shortly after our departure from Kazimierz. She points a gloved finger toward the heavy, armored transport resting in the bay. Her voice carries a bright lilt, yet beneath it lies the undeniable, ringing authority of a seasoned combat instructor. My Arts brush against her ambient presence. She tastes like warm, spiced apple cider sprinkled with sharp cinnamon, entirely wrapped in the smooth, expensive richness of polished leather. It is an encouraging, vibrant flavor. She gives the armored hull a firm, affectionate pat before stepping back to let us board.

I look past the instructor to the team Amiya has assembled for us.

Standing a few paces away is Frostleaf. The Vulpo leans heavily against the long, frozen shaft of her massive halberd. Her expression is completely flat, her eyes half-lidded as she stares blankly at the floor grates. She looks as though she would rather be absolutely anywhere else in the entire world than babysitting a logistics run in the snow. The flavor bleeding off her hits the back of my tongue with a literal, physical chill. It tastes like frozen mint, sharp pine needles, and the lingering, metallic bite of a rusted blade buried deep in the snow. It is completely detached, intensely guarded, and chillingly quiet.

And then, there are the Ursus girls.

Zima stands near the heavy, spiked treads of the snow vehicle. She holds a rugged, terrifyingly heavy fire axe resting carelessly over her shoulder. Her presence is a volatile, aggressive wall that immediately makes the hair on my arms stand on end. She burns the back of my throat like harsh, biting alcohol and blazing firewood, but all of that fire is pressed down by a suffocating, crushing weight of cracked concrete and old iron.

Right beside her is Gummy. She is entirely ignoring Zima's aggressive brooding, happily humming to herself as she double-checks the contents of a large, insulated bag filled to the brim with her signature honey biscuits.

I force myself to offer Gummy a polite, wavering smile. I can still sense the faint, horrifying phantom of the rotting abyss she carries.

I swallow the phantom ash coating my throat. I step just a fraction closer to Podenco, shrinking slightly into my parka.

"Podenco…” I whisper, pitching my voice so only she can hear it over the idling hum of the tracked vehicle's engine. I look at the frosty, detached mercenary and the two deeply traumatized Ursus teenagers who are supposed to be our ultimate shield in the mountains. "…are we really safe?"

Podenco catches the subtle, fearful shrinking of my posture.

"Don't worry, Lethe," Podenco declares, her voice ringing with cheeky, absolute confidence. She gestures grandly toward the front of the vehicle. "I am sure Zima will even punch the Feranmut if she shows up. Right, Zima?"

The Ursus vanguard doesn't hesitate for a single microsecond.

Zima grips the handle of her fire axe, her posture instantly puffing up with aggressive, unapologetic bravado. The volatile, fiery alcohol flavor of her presence flares brightly as she throws a fierce, challenging grin toward the distant, snow-capped peaks.

"Hell yeah!" Zima barks, her voice echoing loudly across the flight deck. "Fer… Feran thing doesn't stand a chance!"

I stare at her. The freezing air of the open deck seems to stall completely in my lungs. She doesn't even know what a Feranmut is.

My mind flashes back to the hushed aisles of the Archives, to Miss Adele's gentle but terrifying explanations of the ancient, divine entities that shape the very earth of Terra. The literal goddess of the mountains that the people of Kjerag worship. And Zima, armed with absolutely nothing but a fire axe and sheer Ursus stubbornness, just confidently threatened to punch her in the face.

I let out a long, pathetic sigh. My horns dip, and my tail gives a resigned, defeated twitch against the floorboards.

I am completely doomed. Resigning to my fate, I clutch my Kazdelian Arts Unit to my chest and carefully climb up into the tracked vehicle.

I settle squarely into the spacious back row. Podenco slides in right beside me, bumping her shoulder playfully against mine, while Gummy takes the seat on my other side. The blonde Ursus girl immediately busies herself with her insulated bag, cheerfully humming a marching tune as she reorganizes her rationa. I press myself back into the upholstery, doing my absolute best to just blend into the seat and avoid drawing any attention to the terrifying, rotting abyss I know is hiding beneath Gummy's cheerful hums.

Outside, Miss Whislash is currently employing her best, most persuasive instructor voice to handle our final deployment hurdle.

"Come now, Frostleaf," Miss Whislash encourages, her melodic tone effortlessly cutting through the biting wind. She claps her hands together, a bright, polished smile on her face. "It's just a short drive to the survey zone! Consider it an exercise in vehicular navigation!"

Frostleaf lets out a heavy, incredibly long-suffering exhale. The freezing mint flavor of her emotional resonance pulses with a distinct note of boredom. She shoots the Kuranta instructor a deadpan stare, looking completely done with the mission before the engine has even turned over.

But she doesn't argue. With a dull clatter, Frostleaf stows her halberd in the external weapon rack and trudges around to the driver's side, practically dragging her boots against the floor.

As Frostleaf hauls her deeply apathetic frame behind the steering wheel, Zima effortlessly vaults into the front passenger seat. The fiery Ursus pulls the heavy armored door shut with a resounding thud that vibrates right through my ribs.

"Buckle up, kids," Frostleaf mutters dryly over her shoulder, her voice utterly devoid of enthusiasm.

The heavy vehicle hums to life, the engine roaring as it prepares to carry us out of the landship and directly into the freezing, snow-blind wilds of Kjerag.

The vehicle rumbles over the frozen terrain, the treads grinding the pristine Kjerag snow into packed ice beneath us. The heater in the cabin is blasting, valiantly combating the freezing mountain air leaking through the reinforced seals, but I still keep my chin tucked securely into the thick woolen scarf mom had provided.

Up front, Zima is already restless. She shifts her weight aggressively in the passenger seat, her boots kicking against the floorboards.

"How much longer?" Zima groans, leaning her head back against the headrest. "If I have to sit in this tin can for another hour, I am going to chop the door off just for some fresh air. There is absolutely nothing out here to fight!"

"Patience, General!" Gummy chirps happily beside me, entirely unfazed by Zima's violent threats against Rhodes Island property.

Gummy reaches into her bag, the crinkle of the packaging loud over the engine's roar.

"We are on a logistics mission! We aren't looking for fights, we are looking for flowers and rocks! And we need energy for that!"

She pulls out a massive, golden-brown honey biscuit. Without warning, she leans forward and practically shoves it directly into Zima's face.

"Eat!" Gummy commands cheerfully.

Zima scowls, she snatches the biscuit from Gummy's hand with a huff. She takes a massive, aggressive bite, grumbling something in Ursine around a mouthful of crumbs.

“Blyat!”

Gummy's bright, bubbly energy doesn't stop at the front seat. She spins around, her hair bouncing with her movements. She pulls out two more biscuits, holding them out to me and Podenco with a wide, beaming smile.

"Here you go! Fresh from the ovens this morning!" Gummy announces, her voice ringing with sheer enthusiasm. "Gummy made sure to add extra honey for Lethe!"

I stare at the biscuit.

I force my hands to uncurl from my artifact. I reach out, taking the warm pastry from her hands.

"Thank you, Gummy," I say, pitching my voice into a soft, grateful chime.

I take a bite.

The thick, golden crust gives way to a soft, pillowy center. The rich, natural sweetness of the honey blooms over my tongue.

"It is really good," I tell her, offering a genuine, unwavering smile. "It's the best kind of sweet, Gummy."

Gummy's face absolutely lights up, her smile stretching from ear to ear as she hands the second biscuit to Podenco, who accepts it with a happy nod.

"What about you, Frostleaf?" Gummy leans as far forward as her seatbelt will allow, waving a fourth biscuit toward the driver's seat. "Gummy has plenty!"

Frostleaf doesn't even turn her head. Her eyes remain locked on the snow-blind horizon. The freezing, detached mint flavor of her presence doesn't thaw a single fraction.

"No," Frostleaf mutters dryly. "I need my hands on the wheel. Eat it yourself."

"Okay! More for Gummy!"

Gummy happily takes a bite of her own biscuit, completely undeterred by the Vulpo's icy rejection. She begins humming a marching tune again, the sound vibrating comfortably through the back seat. The tension in my spine slowly begins to melt. Then, the world violently lurches.

Screech.

The treads of the vehicle lock up completely. The sudden, brutal deceleration defies every law of momentum.

"Oof!"

I am thrown entirely forward, lifted right off the upholstery. My abysmal physical strength makes me completely helpless against the kinetic force. I flail blindly, my horns pitching dangerously toward the back of Zima's seat.

Before I can face-plant into the reinforced leather, an arm snaps across my chest, pinning me securely back against the seat. Podenco and my seatbelt save me from an absolute disaster.

I gasp, my eyes blowing wide as my tail lashes wildly behind me. "Wh… what happened?!" My heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Did we hit something?!"

Up front, Zima is bracing herself against the dashboard, her axe clattering loudly against the chassis. "Hey! Watch the driving, Vulpo!" she barks.

Frostleaf doesn't apologize. She doesn't even flinch. She simply shifts the heavy transport into park, the engine dropping into a low, idling hum. She leans back in the driver's seat, completely unbothered by the fact that she nearly launched her entire team through the windshield.

"We are here," Frostleaf declares flatly.

I carefully slide out of the transport, ensuring my footing is completely secure before letting go of the door frame. Thankfully, I am still in one piece.

My thick winter boots sink into the powder with a satisfying, muffled crunch. The freezing Kjeragi air instantly bites at my cheeks, but beneath mom's meticulously layered winter gear and Miss Lena's hand-woven leg warmers, my core remains wonderfully, perfectly insulated. I pull the soft woolen scarf just a little tighter around my chin and take a deep breath of the crisp, unfiltered alpine air.

I step toward the edge of the snowy ridge and look out.

The view is absolutely breathtaking. Spread out far, far below us is a massive, pristine basin, entirely walled in by the staggering, snow-capped peaks. In the very center lies a sprawling, frozen lake that gleams like polished sapphire under the overcast sky. At the edges of the water, I can just barely make out the tiny, scattered specks of Kjerag's civilization. It looks incredibly peaceful.

Thwack!

A sudden, sharp impact hits me squarely on the very tip of my left horn.

"Ouchie!" I yelp.

I immediately drop my hands from my scarf, bringing both of my thick winter gloves up to clutch my crown.

I whip around, my tail lashing sending a spray of loose powder into the air.

Standing a few paces away is Podenco. Her hands are completely coated in white powder, and a bright, cheeky smirk is plastered across her face. Without missing a beat, she drops to a crouch and starts aggressively packing a second sphere of snow between her gloves.

"Oh! Finally some action!"

Zima's voice booms across the snowy ridge, absolutely dripping with sudden, fierce excitement.

The Ursus vanguard practically abandons her axe, dropping it into the snowbank. She digs her bare hands directly into the freezing powder, scooping up a chunk of snow roughly the size of a melon. With the terrifying, uninhibited physical strength of an Ursus, she winds up and hurls it like a literal artillery shell directly at Gummy.

"Incoming!" Gummy chirps happily.

She doesn't even flinch. With flawless, practiced efficiency, Gummy unholsters the impossibly heavy vault door strapped to her shoulder and slams it directly into the snow in front of her.

Bang.

Zima's massive snowball strikes the reinforced steel plating of the vault door and violently explodes into a blinding cloud of white shrapnel. Gummy peeks out from behind the edge of her impenetrable shield, her round ears twitching as she lets out a bright, ringing laugh.

"Not even a scratch, General!" Gummy cheers.

I watch the Ursus warfare for a second before my attention snaps back to the immediate threat. Podenco is already winding her arm back, her eyes locked dead onto my oversized parka.

"Oh no you don't!" I declare, my Sarkaz pride completely taking over.

I drop into a frantic crouch, my hands desperately grabbing at the snow. I try to pack it together, but my thick winter gloves are clumsy, and the powdery Kjeragi snow just keeps crumbling between my fingers. I finally manage to mash together a sad, lopsided lump of ice.

I stand up, puffing my cheeks out, and lock my eyes onto the smirking Perro. I pull my arm back and throw it with absolutely everything I have.

I put my entire body weight into the throw, perfectly mimicking the aggressive lunging motion I had seen Zima use.

My arm whips forward. The snowball releases.

It arcs pathetically through the cold mountain air, entirely devoid of momentum or velocity. It doesn't even make it halfway to Podenco. It drops harmlessly into the snowbank a full meter away from her boots, exploding into a deeply disappointing little puff of white dust.

The absolute silence that follows is deafening.

I freeze, my arm still outstretched in my throwing stance.

Podenco stares at the tiny crater my snowball left in the snow. She slowly lifts her head. The smirk on her face widens into a massive, victorious grin.

"Was that supposed to hit me, Lethe?" Podenco teases, tossing her own perfectly spherical snowball lightly in her hand. "Because you're going to have to do a lot better than that to defend the logistics team!"

Before I can even mount a proper defense against Podenco's impending retaliation, she suddenly pivots.

With a swift, practiced motion, Podenco hurls her perfectly packed snowball directly at the apathetic driver leaning against the transport.

Frostleaf doesn't even bother to dodge. With a terrifying, casual elegance, she effortlessly twirls the shaft of her halberd. The heavy blade flashes in the fading daylight.

Snick.

The snowball is cleaved perfectly in two in mid-air. One half splatters harmlessly against the armored hull of our tracked vehicle with a dull thump, while the other sails right past Frostleaf's shoulder, disintegrating into the snowbank behind her.

I stare at the Vulpo. That was entirely unfair, but undeniably incredible.

Podenco opens her mouth, likely to complain about the blatant misuse of lethal polearms in a snowball fight, but the words die in her throat.

Podenco completely freezes.

Beside the vehicle, Frostleaf's casual, slumping posture vanishes in a heartbeat. Both of their heads snap toward the sprawling, snow-covered tree line bordering the basin. Podenco's ears and Frostleaf's ears twitch frantically, pivoting like highly calibrated radar dishes as they lock onto a sound completely imperceptible to my own hearing. The Ursine warfare ceases in an absolute instant.

Zima doesn't say a word. She drops the fresh snowball she had been packing, the powder crumbling back into the drift. Her hand instantly drops to the rugged grip of her axe.

Gummy shifts her stance. The bright, bubbly facade she had worn all morning vanishes without a trace. She hefts her vault door, stepping smoothly and silently in front of me to form an impenetrable wall of Ursus steel.

They move forward in perfect, terrifying synchronization, placing their bodies firmly between me and whatever lies hidden in the snow.

My hands wrapping tightly around my Arts Unit. My tail tucks rigidly against my leg. The playful winter wonderland has just shattered. We are Rhodes Island Operators in the untamed wilds of Terra, and we are no longer alone.

The crunch of snow beneath boots breaks the suffocating silence.

From the deep shadows of the snow-draped pine trees, two figures slowly step out into the clearing. They are Zalak, their distinct, bushy tails twitching cautiously behind their thick winter cloaks. Both of their hands are gripping the hilts of drawn swords.

Instantly, Zima lets out a low, guttural growl. Her boots digging deep into the powder. She hefts her fire axe, completely ready to launch herself forward and cleave the strangers in half. Beside her, Gummy's grip tightens on her vault door bracing for the inevitable clash of metal and blood. Frostleaf simply lowers her halberd.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I reach out with my Arts, bracing my stomach for the toxic, acidic sludge of killing intent. I prepare for the rotting taste of scavengers or the rusted iron of malice.

But the empathic influx holds absolutely no malice.

It is a smooth, earthy flavor, like toasted grains and soft, sun-dried leaves. There is caution, but it is entirely devoid of the sharp, metallic bite of hostility or the venomous intent of a battlefield. It is just pure, grounded curiosity.

The male Zalak stops a safe distance away. He doesn't raise his sword to strike. Instead, he lifts his free hand in a slow, deliberate gesture of peace, pointing a finger directly at the thick, woven armband secured around his bicep.

"We are the Browntail clan," the man announces, his voice steady and carrying clearly across the frozen ridge. His eyes sweep over our heavily armed vanguard, lingering respectfully on the bold Rhodes Island logos printed across our gear. "We have no intention to be in conflict with Rhodes Island personnels."

Beside him, the female Zalak visibly relaxes her posture. She lowers the tip of her blade toward the snow, her ears flicking toward the massive, cratered snowbank Zima had just obliterated with her snowball.

"We just heard commotions and come to investigate," she explains, her tone even and completely unthreatening.

I let out a massive, shuddering exhale. The rigid terror in my spine instantly melts away, entirely washed out by the mellow, earthy truth of their emotions. They really just thought they were under attack because of our snowball fight.

I don't hesitate. I step out from the impenetrable, terrifying shadow of Gummy's vault door.

"Wait! Zima, Gummy, it's okay!" I call out, my voice slightly breathless but ringing with absolute certainty. I reach out, gently resting my gloved hand against the cold steel of Gummy's shield to lower it. "They aren't lying. There is no bad taste in the air. They aren't going to hurt us."

The female Zalak’s eyes dart from the Rhodes Island emblem on my parka, up to the horns resting on my crown, and finally to the tail swishing nervously behind my boots.

"Tyfel…" the woman murmurs something in Kjeragi. Her voice is barely a breath, but it carries a heavy tremor of superstitious dread.

The male Zalak steps slightly in front of her, his hand tightening just a fraction on the hilt of his sword. He doesn't draw the blade, but his posture becomes rigid with defensive necessity.

"Do be warned," he says, his tone completely dropping the polite, diplomatic curiosity from moments ago. "We won't welcome you into our settlements.”

“Der Tyfel tar nid ynecho." I can hear the female Zalak whispers to her partner.

Without turning their backs on us, the two Browntail scouts slowly step backward. Their boots crunch against the packed powder as they retreat into the deep, encroaching shadows of the snow-draped pine trees. Within seconds, their silhouettes are entirely swallowed by the Kjeragi wilderness.

But I don't loosen my grip.

I close my eyes, letting my empathy brush against the freezing alpine air. The mellow, toasted grain flavor of their presence hasn't faded. It simply retreated, anchoring itself firmly just beyond the edge of the clearing.

They haven't left. I can sense that they are simply watching us from the tree lines, holding their breath in the freezing cold to make absolutely sure the heavily armed outsiders don't march down into their sacred, secluded basin.

I look down at my thick winter boots, the sting of their rejection burning the back of my throat. To them, I am not a palliative care assistant trying to find mountain flowers. I am exactly a devil of old.

"Tch. Trusy."

Zima spits the word into the snow. She rests her axe threateningly over her shoulder, glaring directly at the pine trees. "We didn't want to see your stupid tents anyway!" Frostleaf doesn't say a single word. The Vulpo simply shifts her weight, her halberd resting casually in her grip. But her eyes are locked dead onto the exact cluster of pines where the Zalak are hiding.

The heavy, uncomfortable silence is abruptly shattered by a sharp clap.

"Let's go gather samples!" Podenco declares.

She turns to me, offering a wide, encouraging smile.

Podenco marches over to the tracked vehicle and pulls out a rugged, insulated containment case and her specialized trowel.

"Come on, Lethe," Podenco calls out, waving me over. "Amiya went through a lot of administrative red tape to get us this logistics run. We cannot go back to Dr. Kal'tsit completely empty-handed. We need to find something interesting before the sun goes down!"

I take a slow, shaky breath. The freezing air fills my lungs. I force my chin up, deliberately pulling my eyes away from the tree line where the Browntail scouts are hiding. I have my own family right here.

"Okay, Podenco," I reply, my voice steadying as I hurry over to her side.

Gummy instantly falls into step right behind us. She hefts her vault door, casually humming her a new tune as she acts as our personal, impenetrable Ursus shield.

"Gummy will help look!" she chirps happily, her eyes scanning the snowbanks. "Maybe we can find some sweet mountain berries for the biscuits!"

We carefully step away from the ridge and begin our trek along the perimeter of the ridges. The snow is incredibly deep, forcing me to lift my knees high with every step. I keep my Arts Unit held securely against my chest, entirely focused on the pristine white powder and the scattered, resilient patches of alpine vegetation clinging to the rocks.

"Look for anything with thick, waxy leaves or dark stems, Lethe," Podenco instructs, kneeling in the snow to inspect a buried root system. "Plants up here have to be incredibly hardy to survive the altitude. If we can cultivate them in the new micro- climate pods back in the garden, Miss Lena will be thrilled!"

"I'm looking!" I promise, dropping to a crouch beside her, determined to make this snowy expedition an absolute success.

I shuffle a few paces away from a rocky outcrop. The wind howls across the ridge, my eyes scanning the desolate landscape, desperately searching for any break in the endless white.

Then, I see it.

Tucked securely into a narrow fissure between two frost-rimmed stones is a tiny, defiant splash of color. It is a fragile-looking flower, its petals a pale, yet striking violet, surrounded by thick, silvery leaves coated in a fine, velvety fuzz. It is clinging to life with an incredible, stubborn resilience against the harsh elements.

"Podenco, Podenco! Look!" I call out, dropping carefully to my knees in the snow. I point a thickly gloved finger at the fissure, my voice ringing with absolute, genuine excitement. "What is this called?"

The crunch of snow signals her rapid approach.

"Oh!" Podenco gasps, dropping into a crouch right beside me. She leans in close, her eyes wide with academic delight. "It's an Alpine Frost-bell! They only bloom at incredibly high altitudes, and they usually stay completely hidden beneath the snowdrifts until the spring thaws."

She turns to me, her bright smile radiating a wave of pure, unfiltered pride. "What a find, Lethe! Miss Lena is going to be so impressed!"

A warm, bubbling thrill blooms directly in the center of my chest. I actually did it. I contributed to the garden.

Podenco doesn't waste a single second. She pulls her specialized trowel and a reinforced, temperature-controlled terrarium from her bag. She works with meticulous, breathless care, digging a wide, precise circle around the base of the plant to ensure she doesn't sever or shock its fragile root network.

The afternoon flies by in a comfortable, productive rhythm. The freezing air bites at my nose, making it tingle, but the steady pace of our botanical gathering keeps the cold from settling into my bones.

A short distance away, Gummy is wading through a dense snowdrift, humming a cheerful, upbeat folk tune. She has found a cluster of hardy, dark-leafed bushes and is happily plucking small, frost-coated mountain berries, dropping them into her insulated bag.

Zima, on the other hand, is completely out of her element. With no enemies to fight and no immediate danger to confront, her restless, fiery energy has absolutely nowhere to go. Every few minutes, she unleashes a frustrated, guttural grunt and delivers a devastating, full-force kick to the trunk of a nearby pine tree, sending massive clumps of accumulated snow crashing down onto the powder below just to vent her boredom. And then there is Frostleaf.

The Vulpo is leaning casually against a pine tree, her weapon resting within arm's reach. She has her headphones pulled up over her ears, her eyes half-lidded, seemingly entirely absorbed in her music.

But her casual, slouching posture is a perfect, lethal lie.

Beneath the steady beat of her music, her vulpine ears are constantly, almost imperceptibly twitching. Her eyes haven't drifted from the dense, snow-draped tree line for a single second, tracking the exact coordinates where the two Zalak scouts had retreated earlier. She is completely ignoring the snowy playtime of the team, entirely focused on being our silent, uncompromising shield against the dark of the woods.

"It is getting late," Frostleaf states.

She pulls her headphones down to rest around her neck. Her eyes scan the darkening, snow-draped tree line one last time."The temperature is dropping. We need to go soon." I look up. The twilight purple of the sky is rapidly melting into a deep, velvet indigo. Above the towering peaks of the mountains, the ethereal light of Terra's twin moons begins to bleed through the clouds, Arts Unit long, silvery shadows across the untouched powder of the basin.

The logistics run is over. But a sudden, fierce reluctance bubbles up in my chest.

"I want to build a snowman, before we go!" I declare, my voice ringing out clearly across the frozen ridge. My tail gives a rapid, pleading swish against the thick snow.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Zima abandons her assault on the pine tree. She spins around, planting her hands on her hips.

"A snowman?" Zima barks, a wide, aggressive grin stretching across her face. She cracks her knuckles, the sound sharp in the cold. "Move aside, kid. You're going to see how Ursus builds."

Gummy doesn't miss a beat. She securely seals her bag of mountain berries and bounces over, her boots kicking up sprays of white powder.

"Gummy will make the biggest base!" she cheers. I force myself to ignore the phantom taste of her trauma, focusing entirely on her bright, beaming smile.

The two Ursus girls immediately go to work, and it is a display of terrifying, uninhibited physical strength. They drop to their knees and begin rolling snow with effortless efficiency. Boulders of packed ice that I wouldn't even be able to budge are hoisted into the air and slammed together by Zima and Gummy in mere seconds.

I scramble frantically around the perimeter. I try to gather sturdy, fallen pine branches for the arms. I scoop up handfuls of loose powder to smooth out the edges between the massive snow boulders, desperately contributing to the construction.

A few paces away, Podenco doesn't join the frantic, snowy warfare. She stands safely near the open doors of the transport, carefully cradling her temperature-controlled terrariums filled with the precious Alpine Frost-bells. She watches our chaotic, breathless teamwork with a light, fond smile, entirely content to guard our botanical spoils.

"Done!" Zima declares, stepping back and dusting the freezing powder from her hands with a proud, heavy huff.

I step back.

The snowman is massive. It is slightly lopsided due to Zima's aggressive packing methods, and it leans precariously against the wind, but it stands tall and proud. I step forward, carefully jamming the two thick pine branches into its sides to give it arms. I look at the stick hands and the sturdy, round body glowing faintly under the twin moons.

"Something is missing…” I murmur, tilting my head as I inspect our creation.

I pull off my right glove, ignoring the immediate, biting sting of the freezing wind against my bare hand. I step right up to the massive sphere of packed snow serving as its chest. I press my index finger deep into the icy surface.

Carefully, I trace the outline of a rook. I carve the bold, distinct lines of the Rhodes Island emblem directly into the frost, making sure the logo sits squarely over where its heart would be.

I look up at Zima, Gummy, Podenco, and Frostleaf. A massive, brilliant smile breaks across my face, the sheer warmth in my chest entirely defying the freezing mountain air.

"This is a Rhodes Island snowman," I announce proudly. "He is one of us."

After we take a picture with the snowman including a very reluctant Frostleaf, we enter our vehicle once more.

The rumble of the all-terrain vehicle devours the dark, snow-swept track back to the landship. The ride back is significantly quieter. The adrenaline of the snowball fight and the brief, tense standoff with the scouts has completely burned itself out, leaving a heavy, comfortable exhaustion hanging in the heated cabin.

Even Zima’s relentless energy has been spent ever so slightly. She leans her head against the cold glass of the window, her eyes closed, while Gummy hums a soft, sleepy melody beside me.

I lean my head against Podenco's shoulder.

Before the massive, towering silhouette of our home even breaks through the dark night, I can feel it. The deep hum of Rhodes Island’s engines vibrates through the frozen earth, traveling straight up through the chassis of the vehicle and into my bones. It is the steady, mechanical heartbeat of our sanctuary. After hours in the vast, untamed barrens, that deep vibration feels undeniably, profoundly safe.

The vehicle lurches slightly as its treads hit the reinforced steel of the deployment ramp. We roll smoothly into the cavernous, brightly lit deployment bay, the engine whining down to a halt.

I reach for the door handle, a tired but victorious smile on my lips. We found the mountain flowers. We built our Rhodes Island snowman. We survived the cold.

But the exact moment the armored door pops open, my smile completely shatters. The ambient air in the deployment bay is wrong. The comforting scent of machine grease and melting snow is instantly, entirely swallowed by a catastrophic drop in temperature. It doesn’t come from the winter outside. It is a crushing, ancient stillness. A freezing, immovable glacier.

I swallow hard. I clutch my staff tightly to my chest and slowly step out of the cabin, my winter boots hitting the floor with a hesitant thud.

Standing just a few paces away from the transport, bathed in the harsh, clinical lights of the hangar, is Dr. Kal’tsit.

Her crisp coat is immaculate, her hands are folded neatly behind her, and her piercing green eyes are locked directly onto me. She radiates a terrifying, uncompromising authority that makes the massive deployment bay feel as small and suffocating as a quarantine ward.

Standing right beside her is Amiya.

Our young CEO looks incredibly nervous. Her ears are drooping slightly, and her hands are clasped tightly together in front of her jacket. When she meets my wide, terrified eyes, Amiya offers me a weak, deeply apologetic smile. The sweet flavor of her presence is stretched paper-thin, laced with a faint, anxious static of burnt caramel. I shrink back against the armored hull of the transport, the freezing dread completely overriding the lingering warmth of the vehicle's heater.

Zima steps past me, completely oblivious to the suffocating psychic pressure.

"Tch. Bureaucrats," Zima mutters under her breath. She doesn't even spare the Medical Director a second glance as she marches off, entirely unbothered by the freezing glacier standing in our path. Frostleaf follows silently in her wake, her face an unreadable mask of exhaustion.

But I cannot just walk away. I am an Operator of the Medical Department, and my ultimate superior is standing right in front of me.

Dr. Kal'tsit takes a single, measured step forward. The sharp click of her heels echoes like a strike across the cavernous deployment bay.

"I trust this heavily expedited, highly irregular logistics excursion yielded tangible results, Lethe," Dr. Kal'tsit states. Her voice is completely flat, devoid of any inflection.

"Rhodes Island does not expend fuel, maintenance hours, and Field Ops escorts simply to facilitate recreational snow play in foreign territories."

Amiya winces visibly, her ears drooping further as she clutches her hands tightly together.

I swallow.

I look at Amiya, and then at the freezing glacier standing before me. Amiya had stuck her neck out, bending the administrative rules to give me this trip. If I just cower and admit it was entirely an excuse to build a snowman, Dr. Kal'tsit will never authorize a shore pass for me again, and Amiya will be reprimanded.

I force my spine as straight as possible.

"It wasn't just play, Dr. Kal'tsit," I declare, my voice steady.

I turn my head, looking back at the tracked vehicle. "Podenco! Gummy!"

Podenco steps out from behind the armored door. In her hands, she carefully holds the terrarium.

Gummy bounds down the ramp right beside her, her vault door clanking against her back. The Ursus girl is completely unfazed by the Medical Director's terrifying emotional resonance, her bubbly, fabricated sunshine radiating warmly as she holds up her bulging bag.

I step forward, gesturing to the terrarium in Podenco's hands.

"We secured uncontaminated, high-altitude flora," I explain, looking directly into Dr. Kal'tsit's eyes. "Podenco successfully excavated intact root systems of the Alpine Frost- bells. They are incredibly rare, highly resilient plants that only bloom in extreme conditions."

I take a small breath, desperately channeling the academic cadence I had learned from Ms. Skyfire. "They are the perfect specimens to test the calibration of Ms. Closure's new micro-climate pods in the Convalescent Garden. Miss Lena can study their cellular resistance to cold for potential medicinal applications."

Dr. Kal'tsit's eyes shift from my face to the pale violet petals resting securely behind the glass. She doesn't say a word, but her ears give a tiny, calculating twitch.

"And that is not all," I press on, gesturing toward Gummy.

Gummy happily unzips her bag, revealing a massive haul of mountain berries.

"Gummy harvested these from the outer ridges," I report, keeping my tone perfectly professional. "They are rich in natural vitamins and antioxidants. Fresh, uncontaminated mountain berries are a vital dietary supplement."

I grip my staff, planting my feet firmly on the deck. "We accomplished the mission parameters, Dr. Kal'tsit. We brought back vital logistics for the Medical Department." The cavernous deployment bay falls entirely silent.

The only sound is the low, idling hum of the landship's engines and the distant clatter of logistics Operators. I stand there, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, waiting for the executioner's blade to fall. I wait for her to tear apart my flimsy medical justifications.

Instead. Slowly, the catastrophic, freezing drop in the ambient air ceases. The glacier doesn't melt, but the sharp, punitive edge of her presence dulls into a neutral, indifferent calm.

"The acquisition of uncontaminated, high-altitude botanical specimens is an acceptable return on the vehicular expenditure," Dr. Kal'tsit finally states. Her voice remains perfectly flat. "Ensure the Frost-bells are immediately transferred to Perfumer's containment pods. The nutritional yields are to be processed by the cafeteria staff under Medical Department’s dietary guidelines."

I let out a microscopic, shuddering exhale. She bought it.

"Yes, Dr. Kal'tsit," I reply, offering her a crisp, respectful bow.

"You are dismissed, Lethe," Dr. Kal'tsit commands. She turns smoothly on her heel. Without another word, she marches away toward the administrative elevators, leaving us standing in the wake of her terrifying presence.

The absolute second the elevator doors seal shut behind her, the entire atmosphere of the deployment bay violently shatters.

The burnt caramel static radiating from Amiya instantly dissolves, exploding into a massive, blindingly bright wave of pure, spun-sugar relief. Our CEO completely slumps forward, letting out a long, breathless laugh.

"You did it, Lethe!" Amiya gasps. She rushes forward, her eyes shining with absolute, unadulterated pride. "That was brilliant! You sounded exactly like a proper medical researcher!"

Podenco lets out a loud, highly exaggerated sigh of relief, leaning heavily against the armored hull of the transport. "I thought she was going to confiscate my terrariums and put us on janitorial duty for a month," she laughs.

Even Gummy cheers, holding her bag of berries high into the air. "Victory for the logistics team!"

I finally loosen my death grip. My knees wobble slightly from the sheer adrenaline crash, but a massive, unstoppable grin breaks across my face. My tail, which had been frozen in terror, uncoils and begins to wag with a frantic, joyful rhythm.

I let out a long, contented sigh, my shoulders dropping as I reach into my bag. My fingers brush against my communicator. I pull it out, waking the screen with a quick tap, and navigate to the photo gallery.

"Look, Amiya," I murmur, stepping closer to our CEO. I hold the glowing screen out toward her.

The image on the screen is perfectly imperfect. It captures the massive, slightly lopsided snowman standing proudly against the breathtaking backdrop of the Kjeragi mountains. Zima is standing next to it, her arms crossed and a fierce, triumphant grin plastered across her face. Gummy is holding up her bag of berries with a wide, beaming smile. Podenco stands tall, cradling her precious terrarium, while Frostleaf lingers at the very edge of the frame, looking entirely apathetic but undeniably present. And right in the center, wrapped in my parka, I am pointing proudly to the Rhodes Island rook carved directly into the snowman's icy chest.

Amiya leans in to look at the screen. The exhaustion shadowing her features melts away. Her long ears perk straight up, and a radiant, beautiful smile breaks across her face. The ambient air in the deployment bay sweetens instantly.

"It is wonderful, Lethe," Amiya says softly, her eyes shining with genuine affection. "You all did such a great job. He really looks like one of us."

I lower the communicator. "Is Rosmontis on the landship right now?" I ask, looking up at her hopefully.

Amiya nods, her smile softening. "Yes, she is, Lethe. She is resting in her quarters after her morning training."

"Because…" I quickly tap the screen again, pulling up the encrypted messaging channel. I look at the frantic, excited string of texts I had received just before we hit the deployment bay. "Lisa just messaged me! She said she found a Karlan Trade outpost near the borders. She bought a big pot of the cheese fondue and a whole pile of the sweet milk-fudges! We are going to have the picnic in the Convalescent Garden tonight."

I look up at Amiya, my eyes wide and pleading. "I wonder if you and Rosmontis want to join us? Miss Lena is going to make tea."

Amiya's eyes widen slightly in surprise, before her radiant smile returns in full force. The sheer, unadulterated relief of a quiet, safe evening with friends practically glows around her.

"Of course, Lethe!" Amiya chimes, her voice ringing with a light, musical bounce. "We would love to come. I will go get her right now and let her know."

"Okay!" I beam, my heart fluttering with excitement.

I turn around as I look for the Ursus girls. Zima is already marching toward the armory to stow her axe, but Gummy is still lingering near the tracked vehicle, securing the straps on her insulated bag.

I jog over to her.

"Gummy," I call out gently, mindful not to startle her. "What about you and Zima? Lisa got a huge pot of melted cheese and sweets from Kjerag. Do you guys want to come to the garden with us?"

Gummy turns around, her cheeks flushed and her bright, bubbly energy firmly in place.

"Ah! That sounds so yummy, Lethe!" Gummy chirps, offering me an energetic wave. "But Gummy cannot tonight. The U.S.S.G. already has plans! We are going to make a big dinner together in the dorms!"

A fleeting pang of disappointment settling in my chest. It would have been nice to share the warmth of the garden with her after the snowball fight.

"Aww," I murmur, my tail slumping slightly. But I force my chin up, offering her a bright, understanding smile. I know how important her routine is. "Okay then. I'll make sure to save some milk-fudges for you, Zima, and Rosa for later!"

"Thank you, Lethe! Enjoy the cheese!" Gummy cheers, giving me one last, beaming nod before she turns and happily skips away toward the residential blocks.

I watch her go, before turning back to Amiya and Podenco. We have a garden to prepare, and a mountain of melted cheese waiting for us.

Amiya offers a lingering smile. With a final wave, she turns and hurries down the corridor, her loafers clicking softly as she heads toward the residential blocks to fetch Rosmontis.

I watch her go, before turning back to Podenco.

"Let's get these to Miss Lena," Podenco says, carefully shifting her grip on the temperature-controlled terrarium.

I nod eagerly. We make our way through the landship's hallways, our steps quick and purposeful. The biting chill of the winds we had braved earlier feels like a distant memory, replaced entirely by the mounting, bubbling anticipation in my chest.

As we step into the sensor's range, the doors of the Convalescent Garden slide apart. A completely different, overwhelmingly rich aroma physically assaults my senses.

It is the thick, savory, and undeniably indulgent smell of bubbling, melted mountain cheese. It entirely overpowers the delicate floral scents of the greenhouse, wrapping around me like a heavy, warm blanket. My mouth waters instantly, my stomach giving a loud, demanding rumble that I cannot even pretend to hide.

I step fully into the sanctuary.

The central seating area has been completely transformed. Resting squarely in the middle of the wooden table is a portable thermal burner, and sitting atop it is a massive, heavy pot. The golden cheese fondue bubbles lazily, sending thick, mouth-watering plumes of steam into the canopy above. Arranged meticulously around the bubbling pot are towering platters of roasted vegetables, cured meats, and thick, crusty chunks of rustic bread.

Gathered around the feast is my entire world.

Mom is standing near the edge of the table, setting out a stack of small ceramic plates. She has shed her gears for the evening, looking incredibly relaxed.

Miss Lena is pouring steaming water into her teapot at her nearby counter.

And right beside the table is Lisa. She is practically vibrating, her tails fanning out in a frantic, joyous blur.

Sitting quietly on the wooden bench next to her is Opal. She is wearing a soft, comfortable sweater, her hands wrapped securely around her plushie. Looking entirely comfortable.

I stand at the edge of the path. The sheer, overwhelming safety of this room, filled with the people who pulled me from the dark and gave me a reason to live, makes my heart swell until it physically aches.

I stretch my face into the widest, most radiant smile I can possibly muster.

"Hi everyone!" I call out, my voice chiming happily through the rustling ferns.

The chorus of warm greetings washes over me, a beautiful, overlapping symphony of joy.

Mom laughs, her feathers fluffing up with absolute fondness as she watches me practically vibrate with anticipation. Lisa waves enthusiastically, while Opal offers another small, shy wave of her plushie’s paw. Podenco brushes past me, heading straight for Miss Lena to proudly present her perfectly preserved Alpine Frost-bell. But my attention is entirely, completely hijacked by the portable thermal burner in the center of the table.

The rich, savory aroma of the bubbling Kjeragi cheese is absolutely intoxicating. After a long, freezing day in the snowy barrens the promise of melted, indulgent perfection is simply too much to resist.

I completely abandon all pretense of patience.

I drop my Arts Unit near the edge of the bench, letting it clatter softly against the wood. I grab one of the long, specialized forks resting on the table, spear a thick, crusty chunk of bread, and plunge it directly into the bubbling pot of golden cheese.

I pull it out. Thick, gooey strings of melted cheese stretch and snap, clinging beautifully to the crust.

I open my mouth wide and take a massive, ambitious bite.

The regret is instantaneous and violent.

"Hff!"

The cheese isn't just warm; it is practically liquid lava. It sears the roof of my mouth and clings stubbornly to my tongue.

"Hot! Hot, hot, hot!" I yelp, a muffled, panicked squeal tearing out of my throat.

My eyes blow completely wide, instantly watering from the searing heat. I drop the long fork back onto the plate with a sharp clatter and frantically start fanning my open mouth with both of my hands. I hop awkwardly from foot to foot in an uncoordinated, frantic little dance, my tail lashing wildly behind me in sheer distress as I try to pull cool air into my burning mouth.

Mom gasps, immediately reaching for a glass of cold water, while Lisa covers her mouth with a startled giggle.

Right in the absolute middle of my frantic, hot-cheese flailing, the doors of the garden hiss and slide apart.

I freeze.

I am caught completely mid-hop. My hands are still hovering awkwardly near my open mouth, my eyes are watering, and my cheeks are puffed out ridiculously as I try to desperately cool the molten cheese.

Stepping into the humid, earthy sanctuary is Amiya.

Walking silently right beside her is Rosmontis.

The Feline stops. She looks at the beautifully arranged picnic, the bubbling pot of cheese, and then her focus locks directly onto my frozen, flailing posture.

The garden falls perfectly, heavily quiet, save for the bubbling of the fondue pot.

Rosmontis blinks. Her expression remains entirely flat, completely devoid of any outward inflection.

"Lethe looks funny," Rosmontis states.

Her voice is perfectly steady.

The sheer, unapologetic bluntness of it completely shatters the silence.

Podenco bursts into a bright, ringing laugh, nearly dropping the terrarium she was showing to Miss Lena. Amiya slaps both of her hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as a helpless giggle escapes her lips. Even Opal’s ears twitch, a tiny, fractured sound of amusement bubbling out from behind her plushie.

I finally manage to swallow the semi-cooled cheese with a difficult, painful gulp.

A hot, prickly flush of absolute embarrassment instantly crashes over my face, burning all the way up to the tips of my horns. I drop my hands from my mouth, balling them into indignant fists at my sides, and fix the Elite Ops with my absolute fiercest pout.

"Hey!" I whine loudly, my voice echoing defensively across the garden. "It was hot!"

"Drink, Lethe," mom chuckles softly, stepping forward and pressing the cold glass of water into my hands. Her eyes are crinkling with profound, unadulterated joy. "You need to blow on it first. You are a Djall, not a Draco."

I take a frantic, greedy gulp of the freezing water, letting it soothe my scorched tongue while the overlapping, warm laughter of my family and friends fills the entire sanctuary. The searing pain on the roof of my mouth finally dulls to a manageable throb, cooled by the water and the lingering, sweet relief of the milk-fudges Lisa had triumphantly unpacked.

The garden is a sanctuary of golden light and overlapping warmth. The savory aroma of the bubbling cheese has mellowed, mingling beautifully with the earthy scent of damp soil and Miss Lena’s freshly steeped chamomile.

I sit back in my chair, wrapping my hands loosely around a warm teacup, and just watch.

A few paces away, mom leans against the edge of the botanical counter, sharing a quiet, continuous conversation with Miss Lena. The ambient air around them is a breathtaking, harmonious blend. It tastes of rich, protective honey swirling seamlessly into the serene, calming notes of warm lavender. They speak in hushed murmurs, exchanging the kind of exhausted, profound understanding that only two Medics who have stared down Catastrophes can share.

"Alright! The properties are sorted!"

Lisa’s bright, chiming voice cuts through the gentle hum of the garden. She practically bounces in her seat. She has already cleared the empty fondue plates to the side, aggressively unfolding the massive, colorful board of Pioneers of Columbia right in the center of our table.

"I call the blue pieces!" Podenco declares immediately, sliding into the chair next to Lisa. The citrusy, yuzu flavor of her presence bubbles with a sharp, highly competitive carbonation. She points a challenging finger across the board. "And I am not going easy on any of you just because we had a nice dinner."

Amiya giggles, a sound that tastes like pure, unadulterated spun-sugar, entirely free of the grey, bureaucratic dust that usually shadows her. She takes a seat, gently guiding Rosmontis to the chair beside her. Our Feline friend simply stares at the colorful paper currency, her ears giving a tiny, curious twitch.

Even Opal leans in. The Cautus girl is nestled safely between my chair and the edge of the table, her Amiya plushie resting securely in her lap. She watches Lisa distribute the plastic houses, her eyes reflecting the golden light of the thermal burner.

I look at all of them.

My fingers drop to my lap, lightly brushing against the fabric of my crossbody bag where my digital slate rests securely. Inside that sleek metal chassis are the distilled, carefully typed paragraphs of my entire existence. The absolute pillars I use to anchor myself when the Oripathy burns another bridge in my mind.

I look at mom’s soft smile. I look at Lisa’s radiant joy.

The truth is a heavy, quiet weight in my chest, but it no longer carries the suffocating terror it once did. The black crystals in my temporal lobe are going to keep consuming. I may not remember the exact, smoke-choked day mom pulled me from the rubble of Kazdel. I already forget the precise moment I first tasted Miss Lena’s tea, or the first time Lisa wrapped her tails around me to chase away the cold. The origin points of my life are bleeding out into the dark.

I may eventually forget why I chose to love them so fiercely.

But as the overlapping symphony of their emotions washes over me: the honey, the sugar, the lavender, the bright citrus, and the crisp starlight; I realize it doesn't matter. I don't need the past to justify the profound, overwhelming love expanding in my chest right now. The feelings are woven directly into my blood, anchored deeper than any fragile memory.

I turn my head slightly, looking past the hanging ferns toward the blast doors of the garden.

The world outside our home is still a nightmare. It is a sprawling, unforgiving expanse plagued by howling Catastrophes and deadly Oripathy. The Empires still march across the frozen tundras and neon-lit arenas, entirely willing to let the Infected die in the freezing dark just to fuel their unrelenting machines. Terra is brutal, and it will keep trying to break us.

I reach down and pick up my Arts Unit once more, my fingers curling securely around the smooth shaft.

I am a Rhodes Island Operator.

As long as I am standing here, surrounded by the people who willingly walk into the fires to shield the innocent, the dark doesn't feel so absolute.

I look back at the table. Amiya catches my eye, offering me a brilliant, unwavering smile. I stretch my face into a massive, radiant grin, pushing myself up from my chair to join the chaotic, joyful fray of the board game.

I have a tomorrow. And as long as Rhodes Island keeps moving forward, the world has a tomorrow, too.