December, 1098

My slate tells me it is 2nd of December now.

I sit on the edge of the sheets, my legs dangling just a few centimeters above the floor of the medical ward.

I look to my bedside tray. Resting quietly next to my water cup is my Arts Unit. It is a sleek, black shaft topped with misty blue liquid suspended within intersecting, matte black magnetic halos. PRTS data streams faintly across the metal in the dim light. It is my shield, my anchor, and apparently it was very expensive according to Closure.

The pneumatic doors of the ward slide open with a sharp, pressurized hiss.

The absolute second the seal breaks, a highly distinct flavor bleeds into the sterile air.

Dr. Warfarin strides into the room. The Vampire medic taps her datapad with a sharp, manicured fingernail, her piercing eyes locking onto my sitting form.

"Well, look who is finally vacating my ward," Dr. Warfarin remarks, her voice dry and entirely clinical. "Your vitals are stable, your Oripathy hasn't spontaneously liquefied your nervous system, and your blood is safely documented. You are officially getting discharged, little anomaly. Which means you are finally no longer my problem."

I open my mouth to thank her.

But before a single syllable can leave my throat, a second figure steps through the threshold.

The ambient air in the medical ward instantaneously plummets to absolute zero. The flavor crashing into my empathic channels is a towering, immovable monument of iron and old paper, feeling exactly like a freezing glacier. It is so heavy, so ancient, and so terrifyingly absolute that my breath completely catches in my lungs.

Dr. Kal'tsit.

She steps into the harsh, multi-paned surgical light. I take in her appearance: she is a Feline, with pale, mint-green hair framing a strikingly severe face and sharp feline ears resting upon her crown. She wears an asymmetrical, off-the-shoulder white coat draped over a pale green tunic, her posture radiating an uncompromising, absolute authority.

Her piercing green eyes fix directly onto me.

"Pleasantries are unnecessary," Kal'tsit states. Her voice is incredibly level, slicing through the room with the clinical precision of a surgical scalpel.

I completely freeze, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

"Your recent abduction by the Confessarii and subsequent retention within the occupied capital of Londinium constituted a severe operational compromise," Kal'tsit begins, her words flowing in a dense, unbroken stream. "The forced extraction required the deployment of multiple Elite Ops into a highly volatile Catastrophe-struck zone, risking a decapitating strike against Rhodes Island's command structure. Your pureblood Djall lineage and unique empathic Arts present a geopolitical vulnerability that the Military Commission sought to exploit as a psychological weapon against the resistance and Rhodes Island."

I shrink back slightly.

But Dr. Kal'tsit does not stop. She takes a deliberate step closer to my bed, her freezing, glacial resonance showing absolutely no signs of thawing.

"However, the field reports filed by Elite Ops Logos, Blaze, and Raidian detail an unprecedented evolution in your Originium Arts," Kal'tsit continues, her tone shifting into a dense, academic evaluation. "You have demonstrated the capacity to actively synthesize and manifest ambient emotional trauma into tangible, autonomous Arts Creations. Notably, the physical illusions and the defensive entity you manifested in the Victorian wastelands. This indicates a stabilization of your neural pathways and a significant offensive potential that far exceeds your previous parameters in palliative care."

I stare at her, my eyes completely wide. The sheer volume of her speech, layered with complex jargon and uncompromising logic, is washing over me like a tidal wave.

"Given the escalating hostility of the geopolitical climate and your proven capacity to neutralize elite Confessarii units, confining you to the Convalescent Garden is an inefficient allocation of your defensive capabilities," Kal'tsit states, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You are therefore authorized to be considered for frontline deployment on combat missions when necessary. This integration would be conducted under the strict tutelage and supervision of our Elite Ops to ensure your neural pathways do not succumb to tactical overload."

Kal'tsit finally pauses, her ears twitching just a fraction in the sterile air.

"This authorization is entirely contingent upon your own volition. We do not conscript those who are no longer willing to kill. You will only be deployed if you will it."

Silence falls over the medical ward.

I just sit there on the bed, completely and utterly paralyzed. My brain desperately tries to process the labyrinthine, five-minute dissertation she just delivered.

Dr. Warfarin lets out a long sigh. She crosses her arms over her chest, the metallic buzz of her predatory curiosity flashing with sheer amusement.

"She is offering you a promotion to combat roles," Dr. Warfarin translates, staring at my frozen, completely overwhelmed expression. "If you want, little anomaly."

My fingers twist frantically into the fabric of the sheets.

Combat deployment.

The last time I stood on a battlefield, I was draped in Kazdelian iron, commanding a Fear Beast to tear through the minds of terrified innocents. Dr. Kal'tsit is offering me the chance to wield that same power again… but this time, by my own choice, to protect the people of Rhodes Island.

I look at the uncompromising Feline. I cannot make this choice alone. Not when my hands are still stained with the memories of Londinium.

"I… I need to talk to Amiya…" I look down at my hands. "…and Rosmontis… Erika, Lisa, Podenco… Eleanor, Adele… everyone…"

I need to know if they would even want a monster like me standing beside them.

Dr. Kal'tsit’s expression does not shift.

She simply gives a slow, deliberate nod.

"I acknowledge," Kal'tsit says, her voice carrying that same surgical, unyielding calm. "I will await your final decision."

Beside her, the Vampire gives a sharp, theatrical sigh.

"Before you go consult half of the Operators on this metal box just to ask if you should be allowed to camp outside ever again," Dr. Warfarin interrupts, her tone slicing effortlessly through the room. "Hibiscus is going to come and pick out a new uniform for you. See what you can afford at the other Vampire’s."

I blink. "Closure…?"

"Exactly," Dr. Warfarin remarks. She turns on her heel. "Anyways, little anomaly, you can always visit me… only if you want to donate your exquisite blood."

Without waiting for a response, the Vampire strides out of the room. The door opens and shuts, swallowing her predatory flavor entirely.

I am left alone with Dr. Kal'tsit once more.

The supreme commander of Rhodes Island does not immediately follow the Vampire.

She simply lingers near the foot of my bed. In the quiet, clinical hum of the life-support monitors, her absolute-zero presence sits heavily in the air. I can faintly taste the ancient, crushing weight she carries.

She looks at me for a long, quiet moment. There is no judgment in her piercing green eyes. Only an immense, unending patience.

Then, without another word, Kal'tsit turns her back. Her coat sweeps gracefully over the polished floor panels as she exits the ward, the doors sealing shut behind her.

I sit completely alone in the medical ward.

For three long minutes, the only sound is the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the landship's engines vibrating beneath the floor. I look over at my bedside tray. Resting right next to my water cup is my Arts Unit.

It is a weapon. It is a shield. It is entirely up to me what it becomes next.

The pneumatic doors hiss open again, breaking the suffocating quiet.

The absolute second the seal breaks, a wave of profound, unquestionable safety floods me. It is a sweet, concentrated burst of floral nectar, perfectly and flawlessly balanced by the sharp, clearing bite of medicinal eucalyptus.

Hibiscus walks briskly into the room. Her dark purple uniform is immaculate, and her smile is radiant, carrying her usual, no-nonsense warmth.

"Well, Lita," Hibiscus says brightly, clasping her hands together as she approaches my bed. "Looks like you can go back to your dorm soon. Come, let’s get you dressed up."

I slip out of white hospital bed, my soft slippers hitting the floor panels. I follow her out. The brushed-metal corridors of the landship are bustling with activity. As we walk, my ears catch the low murmur of voices echoing near a junction.

There are a few operators discussing rumors. A Perro, a Liberi, and a Phidia stand clustered together, their expressions serious.

"Did you hear? Duke of Wellington’s blockade on Na Saoirsí has ended," the Perro murmurs, his tail completely still.

"Yeah, the capital of Tara, right?" The Liberi nods, leaning in closer. "Apparently the radical factions of the Dublinn forces are wiped out. It is a miracle they lasted three months after their heavy losses in Londinium after Military Commission double crossed them."

"Well," the Phidia sighs, crossing her arms. "Basically none of the major powers acknowledged Taran independence. Perhaps the Duke is just bringing it back to the de facto control of Victoria?"

"Hopefully there won’t be more wars there," the Perro adds, his voice dropping into a heavy, tired register.

My soft slippers falter against the metal floor.

I look down at my hands. The words echo in my head, dragging my mind right back to the ruins of Londinium. The sheer, staggering scale of the world's endless conflicts presses down on my shoulders. Grand Dukes, blockades, radical forces, entire armies moving across the map just to tear each other apart…

A hand gently rests on my shoulder.

"Just focus on what you want to get for your uniform, Lita," Hibiscus says. Her smile is radiant.

I take a slow, shaky breath.

"Okay…" I whisper, giving my head a small shake to clear the ash from my mind.

I walk past them, keeping my eyes focused firmly on the back of Hibiscus's coat. We navigate the labyrinthine decks of the landship.

Eventually, we reach Closure’s general store.

I step through the open threshold and look around, taking in the space. The room is dimly lit, illuminated primarily by harsh, rectangular overhead lamps and small track lights aimed at the merchandise. It smells of cardboard, machine oil, and new fabric.

Massive, imposing grey metal shelving units line the walls, packed tight with neatly organized blue bins, stacked supply boxes, and assorted gear. In the center sits a long, dark counter featuring an active terminal and small display racks filled with what looks like data cards or rations. A lone, empty metal shopping cart sits abandoned near a short set of concrete stairs.

And standing behind the counter is the Chief Engineer herself.

"Look who it is, kiddo!"

The Vampire's voice cuts through the dim, industrial hum of the store. Her empathic flavor is impossible to miss. It hits me as a vibrating, frantic static of sparking copper wires and heavy mechanical grease, but it is completely steeped in a remarkably rich, velvet wave of dark cherry syrup.

Closure leans over the counter, a sharp, chaotic grin flashing on her face.

"Last time I checked, you are not getting paid and your account is empty," Closure says, her eyes glinting with sheer, unapologetic capitalism. "But lucky you. Amiya is paying for it this time."

My tail instantly pins itself against the back of my leg. I shrink slightly behind Hibiscus.

"I… I brought my tablet with me…" I stammer defensively, clutching my hands to my chest. "Just in case I need to log my debt…"

Hibiscus lets out a long sigh. She glares at the Vampire.

"Closure, please stop terrorizing my patient," Hibiscus scolds, placing herself protectively between me and the counter. "She just got discharged ten minutes ago."

Closure just laughs, the sound echoing off the concrete walls like bubbling cherry syrup. "Relax, Hibiscus! I'm just giving the kid a warm Rhodes Island welcome. Gotta teach them financial responsibility early!"

The Vampire gestures toward a specific alcove in the back corner of the store, illuminated by a set of cool, white track lights. "Go on, kiddo. The clothing display is over there by the shelves. Amiya already cleared the requisition form, so pick whatever fits your style."

I peek out from behind Hibiscus and follow Closure's gesture. Past the checkout terminal and up the short concrete steps, there is a dedicated wardrobe section built into the heavy metal shelving. Hanging neatly on display is a crisp, utilitarian white shirt with dark accents, and right next to it, a heavy, tactical dark grey jacket.

"Go ahead, Lita," Hibiscus encourages, giving my shoulder a gentle nudge. "Let's see what looks good on you."

I step up the short concrete stairs into the wardrobe alcove. The cool, white track lights illuminate rows upon rows of pristine, untouched clothing. I reach out, my fingertips brushing hesitantly against the fabric of a tactical vest, then lingering over a starched shirt. I let my hand drop.

Should I choose something more combat-focused? I think, my mind flashing back to Dr. Kal'tsit offering me a place on the frontlines. Or…?

I turn to look over my shoulder at the medic standing patiently behind me.

"Should I… Should I choose something more combat-focused? Lisa and Podenco showed me pictures of my old outfit… Should I just have that?"

My old uniform was a white turtleneck and a dark pleated tech-skirt. It was the uniform of a girl who stayed in the Convalescent Garden, safely tucked away from the blood and the ash.

Hibiscus steps up to the racks, her expression softening.

"Well. It really depends, Lita," Hibiscus answers thoughtfully, her hand resting on her chin. "That old outfit is fitting for a Medic, Supporter, or a Caster. So I don’t see why not. But you are free to add your personal spins. Closure can always manufacture them or source them."

I look back at the racks.

"Hmmm. I want Rhodes Island colors," I state, my voice finding a fraction of solid ground.

"Well, how about this?" Hibiscus asks, reaching into a neatly organized blue bin on the lower shelf.

She brings out a light grey tee. She holds it up against my frame, her eyes evaluating the fit.

"It is soft and functional," she says, her tone practical and reassuring. "Good for mobility, and it won't chafe if you end up having to wear tactical webbing over it."

I reach out, rubbing the material between my thumb and forefinger. It isn't starched or suffocatingly rigid. It yields easily to my touch.

"Okay," I nod, a small smile touching my lips.

With the top decided, I turn my attention back to the lower racks. I slowly walk down the aisle, my eyes scanning the neatly pressed trousers and skirts. Suddenly, my gaze lands on a specific hanger.

It is a black skort. The design is sleek, featuring asymmetrical pleated parts that give it a subtle look. It perfectly bridges the gap between the safety of the landship and the unpredictable reality of the wastelands.

I reach out and pull it from the rack. I hold it up to my waist, but as I turn slightly, my spade-tipped tail swishes against the fabric, hitting a solid, unyielding back panel.

"Hmmm. I like this black skort with the asymmetrical pleated parts," I say, my tail drooping slightly in disappointment. "No tail hole, though."

"I can fix that," Closure calls out, leaning over the counter with a chaotic, confident grin.

"Just toss it here when you're done. A quick cut and hem, and your tail will be swinging free in no time, kiddo."

"Thank you, Closure," I call back, carefully draping the skort over my arm next to the light grey tee.

Hibiscus turns toward a metal shelving unit entirely dedicated to footwear. She scans the rows of reinforced combat boots, sneakers, and medical clogs.

"Hmmm. How about boots if you are heading out a lot?" Hibiscus suggests. She reaches out and points at a very specific pair sitting under a track light.

They are black with a thick, durable base. They feature sturdy laces running up the front, but what catches my eye is the utilitarian zipper running up the leg part for quick equipping, and the fasteners secured exclusively on the left boot. They look incredibly grounded. They look like shoes that won't let you fall when the gravity of the world tries to pull you down.

"Those look perfect," I whisper, looking down at my soft hospital slippers. "Okay."

I tap my chin, visualizing the complete outfit in my head. The soft grey tee, the tactical black skort, the boots. It just needs one final piece to tie the Rhodes Island aesthetic together.

"Hmm, and a pair of knee-high socks that just peeks out slightly from one of the boots," I add.

Hibiscus smiles radiantly, turning to grab a fresh pair of dark, knee-high socks from a nearby bin. She hands them to me, adding them to the growing pile of fabric resting over my arm.

"If you really want to bankrupt Amiya, kiddo," Closure calls out from across the store.

"I got a waist belt that can hang up to four pouches, or two small bags, or however you want to combine them," Closure pitches, tapping a sleek, translucent belt resting on her display rack. "More importantly, on the back part, it has inert Originium circuits to magnetically suspend that Arts Unit of yours. It even has RHODES ISLAND printed in black right across it."

I stop, my arms still full of the light grey tee, the black skort, and the knee-high socks.

I look at the belt, and then I picture the Arts Unit, with its misty blue liquid suspended within intersecting, matte black magnetic halos. Being able to magnetically secure it to my back instead of clutching it constantly sounds incredibly practical.

But then I think of Amiya. I think of the young Cautus girl carrying the crushing, suffocating weight of the Black Crown and an entire ruined nation on her shoulders.

And now I am aggressively spending her money in the general store.

"Uhm… should I?" I whisper, my tail swishing nervously behind my back. I shrink down just a fraction, the phantom guilt of being a burden creeping back into my chest. "Is it really okay?"

Closure lets out a loud, chaotic laugh that echoes against the metal shelving.

"Well, you are not exactly paying for it?" the Vampire points out, her sharp eyes gleaming with absolute, unapologetic amusement.

I look up at Hibiscus, desperately seeking the medic's guidance. The older Sarkaz simply offers me a reassuring smile, her comforting flavor of sweet floral nectar and medicinal eucalyptus wrapping around my hesitation.

I bite my lip, my fingers tightening around the fabric in my arms.

"Sorry… Amiya…" I whisper into the air, offering a small, deeply apologetic bow to a Cautus girl who isn't even in the room. I straighten my spine, giving Closure a firm nod.

"But okay! I want a small bag with one half of it being clear, the other half being fabric.

And two medical pouches."

"Deal, kiddo," Closure replies smoothly. Her fingers dance across the checkout terminal, swiftly logging the expensive tactical additions directly onto the Lord of Fiends' tab.

Hibiscus giggles, the sound bright and musical in the quiet store.

"Now, your coat," Hibiscus says, turning her attention back to the hanging wardrobe section built into the metal racks.

She sifts through the hangers for a moment before stopping.

"Oh, how about this?" she asks, pulling a specific jacket from the rack and holding it up into the cool, white light.

It is a heavy, tactical coat with a dark grey outer fabric, but the moment she opens it slightly, a striking, misty blue inner lining flashes into view. The color perfectly matches the liquid suspended in my Arts Unit, my tail and my own eyes.

But it is the cut of the coat that truly catches my attention. It is incredibly oversized, the long sleeves hang down, designed to completely swallow my hands. It makes me feel undeniably safe, like I could hide the hands I once thought belonged to a monster deep within the fabric.

Furthermore, the hem is brilliantly asymmetrical. The right side hangs noticeably longer, falling in a clean, sweeping line that would perfectly balance the pleated parts resting mostly on the left side of my new black skort.

It is entirely, flawlessly me.

I look at the dark grey coat, and the heavy, crushing mountain of guilt I have been carrying since Londinium feels just a little bit lighter.

My tail gives a sudden, joyful flick, completely betraying my quiet composure.

"Okay!"

I gather the massive pile of fabric.

With my arms completely full, I waddle over to the counter.

Closure leans over the register, her eyes gleaming with absolute capitalism.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The digital scanner chimes sharply in the store as she logs every single expensive tactical addition directly onto Amiya’s tab.

I peer over the edge of the counter, my eyes catching the glowing red digits tallying on the checkout terminal.

"Uhm… that’s a big number…" The phantom guilt of being a financial burden creeping back into my chest. I am bankrupting Amiya.

Closure just snorts. She rests her hands on her hips, flashing me a chaotic, razor-sharp grin.

"Well, kiddo, if you want, you can keep wearing that hospital gown," the Vampire points out, gesturing lazily toward my completely rumpled, oversized white patient clothes.

I look down at the sterile white fabric. It feels entirely too much like the pristine, suffocating Kazdelian outfit I wore in the ruins of Londinium.

I quickly shake my head, my horns tracing a frantic arc in the air.

"I… I will pass," I stammer.

Hibiscus lets out a soft, radiant giggle. She steps forward and gently takes half of the clothing pile.

"Come on, Lita. Let's get you changed in the back," Hibiscus says smoothly, completely ignoring the Vampire's teasing.

She leads me into a small, corrugated metal changing booth tucked away in the back of the store. I slip out of the hospital gown. I pull on the light grey tee, marveling at how it yields so easily against my frame. I step into the black skort, and true to her word, Closure had already modified the back, my misty blue spade-tipped tail swings freely, unobstructed and comfortable.

I pull the dark knee-high socks up, slipping my feet into the thick, durable boots. I secure the fasteners on the left boot, stamping my heels into the concrete. They feel incredibly grounded. They feel like shoes that will carry me far away from the ash- choked streets of my past.

Next, I wrap the translucent utility belt around my waist. The circuits on the back engage with a satisfying, magnetic click, suspending my Arts Unit perfectly in place without me having to clutch it like a physical lifeline.

Finally, I slide my arms through the oversized dark grey jacket.

The fabric settles over my shoulders, the striking misty blue lining brushing against my sides. The sleeves are wonderfully long, completely swallowing my hands. I curl my fingers inward, hiding the hands that once commanded a Fear Beast deep within the safety of the dark fabric.

I step out of the booth.

There is a full-length mirror resting against the wall. I stand in front of it, staring at the reflection illuminated by the cool, white track lights.

I look at the woodsmoke grey hair falling wildly around my shoulders and framing my horns, my brow furrows.

"Something is missing," I say quietly.

Hibiscus steps up right behind me, her reflection joining mine in the glass.

"What is it, Lita?" Hibiscus asks, her tone carrying a gentle, patient curiosity.

I look at my own eyes in the mirror.

"Ah… can you tie my hair to a nape ponytail…" I ask, my voice trembling slightly as my fingers trace the edge of the oversized sleeve. "I want my birth mother… hairstyle…"

Hibiscus’s expression immediately softens into an ocean of unconditional tenderness.

"Of course," she murmurs softly.

She steps closer, her hands gently gathering the wild strands of my hair. She moves with a practiced, methodical efficiency, carefully pulling the hair back from my face and securing it neatly at the base of my neck.

"There, done!" Hibiscus says, her floral resonance blooming brightly.

I look back into the mirror.

With my hair pulled back, the asymmetrical fringe sweeps softly to the right, balancing my lopsided horns. I look at the dark coat, the tactical skort, the boots, and the elegant, low ponytail resting against my neck.

I don't look like an executioner. I don't look like a hollow, indoctrinated puppet. I look like a girl who has a future. I look like Lethia's daughter.

"This is me now…"

I turn away from the mirror, ready to walk out of the store and head straight to the Convalescent Garden.

"Hold it right there!"

Closure’s voice slices through the quiet moment. The Vampire vaults directly over the checkout counter, landing with a thud. She marches right into my path, a high-end camera suddenly in her hands.

"Before you go, kiddo! I am going to take a picture for your profile, and to also advertise our clothing lines for magazines," Closure declares, her grin widening as she raises the lens directly toward my face.

I immediately freeze.

The idea of my face being plastered across magazines, of being put on display for the entire world to see, makes my stomach hollow out. I instinctively cross my arms over my chest, pulling the sleeves completely over my hands.

"But…" I take a frantic step backward, trying to hide behind Hibiscus's coat.

Closure lowers the camera just a fraction. Her red eyes narrow, calculating her exact angle of attack. She raises a single, manicured finger and points directly toward a display rack near the front of the store.

"You will get paid, so you can buy those plushies over there."

I blink.

I slowly turn my head, following the trajectory of her finger.

Resting on the top shelf, perfectly illuminated by a warm spotlight, is a massive stack of incredibly soft, colorful, ridiculously adorable plushies. There is a round, fuzzy beckbeast, a squishy originium slug, and a pastel pink Cautus-esque one holding a tiny carrot.

I completely short-circuit. The heavy, lingering trauma of Londinium, the geopolitical weight of Kazdel, and my own paralyzing social anxiety are instantly, completely obliterated by a singular, overriding tactical objective.

I look at the plushies. I look at Closure.

My tail wags so fast it practically blurs into a solid misty blue fan. I immediately drop my arms, squaring my shoulders and standing at perfect, strict attention right in the middle of the track lights.

"…okay!"

I stand completely frozen in the center of the cool, white track lights, my spine ramrod straight. I keep my hands completely swallowed by the oversized sleeves of my new dark grey jacket, my tail pinned rigidly against my leg. I am trying my absolute hardest to look presentable.

"You are too rigid, kiddo," Closure's voice echoes from behind the camera.

The Vampire lowers the lens slightly, her eyes rolling with amusement.

"Relax," Closure commands, waving her hand. "We are selling clothes, not declaring martial law."

I let out a slow breath. I force my shoulders to drop, intentionally loosening my posture. I let my tail uncoil, allowing it to sway naturally behind the asymmetrical hem of my new black skort. I tilt my head just a fraction, offering a small, hesitant smile.

"Like this?" I ask, my voice small in the dim, industrial hum of the store.

Click. Flash.

"Perfect," Closure grins, the camera snapping rapidly as she catches the movement.

I endure the blinding flashes of the camera for the next ten minutes. Closure directs me to turn, to adjust the collar of my jacket, and to show off the magnetic suspension of my Arts Unit on the back of my translucent utility belt. By the time she finally lowers the camera, my eyes are completely filled with lingering white spots.

"Okay. Good," Closure declares, scrolling rapidly through the digital gallery on the camera's screen. "I will send the credits to your ID when we get these printed. I will message you."

She shoos me away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Now shoo, kiddo. Unless you are actually buying something with your own money."

I step out of the track lights, my eyes drifting immediately to the top shelf near the register. The massive soft beckbeast plushie sits there under the warm spotlight, practically calling my name.

"Okay," I murmur, my fingers twitching inside the sleeves. "I will be back for the plushie…"

Closure just laughs, a loud, echoing sound that bounces off the concrete walls.

I step back over to Hibiscus, who is waiting patiently just outside the store.

"Well, Lita. That’s it then," Hibiscus says. "You know how to navigate to the Convalescent Garden and the other places from here?"

I nod slowly. The labyrinthine corridors of the Rhodes Island are vast and intimidating, but I haven't been completely blind these past two months.

"I… I think so," I reply, my voice steadying as I pull my new jacket a little tighter around myself. "You and Erika have showed me the layout quite a lot during my walks. I think I got it now."

"That’s good to hear," Hibiscus smiles.

I stand completely still for a moment. I look at the Medic. She had anchored me when my mind was a fractured, terrified mess.

I plant my feet together. I press my hands flat against my chest, right over the soft fabric of my new light grey tee, and I bow. I bend deeply at the waist, offering her my absolute, unyielding respect.

"Thank you for taking care of me for the past two months.”

Hibiscus reaches out, her hands gently catching my shoulders to guide me back upright.

"No need to thank me, Lita. I am just doing my job," she replies. "I am glad you are fully recovered now."

She steps back, but her expression instantly shifts back into that strict, clinical authority of a medic. She points a single, uncompromising finger directly at me.

"But make sure to take your meds, eat your greens, and sleep on time even in your own dorm, okay?"

"I will, promise."

Hibiscus turns toward the main thoroughfare of the landship.

"See you, Lita."

"See you, Hibiscus.”

I walk my way down the hallway, my new, durable boots clicking quietly against the polished floor panels.

I turn a sharp corner near one of the central junctions and nearly run straight into someone.

I halt instantly, my boots skidding just a fraction against the metal.

I look up. Standing right in front of me is a young Feline girl, just slightly taller than I am. She has striking, pale green eyes and long white hair that falls neatly around her white feline ears. She is dressed in an outfit that feels remarkably similar to my own new aesthetic: a dark, oversized coat with a vibrant blue inner lining that sweeps around her knees. Beneath the coat, she wears a complex white dress with translucent layers, and dark, crisscrossing straps wrap securely around her thighs down to her black boots.

The absolute second we almost collide, her empathic presence washes over my senses. It is incredibly distinct. It tastes of cool, smooth stone and a sharp crackle of static electricity, perfectly layered over the subtle, sweet flavor of pineapple-flavored soft serve.

She stops and looks at me, her eyes blinking in quiet surprise. Then, she drops her gaze, looking down at the glowing terminal in her hands.

"Hi… Lethe…" she murmurs, her voice soft and slightly drifting. She pauses, her ears twitching as she quickly corrects herself. "Wait, no, Lita."

My tail gives a small, nervous swish behind my back. I remember her name from the pictures Lisa had shown me back in the Convalescent Garden. She is an Elite Ops.

Someone of Blaze and Raidian's caliber. But they told me she was my friend.

"Uhm, Hi… Rosmontis, right?"

"Yes," the Feline girl answers. Her static-laced presence hums with a gentle, completely unthreatening calm. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes scanning my new dark grey coat and tactical black skort. "You look nice."

A fragile warmth blooms in my chest.

"Thank you. Uhm… right. I have a question for you, Rosmontis…" I start, my voice hesitant.

"Yes?" she asks, giving me her full, quiet attention.

I take a slow breath. "Dr. Kal’tsit offers a chance to join the Field Ops… Should I? What is it like out there?"

Rosmontis stares at me for a moment. The cool, smooth stone of her resonance shifts, hollowing out into a familiar, quiet emptiness. It is a void I recognize intimately.

"I don’t remember, much," Rosmontis answers, her voice carrying a soft, melancholic weight. She looks at her terminal, and then back up to my face. "But, there are friends who fight with you and camp with you and people who we need to protect."

Friends who fight with you. People to protect.

I let out a quiet exhale.

"I see… thank you" I murmur, offering her a small, genuine nod.

"Well. Lita," Rosmontis says, her tail swaying gently behind her coat. "Amiya said I should tell you to meet her in the café in upper deck 2. I need to be in the training hall soon. Take care."

She turns to leave.

"Okay," I call out. "Good luck, Rosmontis."

I watch Rosmontis's figure disappear down the metal corridor, leaving me alone in the quiet, mechanical hum of the landship.

Then, a sudden, paralyzing realization hits me.

Though… how do I get to upper deck 2 again?

I stand frozen. Hibiscus and Erika had shown me the layout, but the endless, identical grey metal walls of Rhodes Island suddenly look incredibly intimidating. I look left, then right, completely lost in the labyrinth of the mobile city.

A figure is walking down the hall toward me.

"Uhm, excuse me!" I call out, taking a hesitant step forward. I raise a hand from the depths of my oversized sleeve to flag her down.

The Operator stops. She is a Vulpo, dressed in a sharp, refined uniform that carries a distinct, aristocratic elegance.

"Yes, Lethe?" she asks, her voice gentle and cultured. Her eyes sweep over my dark grey coat, the misty blue lining, and my sleek black skort. A bright smile crosses her face. "Oh, you got a new outfit! Looks great."

I shrink down just a fraction, my tail giving a shy, nervous flick behind me.

"Thank you…" I look at her face, desperately trying to pull a name from the void of my memories. "…uhm… sorry, you are?"

Her flavor is completely devoid of any offense at my forgotten memory. It hits my senses as a very expensive, delicate black tea blended perfectly with sweet, creamy vanilla. Beneath that refined, aristocratic sweetness, there is a heavy, quiet undertone of crushed, dried mint and sterile bandages.

"Ah, where are my manners," the Vulpo says, placing a hand elegantly over her chest with a small, polite bow. "Breeze, a traveling scholar and medic."

"Breeze…" I repeat softly, committing the taste of vanilla black tea and mint to my newly forming memories. "I would like to ask, how do I get to the upper deck 2 café?"

Breeze's smile softens. She turns slightly, pointing a finger down the long, sterile stretch of the corridor.

"Ah, so head down this corridor and turn left at the intersection," Breeze explains, her tone incredibly patient and clear. "Then, turn right at the next one. You will reach the administrative elevator."

I trace her instructions in the air with a small nod, mapping out the route in my head.

Left, then right, then the administrative elevator.

"Okay. Thank you," I say, offering her a small, grateful bow.

"No worries, good luck, Lethe," Breeze replies smoothly. The comforting, mint-laced resonance of her presence lingers warmly in the air as she resumes her walk down the hall, leaving me to navigate my way to Amiya.

I follow the path Breeze laid out for me. Okay, turn left here, I remind myself, navigating the intersection.

I walk straight down the adjoining corridor, but my boots suddenly falter. I pause, instinctively pulling myself slightly behind the edge of the bulkhead.

Standing just a few meters away is Erika. Next to her is another Vulpo, though this one is incredibly tiny compared to Breeze or Lena. She wears a somewhat oversized medical coat and carries a clipboard.

"Sussurro, what do you think of the new formula?" Erika asks, her voice carrying a hushed, professional tone.

"It is far more expensive to make," the tiny Vulpo, Sussurro, replies, tapping her pen thoughtfully against her clipboard. "But from Lita’s results, it is highly effective at suppressing even extreme cases of Oripathy."

My heart completely stops in my chest.

My fingers curl inward, digging into my palms hidden deep inside my oversized sleeves. My results?

Are… are they actually experimenting on me? I shrink back against the cold metal wall, my breath hitching in my throat. Can I… trust them…? Are these expensive suppressants just another way to control me?

Before I can spiral any further into the void, Erika turns around.

Her eyes land on me hiding near the bulkhead. The professional, clinical posture completely vanishes in a fraction of a millisecond.

"Oh, Lita! Look at you!" Erika gasps, her voice pitching up with absolute, unadulterated delight.

She practically abandons her conversation, rushing over to me. She immediately begins circling me, her hands hovering excitedly as she checks every single piece of my new outfit. "That’s so cute! And the hair is so nice!"

Then, without a single second of warning, she stops right in front of me, leans down, and plants a firm, incredibly warm kiss directly onto my forehead.

My eyes go perfectly wide, and my tail coils around my legs.

Erika pulls back.

"Oh, sorry, did I scare you?" Erika asks, her voice dropping into a gentle, apologetic whisper.

"Oh. No, no. I just…" my face flushing with a sudden, intense heat.

I instinctively sweep the corridor for the vile, stagnant rot of deception or the cold, rusted iron of a mastermind's manipulation. I brace myself to taste the truth of their

"experiments."

But there is absolutely nothing.

The flavor of Erika is completely devoid of malice or lies. It is a blindingly pure, sun- drenched field. Beside her, the tiny Vulpo exudes a calm, grounded resonance that hits my senses as unsweetened dark chocolate and black coffee. It is a sharply focused flavor, but fundamentally safe.

They aren't experimenting on me to hurt me. They are just trying to keep my Oripathy from consuming my life. They are genuinely trying to save me.

Sussurro steps up beside Erika. The tiny Medic adjusts her clipboard, looking up at me with her serious eyes, and offers a small, professional nod.

"Lita."

"Hi… Sussurro. Hi Erika," I murmur, lowering my hands from my chest. I look between the two Medics, the heavy weight of the absolute-zero Feline's offer still pressing down on my lungs. "I do have a question. Dr. Kal’tsit offers me to join the field ops… should I?" Erika pauses.

A sudden, frantic wave of worry bleeds into the warm honey, spiking with a sharp, tangy note of unripe fruit. She drops her focus for a fraction of a second.

"I want to say no," Erika sighs, her voice thick with a protective, aching tenderness. She looks back up at me, her eyes filled with an endless, patient sincerity. "But that’s your decision, Lita. You are strong, and you are smart. You will survive out there."

She reaches out, her hand gently brushing a strand of woodsmoke grey hair behind my ear.

"But I would prefer if you stay in the landship," she admits, offering a strained, fragile smile. "Having you taken twice is really testing my heart strength."

"Twice?" I echo, my voice a confused, breathy whisper.

I know about Londinium. But the Confessarii hadn't kidnapped me twice, had they?

Erika lets out a long, deeply exasperated sigh. The frantic worry in her emotional resonance slowly melts into a fond, exhausted resignation.

"Well…" Erika begins, her feathers shifting slightly. "You got accidentally shipped in a crate once."

My jaw completely drops.

"Good thing Texas and Exusiai decided to drop you off at Siracusa before they actually reached Lungmen," Erika adds casually, dropping the names of people I don't even remember yet as if this is a perfectly normal logistical error.

I just stare at her.

"Shipped…?" My voice completely cracking in the middle of the corridor.

Erika just pats my shoulder, her smile returning with a devastating, absolute serenity.

"Yep."

"Oh… well… okie…" I manage to squeak out, my brain completely failing to compute the image of myself being stuffed into a wooden logistics crate and accidentally shipped across the continent.

Erika lets out a warm, musical chuckle. She reaches out, her hand gently smoothing down my hair.

"Like I said, my little Lita," Erika murmurs. "It is best for you to decide for yourself.

Whatever path you choose, we will be right here for you."

Beside her, Sussurro adjusts the clipboard in her arms.

"Just be sure to take appropriate rests, Lita," Sussurro adds, her voice shifting into a strict, clinical authority that rivals Hibiscus. "Work and relaxation are equally important. Especially with your condition. Do not push your Arts past their limits."

"Okay. Thank you," I whisper, offering the two Medics a small, respectful nod.

"No worries, Lita," Erika smiles, the deep exhaustion bruising the skin under her eyes momentarily eclipsed. "Where were you headed, by the way? Going to see Dr. Kal窶冲sit about your decision?"

I shake my head, my hair swaying slightly. "Ah, no. Not yet… Amiya wants to talk to me at the café on upper deck 2."

"Oh! Well, you shouldn’t keep our CEO waiting then. See you at dinner?"

The thought of sitting down for a warm meal with Erika makes a fragile, tentative warmth bloom in my chest.

"Okay. See you, Erika. See you, Sussurro," I reply.

I take a confident step forward. I march past them, fully prepared to navigate the sprawling, labyrinthine corridors of the mobile city.

But after exactly three steps, I completely freeze.

My boots halt on the polished steel. I look at the identical grey bulkheads and the intersecting hallways stretching endlessly in four different directions. Breeze had given me directions... Left? Right? The administrative elevator?

My mind completely blanks.

I slowly pivot on my heel, my face flushing with a sudden, intense heat. I look back at the two Medics, my fingers frantically twisting the bright zipper pull of my coat.

"…wait… where do I turn again?" I stammer, my voice shrinking in the sterile air.

Sussurro sighs, a tiny, amused sound escaping her, while Erika just beams. The Liberi smiles, and raises her hand, pointing a single, guiding finger down the opposing hallway. After one more hesitant turn and carefully double-checking the signage on the bulkheads, I finally manage to navigate my way to the upper deck 2.

The sterile, metallic scent of the landship's corridors is instantly replaced by the rich, comforting aroma of roasted coffee beans, toasted bread, and warm vanilla. The café is a wide, open space bathed in soft, warm light, filled with scattered circular tables and plush booths. A low, gentle hum of conversation floats through the room as various Operators take their breaks.

I step inside. I scan the room.

I spot her immediately.

Amiya is sitting alone at a small table near the far end of the café, right beside a massive, reinforced glass window that overlooks the world outside.

I walk over, my eyes briefly drawn to the sweeping view beyond the glass. The landship is currently charting a course through a rugged, unforgiving landscape. The desolate, sweeping expanse of the barrens stretches out to the horizon. Massive, flat-topped mesas and sharp cliffs of rusted red rock jut violently from the dry, cracked earth, casting long, sweeping shadows under a brooding, heavy sky of layered grey clouds. In the far distance, sharp, angular silhouettes of Originium ores pierce the horizon line.

The Cautus catches my reflection in the glass.

"Lita," Amiya says softly, turning around in her seat. She offers me a warm, genuine smile. "You made it. Love your new outfit."

The ambient air around her is instantly soothing. The blindingly pure, flawless flavor of crystallized sugar is still perfectly saturated in a boundless, suffocating ocean of profound, aching sorrow, but here, away from the crushing weight of her office, the sorrow feels quieter. More manageable.

"Thank you… Hibiscus and Closure helped picking them… Thank you for paying for them. Amiya," I pull my hands free from my sleeves just enough to grasp the back of the chair. "You asked for me?"

"Always, Lita. I cannot allow you to walk around in a gown, can I? And, yes," Amiya nods, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. "But before that, have a seat, Lita. What do you want to drink?"

I slide into the chair, my tail curling neatly against the backrest. I look down at the small digital menu, my mind immediately flashing back to the strict, clinical authority of the medical ward.

I shrink down just a fraction, my fingers nervously twisting the bright blue inner lining of my coat.

"Uhm… something sweet and no caffeine…" a genuine shiver running down my spine. "If I have caffeine, I am absolutely sure Hibiscus and Erika are going to teleport here somehow."

I can practically taste the terrifying combination of Hibiscus's strict medicinal eucalyptus and Erika's frantic, protective warm honey zeroing in on me if I violate my discharge orders.

Amiya blinks, and then she lets out a soft, bright giggle. The sound is incredibly pure, cutting right through the lingering shadows of the deaths she carries.

"Hot cocoa it is," Amiya smiles.

She reaches out, tapping her ring-clad fingers against a slate resting on the table to input the order.

We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the desolate, rusted canyons roll past the thick glass of the window. Soon, a low mechanical whir approaches our table. A small, boxy Castle bot trundles up to us, carrying a steaming ceramic mug of hot cocoa toward me, alongside Amiya's own drink on its flat surface.

"Thank you," I whisper to the bot as I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic.

The bot gives a beep before pivoting on its treads and rolling away to service another table.

Amiya picks up her cup, blowing softly on the surface before taking a slow, quiet sip.

She lowers the mug, holding it gently between her hands as she looks across the table at me. Her eyes trace over my new Rhodes Island uniform again.

"Well, Lita," Amiya begins, her voice carrying a soft, earnest curiosity. She leans forward just a fraction. "What do you think of Rhodes Island?"

I lower my mug, the rich, sweet scent of chocolate warming my face.

What do I think of Rhodes Island?

I think of the people on this ship.

I think of Raidian, holding me on the cracked asphalt while I wept. I think of Blaze, throwing me over her shoulder and launching us off a hundred-meter defense wall just to keep me safe. I think of Lisa and Podenco, burying me in colorful confetti and promising we could go eat towering stacks of Columbian pancakes together. I think of Dr. Warfarin, working day and night to formulate new Oripathy suppressants alongside the Medics, I even think of Closure, threatening to charge me for the oxygen I breathe just to make me laugh.

They are the most powerful, dangerous people I have ever met, and yet, they use that power to build sanctuaries.

I look directly into the Cautus girl's eyes, tasting the unyielding, crystallized sugar of hers.

"Everyone is so nice…and just a bit chaotic."

Amiya lets out another soft, bright giggle.

"Sounds like you are getting the real Rhodes Island experience then," Amiya says, her smile reaching her eyes.

She takes another sip from her mug, but as she lowers it, her long ears droop slightly.

She lets out a long, weary sigh.

"Unless, of course, you have to somehow pay for the daily repair bills," Amiya adds, her voice dropping into a deadpan murmur.

"Daily?" My eyes widening in absolute horror. I think of Blaze casually tearing through a reinforced concrete wall with a superheated chainsaw just to make a shortcut.

Amiya slowly, solemnly nods her head.

I swallow a dry lump in my throat. I am definitely keeping my PRTS slate securely tucked away.

Amiya's expression softens. She sets her mug down on the table, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"Anyways, Lita," Amiya begins, her tone growing quiet and earnest. "For your future…

what do you plan to do? And what about your name here?"

I look down into the dark, sweet depths of my hot cocoa.

"I… I only remember Lita…"

"Well, Lita is your birth name," Amiya affirms gently.

I trace the rim of the ceramic mug with my thumb.

"Amiya…" I look up, my eyes meeting hers. "Do we know each other well? From back in Babel?"

Amiya pauses. The drowning ocean of her sorrow parts just a fraction, allowing a bittersweet, nostalgic warmth to blend into the air of the café.

"Well, not exactly," Amiya answers, a fond, fragile smile touching her lips. "We played with each other a few times. But that’s about it. You were mostly glued to your mom back then… or you disappeared into the libraries or dorms."

The image of a smaller version of myself, clinging to the warm, sun-drenched presence of the woman who fought for the light, flashes through my mind. A girl who hid in libraries instead of marching through ash-choked streets. It feels like reading a beautiful storybook about a stranger.

"Oh… I am…" I trail off, I want to apologize for not remembering her, for not remembering the quiet moments we shared before the world caught fire.

Amiya reaches across the small table.

Her hands gently close over mine, completely enveloping my fingers in her unyielding, unconditional warmth.

"Well, Lita," Amiya says, her voice an absolute, undeniable anchor. "You are back with us now. But I don’t want you to feel like you owe us anything. Dr. Kal'tsit gave you an offer, but your choice matters. Whatever you decide, it has to be for you."

I stare at our joined hands.

I look out the reinforced glass window, watching the desolate, rusted canyons of the barrens roll past. I think about the life I have built here on this landship over the past two years, even if I cannot currently access the memories of it. I think of the Vulpo Medic I met in the hallway, whose flavor of vanilla black tea and crushed mint had offered me patient directions.

"I had been Lethe to a lot of people, right?" I ask softly, turning my focus back to the CEO. "Breeze earlier… she called me Lethe, too."

"Yes," Amiya nods quietly. "You were Lethe to everyone here."

I take a slow, deep breath.

"I think..l" I begin, my voice steadying. "I will keep Lethe as my codename."

Amiya's ears rise slightly, her blue eyes reflecting the warm light.

"I don't think just tossing the name away is right," I continue, my fingers gently squeezing Amiya's hand back. "Lita is who I was born as. But Lethe… Lethe is the girl who found a home in the Convalescent Garden. Lethe is the girl who made friends with Lisa, Podenco, and Adele. If that name means something to them… I want to keep it."

Amiya nods.

"Okay. I will let Closure know to update that on your profile," she says softly. She reaches across the table, tapping her ring-clad fingers against her PRTS slate to log the decision.

She pauses, letting her hand rest on the polished glass screen. She looks back up at me, her eyes reflecting the passing shadows of the rugged canyons outside the reinforced window.

"What about your birthday?" Amiya asks.

"Birthday?" I echo, tilting my head.

"Yes," Amiya says, a fragile but fond smile touching her lips. "You chose the 2nd of January. The day Caladria rescued you, as your birthday. But we could dig into the old logs to see if your real birthday is still on our servers."

The real day I was born. The day Lethia brought me into the world.

I look down into my hot cocoa. My faint reflection stares back at me from the surface of the liquid.

I think of the countless people I ordered to die in Londinium.

Birthdays are for people who bring joy to the world. They are days marked by colorful confetti, sweet pastries, and celebrations of life. They aren't meant for executioners who wear the enemy's colors and feed on the rotting nectar of sheer terror.

"I… I don't know. I don't know if I can have a birthday."

Amiya's expression immediately softens.

"Everyone can have one, Lita.”

"But…"

Amiya leans back slightly, her tone shifting into a gentle, playful lightness.

"You can decide later," Amiya says, offering a small, wry smile that reaches her eyes.

"But please don't make it be an order from the CEO."

I pause, the heavy fog in my mind parting just a fraction at her words.

I take a slow, shaky breath. The rich scent of chocolate and warm vanilla physically grounds me in the present.

"I…" I whisper, offering Amiya a fragile, tentative nod. "I will think about it. I will message you."

Amiya's smile widens into an ocean of unconditional tenderness.

"Okay, I will wait, Lita," Amiya replies softly.

The quiet, comfortable silence between us is suddenly interrupted by a loud, hollow growl echoing directly from my stomach.

My face instantly burns with an intense, burning heat. I shrink down into my chair. My tail pins itself rigidly against the backrest.

"Oh… sorry…"

Amiya lets out a soft giggle.

"Well, I am a bit hungry too," Amiya says. She rests her hand lightly against her own stomach. "Didn't get time to get a full lunch. Hmmm, want to have a cake to share?"

I peek out from beneath my messy fringe. I think of the massive red digits that had tallied up on Closure's checkout terminal just an hour ago.

"I keep spending your money though…" I whisper, my fingers nervously twisting the inner lining of my coat.

Amiya waves her hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about that today," Amiya reassures me, her tone carrying an easy, undeniable warmth. "Closure is still setting up your new account, since your old one got frozen and purged because you lost your ID card."

"Just think of it as making up for your lost credits," Amiya adds.

I hesitate for a second, but the rich, warm aroma of toasted sugar and vanilla lingering in the café is entirely too persuasive to ignore.

"If you say so…" my tail slowly uncoiling from the chair leg to give a small, hesitant swish.

Amiya pulls her slate closer, scrolling through the menu.

"How about your favorites?" she suggests, her eyes scanning the glowing screen.

"Leithanian chocolate cakes. We can have the cherry one or the lava cake."

I think about it for a moment.

"Cherry one, thanks," I reply, pulling my hands free from my sleeves to rest them gently on the table.

A low mechanical whir approaches our table again. The little boxy Castle bot rolls up to the edge of the table, this time carrying a ceramic plate. Resting perfectly in the center is a rich, dark Leithanian cherry chocolate cake.

"Thank you," I whisper to the bot as it beeps and rolls away.

Amiya offers a bright smile, picking up the plate to place it squarely between us. She reaches over and hands me a small, polished dessert fork.

I take a small, hesitant bite. The rich, dark cocoa and the sweet, tart cherry melt perfectly on my tongue. It is absolutely amazing. The decadent sweetness instantly chases away the lingering chill of the wastelands outside our reinforced window.

Amiya takes a small bite too, her long ears giving a happy, relaxed twitch.

Suddenly, a brand new flavor bleeds into the ambient air of the café.

It is a blinding, sweeping wave of absolute, unyielding golden sunlight. It tastes of polished gold, sun-baked wheat, and a fierce, righteous conviction that makes the shadows in the room completely evaporate. It is so undeniably heroic that it physically warms the air around our table.

I turn my head, my eyes going wide.

Walking down the aisle of the café is a tall, imposing Kuranta woman. She is the physical manifestation of her radiant flavor: long, flowing blonde hair frames her face, with perked, fluffy Kuranta ears resting on her crown and a thick, sweeping tail swaying behind her. She wears a striking, asymmetrical white coat layered over metallic leg armor, accented by gleaming gold shoulder plating and a black collar.

But it isn't her radiant presence or her intimidating weapon that makes my jaw completely drop.

It is what her gauntleted hand is casually dragging across the polished floor panels.

"Doctor?!" I yelp, my dessert fork freezing halfway to my mouth.

The hooded tactician is completely limp, trailing behind the radiant Kuranta knight like a discarded sack of flour. His heavy dark coat sweeps the floor tiles, and his head lolls to the side. He is clearly, soundly asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, even, unbothered rhythm. Stubbornly clutched in one of his gloved hands is a half-opened, foil-wrapped energy bar.

The Kuranta woman stops near our table. She offers a polite, flawlessly respectful nod, her golden eyes warm and kind.

"Miss Amiya," she greets, her voice steady, resonant, and deeply comforting. Then, she looks at me, her smile softening. "Greetings, young lady."

I look frantically at Amiya, expecting the CEO of Rhodes Island. Amiya doesn't even flinch. The Cautus just blinks, letting out a soft sigh.

"Ah, Ms. Nearl," Amiya says, offering a smile. "You found Doctor!"

"Ah, yes," Ms. Nearl replies smoothly, her grip on Doctor's collar unyielding. "He was in a maintenance vent, hiding from the Medical Department. I will bring him back to his quarters. Enjoy your break, young ladies."

"Thank you, Ms. Nearl," Amiya replies cheerfully.

I just sit there, completely paralyzed in my chair. I watch the radiant knight turn and resume her march down the corridor, the sleeping tactician sliding effortlessly across the floor behind her, his energy bar still tightly secured in his grip.

"Thank… thank you," I stammer, my tail pinned rigidly against the back of my chair.

I stare blankly at the empty space in the corridor where the Kuranta knight and the unconscious, floor-sweeping tactician just vanished.

"Don't mind him, Lita."

Amiya's voice pulls my attention back to the table.

I blink, turning my head to look at my CEO friend. "Doctor?" I ask,. I try to reconcile the image of the terrifying mastermind who coordinates Rhodes Island's entire military front with the man who just got dragged away while clutching a foil-wrapped energy bar.

"Yes," Amiya says softly.

"He works very hard to keep all of us alive and Rhodes Island intact," Amiya adds, her ears dipping in an exhausted gesture. "He forgets to sleep sometimes."

I look down at my plate. I pick up my dessert fork, my fingers tracing the smooth metal.

"Okay," I take a small breath, the rich scent of the cherry chocolate cake grounding my nerves. "Ah, right, Amiya… about my deployment. Should I?"

Amiya pauses. She lowers her fork.

"Dr. Kal'tsit's job offer?" Amiya asks. The ambient air around her ripples with a quiet, careful consideration. "Well. You have to pass Instructor Dobermann's tests before I can sign it off. Whenever you are ready to decide, just let me and Dr. Kal'tsit know."

"Instructor Dobermann?"

A phantom shiver runs directly down my spine.

Amiya offers a small, wry smile.

"She is one of our two instructors," Amiya explains, her tone shifting into a reassuring but firm cadence. "Her tests are very thorough. It will ensure you are ready for the deployment."

A thorough test. A combat evaluation.

"I see…" I whisper. My attention drops from Amiya's encouraging eyes to the half-eaten slice of Leithanien cake between us. "I… I think I need to talk to Adele, Eleanor, Skyfire, Lisa, Podenco, Lena…"

The names tumble out of my mouth like a protective litany.

Amiya’s smile softens into an ocean of unconditional, boundless tenderness.

"Then let's finish the cake," Amiya says brightly, picking her fork back up. "I need to get back to work, with Doctor being out of commission."

My fingers tighten around my own fork.

"Okay," I say, my voice steadying. I stab a piece of the rich, dark chocolate and tart cherry, bringing it to my mouth.

I will finish this cake. And then, I will go find my friends.

We finish the rest of the chocolate cake in a comfortable, grounding peace.

Amiya carefully sets her dessert fork down on the empty ceramic plate.

"See you sometime again, Lita," Amiya says, offering a gentle smile.

"See you, Amiya. Thank you for… for everything."

She smiles once more, and stands up from the table. I watch as the King of my people turns and walks away, her long pale ribbons drifting weightlessly behind her as she navigates the café tables and disappears into the bustling arteries to shoulder the weight of the world.

I sit alone for just a moment longer, taking a slow, deep. Then, I slide out of the chair.

Middle Deck 1. Archives.

I navigate the labyrinthine corridors with newfound focus. The sprawling, identical grey bulkheads of Rhodes Island feel slightly less intimidating now. I check the signage at the intersections, my dark grey coat swaying softly around my knees with each step.

As I approach the observation corridors of middle deck 1, the ambient air instantly shifts. Before I even turn the corner, a highly distinct, clashing blend of flavors bleeds into my empathic channels.

From one side, a crisp, freshly printed parchment and sweet mint leaves vibrate with a frantic, buzzing static of academic excitement. From the other, a sharp chili pepper and spicy cinnamon radiates with absolute, aristocratic composure, perfectly layered over the unyielding warmth of a roaring hearth fire.

Eleanor and Skyfire.

I step around the bulkhead. The two Feline Casters are standing together by a reinforced observation window, looking out at the rugged, rust-red canyons of the barrens rolling past.

I slow my boots, not wanting to interrupt.

"Skyfire," Eleanor’s voice quiet. "Our country is safe… again."

Skyfire stands with her arms elegantly crossed over her chest, her striking brown- crimson hair catching the ambient light of the corridor.

"The throne stays empty," Skyfire replies, her tone carrying the absolute, refined cadence of a noble, yet underscored by a heavy exhaustion. "Vina Victoria is the last of the House Victoria. She has chosen to be our Lord Protector and Speaker of the Parliament rather than a King."

Skyfire closes her eyes.

"The future is uncertain," the senior Caster continues, turning her gaze back out toward the desolate horizon. "But you are not incorrect, Mint. A greater bloodshed had been averted."

I stand perfectly still in the corridor. Waiting to see if they are continuing.

But they are both quiet.

"Uhm…" I finally speak up, stepping out of the shadows of the bulkhead. My boots click against the metal. "Excuse me…"

Both Felines turn from the observation window instantly.

"Lita!" Eleanor gasps.

The young Feline practically bounds across the corridor, stopping just short of tackling me. Her eyes dart frantically over my black skort, my knee-high socks, and the lining of my jacket.

"Oh my goodness, you are out of the medical ward! And look at your outfit!" Eleanor beams, her hands hovering excitedly. "It looks so incredibly tactical! And the magnetic suspension for your Arts Unit on the belt? Fascinating engineering!"

Skyfire steps away from the window.

"Lita," Skyfire greets. She places a hand on her hip, looking me up and down with an approving nod. "It is good to see you walking the corridors again. That hospital gown was doing absolutely nothing for your aesthetic."

"Thank you, Skyfire. Thank you, Eleanor," my tail giving a soft, happy swish behind my back. "Closure and Hibiscus helped me put it together."

"It suits you perfectly," Eleanor adds, her smile wide.

I pause.

"Actually… I came looking for you both," I start. I look up, meeting Skyfire's striking eyes, and then Eleanor's. "Dr. Kal'tsit… she came to my ward today."

"She… she offered me a chance to join the combat roster. To be a Field Operator. To deploy on the frontlines."

Eleanor breathes out. "The… the frontlines? But Lita, you are in palliative care! Your Arts are for siphoning trauma, not…"

"I summoned things in Londinium," I interrupt, my eyes dropping to the polished floor panels. "I manifested emotional trauma into physical Arts Creations. Dr. Kal'tsit said my neural pathways stabilized… and that my offensive potential is high."

I look back up, my fingers curling tightly into the fabric of my sleeves.

"She said it is entirely my choice. But if I want to… I have to pass Instructor Dobermann's combat evaluations first. I… I don't know what to do. I wanted to ask you both. You are Casters. You know what it is like out there."

Skyfire remains perfectly silent for a long moment. She stares at me.

Then she takes a slow, deliberate step forward.

"The battlefield is not a controlled thermodynamic experiment, Lethe," Skyfire states, her voice dropping into a fierce, absolute gravity. "It is chaotic. It is loud. And it forces you to make decisions that will haunt you long after the ash settles. I saw what happened in Chernobog. You have seen what happened in Londinium."

She reaches out, her hand resting firmly on my shoulder. The heat of her palm seeps right through the fabric of my coat.

"But," Skyfire continues, her eyes softening, "you are not the fragile girl who I encountered hiding behind a bunch of children’s primers in the Archives anymore. You have survived the absolute worst of our land."

Skyfire stands tall.

"If you choose to step onto the battlefield to protect," Skyfire declares, ". I will tutor you in offensive Arts theories and calculations myself. I will ensure you know exactly how to cast Arts without propagating your Oripathy."

The sheer, uncompromising belief she has in me makes my vision blur with sudden, hot tears.

Eleanor steps up right beside Skyfire, her hands reaching out to gently squeeze my arm.

Eleanor adds. "When you deploy, I could always come along. I had so much fun camping with you in Ascarat! There are so many more rocks we could collect!"

I look at the two Victorian Casters.

"Thank you… both of you."

"Well. I won't take more of your time," I add.

I plant my feet together and press my hands flat against the crisp grey fabric of my new tee, offering the two Casters a deep, respectful bow. "I want to ask everyone else before I make a final decision."

Skyfire’s sharp, chili-pepper resonance settles into an absolute, aristocratic composure. She offers a firm, supportive nod. "When you are ready to pick up the books again, just let me know.”

Eleanor waves enthusiastically, her tail swishing happily behind her. "See you in the Archives, Lita!"

"I will. See you!" I reply, offering them a small smile before turning away.

I walk toward the Archives. I am hoping to find Adele here. The Caprinae is the world's best Catastrophe Messenger; her unyielding volcanic resolve and quiet endurance are exactly the kind of perspective I need right now.

The heavy pneumatic doors of the Archives hiss open. The familiar, deeply comforting scent of old paper, binding glue, and quiet preservation washes over me. I step inside the dimly lit, cavernous room, my eyes scanning the towering rows of bookshelves and the scattered reading tables.

I spot her easily.

Adele is sitting at one of the wide wooden tables near the center of the room. But she is not alone.

Sitting right beside her is a young Feline girl with two distinct tails swaying gently behind her chair. She holds a book open on the table, her finger tracing the lines of text as she patiently and softly reads the words aloud to the Caprinae.

As I step closer, a brand new flavor bleeds into the quiet air of the Archives. It is an incredibly delicate, sweet resonance. The two-tailed Feline tastes exactly like warm, freshly baked bread and whipped cream, underscored by a faint, nervous flutter of powdered sugar. It is a soft, timid warmth that makes the ambient air feel instantly welcoming.

And beside her, Adele's deeply comforting presence radiates through the room. It is the familiar, dormant hearth fire perfectly mixed with the rich, earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts.

As my boots make a soft scuff against the floorboards, Adele's head suddenly lifts. Her ears twitch, straining slightly toward the sound.

"The heat…" Adele says, her voice carrying that quiet, enduring warmth. "Lita?"

The Feline girl looks up from the textbook. Her eyes widen slightly, she manages a polite, welcoming smile.

"Oh, hi, Lethe," the Feline greets softly.

"Sorry to intrude."

"It is all good, have a seat," Adele says warmly, gesturing toward the empty chair across the table. "Lita, this is Mousse. She was with us in County Ascarat."

"Hi, Mousse," I say, pulling the chair out and sitting down.

I settle into the seat, but as I look across the table.

I notice that Adele isn't actually looking at me.

Her face is turned in my general direction, but her eyes are entirely unfocused. They are staring blankly past my shoulder, failing to track my movements, my face, or the new dark grey coat I am wearing. Her hands rest flat against the table, her fingers gently grazing the edge of the book as if relying entirely on touch to anchor herself to the physical world.

"Adele…" I whisper, the crushing, suffocating weight of reality pressing down on my chest. "Your eyes…"

Adele's smile doesn't completely fade, but the dormant hearth fire of her emotional resonance flickers with a heavy, melancholic resignation.

"Ah…" Adele breathes out, her voice fragile but undeniably brave. "My Oripathy is flaring up slightly…"

My hands instinctively twitch toward her across the wide wooden table.

I look at Adele’s unfocused eyes, the crushing reality of her severe Oripathy pressing heavily against my chest.

"Can I help? Is it painful? …I… I can try to make it feel better."

Adele simply shakes her head. The dormant hearth fire of her emotional resonance does not waver; it remains deeply comforting, completely saturated with the rich, earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts.

"Don’t worry, Lita," Adele smiles, her voice carrying a quiet, enduring warmth. "I am used to this by now. Mousse is helping me to read. Everything is fine, this will pass."

Sitting right beside the Caprinae, the two-tailed Feline girl looks up from the book.

"Your new outfit is nice…" Mousse’s eyes tracks my gears.

"Thank you," I murmur.

Adele tilts her head slightly toward her reading companion, a bright, curious spark lighting up her unseeing eyes.

"Mousse, you have to describe it to me," Adele requests gently.

"Oh… oh! Of course, Miss Adele," Mousse stammers, sitting up a little straighter.

"She… she is wearing a very nice, oversized dark grey coat," Mousse begins, her voice quiet but earnest. "It has a really pretty misty blue inner lining that matches her eyes and her tail. And she has a black skort with asymmetrical pleats, and these really sturdy-looking black boots with zippers. Oh! And a translucent belt holding her Arts Unit on her back… and her hair is tied into a low ponytail at her neck."

Adele listens intently, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of the open book on the table. A soft smile touches her lips.

"That sounds really fitting for you, Lita," Adele says. Her eyes seem to look right through the dark of her vision, finding the exact shape of my presence. "So, I take it you are finally discharged?"

"Yes… I am no longer required to stay in the ward now…" I start, my voice dropping into a hesitant, fragile whisper. I look between the two of them. "…but I am debating whether I should take Dr. Kal’tsit’s offer on becoming part of the combat roster…"

The quiet hum of the Archives completely stills.

Adele slowly folds her hands together on the wooden table.

"The frontlines are dangerous, Lita," Adele states, her voice completely devoid of its usual soft tone. It carries the heavy, absolute gravity of someone who has stared directly into the molten heart of a disaster. "The world outside this landship is loud, and it is unforgiving. It will test everything you are."

She pauses.

"But…" Adele continues, her expression softening back into that incredibly patient, enduring smile. "If you feel that there are people out there you need to protect… if you believe your Arts can act as a shield against that beautiful, unforgiving world… then it is a very brave path to take."

The pure volcanic resolve radiating from her frame wraps around my shoulders like a physical, sheltering heat.

"Lita, we all know Dr. Kal'tsit wouldn't have offered it to you if she didn't believe your mind was strong enough to handle it, Lita. And neither would Amiya."

Adele reaches a hand out across the table, navigating the empty space.

I immediately pull my hand free from my oversized sleeve and gently meet her grasp.

Her palm is incredibly warm.

"Whatever you decide," Adele adds, the rich, earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts entirely enveloping my frantic anxieties, "just remember that you do not have to carry the weight of the Catastrophe all on your own. We will always be right here to support you. I have been studying with you for past two years. I trust you will make the best decision for yourself."

Mousse nods.

"You were really brave in Ascarat… you disarmed three rebels without hurting them…

so we can finish our mission."

"I… I was?"

Then Adele giggles. A bright sound that rings across the quiet Archives,

"You do need to get used to Originium slugs though, you were screaming at me to melt a cave because it had a few slugs in there."

"While hiding behind Suzuran…" Mousse adds.

"Oh…" I blurt out, the word escaping me before I can stop it.

I stare blankly across the wide wooden table of the Archives. My mind frantically tries to piece together the image of the girl they are describing. A girl who screamed at Originium slugs and hid behind the fluffy tails of her best friend. A girl who happily collected rocks in caves instead of hunting terrified informants in the desolate ruins of an occupied capital.

"So the me before was like that…" My tail drops completely dead against the back of my chair. "That's the Lethe you lost…"

How could I ever live up to that innocent girl? How could I replace her when my hands are stained with blood?

But Adele's hand remains warmly wrapped around mine across the table.

"Don't stress too much, Lita," Adele says. "You are still you."

Beside her, Mousse shifts in her chair. The two-tailed Feline girl leans forward slightly.

"And combat deployment… is not a full-time job," Mousse says, her voice carrying an earnest, encouraging tone. "Unless you are in the dedicated Field Ops or Elite Ops…

most of us do civilian jobs on Rhodes Island."

Mousse pauses, her hands resting neatly on the open book as she offers me a timid but genuine smile. "We only really go out when Doctor decides he needs our specific skills or Arts for a mission."

The terrifying binary choice that had been paralyzing my mind suddenly shatters.

I look at Mousse, and then back to Adele's enduring, comforting face.

"So…" I start, my tail giving a sudden, hesitant swish against the back of my chair. "So I could be in palliative care… and still deploy?"

Adele's smile widens, radiating the quiet heat of a sheltering fire.

"Yes, Lita," Adele affirms.

Beside her, Mousse gives a firm, happy nod.

"Why did no one tell me…" I pull my hands entirely into the sleeves of my coat, pressing the fabric against my burning cheeks. "I was… I thought I had to choose to be a full- time soldier…"

"Well…" Mousse trails off, her tails sway as she struggles to find the right words.

"I cannot speak for everyone, but I did think you were asking about stepping off the landship again," Adele adds.

My mind flashes back to the sterile medical ward. I hear Dr. Kal'tsit's surgical, absolute- zero voice echoing in my head, talking about integrating me under strict tutelage to ensure my neural pathways didn't succumb to tactical overload.

"Wait…" I lower my sleeves just enough to peek over the fabric. "Dr. Kal'tsit said Elite Ops' tutelage…"

"I would presume she meant training on Arts theories and combat positioning," Adele clarifies, her tone perfectly even.

My brain completely stalls.

Arts theories and combat positioning. Like… classes. Just training sessions to make sure I don't accidentally hurt myself or others when I do choose to go out. Exactly like the thermodynamic tutoring Skyfire just promised me.

"Oh…"

The full weight of my own dramatic misunderstanding crashes down on me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, my face burning with an intense, humiliating heat.

"Ohhhh."

I groan, sliding down in the wooden chair until my horns are practically level with the table. I bury my face completely into my sleeves, my tail wrapping tightly around my ankles in absolute defeat. I had basically been walking around the landship treating a flexible part-time deployment offer like a lifetime conscription order.

Adele lets out a soft, musical giggle that rings pleasantly through the quiet, dusty aisles of the Archives.

"That's alright, Lita. You are still adjusting."

"Mousse… Adele… I think… I need to go to the garden.”

I push my chair back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floorboards of the Archives. I scramble to my feet.

"See you two later…" I add, offering a hasty, embarrassed bow.

"Bye," Mousse waves.

"Take care, Lita," Adele's eyes are directed perfectly toward my presence.

I turn on my heel and practically flee.

I burst through the doors of the Archives. The absolute second the comforting scent of old paper and binding glue is sealed away behind me, I break into a dead sprint.

My new boots thud heavily and rhythmically against the polished metal floor panels of Middle Deck 1. The long, oversized sleeves of my jacket whip through the sterile air, the striking inner lining flashing as I navigate the labyrinthine hallways. My tail streams straight out behind me.

My mind is racing as fast as my legs.

The sheer, overwhelming relief makes my chest feel impossibly light. I need to get to the garden. I need to find the lush, sunlit greenhouse, bury myself in the ferns, and tell Lisa and Podenco that I am not being drafted into an endless war.

I round a sharp corner near a central junction, my boots skidding slightly against the polished steel.

Before I can even register the blur of dark blue fabric in my peripheral vision, an arm shoots out from the intersection. It grabs me securely by the shoulder, catching my frantic forward momentum with an effortless, undeniable physical strength.

I am stopped completely dead in my tracks.

"Eh?!" My boots slide to a halt, and my tail whips wildly around my legs in surprise.

I instinctively try to brace myself, but before panic can even begin to set into my chest, a deeply comforting flavor washes over my frantic senses. It hits me like a solid wall of absolute safety. It tastes of sun-warmed linen and polished, sturdy oak, anchored by an unyielding density.

I look up. Standing right in front of me is Raidian.

The Liberi Elite Ops looks at me.

"No running like that down the corridors, Lita," Raidian scolds me. "You might hurt yourself. And someone else."

"Sorry!" I gasp, my chest heaving as I desperately try to catch my breath.

My face flushing with a fresh wave of embarrassment as I realize how chaotic I must look, sprinting through the decks like a panicked beckbeast.

Raidian's strict posture immediately softens. Her eyes crinkle into a warm, squinting smile, the corners of her lips pulling upward in genuine amusement. The playful, carbonated spark I had tasted back in the Victorian wastelands dances right over the top of her sturdy oak presence.

"You are so flustered," Raidian observes.

Her hand slides from my shoulder, moving up to gently smooth down the messy strands of my grey hair that had escaped my low ponytail during my sprint. Her gaze sweeping over my flushed face and my new uniform.

"What happened?" she asks, “running to show your new outfit?”

I take a slow, deep breath, desperately trying to quiet the frantic hammering of my heart against my ribs.

I look up at Raidian.

"I… well…" I start.

The floodgates open. I spill the entire, humiliating story right there in the middle of the corridor.

I tell her about Dr. Kal'tsit stepping into my ward this morning, her presence an absolute-zero glacier of iron and old paper. I explain the terrifying clinical dissertation about my neural pathways and the offer to integrate me into frontline combat.

"She said it would be under the strict tutelage of the Elite Ops," I explain. "And I thought… I thought she meant I was being conscripted for life! I thought I had to be a full-time frontline soldier!"

Raidian’s eyes widen just a fraction, the carbonated spark of her resonance fizzing a little brighter.

"I asked Amiya, and Skyfire, and Eleanor…" I continue, my words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "And then I went to the Archives to ask Adele and Mousse. And they had to explain to me that it just meant part-time deployment and taking Arts theory classes! I ran out of the Archives because I was so embarrassed!"

"I thought I was getting drafted into the Elite Ops…" I whimper, burying my face into the soft fabric of my jacket.

The ambient air in the corridor ripples. The playful spark in Raidian's emotional resonance erupts into a full, warm, and musical laugh that echoes against the bulkheads.

One of her hands gently pats the top of my head.

"Oh, Lita," Raidian chuckles. "That’s so cute."

I peek over the edge of my collar, my face still completely flushed with heat.

Raidian offers me a wink.

"There is no way Kal’tsit is going to put you in Elite Ops," Raidian states. "Or probably even Field Ops anytime soon."

She shifts her weight, her lower hands gesturing casually as she speaks.

"Your Arts are very strong, Lita, yes," the Liberi Elite Ops continues, her expression perfectly composed but her eyes shining with warmth. "But consider how Blaze can probably benchpress ten of you without breaking a sweat. You need quite a lot more practice before that can ever be considered."

I freeze.

My hands drop from my face. I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers completely swallowed by the long sleeves of my jacket.

I pout.

"Ten of me?" I mumble, my tail giving a slow, indignant swish behind my back.

I want to argue. I want to summon the cold, ruthless pride of a Kazdelian noble to defend my physical honor. But as I stand there in my tactical black skort and new boots, I realize she is entirely, mathematically correct. I probably weigh exactly as much as Blaze's superheated chainsaw.

"Well…" I sigh, letting the last of my frantic adrenaline evaporate into the sterile air of the landship. "I suppose thermodynamics tutoring with Skyfire is a safer start…"

Raidian smiles, her upper hand giving my shoulder one last, reassuring squeeze.

"Exactly," Raidian replies. "You have all the time in the world to grow, Lita. There is no rush."

Raidian steps smoothly to my side, lightly guiding me down the corridor.

"Come, let’s walk you to the garden so you don’t run off the landship just to prove a point."

I fall into step beside her.

"It is Amiya and Skyfire’s fault!" I whine, my tail lashing defensively behind my tactical black skort. "Even Adele misunderstood at first! Amiya brings out Instructor Dobermann! ‘Instructor’ sounds like a boot camp! And Skyfire was all dramatic about war and everything!"

I throw my hands up.

Raidian does not stop walking.

"I am sure everyone is just looking after you," Raidian says, her tone softening into a quiet, solemn gravity. "And everyone is still grappling with Londinium, Lita. They are all still on edge."

My boots immediately falter.

The frantic energy drains entirely out of my chest, replaced by a sudden, heavy drop of realization. My mind flashes back to Amiya sitting in her office, the suffocating, weeping sorrow of the Black Crown hovering over her head. I think of Skyfire looking out at the barrens, speaking of the empty throne and a country barely clinging to peace. I think of the sheer, apocalyptic scale of the Catastrophes the Regent pulled down upon the land. They aren't just being dramatic. They are all still carrying the crushing weight of a war that nearly broke the world.

I lower my arms, my shoulders slumping completely under the oversized jacket.

"Oh… right… sorry…" my eyes dropping to the floor. The phantom guilt of being so self-absorbed makes my throat tighten.

Raidian stops.

She turns to face me. Before I can even process the movement.

Poke.

I blink, my eyes going wide as I look up at the Liberi Elite.

"You are so adorable."

The heavy, wartime fatigue instantly vanishes from her emotional resonance.

"Kal’tsit didn’t allow me to visit you back then in fear of triggering Babel dramas,"

Raidian continues, her tone light. "I really wish I could have, though. You are much easier to tease than the other young ones."

My face instantly burns with a fresh, intense heat.

I bat her hand away with my sleeve, taking a rigid, highly exaggerated step backward. I force my spine completely straight, desperately trying to summon the cold, terrifying authority of a Kazdelian executioner.

"Hey!" I gasp, pointing a trembling, fabric-covered finger directly at her. My tail whips frantically in the air. "I will let you know I am a pureblood noble! I am a Djall of the Royal Court! I am a creature of nightmares! I am absolutely not adorable!”

Raidian just smiles, her upper hands resting gently on her hips.

Raidian steps back, sweeping one of her natural arms in a grand arc while her hand rests politely over her chest. She executes a flawless bow right in the middle of the corridor.

"Okay, young miss. Shall I escort you to the garden?" Raidian asks, her tone dripping with reverence.

My face, which had just started to cool down from my frantic sprint, instantly floods with a fresh, searing heat. I stare at the Elite Ops.

"Uhm… uh… oh… yes."

I pull my hands free from the sleeves, reaching out tentatively toward her offered hand. My fingers barely brush against her glove.

"Thank you…"

Raidian gently takes my hand, her grip incredibly grounding.

"Let’s go."

We walk the rest of the way in a comfortable, steady pace. The labyrinthine, identical grey bulkheads of the landship feel far less intimidating with her unyielding density anchoring me.

Eventually, we reach the doors of the Convalescent Garden. The seal breaks with a familiar hiss, and the sterile, metallic scent of Rhodes Island is instantly swallowed by the rich, humid aroma of damp earth, blooming lavender, and lush ferns. I step across the threshold, the warm sunlight filtering down through the massive glass canopy above.

The absolute second my boots touch the tiled pathway, a bright, deeply familiar flavor washes over my senses. It tastes of a bright splash of sun-ripened yuzu tempered perfectly by smooth green tea.

Podenco pops up from behind a row of tall, leafy planters. The young Perro is holding a small pair of pruning shears,. Her eyes dart from me, to the new tactical black skort and boots I am wearing, and finally up to the Liberi Elite Ops standing faithfully by my side.

A massive, teasing grin spreads across Podenco's face.

"Oh look," Podenco calls out, her voice ringing clearly across the quiet, sunlit greenhouse. "Miss Sarkaz Royalty needs an Elite Ops escort just to walk the corridors now!"

"I… just drop me off in Kazdel so I can disappear forever…"

The heat on my cheeks is absolutely scorching.

"Awww, Lita is abandoning us already?"

A wave of blindingly pure, crystallized sugar washes over the rich, humid scent of the greenhouse. I peek out from the safety of my sleeves.

Lisa pops up from behind a nearby wooden table, holding a half-finished woven flower basket in her hands. Her tails sway excitedly behind her as she trots over to join us on the pathway. Her eyes sweep over me.

"Your new outfit looks so good," Lisa adds, her voice carrying a delicate, earnest joy.

Before I can thank her, another deeply soothing flavor bleeds into the ambient air. It hits my senses as a profoundly safe blend of warm lavender and steeped chamomile.

Lena walks over from a row of thriving flowerbeds. She wipes her hands neatly on her apron, offering a soft, mature smile.

"Thank you, Raidian, for delivering our Lita," Lena says gently.

Raidian gives a casual, effortless wave of her hand. The sturdy oak and sun-warmed linen of her resonance radiates a quiet, dependable reliability.

"No worries, Lena," the Liberi Communications Officer replies.

"Want to stay for some tea?" Lena offers, gesturing gracefully toward the sunlit seating area where a ceramic teapot is already resting on a table.

"Sure," Raidian says. She turns and walks gracefully over to the table, her coat shifting behind her as she takes a seat.

As Raidian settles in, Lisa and Podenco both step closer. The two girls circle me slightly, thoroughly inspecting my new gear under the warm light.

"Not bad indeed," Podenco nods, playfully tapping her chin with the handle of her pruning shears. "You look far more ready to be my logistics assistant now."

"I… I was?" I stammer, my voice shrinking into a confused whisper.

Did I really spend my time running around the barren lands carrying logistical supplies and plant samples for a botanist?

"Of course," Podenco says matter-of-factly, crossing her arms with a confident, undeniable grin.

Before my mind can spiral back into the terrifying dissonance between my blood- stained Kazdelian nightmare and the innocent life I had apparently built here, Lisa reaches out. Her hands gently grab the long, oversized sleeve of my coat.

"We can discuss your work later!" Lisa declares, dragging me firmly but gently away from the teasing Perro. "Miss Lena has your favorite oat cookies baked!"

We settle around the wooden picnic table.

Lisa reaches toward the plate of baked cookies. She picks up a dried berry and oat cookie, offering it to me with both hands. It is still wonderfully warm, the rich scent of toasted oats and sweet fruit rising from the baked dough.

"Thank you," I carefully take it from her.

Lena moves around the table, holding a beautifully painted ceramic teapot. She pours a steaming cup for each of us, the amber liquid swirling gently in the porcelain.

"Thanks, Lena," Raidian says.

I bring the cookie to my mouth and take a bite. The tart, sweet berries and warm oats practically melt on my tongue.

"This is so good," I say, my voice slightly muffled as I swallow the first half of the cookie. Lena smiles, her eyes crinkling with a gentle satisfaction.

I look down at the remaining half of the cookie in my hand. The sweet taste lingers on my tongue, but as I stare at it, the heavy, suffocating mountain of guilt tries to creep back into my chest. I think of Amiya in her office, carrying the crushing weight of the Black Crown, and the conversation we had just shared over Leithanian cake.

"Though… everyone," I start. "I do have a question…"

The cheerful, comfortable quiet around the table shifts.

"Yes?" Podenco asks, tilting her head. The bright taste of her yuzu quiets into a gentle, focused attention.

I trace the rim of my teacup with my thumb, staring down at my reflection in the tea.

"Amiya asked about my birthday," I confess, the words feeling incredibly heavy in my throat. "She offered to look into the old server logs to find out my actual birthday’s or she said I could keep the 2nd of January. I am… I am not sure what to do."

"Well, you can tell her you choose every day as your birthday," Podenco says, leaning forward over the picnic table. "So we can just celebrate birthdays every single day."

Lena lets out a soft, long sigh.

"Only if Kal’tsit gives me enough budget," Lena murmurs, gently setting the painted ceramic teapot back down onto the wooden table.

Raidian chuckles, leaning comfortably back against her chair.

"That would be great, wouldn’t it?" Raidian adds, casually crossing her arms. "Come to the garden for Lita’s bday cake every day."

Beside me, Lisa stares blankly at the tray of cookies, her tails drooping slightly.

"Going to be hard to maintain health and body shape that way…" Lisa ponders, her brow furrowing with absolute, earnest seriousness.

I just stare at them across the rim of my teacup.

They are… they are seriously thinking about that.

I expected a tense, solemn discussion about the philosophical weight of reclaiming my lost history. Instead, they are actively debating the caloric consequences of three hundred and sixty-five consecutive birthday cakes.

Lisa suddenly blinks, as she turns her bright eyes back to me.

"Well, Lita, it is your choice of course!" Lisa says gently, reaching out to pat my sleeve.

"No one can choose that for you!"

My choice.

I look down at my lap, my tail giving a slow, thoughtful swish beneath the table.

"I… I want to honor the day my mom birthed me…" I say, my voice a quiet, fragile whisper that echoes in the sunlit space. "Lethia… she fought for the light, and I don't want that day to be lost to the dark."

I take a slow breath.

"But…" I continue, looking up toward the greenhouse canopy. "But the day Erika saved me is also very important… If she hadn't found me… I wouldn't be here with any of you."

I look back at the group, my brow furrowing in genuine conflict. Both days are the beginning of my life. How can I possibly choose between the mother who gave me life, and the… I suppose… another mother… who gave me a future?

"Maybe… maybe I can just have two?"

Podenco points directly at me, a massive, teasing grin breaking across her face.

"See!" Podenco declares to the rest of the table. "She just wants more cakes."

I think of the two mothers who gave me life. Lethia, who brought me into a world of ash and fought desperately for the light, and Caladria, who pulled me from the freezing ruins and gave me a future. I cannot possibly choose between them.

"Maybe… but I will keep the 2nd of January for sure…"

I look up at the sea of smiling faces gathered around the wooden table.

"I will message Amiya everything," I announce, offering them a small, grateful smile.

"Thank you, everyone."

I pull out my slate from my belt hooked bag, and pull up the encrypted messaging application, and begin to type.

[Lethe]: Amiya. I have decided to take the field deployment offer. And I want to see if I can keep both of my birthdays…

[Amiya]: Sure thing, Lita. I will see if Closure can find your real date of birth.

[SYSTEM ALARM]: Chief Engineer Closure has joined the encrypted chat. Closure has accessed all chat history.

I practically jump in my seat. She can just do that?!

[Closure]: Kiddo, I have delivered your new ID and the beckbeast plushie to your dorm. So consider your modelling credit all spent. And as for your birthday, don’t get your hopes up, Babel records are mostly lost.

I stare at the screen in absolute disbelief. My credits! She already confiscated my entire paycheck before I even saw the digital transfer! But… a soft, fuzzy warmth blooms in my chest. She actually delivered the massive, squishy beckbeast plushie straight to my room.

[Lethe]: Thank you, Amiya and Closure. Where is my dorm by the way?

[Closure]: Just ask anyone in the garden, they know where, you are already there anyways.

[Amiya]: Also, Lita. Be sure to be ready for Instructor Dobermann’s test.

[Lethe]: Okay.

I power down the slate's screen. The reflection of my own face stares back at me from the black glass for a fraction of a second before I look back up at the group.

"Uhm… Is Instructor Dobermann scary?"

The absolute second the name leaves my mouth, the cheerful, sunlit atmosphere of the Convalescent Garden completely stalls.

The ambient air in the greenhouse ripples. Beside me, the blindingly pure, flawless flavor of Lisa's crystallized sugar spikes with a sudden, frantic flutter of sheer apprehension. The young Vulpo's tails instantly drop, pinning themselves rigidly against the bench. Across the table, the bright splash of Podenco's sun-ripened yuzu turns distinctly sharp and sour, her ears flattening against her head.

Even Lena lets out a slow, heavy sigh, her soothing lavender resonance shifting into a distinctly exhausted, weary dread.

My eyes darting frantically between them. Their reactions are terrifying. Are we talking about a combat instructor, or a literal Catastrophe walking down the hallways?

I turn my head, looking desperately at Raidian for an anchor of sanity.

The Liberi simply crosses her arms. The deeply comforting flavor of sturdy oak and sun-warmed linen remains entirely unfazed. She offers me a soft amused smile.

"You will have to see for yourself," Raidian says.