January, 1097

The clock on the cafeteria wall ticks over with a quiet, indifferent precision. It is the 1st of January, 1097. My quiet vigil has ended just yesterday night, But there is no celebration. There is no overlapping chatter, no clinking of glasses, and absolutely no bright, carbonated flavors of joy saturating the air. The vast dining hall is a cavern of hushed, exhausted whispers and heavy shadows.

I turn my head, my eyes drawn inevitably back to the large, reinforced observation window. We are docked near Lungmen. I had heard passing logistics Operators speak of this place: a jewel of a mobile city, a sprawling, untouchable metropolis of vibrant neon and endless prosperity.

But the neon bleeding through the glass today is suffocating. It is warped and twisted, choked by towering, black plumes of smoke. In the distance, the skeletal remains of massive skyscrapers are being violently hollowed out, their steel and glass decimated by the blinding, destructive flashes of Originium Arts. The city is being eaten alive by fire.

"Good morning, my little Lethe."

The voice pulls me back from the glass.

I pull my focus away from the apocalyptic skyline and look up. "Good morning, mom." She looks so much better. The bandages that had wrapped her chest are gone, and the dark, bruised circles under her eyes have finally begun to soften. She sets her metal tray down on the table opposite me. It holds a simple plate of scrambled eggs and a piece of soft bread. Next to it sits a massive, steaming mug of black coffee; a bitter, highly caffeinated lifeline that she has absolutely, strictly forbidden me from ever touching.

She sits down with a quiet sigh.

I take a slow sip of my milk tea, letting the sweetness coat my tongue. I look at her, my tail curling nervously around the leg of my chair.

"I haven't seen Amiya, Rosmontis, and Dr. Kal'tsit for a long time now, mom,"

Mom’s hand pauses mid-reach for her coffee mug. The warm, protective honey flavor in the air ripples, pierced instantly by a sharp, sour spike of anxiety. She averts her eyes, staring down at the dark liquid in her cup.

"They are…" she begins, her voice tight, carefully managing the cadence to sound reassuring. "They are busy, Lethe."

I lower my mug. The ceramic clicks softly against the table.

I reach across the table, my fingers gently touching the sleeve of her coat.

"Mom, be honest with me," I plead. I keep my voice steady, anchoring myself to the horrific reality burning right outside our window. "What is happening?"

She freezes. She looks at my hand resting on her arm, and then up into my eyes.

Mom lets out a long, heavy exhale. Her shoulders slump. She turns her head, her eyes locking onto the smoking, decimated skyline of Lungmen.

"Reunion is sieging Lungmen," she whispers. She looks back at me, her expression a mix of profound sorrow and grim necessity. "We are helping them because we need the supplies. And we need a safe place to shelter the refugees."

The burning skeletal remains of the Lungmen skyscrapers reflect in my eyes. The scale of the destruction is unfathomable. The ruins of Rim Billiton, the Tkaronto thunderstorm, the fall of Chernobog… and now this.

"Mom…" My voice fractures into a tiny, breathless squeak. I can barely push the words past the phantom ash coating my tongue. "Is… is… the world ending? Why… why are they fighting?"

Mom doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she shifts her posture. Her hand, which had been resting gently beneath my fingers, suddenly turns and grabs mine. She squeezes my hand hard.

"Lethe. Look at me," she commands.

I hesitate. The sheer, suffocating magnitude of the war outside feels like an inescapable gravity.

"Look at me," she repeats, the words striking the air with heavy, undeniable force.

I flinch, finally tearing my eyes away from the reinforced glass. I turn my head, and look at her.

"It is not ending," mom states. "As long as we… as long as Rhodes Island exists. Amiya. Dr. Kal’tsit. The Elite Ops, the medical staff… we are not allowing the world to end."

"But… Ace… Scout… so many others…" The names catch in my throat like jagged shards of glass. "They couldn’t save the city…"

"The Perro… he told me. Reunion crashed an entire building on his squad and…

innocent people".

Mom's expression doesn't harden with the righteous anger I expect. Instead, a profound, aching sorrow settles deeply into the exhausted lines of her face.

"Lethe," she murmurs, her voice dropping to a soft, heartbreaking whisper. "Don’t hate the Reunion."

The words do not compute.

"What?!"

The word tears out of my throat, my hands slamming flat against the cold metal. "They are killing us! Amiya, Rosmontis have to go to war because of them!"

The sound of my high, frantic voice echoes sharply across the cavernous cafeteria. Instantly, the muted hum of the room completely flatlines. Dozens of exhausted, hollow eyes turn from their meals to stare directly at our table. The ambient air violently spikes, hitting the back of my tongue with the sharp, startled static of sudden tension. The flush of hot, prickly embarrassment immediately crashes over my cheeks. I shrink back, quickly dropping down into my chair and tucking my tail tightly around my legs.

"Sorry!" I squeak, ducking my head. "Sorry…”

Mom leans forward, her hands reaching across the table to gently cover mine.

"Lethe. They are Infected," mom explains, her tone carrying the heavy, bleeding weight of Terra's history. "The Empire of Ursus… they kill the Infected on sight. Or they toss them into mining camps to mine the very mineral that is killing them, forcing them to labor in the freezing cold until they die."

I freeze.

"They had enough," mom continues. "Their method… is wrong. We cannot excuse them for burning cities. But… it is because they didn't find a home."

She gently squeezes my fingers, her gaze unwavering. "Think about the Operators here, Lethe. From the people you know… only Skyfire, Dr. Warfarin, and Podenco are uninfected."

The revelation stops my breath entirely.

Miss Lena. Lisa. Miss Sussurro. Amiya. Rosmontis. All of them. They all carry the terminal death sentence of the glowing Originium ticking away inside their blood.

I slowly pull my hands out from under hers. I turn them over, staring blankly down at my palms. Beneath this translucent porcelain skin, I know the Originium is there, localized deep within my temporal lobe, actively burning away at whatever is left of my mind just to keep me breathing.

"So…” The word is incredibly fragile, fracturing into the quiet space between us.

"Reunion is just people like me."

I keep staring at my hands. I… don’t remember what happened back then when mom saved me… the memory… it is gone.

I shake my head. Forcing the dread down.

I look up at mom, she has saved me, that’s all that matters. The only difference between me and the rioters burning the city outside our window is the woman sitting across from me.

"They didn't have someone pull them out of the rubbles."

"I am going to the Archives, mom!" I declare, my voice ringing with a sudden, fierce intensity.

Mom blinks, entirely caught off guard by the sharp pivot in my demeanor. She pauses, her coffee mug suspended halfway to her lips.

"Lethe?" she asks, the feathers near her temples twitching in mild bewilderment.

"I need to understand," I press on. "Not just Originium. Not just Oripathy. I need to understand the world."

I glance toward the reinforced observation window, at the smoke-choked skyline of Lungmen.

"I need to know what the Empire of Ursus is," I whisper. "I need to know how these mobile cities work, and why the Infected are thrown into the dark. If Reunion is just people like me who were left in the rubble… then I need to know why the world is so broken."

The profound, aching sorrow in mom's eyes slowly melts. The tight, exhausted lines of her face soften, and a warm, incredibly fond smile breaks across her lips. The ambient flavor of the air sweetens, a rushing wave of linen and honey completely pushing back the cafeteria's cold dread.

"Finish your breakfast first," mom says smoothly, her tone returning to its baseline. The grand, dramatic momentum of my declaration hits a sudden, incredibly mundane wall. I blink, my ears drooping slightly as the fierce determination fractures into a sheepish, obedient pout. I look down at my lukewarm milk tea.

"O…okay, mom," I mumble, reaching out to wrap my hands dutifully around the ceramic mug.

Mom's smile widens into a soft, genuine chuckle.

"And don’t forget to tell Miss Lena you are not going to the garden, if you are going to be a little bookworm the entire day," she reminds me, tapping her index finger lightly against the table.

I give her a firm nod.

I take a large, compliant gulp of the sweet milk tea, my other hand already reaching into my dark bag for my slate. The world outside is burning, and the people I care about are walking through the fire, but I am not going to just sit in the dark and wait anymore. I am going to learn everything I can.

I finally excuse myself to the Archives.

Without Ms. Skyfire’s towering presence and fiery lectures to anchor me, the sheer scale of the library feels incredibly isolating.

I wander through the silent aisles, pulling heavy books and digital slates from the shelves. My arms ache under the mounting weight of A Comprehensive History of the Empire of Ursus, Demographics of the North, and a thick, intimidating primer on the dynasties of Great Yan.

I turn the corner of a particularly dense row of physical records, searching for a secluded wooden table.

Standing right between the towering shelves is a Caprinae with brown hair.

She is small, her soft, curling horns framing a face completely absorbed in the text before her. She is holding a thick, brass-rimmed magnifying glass, hovering it above the pages of a sprawling, heavily detailed geological map.

My Arts brush gently against the ambient air of the aisle. The flavor that washes over me is profoundly comforting. It tastes like a dormant hearth fire mixed with the rich, earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts. It is a quiet, enduring warmth.

She doesn’t notice me at all, entirely swallowed by her academic focus.

I step carefully past her. I find an empty table nearby and gently pull a chair out, taking meticulous care not to let the legs scrape against the floorboards. I set my towering pile of books down and open the first cover.

Thirty minutes pass.

The silence of the Archives is heavy, broken only by the soft, rhythmic turning of pages. I stare blankly at the dense, blocky text detailing the sociological structures of the north. My brow is furrowed so deeply it aches. My brain is twisting itself into agonizing knots trying to comprehend the sheer, brutal complexity of Terra's geopolitical landscape. How can "Ursus" be the name of a specific race of people with round ears and incredible physical strength, but also the name of a sprawling, ruthless Empire that enslaves and slaughters its own citizens?

The overwhelming cruelty and convoluted history is just too much.

With a pathetic, exhausted groan, I let my upper body completely collapse. My forehead hits the polished wood with a loud, echoing thud.

The sudden noise shatters the absolute quiet of the aisle.

The Caprinae violently flinches. Her shoulders jump, the heavy magnifying glass nearly slipping from her grasp as she whips her head around. She scans the aisle, her wide eyes finally landing on my slumped form draped over the Ursus history book.

"Oh. Hi," she breathes out, her voice a soft, airy melody that sounds genuinely surprised. "I didn’t hear you coming in. Are you okay?"

I immediately shoot up from the table, my cheeks burning with a hot flush of embarrassment.

"I am," I stammer. "Sorry. The books are just… really hard."

The Caprinae pauses. She lowers the magnifying glass, her gaze dropping to the floor for a brief, heavy second. The ambient flavor of roasted chestnuts in the air dims just a fraction, tinged with a quiet, lingering note of melancholic resignation.

"Sorry," she murmurs, offering a small, fragile smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"My hearing isn't that good these days."

The words settle into the quiet of the library. Ms. Skyfire has told me before, it is the insidious, creeping theft of Oripathy, slowly taking the world away from her, piece by piece.

My heart gives a soft, painful twist in my chest.

I force the melancholy down and sit up straight.

"Sorry!" I say. I make sure to project, deliberately raising the volume of my voice so it carries clearly across the few paces between us, but I carefully keep it under a disruptive yell. "I am Lethe. I am a Medical Operator."

She offers a genuinely warm, sweet smile. The lingering note of resignation in the air completely evaporates, instantly replaced by her soothing comfort.

"Hi, Lethe," she replies, her voice retaining that gentle, airy melody. "I am Adele. Nice to meet you."

Adele steps closer, her eyes dropping to the teetering fortress of heavy political and historical texts I had hoarded. She looks at the intimidating spine of my books and then back at my thoroughly defeated expression.

"Do you need any help, Lethe?" Miss Adele asks kindly.

"I… I would love to," I admit, my shoulders slumping as I let out a long, exhausted sigh. I gesture helplessly at the open pages. "I don't get it."

Adele carefully sets her magnifying glass down and pulls out the heavy wooden chair beside me. She sits down, bringing the ambient, comforting warmth of a dormant hearth fire right to my side.

She is an entirely different teacher than Ms. Skyfire. Miss Adele is incredibly patient. She looks at the dense, blocky text, and begins to slowly, methodically untangle the geopolitical nightmare of Terra into words my overwhelmed mind can actually comprehend.

"Ursus is a race of people," Miss Adele explains, her voice soft but articulate, ensuring she speaks clearly enough for both of us. "They are known for being incredibly strong and enduring. But the Empire of Ursus is the nation they built in the frozen north. And it is a nation built almost entirely on war."

I lean forward, resting my chin on my hands, completely captivated as she gently turns the pages of the heavy text.

Miss Adele guides me through the brutal, blood-soaked history of the Empire's expansions. She explains how their massive military machine relentlessly marches across the freezing tundras, consuming smaller territories and crushing anyone who resists under the treads of their war machines. She speaks of their endless appetite for resources, and the terrifying, heavily armored patrols that police their mobile cities. Then, her soft voice drops a fraction, taking on a heavy, mournful weight. She traces a finger over a dark, jagged illustration on the page.

"And these are the mining camps," Adele murmurs.

I stare at the bleak, terrifying drawing of fenced-in labor camps set against a barren, snow-blasted wasteland.

"When people in the Empire of Ursus become Infected with Oripathy," Miss Adele explains, the flavor of her presence dimming into a profound, quiet sorrow, "they are stripped of their rights. The military forces them into these camps. They are sent into the freezing dark to mine raw Originium. They are worked until they freeze, starve, or the infection completely consumes them."

The air in my lungs suddenly feels freezing cold.

If I had woken up in the frozen north instead… that would be me. Thrown into a freezing mine to dig up the very rocks that were killing me, until I was nothing but a corpse in the snow.

"It's so cruel," I whisper, my fingers gripping the edge of the wooden table so tightly my knuckles turn white. "Why does the world let them do that?"

Miss Adele looks down at me, her eyes reflecting a deep, knowing sadness. She gently reaches out, resting her warm hand over mine.

"Because people fear what they don't understand, Lethe," Adele says softly. The quiet melody of her voice shifts, anchored by a bedrock of absolute, undeniable conviction. She looks down at the bleak illustration of the camp.

"That is why I am here," she continues, turning her gaze back to me. "It is why you are here, too."

I blink, completely captivated by the sudden, fierce intensity radiating from her.

"We study Catastrophes. We work to understand Oripathy," Adele explains, her hand leaving mine to gesture toward the massive geological map spread across the table. "I specialize in fault lines and volcanology. I work to understand the wrath of the planet.” She rests her fingertips against the intricate topographical lines charting Terra's scarred surface.

"Once we truly understand how Catastrophes and Oripathy work… once we strip away the mystery, the unpredictability, and the terror…" Adele's voice lowers, carrying the immense, crushing weight of a promise made to the world. "Then the fear will die. And without that fear to weaponize, the Empire of Ursus won't be able to exist."

I stare at Miss Adele. The ambient flavor suddenly shifts. The gentle warmth parts, revealing a blindingly hot, concentrated core of pure, volcanic resolve. It is a staggering, monumental ambition.

I look at her in complete, unadulterated awe.

"You are so strong, Miss Adele.”

Miss Adele blinks. The fierce, volcanic resolve instantly melts back into her soft, gentle demeanor. A faint, rosy flush dusts her cheeks as she shyly tucks a strand of hair behind one of her horns.

"Thank you, Lethe," she smiles, picking her magnifying glass back up. "Now, shall we look at how the nomadic city plates of Great Yan are structured?"

I offer her a bright, resolute nod, pulling my chair just a little bit closer to the table.

"Yes, please."

Miss Adele gently closes the massive ledger detailing the bureaucratic infrastructure of Great Yan. She blinks, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the aisle as she glances toward the digital clock mounted at the end of the corridor.

"Oh my," Miss Adele murmurs. "It is already past noon. We should go eat, Lethe."

I sit completely frozen in my chair, my small hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that my knuckles ache. I stare blankly at the closed cover of the ledger.

Yan…

Yan doesn’t care who lives or dies.

My brain is entirely tripped up by the horrors Miss Adele has just explained. It isn't the loud, blood-soaked brutality of the Empire of Ursus or the chaotic, burning rage of Reunion. It is something colder. Something meticulously calculated. Great Yan is a land of sprawling, vibrant prosperity, a nation of poetry, ancient martial arts, and unparalleled agricultural wealth.

But beneath that beautiful surface lies a terrifying, unyielding ledger of human lives.

"Lethe…" Miss Adele’s voice drifts across the table.

"Why…?" I whisper.

I look up at her, my eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.

"The country is vast. It is prosperous," I plead, my voice cracking as I point a shaking finger at the closed textbook. "But the people in power… they have decided that in the face of Catastrophes and Feranmuts, they will just leave their own citizens to die. To comply with state quotas, they don’t care if an entire district starves to death…"

To watch a Catastrophe approach or a Feranmut awakens and simply draw a line on a map, coldly calculating exactly how many thousands of people must be sacrificed to balance their provincial budget.

Miss Adele does not flinch.

"Lethe, listen to me," Miss Adele says softly. Her gaze is incredibly steady. "They are doing what they believe is right to live another day against Catastrophes and the horrors of the divine."

She gently squeezes my hands, her thumb brushing against my knuckles.

"What did I tell you earlier?" she asks, her voice a quiet, unwavering guide in the dark. I swallow. I look at her kind face.

"People fear what they don’t understand," I recite.

"Yes," Miss Adele nods. "They use nature’s wrath to justify their own cruelty. They use the unpredictable terror of Catastrophes and ancient gods to build a system where sacrificing the innocent becomes a mathematical necessity."

She leans forward just a fraction, the ambient heat of her presence wrapping around me like a protective shield.

"What do we do to change that, Lethe?" she asks.

I stare at her. The freezing dread in my chest slowly begins to thaw, replaced by a fierce, undeniable spark. I look down at the heavy textbooks of Yan and Ursus, and then back up at the kind researcher who is dedicating her failing body and her entire life to breaking the world's ignorance.

I grip her hands back, my horns tilting as I give her a firm, absolute nod.

"We understand nature’s wrath," I declare.

A radiant, beautiful smile breaks across Miss Adele's face. She gently pats my hands before pulling away to gather her magnifying glass.

"Exactly," she murmurs. "And to do that, we need to make sure we are properly fed. Come on, Lethe. Let's go see what the cafeteria has for us today."

The journey from the hushed, climate-controlled silence of the Archives back into the arteries of Rhodes Island is always a jarring transition. I walk closely beside Miss Adele. Before we even reach the main doors of the dining hall, a familiar, intoxicating wave of sugar and yuzu washes over my senses. But today, they carry a thick, suffocating undertone of boiling acid.

Lisa bounds down the corridor. Podenco walks just a step behind her.

"Hi, Lethe! Hi, Miss Adele!" Lisa chimes, her voice ringing clearly.

"Hi, girls," Miss Adele replies.

"Hi, Lisa. Hi, Podenco."

Podenco stops. A mischievous, carbonated fizz ripples through her ambient emotion, tickling the back of my tongue pushing back the acid. She tilts her head, fixing me with a highly exaggerated, scrutinizing stare.

"So that’s where you run to," Podenco teases, her lips curling into a cheeky grin. "Our garden not good enough for you anymore, Lethe?"

Lisa immediately catches on. She dramatically drops her ears, her tails slumping toward the floor as she presses her hands to her chest in an act of profound betrayal.

"Aww. Lethe is abandoning us now?" Lisa gasps softly. "Unfriended."

My eyes blow completely wide. My tail instantly tucks itself defensively around my legs, and my hands fly up in a frantic, waving motion, nearly dropping my staff.

"Wait! No! Of course not!" I stammer, my voice cracking in sheer panic. I take a desperate step forward, looking frantically between the Vulpo and the Perro. "I just… I just needed to read some books! I would never abandon the garden! I promise!"

The moment the genuine distress bleeds into my voice, Lisa’s theatrical heartbreak shatters entirely. She steps forward and gently grabs my flailing hands, her eyes crinkling with a warm, reassuring smile.

"It is okay, Lethe! We know you won’t abandon us just like that!" Lisa insists, instantly dropping the tease to spare my racing heart.

Beside me, Miss Adele lets out a soft chuckle at my expense. My cheeks flush with a hot, prickly heat, and I puff my cheeks out.

Podenco laughs. She uncrosses her arms and gestures with her thumb toward the doors of the cafeteria.

"Much better. Pouts fit you a lot more than gloom. Let’s go get lunch before logistics take all the good stuff," Podenco says, her ears twitching with anticipation.

"Let’s," I agree eagerly.

My tail finally uncoils from around my legs, giving a relaxed, happy swish. Surrounded by the citrusy warmth of Podenco, the sugary joy of Lisa, and the steady, enduring hearth fire of Miss Adele, the apocalyptic horrors of Terra feel just a little bit further away. I fall into step beside my friends, and together, we push through the doors into the savory warmth of the dining hall.

The day flows by without break, The cold does not come from the ambient temperature. The climate controls in my dorm are perfectly stable, humming with their usual, indifferent efficiency. But the chill seeps out from the depth of my core, freezing my blood and making my frame shiver violently beneath the blankets.

I turn my head on the pillow.

January 2nd.

It is my birthday. Or so it says on my file.

I reach out from the warmth of the covers, picking up my slate from the nightstand. The screen illuminates.

I look blankly at the messaging channel. A single, hot tear escapes, dropping heavily onto the glass screen. It lands directly on the text, distorting the pixels of her name into a blurred, watery smudge.

[Mom (Caladria)]: Lethe, my sweetie.

[Lethe]: Mom? Are you…

[Mom (Caladria)]: I am getting deployed to Lungmen.

I remember the absolute, blind panic that had seized me last night. I remember sprinting blindly through the corridors. I didn't even put on my sneakers; my bare feet slapped frantically against the freezing metal as I rushed to her dorm.

I remember bursting through her door, my lungs burning, completely unable to process the sight of her securing the modular pouches to her belt.

I had thrown myself at her. I begged her. I screamed that she was still injured. I reminded her of the white bandages she had just shed, of the exhaustion that had nearly broken her after Chernobog.

I had looked up at her, completely unspooling. I told her I would run straight to the upper decks. I told her I would force my way into Dr. Kal’tsit's office, and throw myself onto my knees to beg her to rescind the order. I would have traded anything to keep her safe in her bed.

But the ambient flavor bleeding off mom hadn't been the sour, bitter dread of fear. It had been heavy, resolute, and steeped in a profound, heartbreaking honey.

She had gently peeled my fingers from her uniform. She knelt down, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly to my forehead.

"I cannot sit in recovery while people are actively dying outside, my little Lethe," she had whispered.

I let the slate slip from my numb fingers. It clatters softly against the mattress, the screen finally going black.

I pull my knees tightly to my chest, curling into the smallest ball my body can manage. My tail wraps around my waists, a completely instinctual, useless shield against the dark. I have cried for so many hours that my head throbs with a sickening, rhythmic ache, and my eyes are swollen and burning. I am surprised there is any moisture left in my body to shed, yet the tears continue to carve hot, silent tracks down my cheeks. My arms tighten their grip on the only things anchoring me to the mattress.

I press my face into the soft fabric of my two plushies. I clutch Amiya and Rosmontis to my chest as if holding them tightly enough might somehow project a protective barrier around the real girls currently standing in the fires of Lungmen.

I press the heels of my hands against my burning eyes, rubbing until the darkness behind my eyelids bursts into faint stars. The skin of my cheeks is raw and tight from the salt.

I take a slow, shuddering breath. I cannot just curl into a miserable ball in the dark. We can keep the hearth warm, Miss Lena’s voice echoes in the quiet void of my mind, a gentle, unwavering melody against the crushing dread.

We understand nature’s wrath, Miss Adele’s fierce, resolve follows, anchoring my trembling spine.

I lower my hands. I reach across the mattress and pick up the slate. The screen is still smeared with the wet track of my tears. I wipe it clean against the fabric of my sleepwear, the cool blue light illuminating my fingers. I open the messaging app, pulling up the distinct, separate threads for the people who are currently walking through the fires of war and suffering.

Mom. Amiya. Rosmontis. Ms. Skyfire.

One by one, I tap the glass, sending the exact same lifeline into the dark.

[Lethe]: Please be safe out there. We will keep the landship safe.

The messages are unsent.

Originium density is disrupting long range communications. Ms. Skyfire’s lecture rings out in my mind. The root of all our technologies, is also the greatest disruptor.

I set the slate down and push myself off the edge of the mattress.

The ritual of getting dressed is a grounding, physical necessity.

Finally, I pull the jacket over my shoulders. I reach out and grab my Arts Unit.

I am an Operator of the Medical Department. I have a job to do.

The walk through the landship is a solitary march. But as the doors of the Convalescent Garden hiss open, the oppressive sterility of the hallways is instantly washed away. A rich, humid wave of warm air spills over me. It carries the thick, earthy scent of damp soil, crushed leaves, and the delicate fragrance of blooming flora. The garden is incredibly peaceful today.

"Good morning, Lethe!"

The bright, chiming voice cuts through the rustling canopy. Lisa bounds down the path. The ambient flavor of crystallized sugar and blinding light hits the back of my tongue, an instant, desperate relief to my frayed nerves.

"Good morning," I reply.

Behind her, stepping out with a watering can in hand, is Podenco.

"Good…" Podenco starts cheerfully, her ears swiveling toward me. Then, she stops dead in her tracks. "…Good morning, Lethe."

Deep within the foliage, Miss Lena turns from her prep counter.

Miss Lena’s eyes sweep over my battered appearance. But unlike Podenco, her expression does not fracture. The serene, welcoming smile on her face holds firm.

"Good morning, sweetie," Miss Lena says, her voice a soft, unwavering anchor in the humid air. She offers me a graceful, reassuring nod.

I grip my Arts Unit, and step fully into the garden.

"I am ready to work," I declare, my voice steadying as I look at the three of them.

"Not yet!" Lisa chirps.

The bright, musical cadence of her voice completely cuts through my grim determination. She reaches behind her back and produces a beautifully packaged rectangle, wrapped in bright, cheerful paper.

As she holds it out, it clinks slightly.

"Podenco and I, we pooled our savings together," Lisa announces, her eyes shining with absolute pride. "This is for your birthday, Lethe."

Podenco steps up right beside her.

"It is a notebook and some coloring pens," Podenco explains, her smile warm and entirely genuine. "Hope you like it."

I stare at the bright package.

I reach out. I take the small present, the smooth paper crinkling softly under my grip. I don't open it. I immediately pull it flush against my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around the rectangular box.

The burning, stinging heat flares up behind my eyes all over again. My throat swells with a massive lump. I bite down hard on my lower lip, desperately trying to lock the tears away. I had spent the entire morning crying in the dark of my dorm; I don't want to cry in front of them. I don't want to ruin their beautiful, happy flavors with the bitter salt of my tears.

"I love it," I whisper, my voice fracturing into a breathless, watery squeak. I squeeze the box tighter against my turtleneck. "I love it so much. Thank you."

Lisa’s tails give a massive wag, and Podenco’s smile widens into a brilliant beam. But the overwhelming tide of their affection doesn't stop there.

"Miss Lena has something for you too, Lethe," Lisa says, her voice a gentle, musical chime, absolutely refusing to allow me to drown in my own melancholy.

I blink, trying to clear the blurry moisture from my vision, and look past them.

Miss Lena steps gracefully out from behind her usual counter. She reaches into the pockets of her apron and pulls out a pair of soft, meticulously hand-woven leg warmers. The yarn is a beautiful, striking shade of light blue. It is the exact, misty hue of my eyes, and a perfect, seamless match to the spade-tipped tail currently arced elegantly behind my back.

"It is getting cold, Lethe," Miss Lena murmurs, she steps forward and gently places the woven fabric on top of the wrapped notebook in my arms. "Here."

I look down at the soft yarn.

Then I look up at the three of them. The tears finally spill over, tracing hot, silent paths down my cheeks, but this time, they do not taste like ash or despair.

"Thank you," I sob quietly, my lips trembling into a massive, radiant smile. "Thank you, everyone. I will keep them forever."

The joy of the birthday gifts are beautiful, fragile anchors. But they are quickly overshadowed by the crushing, suffocating gravity of the war raging outside our hull. The days violently collapse into a grueling, relentless loop.

I siphon the trauma.

The tastes never get better. I force my jaw shut, swallowing the sludge to tear the nightmare away from their minds. I sever the connection, stumble into the nearest washroom. I heave over the porcelain basin, desperately tries to physically purge the phantom horrors from my stomach.

I try not to throw up.

I rinse my mouth with freezing water until the tang dulls, wipe my face, and walk back out to find the next shattered Operator.

I eat in the cafeteria.

The food is utterly tasteless. The sweet pastries and savory broths turn to wet sand on my tongue, chewed and swallowed strictly out of a desperate, mechanical necessity to keep my body from collapsing.

I study in the Archives.

I bury my face in towering stacks of medical texts and Originium research. I read until the blocky text blurs, aggressively forcing the knowledge into my brain, desperate to understand the black crystals and the brutal mechanics of the world that took my family away to the front lines.

I shower.

I scrub my skin under the warm water until it is flushed and raw, frantically trying to wash away the cloying scents of ozone, blood, and medical bleach.

I sleep.

A heavy, dreamless exhaustion pulls me under the moment my cheek hits the pillow, only for the clinical white daylight cycle to snap on and force me to do it all over again. I survive the loop. Over and over again.

Until the 6th of January.

I am sitting on the edge of my mattress, staring blankly at the floor as I lace up my sneakers for the afternoon shift.

A sharp chime shatters the silence of the dorm.

My slate vibrates violently against the nightstand. I flinch, my pointed ears twitching. I reach out with an exhausted hand and tap the glass screen. A high-priority, encrypted direct message banner drops down.

[Kal’tsit]: You are allowed on the flight deck, All the air is violently sucked out of the room.

I stare at the ten words.

The flight deck. It is the absolute highest, most heavily restricted, heavily armored tier of the entire landship. It is the launchpad for the helicopters and VTOL aircrafts. No one goes up there unless they are authorized for deployment, or…

They are coming back.

The slate slips from my numb fingers, clattering loudly against the floor.

I don't even bother to pick the slate up. I scramble off the mattress, I grab my jacket, frantically shoving my arms through the sleeves, and snatch my Arts Unit from where it rests against the wall.

I burst out of my dorm room and break into a dead sprint.

I tear down the corridors, completely abandoning any pretense of walking quietly. My tail lashes wildly behind me for balance. I weave through the startled logistics Operators and bypass the primary elevators entirely, throwing myself at the emergency stairwells. My lungs burn with the biting, sterile air, and my legs ache with every step I take up the steep stairs, but I don't stop.

Mom. Amiya. Rosmontis. Ms. Skyfire.

The flight deck is a sprawling expanse of unforgiving, wind-scoured steel.

The air up here is biting, a freezing, violent gale that whips across the open tarmac and tears through the thin fabric of my clothing. I shiver, my teeth chattering as I hug my jacket tighter around my body. But my lower legs are wonderfully, perfectly insulated. Miss Lena’s hand-woven, leg warmers cling to my calves, a soft, woolen shield of domestic warmth holding back the brutal chill of the upper atmosphere.

I stand behind the heavy yellow safety lines, my hands gripping the barricade so tightly my knuckles ache. I look up.

VTOLs descend from the skies.

The clouds above are a suffocating grey, heavy with the lingering, toxic dust of the warzone. The aircrafts break through the smog like scarred metal birds, their hulls battered, scorched by Originium Arts, and stained with the soot of a burning city. They are carrying my loved ones back from the war.

The deafening, bone-rattling roar of the engines slowly quiets down as the heavy landing gears strike the tarmac.

Hydraulics hiss. The heavy ramps lower to the deck with a resounding clank.

Operators begin to spill out into the freezing air. They stagger down the ramps, supporting each other's weight. Their armor is cracked, their coats are torn, and they look completely, utterly exhausted. Battered, bruised, but ultimately alive.

My eyes frantically scan the disembarking crowds, searching through the sea of ash- stained uniforms.

Then, I see them.

Stepping off the ramp of the second VTOL are two familiar figures. One wears the translucent, high-collared coat of a specialized Medic, her feathers ruffled by the wind. Right beside her, stepping with a weary but undeniable aristocratic grace, is a Feline in a deep crimson and black coat, her fiery hair cutting through the dreary grey of the flight deck like a beacon.

Mom and Ms. Skyfire.

I don't wait for the deck officers to give the all-clear. I duck right under the yellow safety line and rush over.

"Lethe?" Mom’s voice calls out, entirely surprised, as she catches sight of me blurring toward her.

I don't slow down. I slam into her at full speed.

The impact nearly knocks the breath out of both of us, but mom’s instincts are instantaneous. She drops her medical bags and catches me, her arms wrapping securely around my shoulders as I bury my face entirely into the center of her chest.

"Lethe."

The voice above us is refined, cutting through the roaring wind with practiced authority. I turn my head just enough to peek out from the safety of mom's coat. Ms. Skyfire stands a few paces away. Her normally immaculate uniform is singed at the edges, and a streak of soot marks her cheek, but she holds her chin high. She gives me a single, approving nod.

"Hope you have your homework ready," Ms. Skyfire declares, the faint, crackling warmth of her fire bleeding off her emotional resonance, "and not missing your readings."

I squeeze mom even tighter, refusing to peel back from the embrace.

"Of course not!" I muffle directly into the fabric of nom's shirt. "I even have Miss Adele teaching me new things."

The ambient air on the flight deck violently shifts.

The comforting, crackling warmth instantly flares into a sharp, aggressive spike of chili and intense spices.

Ms. Skyfire’s feline ears snap straight up, swiveling sharply toward me. Her eyes narrow.

"Miss Adele?"*Ms. Skyfire repeats. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "You mean the Caprinae volcanologist? Lethe, I leave you unsupervised for a mere handful of weeks, and you immediately seek out another tutor to supplement my curriculum?" Mom lets out a breathless laugh above me, her shoulders shaking with quiet amusement.

"I didn't replace you!" I protest, peeking out again with wide, innocent eyes. "She just helped me understand the geopolitical textbooks because the Ursus and Yan histories were too hard! But I still saved the thermodynamic Originium chapters entirely for you, Ms. Skyfire!"

Ms. Skyfire scoffs, though the sharp, peppery sting in the air quickly mellows back into a prideful warmth. She reaches up, elegantly brushing a strand of ash-stained hair from her face.

"Well, I suppose basic geology and history are acceptable secondary pursuits," she mutters, lifting her chin with a sniff. "But make no mistake, Lethe. Once I have properly bathed and rested, we are immediately reviewing those thermodynamic chapters. I will not have my primary student falling behind simply because I was occupied saving a city."

"I will be ready!" I promise, my voice muffled but absolute.

I close my eyes, burying my face back into the secure, honey-sweet warmth of my mother's arms.

"Lethe."

The voice rings out, soft but impossibly clear over the howling wind.

I turn around, still safely anchored against mom's side.

It is Rosmontis. Her oversized jacket billows wildly in the gale, but her face is as perfectly calm and distant as ever. She is safe, and she looks exactly like she always does.

But right behind her, stepping heavily down the ramp of the VTOL is an entirely new flavor.

It hits me with the force of a physical blow. It tastes of heavy machine grease, roaring exhaust, and pure, unapologetic fire. It is blindingly bright, scorchingly hot, and completely devoid of hesitation.

I stare as a tall Feline strides onto the tarmac. She is carrying a massive, terrifyingly oversized chainsaw resting casually over her shoulder, the jagged teeth of the weapon gleaming dully in the bruised light. Her long dark hair whips wildly in the wind.

"Kid! You are way too scrawny!" the tall Feline shouts, her voice effortlessly booming over the roar of the idling engines. She marches straight toward us, a wild, fearless grin plastered across her face. "Better hold on tight to Caladria there, or a wind might just blow you off the board!"

I blink at her. I look at the terrifying machinery she is carrying, and then my focus snaps to the emblem stitched proudly onto her jacket.

An Elite Ops patch.

"I am Blaze, by the way," she announces. Before I can even process the introduction or properly offer a polite bow to a veteran of her rank, she reaches out with a heavy, gloved hand. She vigorously ruffles my grey hair, completely messing up the strands I had carefully tucked around the bases of my horns. "Good job keeping the landship safe while we were away."

I look up into her fiery eyes. There is a fierce, burning camaraderie.

"Thank you, Ms. Blaze," I reply. I lean my weight against mom's side and look back at the Elite Operator with absolute sincerity. "I kept the hearth warm, like Miss Lena asked." Mom, Ms. Skyfire, and Ms. Blaze exchange a quick, silent look over my head.

Then, Ms. Blaze throws her head back and lets out a massive, booming laugh that seems to physically shake the freezing air around us. The pure, unadulterated joy radiating from her pushes back the bitter chill of the flight deck.

Beside her, Ms. Skyfire lets out a delicate, manufactured cough into her hand, trying desperately to maintain her composure. She turns her head slightly away from the wind, but completely fails to hide a begrudging, genuine smile.

Mom simply laughs softly, her arm tightening securely around my shoulders.

"Ms. Blaze? What is so funny?" I ask, blinking up at the towering Elite Operator.

Before Ms. Blaze can explain, a familiar voice cuts through the wind.

"Lethe."

I turn around. Amiya is approaching.

My heart gives a painful twist. She looks so incredibly small on the vast, wind-scoured tarmac. Her face is drawn, deeply shadowed by the unspeakable, blood-soaked horrors she just walked out of. The ambient flavor bleeding off her is a suffocating, tragic wave of suffocating ash, ruined concrete, and rusted iron.

But the exact moment her eyes lock onto me, a faint, familiar spark instantly fills her gaze. The bitter ash parts just a fraction, allowing a fragile, sweet note of sugar to push through the dark. She offers me a weak, deeply exhausted smile.

"Amiya," I breathe out, desperately wanting to run to her, but my feet suddenly root themselves to the deck.

Because right behind her, stepping down the ramp, is the hooded man.

I recognize the heavy, dark coat and the opaque visor instantly. It is the exact same figure I had seen in the hallucination pulled from the petrified wood.

I instinctively shrink back against mom's side, bracing my senses for the crushing, terrifying abyss I had felt in the vision.

But as his emotional resonance washes over me, I freeze.

It is different. It is still a vast, echoing void, but it is not alien anymore. The taste that hits the back of my tongue is incredibly complex. It carries the sharp, biting flavor of dark, over-steeped black tea and cold iron. But that sharp intellect is heavily clouded by the muted, tasteless flavor of melting snow and thick, grey fog.

He is conflicted.

Before I can fully process the shift in his presence, a heavy, synchronized march of boots draws my attention.

A squad of heavily armored Rhodes Island Operators marches down the ramp, their weapons drawn and their postures rigidly tense. In the center of their formation, they are escorting a prisoner.

It is a Draco woman. Her hands are bound securely in heavy, specialized handcuffs. Her clothes are scorched and tattered, her expression hidden beneath a veil of ash and exhaustion, but the sheer, volatile heat radiating from her is undeniable. The escort squad hurries her past our group, moving with urgent, militarized precision.

Right behind them, her crisp coat snapping sharply in the gale, walks Dr. Kal'tsit.

The hooded man does not stop to greet us. He simply follows silently in the Medical Director's wake, his dark coat blending into the grey smog as he walks behind the captive Draco.

Dr. Kal'tsit pauses for only a fraction of a second as she passes our small, reunited cluster. Her piercing attention sweep over the Elite Ops, mom, and my small frame pressed against her side.

"This is the flight deck, not a recreational lounge," Dr. Kal'tsit states. "We do not host welcome parties for ourselves while the triage bays are overflowing and high-value combatants require immediate secure processing."

Her gaze snaps to Amiya, Rosmontis and the chainsaw-wielding Ms. Blaze.

"Amiya. Rosmontis. Blaze," Dr. Kal'tsit commands, her tone absolute and unforgiving.

"You still have a job to do. Report to the command center for debriefing." She then shifts her eyes to mom. "Caladria, remove Lethe from the high security zones and report to the medical wing. We have wounded waiting."

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she turns on her heel and strides away, following the prisoner and the hooded man into the heavily armored depths of home. I watch Dr. Kal’tsit walk away.

But before she fully disappears, a distinct flavor slips past her composure. A sharp, biting wave of unripe apple and sour grapefruit. It is acidic and tightly coiled.

Is Dr. Kal'tsit… mourning?

I stare at the empty doors.

"Well, kid, duty calls," Ms. Blaze sighs, shattering the heavy silence.

She hefts the chainsaw back onto her shoulder with a clatter. Her roaring fire dims just a fraction, banking into a quiet, simmering ember of somber duty. She flashes me one last, brave grin and gives my head a firm, heavy pat before turning to follow the Director's path.

Amiya lingers for just a second longer.

She doesn't look up at me. Her gaze drops to the floor, her ears drooping limply against her shoulders. The suffocating taste of concrete, ash, and iron bleeds heavily from her frame, completely swallowing the faint spark of sugar that had been there just moments ago.

"We will see you later, Lethe," Amiya murmurs, her voice trembling slightly. She draws a ragged breath. "Please join us… for memorial…”

Beside her, Rosmontis doesn't speak. She simply offers a slow, solemn nod. Her eyes are distant,. She turns and quietly follow our CEO into the dark corridors of our home. Memorial.

The word drops onto the flight deck like a lead weight.

I feel mom completely freeze beside me. Her hand, which had been resting securely on my shoulder, goes completely rigid. A few paces away, Ms. Skyfire goes completely still. The hearth that had been radiating from the Senior Caster just moments ago is instantly smothered.

I don't say a word. I just step closer to mom, pressing my side firmly against hers, and reach my hand up to interlock my fingers with hers. I squeeze her hand as hard as I can, trying to pour every bit of my own warmth into her freezing grip.

Mom takes a slow, shuddering breath. The air rattles in her lungs, but she forces her spine to straighten. She squeezes my fingers back.

"Lethe," mom whispers. Her voice is thick with unshed tears. She looks at me. "Let's go to the garden…”

As we reach the main junction separating the flight deck elevators from the residential blocks, Ms. Skyfire comes to a halt.

"I must excuse myself. I need to head to the decontamination showers and wash the stench of that ruined city from my coat."

She looks at me, her expression firming into strict expectation. "Remember what I said, Lethe. I expect you to be entirely caught up on your readings when I am ready."

"I will be, Ms. Skyfire," I promise, giving her a small, respectful bow.

She offers a curt nod to mom, turns on her heel, and disappears down the hallway. Mom keeps her hand securely wrapped around mine as we walk the rest of the way. When the doors of the Convalescent Garden finally open. The scent of soil and flora is a desperate, necessary relief to my frozen lungs.

But the sanctuary feels entirely different today.

Miss Lena is standing near the center. She doesn't offer her usual welcoming smile. Her face is entirely unreadable, carved into a mask of quiet, bracing apprehension. Even Podenco and Lisa, who are standing near the flowerbeds, are completely still.

Mom stops.

"Lena," mom says, her voice cracking slightly. "Amiya… Amiya has called for memorials to be held this evening."

The word hangs in the humid air.

Miss Lena closes her eyes.

"How many?" Miss Lena asks softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Ace. Scout," mom replies, the names scraping painfully. "And many others."

Podenco covers her mouth with her hands. Lisa's ears drop completely flat against her head. The silence that follows is deafening, heavy with the phantom weight of the empty beds they left behind.

Mom takes a slow breath, forcing herself to hold together just a little bit longer.

"I… I need to head to the decontamination showers," mom breathes out. She gently pulls her fingers from my grip and looks down at me, offering a fragile, exhausted. "Stay here with them, Lethe. I will come find you when I am clean."

"Laters, mom," I say, offering her a small, reassuring wave.

She gives me a single nod before turning around.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the closed doors, letting the heavy, melancholic silence of the garden settle over my shoulders.

Then, I slowly turn around.

I blink.

Lisa is staring at me, her face entirely lit up. The sheer, unadulterated brightness radiating from her is absolutely blinding, completely overriding the sorrow of just a moment ago. Beside her, Podenco is carrying an expression that sits perfectly halfway between a smirk and a smile, her ears perked straight up and her tail giving a slow, deliberate swish behind her.

"Did…" Lisa starts, her voice a hushed, vibrating squeak of pure, unfiltered excitement. She takes a step forward, pointing a finger directly at me. "Did you just call Miss Erika… mom?"

I freeze.

The hot, prickly flush of absolute embarrassment instantly crashes over my cheeks, burning all the way up to the tips of my ears. My hands fly up defensively, and my tail immediately coils tightly around my leg.

"I… I…"

"Well, well," Podenco teases, stepping forward to stand right beside Lisa. She rests her hands confidently on her hips, her smirk widening into a full, victorious grin. "Look who finally admitted it out loud. We've been waiting for months for you to slip up, Lethe!"

"I didn't slip up!" I whine. I cross my arms over my chest, desperately trying to summon any pureblood Sarkaz dignity.

"Oh, you definitely did!" Lisa chimes, her tails puffing up and swishing in a frantic blur of joy. She hops closer, her eyes crinkling with delight. "It is so cute! 'Laters, mom!' You sounded just like a real daughter!"

"Stop it!" I groan, burying my burning face entirely into my hands.

"Miss Lena, did you hear her?" Podenco calls out, the carbonated fizz of her amusement bubbling through the air. "Our little Lethe is officially adopted!"

I peek through the gaps in my fingers. Even Miss Lena, despite the heavy, lingering sorrow of the memorial news, has lifted her hand to cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking with a soft, genuine chuckle.

The bright, carbonated fizz of Lisa and Podenco’s laughter doesn't last.

The doors hiss. The ambient air in the greenhouse violently shifts, the joyful, sugary warmth instantly completely annihilated by a suffocating wave of pure, unfiltered devastation.

A Forte Operator steps across the threshold.

She looks completely drained. Her heavy, reinforced armor is scored with deep, blackened gouges, and the Rhodes Island emblem on her shoulder is entirely obscured by dried blood and thick soot. Her face is ashen. Her eyes are wide and entirely vacant, staring straight through the lush canopy as if she is still trapped in a nightmare playing out behind her retinas.

She doesn't speak. She doesn't even seem to register that we are in the room.

The teasing instantly dies on Podenco's lips. Lisa’s tails drop.

Miss Lena reacts with the flawless, silent efficiency of a veteran Rhodes Island Medic. She doesn't ask what happened. She immediately turns as she hurries back to the prep counter to brew a potent, soothing herbal tea.

Lisa steps forward, her movements incredibly gentle. She reaches out, taking the Forte woman by the elbow, and wordlessly guides the battered Operator toward one of the wooden benches.

Podenco quietly turns away. She grabs a small diagnostic meter and diligently walks over to a far corner of the greenhouse, completely absorbing herself in measuring the pH values of the soil to give the shattered woman space to breathe.

I step forward.

I stop right beside her.

I don't ask for her story yet. I just project as much of a soft, sweet, grounding emotional resonance as my passive empathy can muster, wrapping it around her shivering frame like a warm blanket.

Miss Lena approaches quietly, setting a steaming porcelain teacup on the small table beside the bench. The rich, calming scents waft into the air, fighting against the stench of war clinging to the Forte’s armor.

The Forte stares at the teacup for a long while.

Slowly, her scarred hands reach out. She wraps her fingers around the cup. She brings it to her lips and takes a slow, shaky sip.

The warmth of the tea and the quiet safety of the garden finally crack the impenetrable shell of her shock.

"It is… hell," the Forte whispers.

I lean in, resting both hands on the handle of my Arts Unit. I close my eyes, preparing to open the channel. "Tell me," I murmur softly.

"Lungmen," she chokes out, her grip tightening on the teacup. "They told us it was a safe city. A jewel. But when Reunion breached the lower slums and eventually Upper Districts… the city didn't just turn on the rioters."

The ambient air sours, thickening with the rotting, metallic tang of spilled blood.

"The Guard Department, our allies…” the Forte continues, her breath hitching as tears finally well in her vacant eyes. "They marched into the slums. They were supposed to be securing the area, but they just… they purged it. Anyone with a lesion. Anyone who even looked like they might be Infected. Men, women, children who had absolutely nothing to do with Reunion. The L.G.D. slaughtered the slum-dwellers in the streets, and we couldn't stop them. The city was just burning, and the authorities were executing their own people. We couldn’t even help. We need Lungmen supplies…"

The Forte stops. Her eyes vacant, threatening to be dragged back to the burning slums.

"And then… as our mission continued…" The Forte shudders violently, the teacup rattling against its saucer. The flavor of the burning slums instantly plunges into a bone- chilling, absolute zero. "Reunion was routed from the city. We pushed forward. We chased their leader. Talulah."

"She was a monster of pure fire," the Forte whispers, her bovine ears pinning flat against her head in sheer terror. "We chased her out of the burning city, tracking her into the freezing tundra. We thought we had them cornered. We thought we were just fighting angry, disorganized rioters in tattered white coats."

A hysterical sob tears its way out of her throat.

"It was a trap," she cries, bowing her head as the tears carve tracks through the soot.

"The people we engaged in the snow… they didn't fight like rioters. They didn't break. They locked into perfect military formations. They had tactical casters, and armor- piercing bolts. They had jetpack troopers…"

The Forte looks up, her eyes locking onto mine with an expression of absolute, unadulterated despair.

"Beneath the white coats… it was the Ursus Second Army. The empire disguised their own elite military squads as Reunion terrorists. They ambushed us in the snow. They butchered us. We… we, my squad…"

The taste hits me: a vile, toxic cocktail of burning slums, imperial malice, and freezing, blood-soaked snow. It tastes of cold tap water, dried out pastries. This is nothing but sheer poison. My stomach violently heaves in revolt.

I clench my jaw until my teeth ache. I force it all down, swallowing the venom of the world so the shattered woman in front of me doesn't have to carry it anymore.

Slowly, the Forte Operator's violent shivering stops. The rigid, paralyzing terror melts from her, leaving her completely exhausted, but finally able to rest. She slumps back against the bench, her eyes fluttering shut as the soothing properties of Miss Lena's tea finally take hold.

I sever the connection. I stand there in the quiet greenhouse, my hands trembling around my staff, the toxic ash of Terra's truth settling permanently into me.

I hold my hand to my mouth. Quietly walking out of the garden to my dorm room.

I sleep the rest of the day until it is time to head towards the memorial.

The air in the memorial hall is far heavy. It is a suffocating, bottomless ocean of stagnant saltwater, cold metal, and crushed, dried petals.

I stand near the front, my hand completely enveloped in mom’s trembling, gloved grip. To my left stands Ms. Skyfire. She stands impeccably straight. Beside her, Ms. Blaze is terrifyingly still. Her fists are clenched so tightly at her sides that the leather of her gloves groans under the strain. Ms. Raidian stands a few paces away, her sun-warmed oak presence acting as a silent, sturdy pillar for the younger Operators weeping softly into their hands.

Rosmontis is here, too. She stares blankly ahead.

There are hundreds of other people I don't know.

Dr. Kal’tsit and Dr. Warfarin are not here. They are out there right now, fighting desperately to keep the list of names from growing.

And the list is massive.

I look up. Dominating the entire back of the cavernous hall is a towering wall of polished, dark obsidian. Carved into its surface are names. Too many.

But what makes my chest physically ache, is the state of the wall. Forty-three of the names on that massive slab are brilliant, shining silver. The cuts in the steel are so fresh they gleam painfully under the muted amber lights.

They were carved today.

At the very front of the assembly, standing on a small, raised dais beneath the towering wall, is Amiya.

And standing right beside her, as silent and immovable as a shadow, is the hooded man.

Amiya steps up to the edge of the dais.

She looks incredibly small against the backdrop of the memorial wall. Her jacket is pristine, but her face is pale and drawn. She looks out over the sea of battered, grieving Operators, and the sweet flavor of her presence stretches so thin I fear it might finally snap.

But it doesn't. She draws a slow, shuddering breath. Her ears rise, locking into a posture of absolute, unyielding resolve. When she speaks, her voice is soft, but it carries clearly into every dark corner of the hall.

"We stand here today…" Amiya begins, her voice trembling just a fraction before she forces it steady. "We stand here today to honor those who did not return to us."

The silence in the hall deepens. Mom's grip on my hand tightens until my knuckles ache, but I don't pull away. I squeeze back with everything I have.

"The last few weeks have tested the very foundation of Rhodes Island," Amiya continues, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. "We deployed into the heart of Chernobog. We walked into a Catastrophe, into the fires of Reunion, and into the shadow of the Empire of Ursus. And when the ashes settled… we were forced to immediately stand between a burning city and Lungmen."

She pauses. Her hands, resting by her sides, curl into small, tight fists.

"They wanted to crash the core city of Chernobog directly into Lungmen," Amiya's voice echoes, ringing with a terrifying, absolute clarity. "It would have triggered a war, between Ursus and Yan, that would have consumed the entire continent. Tens of millions of innocent lives, Infected and uninfected alike, would have been wiped out." The scale of it is entirely unfathomable. I look at my dear friend standing on the dais. She had just stood in the center of an apocalypse and physically held back a continental war.

"We stopped the city," Amiya declares, her voice breaking slightly. "We stopped the war. But the cost…"

She turns her head, looking up at the towering slab of dark steel.

"The cost was everything," she whispers.

Amiya turns back to us, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"We went to Chernobog with a mission. We went to rescue Doctor, our Doctor." She gestures slightly toward the hooded man standing silently at her side. "He is the strategic mind we need to guide Rhodes Island into the future. He is our hope. But to secure that hope, and to stop the city from falling…"

She swallows hard, the tears finally spilling over her lashes.

"Ace."

The name hits the quiet room like a physical strike. A sharp, muffled sob tears its way out of Ms. Blaze’s throat beside us.

"Scout," Amiya continues, her voice gaining a desperate, honoring volume.

She keeps naming the names. It seems to never end.

I stare at the names carved into the wall. They had willingly thrown themselves into the teeth of the Ursus military and Reunion's fire, fully knowing they would never see their home again, just so Amiya and the hooded man could escape.

“And those who could have been one of us. Misha, Faust, Yelena, Patriot…”

They are members of Reunion… But there is only sorrow in Amiya’s voice.

"They traded their tomorrow so that we could have ours," Amiya says, the tears carving tracks down her cheeks. "They believed in Doctor. They believed in me. And they believed in all of you. They gave their lives so that Rhodes Island could survive to heal our broken world."

She bows her head.

"We will carry their memories. We will carry their fire. We will not let their sacrifices be in vain. We will become the dawn they fought to see."

Amiya falls silent. She steps back, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Doctor.

The hall descends into a profound, unbroken quiet.

I look at the hooded man.

He is the reason Ace is dead. He is the reason Scout is dead. But as I look at the absolute, tragic conviction burning in Amiya's tear-stained eyes, a cold, heavy truth settles.

This is the true face of Terra. Hope is not something that blooms naturally in the garden; it is a commodity that must be purchased, paid for entirely in blood and shattered lives.

Mom drops to her knees beside me. She pulls me into her side, burying her face into the fabric of my jacket. Her shoulders shake violently with silent sobs.

I don't cry. I simply wrap my arms around her, anchoring my mother to the floor. I rest my chin on her shoulder, my eyes locked onto the towering wall of names, permanently etching the cost of our survival into whatever is left of my mind.

Mom slowly pulls her face away from my shoulder. Her breathing is still uneven, but the violent shaking of her frame has finally begun to subside.

Around us, the memorial hall begins to thin. The sea of grieving Operators slowly filters out through the doors, their footsteps echoing hollowly. They carry their mourning back to their dorms, leaving the hall achingly empty.

Only a few remain in the shadows of the towering obsidian wall. Ms. Skyfire stands quietly, her presence banked into a solemn, flickering ember. Ms. Blaze and Ms. Raidian linger near the aisles, silent sentinels watching over the lingering ghosts. Rosmontis remains perfectly still.

And then, there is Amiya.

She steps down from the dais, leaving Doctor's side for a moment to walk toward us. Amiya stops right beside mom and me. For a long, heavy second, she doesn't say a word. She just looks at me. I look back at her, my hands still gripping the fabric of mom’s coat.

We both feels the emotions of everyone.

But as Amiya looks into my eyes, the tight, devastated lines of her face begin to ease. Her expression softens.

"We didn't get to celebrate your birthday, Lethe," Amiya says softly, her voice a quiet chime in the vast hall.

Mom completely freezes.

The lingering, profound sorrow radiating from her is instantly violently pierced by a sharp, acidic spike of absolute horror. Her eyes blow wide.

"Lethe," mom gasps, her voice fracturing into a breathy, frantic panic. She drops to her knees again, her hands flying up to grasp my shoulders. "I am so sorry! I… I completely forgot, I…"

I don't let her spiral.

I reach out, my left hand lifting in the dim amber light. I gently press my index finger directly against her lips, physically shushing the frantic apologies before they can tear her apart.

"Just make it up to me," I whisper, offering her a soft, unwavering smile.

Mom stares at me, her eyes shining with fresh, overwhelming moisture. The sharp, acidic panic instantly melts, dissolving into a massive, rushing wave of sweet honey. She closes her eyes and leans forward, pressing her forehead gently against my shoulder in a silent, shuddering breath of relief.

Amiya watches us, her own smile widening into something incredibly tender and genuine.

"Let's go to the break room," Amiya suggests, her voice lifting with a gentle, encouraging cadence. She turns her head slightly to look at the hooded man.

She looks at me. "If you don't mind, Lethe. Can Doctor join us?”

I turn my head. I look at the hooded man, his heavy coat completely absorbing the muted light of the memorial hall. He is a stranger, an abyss.

But Amiya trusts him.

I look past Doctor, my eyes sweeping over the quiet, mourning Elites lingering in the aisles, and finally at Rosmontis standing so incredibly still.

I reach down, gently wrapping my hand around mom's fingers to help anchor her as she slowly stands back up. I give Amiya a firm, deliberate nod.

"Doctor. Rosmontis. Ms. Blaze. Ms. Raidian. Ms. Skyfire. Everyone who can come."

As I speak the words, a hollow ache pulses deep behind my eyes. I didn't remember my birthday. Even with the ancient Kazdelian artifact gripped tightly in my hand, acting as a shield to buffer the burn, the void is still slowly, inexorably expanding. My memories are still slipping away, bleeding out into the dark.

A bubbling, acidic dread threatens to rise in the back of my throat. I swallow it down hard.

I think of Miss Adele in the hushed aisles of the Archives. I remember the quiet resignation in her airy voice, the creeping theft of Oripathy slowly stealing her hearing and her sight. Yet, despite her failing body, her volcanic resolve never wavered. She chose to fight the ignorance of the world, dedicating her fading life to breaking the terror of Catastrophes.

I grip my Arts Unit tighter. I cannot just sit in the dark and mourn what the Originium takes from me. I cannot let mom, Amiya, and the others shoulder the crushing weight of this war entirely on their own. I promised Miss Lena I would keep the hearth warm, and I intend to keep that promise.

A genuine, radiant light breaks across Amiya’s tear-stained face, and the sweetness of her presence swells, actively pushing back the lingering grief of the room.

"Let's meet at the break room of this deck in twenty minutes," Amiya says, her ears finally perking up with a renewed, determined energy.

I look up at her, and give a firm nod.

"Let's."

The walk away from the memorial hall is a slow, quiet march.

Our footsteps echo against the steeled corridors.

I stare at the floor as we walk. My mind is racing, sifting through the chaotic, terrifying blur of the last few weeks. I think about the ashes of Chernobog, the fires of Lungmen, and the desperate, hurried conversations we had before she deployed.

A cold realization slowly clicks into place, a discrepancy that I had been too terrified to process until this exact moment.

I look up at her pale, exhausted face.

"Mom."

She blinks, pulling herself out of her own heavy thoughts, and looks down at me. The ambient flavor of her presence is muted by grief, but she still tries to offer a faint, reassuring warmth.

"Lethe?" she murmurs.

I stop walking.

"Be honest with me."

She pauses, her brow furrowing in gentle confusion. The feathers give a slight, uncertain twitch. "What do you mean, Lethe?"

I take a slow, shaky breath.

"When you told me before Tkaronto," I begin, keeping my voice as steady as I can, "you told me you left Columbia and Rhine Lab because you wanted to heal people, not because you had the rocks in your blood."

Mom stops dead in her tracks.

The physical halt is abrupt, her boots freezing. But the empathic shift is violently instantaneous.

The faint, protective warmth radiating from her completely shatters. It is instantly replaced by cracked ice and the bitter, acidic tang of sour unripe fruit.

I turn to face her completely.

"But in the cafeteria, before your deployment to Lungmen," I press on, the words tumbling out of my throat, raw and desperate. "You laid out who is uninfected. You named Ms. Skyfire. You named Dr. Warfarin. You named Podenco."

I grip my staff with both hands, my knuckles turning bone-white. I look directly into her wide eyes.

"You didn’t say yourself."

The silence in the corridor is deafening. I watch the blood completely drain from her face, her silence confirming the terrifying truth before she even opens her mouth.

"What do you mean, sweetie," mom says, forcing a small, tight laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. She tries to brush it off, her hand lifting to nervously adjust the collar of her translucent coat. "It is just a slip."

But the air betrays her completely.

The lie hits the back of my tongue. It is cloyingly sweeteners added to a spoiled milk.

"You cannot lie to me, mom…" I whisper. "I can… I can taste emotions, remember? I taste lies… Please… When did it happen?"

The fragile, manufactured composure on her face shatters. Her shoulders slump, the rigid, professional posture of an Operator giving way entirely to the exhausted, terrified reality of mom.

"It was… confirmed a few days before our promotion contract…" she breathes out, her voice dropping into a hollow, defeated murmur. She averts her eyes, staring down at the polished floor. "They suspected it could be in Kazdel…"

"You weren’t protected?" I ask, my eyes blowing completely wide.

My mind races. I know Rhodes Island's protocols. I have seen the Medics in the triage bays, the heavy tactical gear, the respirators, and the environmental seals designed to keep the deadly Originium dust out of their lungs.

She looks at me. Long and hard.

Her eyes search my face. She is looking for a flicker of recognition, a shared understanding of the absolute horror we had survived together in those ruins. She is waiting for me to connect the dots.

"You don’t remember do you? Lethe…" she whispers, her voice thick with a sudden, devastating realization.

I freeze.

I cannot even remember the sacrifice she made.

I look up at her, my vision instantly blurring with hot, fresh tears.

"I… Sorry…" my voice cracking under the crushing weight of the guilt. "I don’t."

"It is okay. Little Lethe."

Mom steps forward, immediately closing the space between us, and wraps her arms securely around me. She pulls me into a deep, crushing embrace, tucking my head gently beneath her chin.

"You don't have to remember," she murmurs into my hair, her voice thick with absolute, unconditional forgiveness.

"Tell me, please," I beg, my voice muffled against her chest but vibrating with absolute, desperate necessity. "Did I do something?"

"Lethe."

It is a warning. A soft, heartbroken plea.

"I am sure, mom," I push back. "I have to know."

Mom closes her eyes. A long, shuddering breath wracks her frame, rattling the modular medical pouches at her waist. When she opens her eyes again, the profound, aching sorrow in them is entirely unshielded.

"When you fall into my arms," she whispers, the words scraping painfully against the quiet of the hallway. "Your horns caught my mask and damaged the respirator."

The words do not just hang in the air; they detonate.

The oxygen is violently sucked out of my lungs. My vision completely tunnels, the walls of the landship blurring into a nauseating grey smear.

My horns.

I traded my mother's life for my own. I am the sole reason she now carries the curse of Originium, the terminal disease that is tearing the world apart.

"No…” I choke out, the sound a ragged, microscopic wheeze.

I peel away from her.

I forcefully break the embrace, stumbling backward. I stare at her, at the Rhodes Island Medic cross strapped to her arm, and then down at my own hands.

I am a parasite.

"Oh dear. What happened."

The voice is smooth and deep. It echoes down the corridor, pulling me momentarily from the drowning void. Right behind it, Ms. Blaze’s fiery presence fills the void.

I keep backing away, my shoes sliding frantically against the floor until my shoulders slam hard against the walls. I press myself flat against the cold steel, trying to fuse with the wall.

"Just toss me out to the wasteland," I choke out, I wrap my arms tightly around my own ribs. "I don’t deserve any of this."

"Lethe!" The Liberi Medic cries out. She steps forward, her hands reaching desperately across the space between us.

"Mom…" The word tears my throat completely to shreds. I violently shake my head. "No, I don’t deserve that title…. Don’t. Don’t come closer… Cal… Caladria. I am just a parasite…"

She stops dead, her outstretched hands trembling violently in the empty space between us.

"Look at me."

The command slices through the chaotic static.

I slowly look up through my blurred, tear-soaked vision.

Caladria is shivering vioently. Ms. Blaze stands right next to her, the towering Feline’s face fills with deep, unsettled worry. She rests her hand securely on Caladria's shoulder. Amiya, Rosmontis, and Doctor have stopped just behind them. Amiya has a hand pressed hard against her own chest, her ears drooping helplessly. She looks physically pained.

Ms. Raidian steps forward, smoothly inserting herself directly into my line of sight and completely blocking out the devastated audience in the corridor.

She reaches out, placing her warm, steady hands firmly on me.

"You are going to look at me, Lethe, and you are going to listen," Ms. Raidian instructs, her voice dropping into a low, resonant hum that vibrates through my collarbones. I try to gasp, but the air gets caught in my throat in a pathetic, wet hiccup.

"You are not a parasite," Ms. Raidian states, her eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unyielding authority. "You are a child who was trapped in a Catastrophe. What happened with your horns in those ruins was a tragedy of circumstance. It was an accident. It was not a choice you made."

She leans in just a fraction, the sturdy oak of her presence pressing back the freezing cold of my panic.

"Caladria made a choice," Ms. Raidian continues, her voice ringing with absolute clarity.

"She saw a girl dying in the rubble, and she chose to reach into the dark to pull you out. She knew exactly what the Kazdel outskirts were. She knew the risks. That is what Rhodes Island Medics do."

Ms. Raidian gives my shoulders a firm, grounding squeeze, forcing me to stop shrinking against the bulkhead.

"We do not blame the drowning child for the water in our lungs, Lethe," she says, her tone softening into a profound, aching gentleness that refuses to let me look away.

"And Caladria does not blame you for her Oripathy. If you push her away now to punish yourself, you are insulting the very sacrifice she willingly made to give you a future. Do you understand me?"

I look at Ms. Raidian. She steps closer, and the sheer physical reality of her presence completely anchors me to the ground. Two of her hands come down to rest heavily on my shoulders, rooting my frame in place. Her other two hands reach up to gently cup my face.

She tilts my head up, forcing me to meet her unwavering gaze.

"Do you understand me?" Ms. Raidian asks, her voice a low, resonant rumble that vibrates through my collarbones.

"I…” My voice fractures into a tiny, pathetic wheeze. Hot tears blur my vision entirely, spilling over her steady fingers. "But it is me…"

"No. Lethe." Ms. Raidian's grip on my face tightens just a fraction, a firm, grounding pressure. The sturdy, warm emotional resonance of hers presses down on the freezing panic in my chest. "What did I just tell you?"

The dam completely shatters.

"I am hurting…" I sob, the words tearing out of my raw throat in a desperate, wet plea. I squeeze my eyes shut, entirely unable to hold back the tidal wave of grief. "Mom… mom…"

Slowly, the firm pressure on my cheeks and shoulders recedes. Ms. Raidian lets me go. Mom practically collides with me. She drops to her knees and throws her arms around me, pulling me flush against her chest.

"Please don't do this again, I never blame you. It was not your fault."

We stay like that for a long time. The only sound in the sterile hallway is our overlapping, ragged breathing.

Then, the heavy, emotional atmosphere of the corridor is violently punctured.

"The family time is cute and all," a loud voice echoes, entirely shattering the quiet.

I sniffle, peeking out from over mom's shoulder. Ms. Blaze is standing a few paces away, one hand resting casually on her hip.

"But you guys need to learn how to live," Ms. Blaze declares, a fearless grin stretching across her face, "not just mope."

Mom lets out a wet, breathless laugh. She pulls back, using her thumbs to gently wipe the tears from my cheeks, and gives me a soft, reassuring smile before loosening her grip entirely.

I wipe my own eyes with the back of my oversized sleeve, taking a shaky breath to stabilize myself. I open my mouth, ready to thank the Elites.

But before I can even process her movement, Ms. Blaze steps forward.

Massive hands grab me firmly by the waist. The world violently tilts ninety degrees. In the blink of an eye, I am hoisted into the air, tucked horizontally under the arm of Ms. Blaze like a sack of logistics flour.

"Eh?!" The word leaves me in a pitch-high, entirely undignified squeak.

My legs dangle uselessly in the cold air. My tail sways helplessly back and forth against her side. I try to flail, to find any sort of leverage, but fighting against the sheer, terrifying physical strength of Ms. Blaze is completely futile.

"To the break room!" Ms. Blaze declares loudly.

Without waiting for a response, she begins marching down the metallic corridor, carrying me away from the shadows and straight toward the light.

Every purposeful, heavy thud of Ms. Blaze’s boots bounces through my ribs. I am tucked so securely under her arm that my frantic, entirely useless wiggling doesn't even throw her off balance.

Amiya easily falls into step right beside the towering Feline.

I tilt my head awkwardly, trying to look at her from my undignified position. The dark, exhaustion-carved shadows under Amiya's eyes are still there. But the smile she gives me is undeniably radiant, pushing back the sterile chill of the losses.

"Lethe," Amiya says, her voice a bright, melodic chime over the heavy thud of Ms.

Blaze's boots. "I ordered a cake. Priority delivery."

I blink, my eyes going wide.

The profound weight of it settles into my chest, but it doesn't hurt. Instead, it feels incredibly warm. I think about the towering obsidian wall of names we had just stood beneath, the staggering cost of our survival, and the fresh tears that had soaked our collars. They are carrying oceans of grief, yet they are actively choosing to carve out this pocket of joy.

Everyone is trying their best to look towards the future.

"Thank you. Thank you, everyone."

"Lethe is friend."

The voice is quiet, flat, and perfectly steady.

Rosmontis pads silently alongside us.

"We take care of friends," Rosmontis states simply.

Behind us, a sudden, breathy giggle echoes down the hall.

It is a beautiful, bell-like sound.

Mom steps up behind Ms. Blaze, at least, that’s where a voice is coming from.

"Blaze," mom says, her voice laced with a mischievous, carbonated fizz that I rarely ever get to taste. "You have to teach me how to carry her like this. She is too unruly sometimes."

"What?! No!" I yelp, absolute betrayal coloring my voice.

I instantly renew my struggling, kicking my sneakers in the air and twisting my shoulders in a frantic, entirely futile attempt to escape the Elite Operator's iron grip. Ms. Blaze throws her head back, letting out another hearty laugh that rattles my teeth.

"You got it, Caladria! It's all in the core and the shoulder grip! I'll run you through the drills after we get some sugar in this kid!"

I let out a pathetic, muffled groan, letting my limbs go completely limp in defeat as I am carried away to my birthday party.

The doors of the break room slide apart with a soft hiss. Ms. Blaze marches straight through the threshold, entirely unbothered by the fact that she is carrying me under her arm like a tactical battering ram.

"I have personally see fit to call your new tutor, Le…"

Ms. Skyfire turns around from her conversation with Miss Adele, elegantly tossing her hair over her shoulder. But the moment her eyes land on us, the refined, aristocratic cadence of her voice completely flatlines.

She freezes. Her feline ears twitch once, twice. Her jaw drops just a fraction. The ambient flavor of roasted spices and crackling hearth fire violently sputters, completely short-circuiting into absolute, dumbfounded disbelief.

Miss Adele peers around the Ms. Skyfire’s frozen frame. Her eyes widen slightly before she quickly brings her hands up to cover her mouth. A soft, airy giggle escapes her lips, her curling horns shaking with her amusement.

Across the room, the reaction from the Convalescent Garden crew is instantaneous.

"Lethe!" Lisa gasps. Her bright, chiming voice rings across the room. She bounds forward a few steps, her eyes sparkling with absolute wonder. "Are you flying?! Ms. Blaze, can I have a turn next?!"

"You look like a piece of logistics freight!" Podenco doesn't even try to hide her amusement. She rests her hands on her hips, throwing her head back as she bursts into a bright laugh. "Is that your new rapid deployment method, Lethe?"

Miss Lena simply smiles, a graceful, serene chuckle escaping her lips, entirely unfazed. But it is the quietest reaction in the room that completely anchors my attention.

Opal is sitting, her hands still clutching her plushie tightly against her chest. She stares at my dangling legs, my wildly swishing tail, and my furiously blushing face.

Her ears give a slow, hesitant twitch. And then, the edges of her lips tremble upward. A tiny, fractured sound escapes her throat. A soft, incredibly fragile little giggle.

She tastes like a dried strawberry with chocolate. It is the best taste in this world.

"Alright, alright, delivery complete!" Ms. Blaze booms, her laughter shaking the air. With effortless grace, she swings me down and deposits me firmly onto my feet. My sneakers hit the floor with a soft squeak. I immediately stumble, my hands flying up to frantically smooth down my skirt and straighten my oversized jacket, desperately trying to salvage whatever tiny scrap of professionalism I can.

Mom steps into the break room right behind us, followed closely by Amiya and Rosmontis. Mom takes one look at my thoroughly flustered, blushing face and lets out another breathy, melodic giggle.

"I think the transportation method was a success," mom teases, her feathers fluffing up with her smile.

I puff my cheeks out. I cross my arms tightly over my chest. I look at every each one of my family and friends in the room.

"I am never," I declare, voice wavering between absolute mortification and a desperate attempt at authority, "letting any of you carry me ever again."

The entire break room erupts into a chorus of warm, overlapping laughter.

I go to sit securely in a chair, nursing a small, plastic cup of cold apple juice I just acquired from the main table. The sweet, crisp liquid washes over my tongue, a simple and grounding comfort that helps settle the lingering adrenaline of Ms. Blaze's terrifying transportation method.

Across the room, the hooded man they call Doctor just stands in the background. He doesn't join the loud chatter or the laughter. He simply leans against the painted wall, his hands tucked deeply into the pockets of his coat. His opaque visor is angled toward us, quietly observing the room. I still don't quite understand him, but watching Amiya smile freely in his presence makes the abyss feel a little less frightening.

I take another small sip of my juice, my eyes drifting to the Elite Operator sitting across from me.

Ms. Blaze is drinking something that looks entirely questionable. It is a thick, volatile- looking amber liquid sloshing around inside a heavily dented metal flask. As she unscrews the cap and takes a massive, unapologetic gulp, the fumes drift across the table. It smells aggressively of fermented grain, bruised fruit, and something that could probably be used to strip the paint off a Castle bot. I wrinkle my nose, my ears twitching as I quickly pull my cup of apple juice closer to my chest.

Then, a quick, efficient knock echoes through the room.

Tap. Tap.

The rhythm is sharp and completely devoid of hesitation. Amiya sets her small plate of fruits down on the table.

"I'll get it," Amiya chimes, her voice carrying a light, melodic bounce as she glides across the room to the sliding door.

The panel parts.

A stern Lupo stands at the door. She wears a crisp, tailored uniform that doesn't carry the standard Rhodes Island insignia, her posture casual but carrying the distinct, coiled readiness of a seasoned Field Ops. A thin chocolate stick rests casually in the corner of her mouth, bobbing just a fraction as she breathes. In her hands, she effortlessly balances a digital clipboard and a sealed cardboard box.

But it is the ambient flavor bleeding off her that completely captures my attention. The moment the door opens, her presence drifts into the break room, hitting the back of my tongue with startlingly cool precision. It tastes like high-percentage, bitter dark cocoa layered perfectly over the sharp, clean snap of chilled rain hitting wet asphalt. Her flavor is meticulously, almost aggressively contained.

She shifts her weight slightly, removing the chocolate stick from her mouth with two fingers.

"Delivery for the CEO," the Lupo states. Her voice is flat, smooth, and completely unbothered by the room full of Elite Ops and department heads.

"Oh, thank you, Texas!" Amiya smiles.

Amiya signs the digital clipboard with a quick swipe of her finger and gratefully takes the cardboard box into her arms. Texas gives a single, crisp nod of acknowledgment, places the chocolate stick back between her teeth, and turns on her heel, disappearing back into the quiet corridors of the landship just as efficiently as she arrived.

"Cake’s here!" Amiya announces, her voice instantly draws everyone’s attention back to the center of the room.

She sets the cardboard box gently onto the wooden table with a soft thud. With careful, practiced movements, she pulls back the flaps and lifts the pastry out of its packaging. It is a perfectly baked fruit cake, the top generously crowned with glazed berries, sliced peaches, and vibrant kiwi that gleam under the break room lights. Resting directly in the center of the glossy fruits is a single, pristine white candle.

Ms. Blaze reaches into her pocket for a small lighter, flicking it open to bring a tiny, warm teardrop of fire to the wick. The golden light reflects in Amiya’s eyes as she looks across the table at me. Her ears droop just a fraction, a faint, apologetic flavor of burnt sugar momentarily piercing her usual sweetness.

"Sorry, Lethe," Amiya murmurs, her smile turning a little sheepish. "With everything happening with the logistics lines, I couldn’t get a custom-made one for you."

I shake my head violently. My horns cut through the air, and my grey hair whips around my shoulders.

"No! This is the best birthday I could have ever asked for," I whisper.

The soft, apologetic droop of Amiya's ears instantly vanishes, replaced by a radiant, relieved smile that makes the air in the room taste like pure sunshine.

Right beside me, mom steps closer. She reaches toward the tray and picks up the sleek, stainless steel cake knife.

She turns the blade away, offering the smooth handle to me with a fond, incredibly tender smile crinkling the corners of her exhausted eyes.

"Birthday girl gets the first slice," she gives my shoulder a gentle tap. "Don’t hurt yourself with it, though."

I reach out, my fingers wrapping securely around the handle of the knife. I look up into her beautiful eyes, my chest so full of love and gratitude that it feels like it might burst.

"Okay. Mom!" I beam, my tail giving a massive, happy swish behind my skirt.

I turn my attention back to the glowing candle. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath of the sweet, fruit-scented air, and blow out the tiny flame, perfectly ready to claim my very first slice of the future.

In a blink an eye. It is the 12th of January, 1097.

The ashes of the war have finally begun to settle. The corridors no longer reek of panic, though the ambient air still carries the faint, lingering phantom of our collective grief. I adjust the straps of my bag, making sure my slate is secured, as I reach the primary intersection.

"See you tonight, Lisa, Podenco!" I call out.

"See you, Lethe!" Lisa's bright voice echoes back.

Beside her, Podenco offers a cheerful wave. Their steps carry them back toward the earthy, humid sanctuary of the Convalescent Garden, while I turn my path downward. The doors of the Archives open, greeting me with the familiar, comforting scent of dry parchment, recycled air, and quiet preservation. I make my way deep into the stacks. I find them at our usual secluded wooden table.

Miss Adele is seated with her glasses. Across from her sits Ms. Skyfire.

I step up to the table, pulling a neat stack of written notes from my bag.

"Ms. Skyfire," I announce gently, placing the papers down on the table between us.

"Here is my homework from last week. I made sure to double-check the chapters." I expect the immediate scoff. I expect her ears to snap to attention as she reaches for the papers, launching into a fiery, hyper-critical dissection of my understanding of Originium thermodynamics.

But she doesn't move.

Ms. Skyfire just stares at the stack of papers. The ambient flavor of crackling spices and intense, scholarly heat completely stalls. It flickers, banking into an uncharacteristic, heavy simmer. She is incredibly quiet, her eyes distant and her lips pressed into a tight line, as if she is meticulously searching through the vast library of her mind for words she cannot quite find.

The silence stretches, heavy and entirely unlike the usual, vibrant energy of our afternoon study sessions.

Ms. Skyfire slowly reaches out, her fingers resting lightly on top of my handwritten notes. But she doesn't pull the papers toward her. She doesn't uncap her red pen to circle my miscalculations.

"I am leaving Rhodes Island, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire finally says. Her voice is stripped entirely of its usual flair. It is quiet, measured, and carries a profound, heavy weight. "I am heading back to Victoria."

Victorian Empire. The superpower of the world, or so the fairytales say.

"But…" I stammer. I look at her, my eyes shimmering. "The books… they say your capital, Londinium, is currently occupied. The Military Commission of Kazdel is there." A sharp, bitter tang flashes across the table. But it doesn't explode. Instead, she deliberately suppresses it, banking the flames into a steady, controlled simmer.

"It is," Ms. Skyfire confirms, her eyes darkening with a fierce, uncompromising resolve.

"My home is occupied. But my return is not simply about reclaiming a city from a military force, Lethe."

She pulls her hand back from my notes, folding her arms.

"When I first came to this landship," she continues, her gaze shifting to the towering bookshelves surrounding us, "I came seeking vengeance. Reunion had taken people from me. I wanted to use my Arts to burn them to ash for what they did. I thought my anger was absolute."

She looks back at me, the crackling heat of her presence softens.

"But spending my time here… fighting alongside the people of Rhodes Island, and watching children like you study the brutal truths of this world simply to understand it better…" Ms. Skyfire lets out a slow sigh. "It made me realize how little I actually knew. My anger was justified, but my perspective was terribly narrow."

"The Infected do not just need Medics to heal them on the battlefield, Lethe," Ms.

Skyfire says softly. "They need advocates in the courts. They need voices in the halls of power where the nobility currently turns a blind eye to their suffering. I cannot simply throw fire at rioters and pretend I am fixing Terra. I have more to learn, and far more to do, back home."

I stare at my tutor. The absolute, unadulterated awe I feel for her swells in my chest, completely overpowering the sting of her departure. She isn't leaving because she is tired. She is marching into the heart of an empire to fight for the infected.

"I understand," I whisper, forcing a brave smile onto my face. "You have to go save them, Ms. Skyfire."

A genuine, incredibly fond smile breaks across her face.

Then, Ms. Skyfire clears her throat delicately. She turns her head, looking at Miss Adele who is sitting quietly beside me.

"However," Ms. Skyfire announces, lifting her chin with a characteristic sniff, "I refuse to let my primary student's foundational knowledge deteriorate into absolute mediocrity simply because I am geographically indisposed."

She gestures gracefully toward Miss Adele.

"I trust Ms. Naumann will continue your education to highly acceptable standards," Ms. Skyfire declares. "We have already reviewed your curriculum. She knows exactly where you are struggling with your assimilation rates."

Miss Adele looks up, the sweet aroma blooming warmly in the aisle. She offers a gentle smile, her curling horns dipping in a polite nod.

"I will make sure she finishes all her assigned readings, Ms. Mountbelan," Miss Adele promises, her soft voice carrying an undeniable, sturdy conviction. "You have my word." Ms. Skyfire gives a single, satisfied nod. She stands up, the fabric of her coat billowing with dramatic, aristocratic flair one last time. She looks at me, her eyes shining with a fierce, protective pride.

"Study hard, Lethe," she commands softly. "I expect you to be brilliant when we meet again."

“I will, Ms. Skyfire. Thank you for everything! I… I will miss you.”

Ms. Skyfire gives one last lingering nod.

I watch her turn.

Her coat flares gently as she walks down the hushed, labyrinthine aisles of the Archives. She doesn't look back. Her posture is rigidly perfect, marching straight toward a battlefield fought not just with blazing Arts, but with laws, courts, and unyielding conviction.

The ambient heat of her presence slowly trails after her, the crackling hearth fading into the cool, recycled air of the library.

The silence of the Archives settles back over our secluded table. I stare at the empty space where my fiery tutor had just stood, a profound, bittersweet fondness welling in my throat. I am going to miss her sharp reprimands and her brilliant, overwhelming lectures.

A soft rustle of clothing brings me back.

Miss Adele shifts slightly in her chair.

"She is a remarkable person," Miss Adele murmurs. "It takes a staggering amount of bravery to look at your own anger, realize it is incomplete, and choose the harder path to truly fix the world."

I give a slow, firm nod. "She is going to change Victoria, Miss Adele. I just know it."

"I believe she will," Miss Adele smiles.

She turns her attention back to the table, her hands reaching out to gently adjust the teetering stack of beginner medical texts and complex thermodynamic diagrams Ms. Skyfire had left behind. She picks up her magnifying glass, the polished metal glinting in the dim light.

"Now then, Lethe," Miss Adele says, her gentle tone shifting into a soft but undeniable academic determination. She taps a finger against my handwritten notes. "I believe we have some homework to correct. And as your newly appointed primary tutor, I cannot in good conscience let Ms. Skyfire return to find your foundational knowledge lacking." I look down at the dense, blocky text and the terrifyingly complex mathematical charts that had frustrated me yesterday. The science of Originium is still a sprawling mountain I have barely begun to climb.

But I reach out and pick up my pen.

"I won't let her down," I declare, offering Miss Adele a bright, unwavering smile. "Show me where I got the tertiary cellular decay wrong, Miss Adele. I'm ready to learn."

"Here you are."

The familiar voice rings out.

Mom steps into view.

"How is my little bookworm doing?" she asks, a fond, radiant smile breaking across her face as she approaches our study table. She turns her gaze to the brilliant researcher sitting beside me, offering a warm, professional nod. "Afternoon, Eyjafjalla."

Eyjafjalla. So that is Miss Adele's Operator code name.

"Hi, mom," I sigh, letting my shoulders slump dramatically over the massive thermodynamic diagrams spread across the table. I rest my chin on my hands, my tail giving a lazy, defeated flick behind my chair. "I am trying. It is getting harder. The math just keeps getting longer."

Miss Adele offers a light giggle.

"Hello, Caladria," Miss Adele replies. She reaches out and gives my shoulder a highly encouraging pat. "Lethe is doing great. She is incredibly diligent. I have no doubt she is going to be a brilliant medical researcher one day."

Mom pauses. She reaches up, awkwardly scratching the back of her head.

I look up at her, a mischievous spark suddenly igniting in my chest.

"Well," I pipe up. "Mom said she used to be a Rhine Lab researcher. I guess it must have rubbed off on me."

The effect is instantaneous. A bright, rosy flush violently crashes over mom's cheeks.

"Lethe!" mom gasps softly, her blush deepening.

She drops her hand from the back of her neck and takes a deliberate, purposeful step toward me. Her eyes narrow with a faux-stern, entirely playful menace.

I know exactly what that look means.

I instantly shrink back into my chair. My hands fly up at lightning speed, my palms clamping down securely over the sensitive bases of my lopsided horns. I duck my head, tucking my chin into the collar of my jacket.

"No horn flicks!" I yelp, my voice pitching into a frantic, highly defensive squeak.

Mom stops dead in her tracks.

She freezes mid-step, hovering just a bit away from the table. Her hands drop to her sides, and she lets out a soft, defeated sigh, her shoulders relaxing entirely. The faux- menace completely evaporates from her face, replaced by a harmless, innocent smile. I peek at her through the gaps in my fingers. She isn't moving.

Thinking I have successfully negotiated a ceasefire, I let out a long, relieved exhale. I slowly lower my hands, dropping my guard and uncoiling my tense shoulders.

Thwack.

The strike is executed with the terrifying, flawless precision of a seasoned Medic.

Her index finger snaps forward faster than I can even blink, flicking directly against the exact center of my left horn.

"Ouchie!" I yelp, immediately dropping my head as both of my hands fly right back up to clutch my crown.

The sensory feedback is immediate and jarring.

I look up, fixing mom with my absolute best, most betrayed pout, my eyes blown wide with exaggerated injustice.

Mom just puts her hands on her mouth and laughs. Beside me, Miss Adele covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking with quiet, genuine giggles as she completely fails to hide her own amusement.

"That's for being cheeky, my little researcher," mom teases, her eyes crinkling with absolute, unadulterated joy.

"What brings you here today, Caladria?" Miss Adele asks, brings mom back to focus. Mom lets out a sigh. "Lethe is being called to Command," she explains, resting a hand on the back of my chair. "But when she is buried in the Archives, she never actually checks her slate."

I flinch, my hands immediately flying to the bag resting against my hip. I scramble to pull the slate out, tapping the dark glass. A barrage of missed notifications lights up the screen. My cheeks flush with a hot, prickly embarrassment.

"Sorry, mom," I mumble.

"She is incredibly dedicated to her learning," Miss Adele chuckles softly.

But the word Command suddenly catches up to my brain. The hot flush on my cheeks vanishes, replaced by a sudden, icy knot in my stomach.

"Command?" I squeak, my voice pitching up into a frantic tremor as my hands grip the edges of my open textbook. "Am I… am I in trouble?"

Mom's hand slides from the back of the chair to rest securely on my shoulder. She gives it a firm, grounding squeeze.

"Not every meeting is trouble, Lethe," mom says, her voice a soft, steadying anchor. She offers a warm, reassuring smile. "Lena and I have been speaking with the administration. We have been asking if you could join Podenco and the others on missions. It will be good for you to actually see the world."

Miss Adele's eyes light up. "Oh, that would be wonderful for you, Lethe!" she chimes in, her voice lifting with genuine excitement.

I completely freeze. My fingers curl into tight fists against the table. My tail, which had been resting lazily, instantly wraps into a rigid, defensive coil around my ankles. I shrink back, trying to make myself as small as possible in the chair.

"But…”

The sheer, suffocating terror of Terra presses down on my chest. I think of the bleeding Operators in the Convalescent Garden. I think of the burning skyline of Lungmen, the horrific tales of the Ursus mining camps Miss Adele had taught me, and the agonizing trauma I swallow every single day to keep myself from starving.

"All my memories are of the landship," I plead, looking between the two of them, my voice fracturing into a pathetic whine. "Outside is scary… they hate the Infected… they hate us…”

The air in the aisle grows heavy with a profound, aching sorrow. Mom's grip on my shoulder tightens protectively, but before she can speak, Miss Adele leans forward. She reaches across the table, her hands gently covering my trembling fists. Her roasted chestnuts and dormant hearth fire flares up, completely enveloping me in a sturdy, unyielding warmth.

"The world can be cruel, Lethe. And it is true that there is war," Miss Adele says softly, her eyes locking onto mine. "But the world is far more than just its cruelty."

She traces her thumb over my pale knuckles.

"Think about the cafeteria, Lethe," Miss Adele murmurs, her voice taking on a soothing, melodic cadence. "Think about the warm, steamed breads yielding to rich, creamy centers from Great Yan, or the soft rolls crowned with a crackling, golden-sugar crust from Lungmen.”

I blink, my panicked breathing momentarily halting as the memory of those sweet, sugary luxuries flashes in my mind.

"People who are consumed only by hatred and survival do not bake pastries," Miss Adele explains, offering a beautiful, radiant smile. "They do not spend hours perfecting the fold of a dumpling, or balancing the cinnamon in a pie. Only people who are looking toward a future; people who want to share joy and create comfort for their loved ones; create food for enjoyment."

She gives my hands a firm squeeze.

"There is so much beauty and kindness out there, Lethe," she promises. "And you deserve to see the world that creates it, not just the people who break it."

"Okay. Miss Adele," I give her a slow, deliberate nod.

"Are there… are there more sweet things out there?"

Miss Adele's smile widens, radiant and impossibly kind. "Of course, Lethe. Terra is vast, and there are so much to see and experience."

She leans forward slightly, her eyes sparkling as she lists them off. "In the musikhauses of my home country, Leithanien, they bake incredibly rich, dark chocolate cakes layered with sweet cherry preserves and thick cream. In the Famiglia-ruled Siracusa, you can find delicate, crispy pastry shells completely filled with sweetened ricotta cheese and crushed pistachios. In the vibrant markets of Bolívar, even with their country torn between a three-way civil war; they make warm, fried dough dusted heavily in cinnamon and sugar, meant to be dipped in thick, melted caramel. In the city-states of Minos, they bake paper-thin layers of flaky pastry, absolutely drenched in golden honey and crushed walnuts. And in the Empire of Ursus. The Ursus people make small, yeast- dough buns stuffed with sweet fruit fillings, baked or fried until golden brown.”

I stare at her. My mouth waters instantly. The mere descriptions of the pastries sound like pure, concentrated joy. There is an entire world outside the landship that doesn't just taste of ash, cold copper, and fear.

Beside me, mom lets out a long, highly exaggerated sigh. She crosses her arms over her translucent coat.

"You are making me regretting let you eat red bean rolls day by day, Lethe," mom sighs gently, shaking her head.

She reaches out, resting her hand securely on my shoulder to ground me back to the present. "But," she adds, her tone shifting into a soft, professional reminder, "best not to make Dr. Kal’tsit wait longer."

The name brings a familiar, reflexive shiver down my spine, a lingering chill of the Medical Director's freezing glacier.

"Okay," I murmur.

I turn back to the table. I pack my things in my bag. I carefully gather my medical textbooks, stacking them neatly, and slide my digital slate and the notebook Lisa and Podenco gave me into my crossbody bag. I make sure the flap is securely fastened. I step back from the wooden chair. I look up at the brilliant Miss Adele who had spent her afternoon carefully untangling the terrifying knots of Terra for me. I press my hands against the front of my dark jacket and give Miss Adele a small bow.

"Thank you for today, Miss Adele," I say earnestly.

"See you tomorrow, Lethe."

Mom steps up beside me, offering a polite, professional nod.

"See you, Eyjafjalla," mom says. "Thank you for taking care of Lethe."

Mom's hand rests gently but firmly on my back, guiding me out of the hushed, climate- controlled quiet of the Archives and back into the main metallic arteries of the landship. The frantic, suffocating terror of the past few weeks has finally burned itself out. The corridors are bustling again, but the energy is entirely different. It is a tired, collective exhale. As we walk, I catch snippets of hushed conversations from passing logistics Ops and Field Ops, their voices buzzing with a cautious, fragile hope as they murmur about upcoming downtimes and the prospect of shore passes.

The crisp click of shoes against the floor draws my attention. Miss Sussurro is walking briskly toward us.

"Afternoon," She pauses her stride just long enough to turn her sharp gaze to mom.

"Caladria, the suppressants you requested are ready. I put them in your locker."

"Thank you, Sussurro," mom replies, offering a tired smile.

Miss Sussurro gives a final nod before continuing down the hall, the distinct, robust flavor trailing behind her.

I stop walking.

"Mom," I ask, my voice dropping into a quiet, hesitant murmur. "Are you getting suppressants for yourself?"

Mom doesn't miss a beat. She steps closer, keeping her tone light and even. "For Opal, and myself."

I look down at my white sneakers, completely unable to meet her eyes.

"How bad is your Oripathy, mom…?" I whisper.

"It is just some light shadowing on my organs," she explains softly.

"So just early stage then…"

The phantom sting of tears prickles intensely at the corners of my eyes.

"Sor…" I choke out, the apology already fracturing my voice.

"No, Lethe."

Mom stops walking entirely. The gentle pressure on my shoulder instantly becomes a firm, unyielding anchor.

"We talked about this," mom states. Her voice completely drops its soft cadence, shifting into a fierce, absolute command that echoes in the corridor. She steps squarely in front of me, forcing me to stop shrinking away, and ducks her head slightly so she is looking directly into my tear-filled eyes.

I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing the rest of my frantic apology. Mom turns around, her posture returning to a steady, purposeful stride.

I quickly wipe my damp eyes with the back of my oversized sleeve and hurry to keep pace. I follow her into the wide, metallic enclosure of the primary elevator.

The mechanical hum engages, and my stomach drops slightly as we begin our ascent. The metal doors slide apart with a soft hiss.

The pristine quiet of the upper deck is instantly, violently shattered. The ambient flavor of the air explodes with fire.

Standing right outside the elevator is the towering Elite Ops herself.

"Hey kiddo! Hey Caladria!" Ms. Blaze's voice booms happily, easily echoing off the walls.

"Hi, Ms. Blaze," I reply, offering a polite, respectful nod.

Mom steps out beside me, offering a warm, professional smile. "Hello, Blaze."

As we exit the cabin, Ms. Blaze strides past us to take our place.

The doors begin to slide shut, but right before they seal her inside, Ms. Blaze flashes me that familiar, fearless grin.

"Well, good luck with your meeting with the boss!" she calls out over the hum. She raises a hand, giving me a massive, enthusiastic thumbs-up. "If the stiff Lynx decides you need to lift weights, hit me up anytime, Lethe!"

The doors snap shut with a heavy clank, completely cutting off the fiery energy and sending her down to the lower levels.

I stand there on the polished floor, blinking in complete bewilderment.

I look up at mom, my ears twitching wildly. "How does she know?"

Mom just lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. She reaches out and gently ruffles my grey hair, completely unbothered by the towering Elite's sudden interruption.

"Well," mom replies, her eyes crinkling with fond amusement, "Elites have their own trade secrets."

Mom stops abruptly.

“Lethe. Before we go. Just need to make sure. If you don’t want to. We cancel the request. Sorry Lena and I did this behind your back.”

Mom crouches down and looks directly at me.

“No,” I shake my head. “I should thank you and Miss Lena. If it is up to me, I would probably never leave the landship.”

“I am ready.”

Mom smiles and reaches for the door controls.

“Let’s go then, Lethe.”

The blast doors slide apart, revealing the cavernous, dimly lit meeting room. It is the exact same room where, months ago, mom and I had sat at the edge of the massive table and signed the contracts that secured our futures on this landship.

The room is just as imposing as I remember, the dark metal bathed in the cool, blue light of the massive PRTS tactical map mounted at the far end.

Sitting at the head of the long table is Dr. Kal’tsit. Her hands are folded impeccably on the dark surface. But the chair immediately beside her is conspicuously empty. Amiya isn’t here today to soften the crushing, ancient stillness radiating from the Medical Director.

We step up to the edge of the table. My tail curling instantly.

Dr. Kal’tsit’s piercing gaze drag over my frame, and then shift to mom.

"Caladria. Lethe," Dr. Kal'tsit begins, her voice echoing with flat, measured authority in the vast room. "We are here to discuss the administrative proposal submitted by yourself and Perfumer, requesting to lift Operator Lethe's current containment parameters and authorize her for external deployment."

"I have reviewed the proposal against Lethe's current medical telemetry," Dr. Kal'tsit states. "Her Oripathy remains a highly volatile and inherently unstable variable. As we observed following the intake of acute emotions from a Field Operator returning from Lungmen, her neurological stress spiked severely. The ingestion of hostile emotional residue resulted in violent physical purging and prolonged incapacitation."

Dr. Kal'tsit’s eyes locks onto me, completely unreadable and terrifyingly absolute.

"She lacks the biological filtration necessary to safely process the unfiltered emotional resonances of an active warzone," Dr. Kal'tsit continues, her tone absolute.

"Furthermore, her constant emotional instability and deeply ingrained fear responses make her a severe liability in uncontrolled environments."

I shrink back slightly. But mom does not shrink back.

"With all due respect, Dr. Kal'tsit," mom argues, her voice ringing clearly and confidently across the room, "Lethe ingested the unfiltered trauma of a brutal war. Any empath exposed to that level of concentrated malice would have suffered a severe physiological backlash. Yes, she was overwhelmed, but she recovered. She has consistently demonstrated an incredible capacity to handle the emotional burdens of the Operators here, and she is actively learning the thermodynamic and biological mechanics of her Arts to better control them."

Mom rests a hand firmly on my shoulder, grounding me entirely.

"She cannot learn how to navigate the world if we keep her permanently locked in a greenhouse," mom insists, holding the Medical Director's glacial stare without flinching. Dr. Kal'tsit simply watches mom for a long, heavy second. Her expression remains perfectly still.

Then, with smooth, practiced efficiency, Dr. Kal'tsit opens the physical dossier on the table.

"I am not dismissing her utility, Caladria," Dr. Kal'tsit states. "Her operational achievements are thoroughly documented. Her palliative care within the Convalescent Garden has effectively reduced the psychological degradation of our Operators. She successfully stabilized the fractured cognition of the Cautus survivor, Opal."

Dr. Kal'tsit leans forward slightly, the blue light reflecting in her piercing eyes.

"She has proven her value to the Medical Department time and time again," Dr. Kal'tsit concedes, her voice dropping into a low, echoing hum. "The data is undeniable."

The cavernous room remains entirely silent for a fraction of a second following Dr. Kal'tsit's acknowledgment of my medical data.

Then, her focus snap directly to me.

The sheer, crushing weight of her stare makes me grip my Arts Unit tighter.

"However," Dr. Kal'tsit states, her voice slicing through the quiet with cold precision. "I require clarification from the subject matter herself. Tell me, Lethe. Is this proposal genuinely born of your own volition, or are you merely echoing the protective ambitions of Caladria and Perfumer? What exactly is your objective beyond the bulkheads of this landship?"

I swallow hard. The freezing dread of the Medical Director's presence threatens to paralyze my tongue.

"Miss Adele told me… outside… is beautiful… Every country. Leithanien, Columbia… have good sweets… I want to see the world, not just learn about it in the Archives or from the stories our Operators bring back."

Mom tenses slightly beside me, her posture rigid.

Dr. Kal'tsit leans back slightly in her chair.

"Your excursions into the Archives have been thoroughly documented," Dr. Kal'tsit states. "Skyfire's offboarding reports were meticulously detailed. She outlined not only your progress in Originium thermodynamics but also your sudden, desperate inquiries into the geopolitical realities of this land."

"Your reasoning, while juvenile in its phrasing, highlights a distinct operational deficit," Dr. Kal'tsit continues, her hands folding back together. "As a Djall, your empathic Arts require a robust cognitive framework to safely filter and process the complex traumas of our Field Ops. Relying entirely on theoretical textbook knowledge and secondhand exposure creates a dangerous bottleneck in your psychological resilience."

"To maximize your value to the Medical Department, you must fully comprehend the environments that generate these traumas. Practical exposure to the diverse sociopolitical and cultural realities of Terra, including its regional culinary exports, will inevitably expand your empathic filtration capacity and strengthen the mental shield provided by your Arts Unit unit."

She reaches out, smoothly pulling the physical dossier back toward her.

"However," Dr. Kal'tsit adds.

The single word slices through the momentary relief in the room.

"You are not simply a Rhodes Island Operator, Lethe. You are a pureblood Sarkaz. A Djall."

The heavy, suffocating gravity of the room presses down on me.

"Few nations, if any, are going to be receptive to a pureblood Sarkaz walking freely through their streets," she continues. "While you wear our emblem, the protection Rhodes Island can offer only stretches so far. If you are targeted, or if your empathic Arts misfire in a populated sector, it will not just be a medical emergency. It will rapidly escalate into a severe international incident."

"If you cross the borders of Laterano or Iberia, the Notarial Hall of Laterano or the Inquisition of Iberia will not ask for your identification or your medical clearances. They will shoot you on sight," Dr. Kal'tsit warns, the lethal truth dropping into the silent command room like a lead weight. "In most other nations, you will not find open gunfire, but you will face systematic violence, engineered discrimination, and relentless, institutionalized racism. You will be hunted simply for the blood in your veins."

The words hit me like physical blows. The beautiful, vibrant world Miss Adele had painted for me in the Archives instantly shatters.

It is violently replaced by the terrifying, blood-soaked reality of our world. My heart stalls in my chest. The world outside the reinforced bulkheads of this landship doesn't just hate the Infected; it hates me. It hates the horns on my head and the tail behind my back.

I stare blankly. My hands tremble. The freezing dread I had felt during the Catastrophes comes rushing back, completely swallowing the fragile spark of bravery I had mustered just moments ago.

"Maybe…" I whimper. My shoulders slump. "Maybe I should just stay on the landship…" I feel mom shift beside me. My tail instantly coils around her legs.

“Dr. Kal’tsit, my country… Columbia, they accept everyone. On the surface, at least.”

“Columbian Union.” Dr. Kal’tsit repeats.

"Columbia is historically known for its expansive immigration policies," Dr. Kal'tsit pivots seamlessly, her tone shifting. "It is a nation built on the rapid influx of diverse populations and pioneers. While discrimination certainly exists within its borders, a Sarkaz child under the strict supervision of a licensed corporate employee will not draw lethal scrutiny."

I blink, my tail uncoil as I slowly lift my head.

Dr. Kal'tsit's eyes remain fixed on me. "Furthermore," she adds, her tone perfectly still,

"as a central hub of international commerce, Columbian nomadic cities boast an extensive, unrestricted access to global culinary exports. Including the international cuisines and confections you seem to heavily prioritize in your sociopolitical studies."

"You will be authorized for shore passes the next time we dock near Columbian nomadic cities," Dr. Kal'tsit declares, bringing her hands down flat against the dossiers on the table. "Additionally, you are cleared to accompany logistics teams on low-risk retrieval operations in the barrens, provided Caladria or another senior operative is present."

The Medical Director closes the file, the crisp snap of the folder echoing with absolute finality across the cavernous room.

"The proposal is approved."

My eyes light up. The crushing weight of the cavernous command room evaporates in an instant, replaced by a soaring, effervescent thrill. Dr. Kal'tsit actually approved the proposal.

"Thank you, Dr. Kal'tsit!" I exclaim. The words burst from my throat, ringing with a bright, uncontainable joy that bounces off the dark metal walls.

Dr. Kal'tsit does not share my elation. Her expression remains perfectly still. She neatly aligns the edges of my dossier with her fingers.

"You are dismissed, Lethe," Dr. Kal'tsit states.

I offer a respectful nod.

But mom doesn't move.

I stop, my tail pausing its happy sway. I look back over my shoulder. Mom is still standing rigidly at attention beside the long, dark table.

I tilt my head, letting my left horn pull my head slightly.

"Go on ahead, Lethe," mom explains, her voice softening into a gentle, professional murmur. "I need to stay behind for a few minutes. I have some other operational matters to discuss with Dr. Kal'tsit."

I look between the two of them. The ambient flavor in the room is perfectly stable, carrying no sharp spikes of danger or sour dread. It is just the routine, heavy business of Rhodes Island.

"Okay," I reply softly. I take a hesitant step toward the heavy blast doors, raising my hand to offer a small wave. "Will see you at dinner. Mo… Erika…”

The moment the fractured syllable leaves my lips, my heart completely stalls in my chest.

I freeze, my hand hovering mid-wave. I brace myself for the ambient temperature of the room to plummet, fully expecting Dr. Kal'tsit's glacial glare to pin me to the floorboards for my unapologetic, highly unprofessional sentimentality.

But the crushing threat never comes.

I peek through my bangs at the head of the table. Dr. Kal'tsit hasn't even blinked. She doesn't shift her focus, nor does her posture change. Her attention already shifting to the next physical report on her desk.

"See you, Lethe," mom says. Completely failing to hide the tender smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"See you," I squeak out, turning rapidly on my heel.

I quickly step out into the corridor. The pneumatic locks clank shut behind me, sealing the freezing, intimidating command room away.

I stand in the hallway for a moment, letting the reality of the meeting wash over me. *Columbia.* Shore passes. The world outside the bulkheads.

I turn my steps downward, slowly making my way back to the warm, earthy sanctuary of the Convalescent Garden. I have to tell Miss Lena, Lisa, and Podenco the good news. I don't even wait for the doors of the garden to fully part. The moment the panels begin to open, I practically squeeze my frame through the narrow gap.

"Lethe! Good afternoon!"

Lisa’s bright, chiming voice rings out.

"Hi everyone!" I call back, my voice breathless but ringing with an uncontainable, bubbling thrill. I practically skip down the path. "I have good news!"

Deep within the foliage, Miss Lena steps gracefully out from her desk radiates an unmistakable, knowing fondness.

"Did your shore leave get approved, Lethe?"

"Yes!" I beam. "Thank you, Miss Lena. Dr. Kal’tsit says I can go to a city next time we are docked at Columbia. Or even join Podenco on low-risk logistics missions outside the landship!"

The garden instantly explodes with a vibrant, overlapping symphony of joy.

Lisa practically bounds over to me, her tails puffing up into a frantic blur of auburn silk.

"That is amazing, Lethe! We can go look at the markets together! Oh, there are so many things you have to see!"

"I am so proud of you, Lethe," Miss Lena adds. "You have earned this. It will be incredibly good for you to finally step out into the sun."

"Low-risk missions, huh?" Podenco chimes in, stepping out from behind her flowerbeds. She rests her hands confidently on her hips, her face bright with a welcoming grin.

"Looks like you’re officially going to be my logistics assistant, Lethe!"

"I promise I will be helpful, Podenco!" I nod enthusiastically.

But as I say it, Podenco stops.

Her ears suddenly twitch. The playful fizz sharpens into the focused, attentive hum. She tilts her head, fixing me with a highly scrutinizing, critical stare.

"Wait a second," Podenco says, her brow furrowing slightly. She points a finger directly at me. "If you are actually going to join me on missions in the barrens, you really need to learn how to properly identify herbs and wild flowers."

I blink, completely caught off guard. "Identify them?"

"Yes!" Podenco insists, taking a step closer and crossing her arms with an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. "You have a massive sweet tooth, Lethe. We absolutely cannot have you accidentally eating a poisonous plant out in the wild just because you think the petals smell like sugar or taste sweet!"

The sheer, unadulterated indignity of the accusation hits me instantly.

I puff my cheeks out. I plant my feet firmly on the floor, I cross my arms tightly over my chest.

"Hey!" I yelp. "I am not just going to wander around and eat grass! I am a Djall!"

Lisa claps her hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with a sudden, breathless giggle. Even Miss Lena lets out a soft, melodic chuckle at my completely outraged display of Sarkaz pride.

Podenco just rolls her eyes, completely entirely unfazed.

"Djall or not, a toxic nightshade will still put you in Dr. Warfarin's medical bay," Podenco counters, a cheeky smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She turns around and gestures toward a sprawling table covered in dried roots, pressed petals, and thick botanical books. "Come on, fierce predator. Sit down. Lesson starts right now."

I let out a pathetic, muffled groan, my defiant posture completely collapsing.

But despite my dramatic grumbling, a genuine, relaxed smile tugs at my lips. I uncross my arms and dutifully follow Podenco to the table. I pull out a chair and sit down beside her, leaning my elbows against the surface as Podenco eagerly opens the encyclopaedia, ready to teach me how to survive the beautiful, dangerous world waiting just outside our home.

"Look closely at the serrated edges of this leaf," Podenco instructs, tapping her finger against a dried, pressed specimen. "This one is a common healing herb. You can steep it to help with fevers. But this one right next to it?"

She points to an almost identical leaf, the only difference being the faintly darker, purplish veins running through its center.

"If you mistake that for the herb and steep it, your throat will completely close up in ten minutes," Podenco warns, giving me a highly exaggerated, stern look. "So, no snacking on the logistics routes unless I explicitly clear it. Understood?"

I lean over the table, staring intensely at the two leaves, trying to burn the minute differences into my brain. "Understood," I murmur, nodding solemnly.

A soft rustle of clothing draws my attention. Lisa pulls up a chair right beside me. She climbs into the seat, her legs swinging happily back and forth as she leans her chin in her hands, completely captivated by Podenco's impromptu botanical lecture.

The lesson is soon interrupted by a rich, comforting aroma washing over the table. Miss Lena approaches. She carries a tray holding a steaming teapot and a plate piled high with her signature cookies. The scent of steeped tea and warm grain instantly makes my stomach give a tiny, eager rumble.

"Time for a break, girls," Miss Lena says gently, setting the tray down. She carefully pours the golden-amber tea into four delicate cups, sliding one toward each of us. I wrap my hands around the warm porcelain, letting the heat seep into my fingers. I pick up one of the cookies, taking a small bite. The familiar crunch and tart sweetness ground me perfectly in the peaceful moment.

I chew slowly, looking around the table at the three of them. We have sat in this garden for months, drinking tea and playing board games, yet there is still so much I don't know about the people who anchor my world.

"Actually, everyone," I ask. I lower my cookie to the small plate. "I never asked… where is everyone from?"

Lisa doesn't hesitate for a single second. Her ears perk straight up, and her tails give a synchronized, joyful bounce.

"I am from Higashi!" Lisa announces, her voice bright and ringing with undeniable pride. Miss Lena takes a delicate, measured sip from her teacup. She lowers it back to the saucer, her expression softening into a fond, nostalgic smile.

"Minos," Miss Lena says gently.

I turn my head, my eyes shifting to Podenco sitting across from me.

Podenco opens her mouth to answer, but she suddenly freezes. Her hand, which had been resting on the edge of the encyclopaedia, completely stills.

The ambient air violently shifts. A heavy, suffocating taste of scorched earth; bruised, spoiled fruit and burnt flesh.

But as quickly as the phantom taste surges, Podenco aggressively swallows it down. She forces her posture to relax, she stretches her lips into a tight, practiced smile. She shakes her head slightly.

"Bolívar," Podenco says, her voice carrying a fragile, forced lightness.

I look at her. I taste the bitter lie of her smile.

I don't pry.

I reach out. I pick up one of the warm cookies from the plate and gently hold it out across the table toward her.

"Here.”

Podenco blinks, looking at the cookie, and then up into my eyes. The rigid, hidden tension in her shoulders slowly melts. She reaches out, taking the cookie from my hand, her genuine, bright smile finally returning to chase the shadows away.

Lisa shifts beside me. She reaches into her own bag and pulls out a pristine, brightly colored cardboard box.

"Do you two want to be play this tonight?" Lisa asks, her eyes sparkling with that familiar, blindingly bright optimism. She taps the glossy cover of the box. "It is called Crowns of Victoria. My tutors told me about it! You have to build Steam Knights and manage your factory outputs to take over the capital. Ms. Closure has this on sell in her store. I got it during the lunch break!”

Podenco and I both pause.

I stare at the imposing illustration of the Victorian castles and smoke-spewing factories on the cover, my mind already trying to calculate the sheer, terrifying amount of reading the rulebook is going to require.

Podenco is the first to recover. A mischievous, carbonated fizz ripples through her ambient emotion. Her lips curling into a highly competitive smirk.

"Of course," Podenco declares, her tone dripping with playful arrogance. "I am absolutely not going to miss my chance to extend my win streak against Lethe."

My tail thumps against the floor. The memory of my total, humiliating defeat in our last board game session burns fresh in my mind.

"I am going to break your streak!" I yelp, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. I turn to my best friend, for this moment, my eyes wide and pleading. "Lisa, we need to join forces against this tyranny!"

Lisa simply covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she lets out a bright, musical giggle. The sheer, unadulterated sweetness of her presence washes over me like a tidal wave.

"You just have to use your Kazdelian intellect to win, Lethe," Lisa chimes.

I completely freeze.

My arms drop limply from my chest. I blink. The phrase echoes in the humid air of the greenhouse, dripping with a dry, aristocratic drawl.

"Do I… do I actually say that?" I squeak, my voice fracturing into a tiny, horrified whisper.

Podenco and Lisa don't even hesitate. They both give me a slow, synchronized, and deeply solemn nod.

“Whenever you gain upper hand in games.” Podenco ponders.

I groan. I bring my hands up, pressing my palms flat against the sides of my head. I duck my head, my face burning with a hot, prickly flush of sheer embarrassment as the carbonated giggles of my friends fill the garden.

"I…" I mumble into the quiet space between us, thoroughly defeated. "I am spending way too much time near Dr. Warfarin."

“Hopefully Dr. Kal’tsit doesn’t duct-tape you to the celling of the bridge as well.”

Podenco teases.

My mind flashes to the rumor that Dr. Warfarin got literally duct-taped by Dr. Kal’tsit to our landship’s bridge’s celling because she got reported by one too many Operators.

“I won’t… hopefully…”

“Now, now, girls, before you three go be industrialists. Time to go to get back to work.” Miss Lena smiles while bringing us back to focus.