July, 1096

The 2nd of July. Time as they say, flies.

I stare at the date, my tail curling lazily against the edge of my mattress. I have been on Rhodes Island for exactly half a year now. Six months since I woke up in those bruised orange ruins.

I am finally allowed to work again today. Dr. Warfarin and Dr. Kal'tsit themselves officially cleared me to return to work, but not before subjecting me to a grueling series of rigorous medical examinations.

Sitting in that blindingly bright, stainless-steel laboratory, I had finally confessed everything to them.

I told them exactly what the phantom voice had been whispering to me back in January. I explained how the ghost seemingly knew their names, their reputations, and had frantically screamed at me to be terrified of them before they had even spoken a single word to me.

To my surprise, neither of them looked particularly surprised.

"You were a blank slate, little anomaly," Dr. Warfarin had drawled, leaning back against her diagnostic monitors with a dry, clinical smirk. "Your Oripathy was burning on absolute empty. No memories. No past. But your Djall empathic Arts were wide open." Dr. Warfarin had explained it with terrifying, perfect logic. She said I had tasted Dr. Kal'tsit's freezing, crushing glacier, and her own chaotic, metallic buzz. To a starving, amnesiac child, those flavors were pure, existential threats. My brain, having no actual memories to rely on, simply hallucinated a defense mechanism. It fabricated a ghost, gave her a name, and used her to scream danger to keep my fragile body alive in a terrifying new environment.

I am sick, but I am not crazy.

I thank the two doctors with a deep bow and excuse myself so I can head to work. Stepping through the heavy glass doors of the Convalescent Garden later that morning is a desperately welcome change of scenery.

The scent of damp earth, blooming flora, and clean water washes over me once again, instantly soothing the lingering sting of Warfarin's needles.

"Lethe!"

The bright, chiming voice echoes through the hanging ivy before I even make it fully down the path.

Lisa practically bursts from behind a row of large, potted ferns, her nine tails swishing in a frantic blur of pure joy. She bounds over, completely abandoning whatever botanical task she had been assigned, and carefully wraps her arms around my waist. She is just pure, radiant light.

"Welcome back, Lethe! Miss Lena told us you can start working again." Podenco calls out, waving at me behind a row of freshly planted greeneries.

Miss Lena steps gracefully from her counter, a small pruning shear in her hand. She offers a serene, welcoming smile.

"Welcome back to work, Lethe," Lena says softly, her voice a gentle melody over the rustle of the leaves.

I offer them a wide smile, my hair swaying over my shoulders.

"It's good to be back," I declare.

Lunch is a quiet affair. Erika actually allows me to stray from my strictly monitored cafeteria diet, bringing me a few humble hand rolls wrapped in clear paper. She bought them from an Ursus vendor from Lungmen who had set up a small cart near the logistics bay. I had only caught a brief glimpse of him; a tall, drooping man wielding a fillet knife with terrifying precision, carrying dark, heavy bags under his eyes that made him look like he hadn't slept a single hour in the last decade.

The vinegared rice and freshly sliced fish are a wonderful, simple comfort. Once I finish the last piece, I adjust my dark grey jacket and make the familiar walk down the metallic corridors toward the high-security wards.

It has been almost three weeks since I last stood in front of this set of door. The doctors don’t allow me to visit her during my time out.

My chest tightens with a sharp pang of guilt. Three weeks in this sterile, silent box… she must have been so scared.

The door parts away. I step inside, gripping the twisted, petrified branch of my Arts Unit.

Opal is sitting up on the mattress, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her long Cautus ears are drooping limply against her shoulders, and her eyes are fixed blankly on the far wall.

"Opal?" I ask, my voice chiming softly in the quiet room.

She blinks slowly. Her head turns, her dull eyes tracing the Rhodes Island Medic symbol on my thigh, the  jacket, and finally, the black monitor locked around my throat. Her small fingers twitch against the white medical blankets.

"Lethe…" she whispers. Her voice is incredibly fragile, like thin, cracking glass.

A warm, profound relief blooms in my chest, easing the heavy knot of guilt. She remembers me.

I step closer.

"I am so sorry I wasn't here," I murmur, offering her a small, timid smile as I stop near the edge of her bed. "I was sick for a little while. The doctors made me recover so I could get better. But I am here now."

Opal doesn't say anything, but she doesn't pull away either. Her gaze simply drops back down to her knees.

As I stand there, my eyes drift to the metal nightstand beside her bed. Resting on the brushed steel surface is a warm ceramic bowl of broth and noodles, a wisp of steam curling into the sterile air. It is completely untouched.

"What is your lunch today?" I ask gently, trying to coax her into the present moment, hoping the mundane question might anchor her.

Opal slowly turns her head, staring blankly at the ceramic bowl.

"It is… water with flavour," she murmurs.

The words hit me with a quiet, heavy sadness. It isn't soup to her. It isn't a meal made with care or a comforting warmth. Her mind is still so deeply fractured by the Catastrophe, stripped down to the absolute most basic, literal fragments of reality. The sandstorm had shattered her world so thoroughly that even the concept of food has lost its meaning.

I look at Opal, staring deeply into her dull, vacant eyes. I am desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl who had cried with me three months ago, the girl who had finally found the strength to whisper her own name.

But there is nothing. Just the same freezing, hollow void.

"You have to eat, Opal," I urge softly, taking a step closer to the bedside table. I point directly at the warm ceramic bowl. "Even if it just tastes like water right now. It is important."

I grip the petrified branch of my Arts Unit, my thumb nervously tracing the dark grooves. I remember what Dr. Warfarin had told me during one of my check-ups shortly after that day. She had theorized that the tearful breakthrough in this very room might not have even been Opal’s own doing. She said that, as a Djall, my passive empathy might have accidentally induced the emotional release, dragging the buried grief to the surface by sheer biological proximity.

The thought still makes my stomach twist with a sickening guilt. Was it real, or did my biology just manipulate a broken girl into crying?

But Warfarin had simply shrugged it off with her usual, morbid pragmatism. “We got a name out of her, little anomaly. Since then, she has been eating her paste and accepting her treatments without fighting the staff. In my department, we call that a win. Take it.”

Before I can try to coax Opal into taking a spoonful of the broth, the door opens with a loud snap.

Erika steps into the quarantine ward. She approaches the bed with a warm, encouraging smile.

"Good afternoon, Opal and Lethe," Erika says, her voice bright and professional. She taps a few commands onto her slate, checking the monitors mounted on the wall above the bed.

“How are you feeling, Lethe?” Erika asks.

“I am fine. Getting back to work feels nice.” I flash a bright smile at Erika.

Erika pats me on the head in between my horns. She then, turns her attention to look at the tiny Cautus girl, her smile softening into genuine pride. "The rocks are stable now, Opal. The medicine is working, and the crystals aren't spreading. You are doing a very good job resting."

Opal doesn't look up from her knees, but her long Cautus ears twitch ever so slightly at the praise.

"And," Erika continues, her tone taking on a gentle, coaxing lilt, "once you are feeling just a little bit better, we can get you out of this room. You can go to the Convalescent Garden to stretch your legs and get some actual fresh air. It is very beautiful there. Don’t you agree, Lethe?"

I immediately nod in agreement, my heavy tail giving a slow, encouraging swish behind me. I lean in, trying to catch Opal's downcast gaze.

"I work in the garden," I chime in, keeping my voice as soft and steady as I can. "Miss Lena and the others take very good care of it. If you come visit, we can show you so much. There are plants as tall as you, and it smells like warm earth instead of… bleach and medicine."

The room falls quiet, save for the low thrum of the landship's engines vibrating beneath the steel floor grates.

For a long, agonizing moment, I think she is just going to keep staring at the white medical blankets. But then, very slowly, her chin dips down.

It is a tiny, incredibly weak nod.

“I want to.” Opal says, her voice soft and almost imperceptible.

Erika and I look at each other and nod. Opal is getting better.

Eventually Erika ushers me out of the ward saying that she has important work to do and that I need to work as well instead of loitering.

Evening comes, I find myself in the cafeteria once more. It is loud, a chaotic clatter of metal trays and overlapping conversations, but my own table feels completely isolated. I stare down at my dinner. A bowl of roasted root vegetables and rice. I haven't taken a single bite in ten minutes. Next to my tray, my slate sits dark and stubbornly silent. I had sent three messages to Erika. All unread.

The familiar, icy knot of anxiety begins to twist violently in my stomach. The ambient taste of the room turns sour and metallic at the edges of my tongue. Where is she? She did just kind of dismissed me back in Opal’s ward. Did Kal'tsit deploy her on another Field mission without telling me? Is she trapped in the triage bay again with someone's shattered bones?

Before the thoughts can completely swallow me, two hands settle gently onto my shoulders.

The touch is warm. I gasp, whipping my head around. "Erika!"

The name dies in my dry throat.

The woman standing behind me is a Liberi, but she definitely isn't my Medic. Her feathers are different, her posture carrying a completely different gravity, and her face is older, lined with a profound, quiet strength.

Instantly, a violent burst of static crackles deep in my brain. The sickness in my head whispers frantically through the noise. Raidian. She's Raidian. She is very maternal to the younger Operators.

I wince, squeezing my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, and forcefully push the static down. My ears twitching slightly. It isn't real, I remind myself desperately. The black crystals are just misfiring. The tumor is making up stories to keep me from panicking around a stranger.

I open my eyes, forcing my eyes to meet hers.

"Hello, Lethe," the Liberi says. Her voice is incredibly smooth and grounding. The ambient flavor of her presence washes over me. It tastes like sun-warmed linen and polished, sturdy oak. It is a deeply safe, comforting emotion, but it carries a massive, underlying density. "I am Raidian."

My breath catches. As she steps around the side of the table, my eyes drop from her kind face to the crisp fabric of her uniform. Stitched proudly onto her shoulder is an undeniable emblem.

An Elite Ops patch.

My heart immediately hammers a bird-like rhythm against my ribs. Elite Ops are the walking titans of this landship. They are the towering, scarred veterans like Ace and Scout who walk willingly into the mouth of Catastrophes. They are the absolute apex of Rhodes Island's military might.

I shrink back slightly in blue cafeteria chair. What does an Elite Operator need with a twelve-year-old palliative care assistant?

My mind races. Have I done something wrong? Did Dr. Kal'tsit send her to monitor me? Or… is it because of the company I keep? Is it because Amiya holds my hand? Because I shared a secret slice of cinnamon pie with the silver-haired Feline who can level city blocks with her mind?

Raidian offers a warm, incredibly fond smile, completely oblivious to the terrified spiral happening behind my wide eyes. She gently pats my shoulder again, her touch feather- light.

"Don't look so nervous, little one," Raidian murmurs, her tone carrying the gentle, effortless authority of a mother who has watched over countless children on this brutal battlefield. "I just wanted to come over and take a look at Rosmontis' new playmate." Before I can even figure out how to respond to the Elite Operator, a familiar, breathless voice cuts through the cafeteria clatter.

"Lethe!"

I whip my head around. Erika is hurrying through the rows of metal tables. Her feathers are slightly ruffled, and there is a tight, anxious pinch at the corners of her eyes.

But the moment she sees Raidian standing next to my chair, the tension completely bleeds out of her.

"I am so sorry I wasn't here, Lethe," Erika exhales, coming to a stop beside the Elite Operator. She rests a hand on the back of my chair, her light purple eyes full of apology. "I was with…"

She pauses. Her gaze flickers away for a fraction, darting toward the yellowish epoxy floor before snapping back to me.

"…a patient," Erika finishes, her voice smoothing out into its usual, professional cadence. "There has been a recent deployment. Some Operators got hurt, and I was needed."

I taste it instantly.

The flavor that briefly spikes in the air around her is sharp, tangy, and uncomfortably sweet, like biting into a piece of unripe fruit.

She is lying.

My fingers curl tightly around my plastic fork. Why would Erika lie to me about a medical emergency? Is she trying to protect me from something?

"I will leave you two to your dinner, then," the Elite Operator smiles, her presence radiating that sturdy, sun-warmed oak comfort. She looks at the Liberi Medic with profound respect. "You have done a great job taking care of her so far, Erika."

Raidian then looks down at me, offering a gentle wave. "And your work in the Convalescent Garden is very valuable to us, Lethe. Keep it up."

"Th-thank you, Miss Raidian," I stammer, offering a tiny, seated bow as the veteran turns and weaves her way back into the crowded cafeteria.

Erika takes the empty blue chair across from me, letting out a long, exhausted sigh as she sinks into the plastic. She looks at my half-eaten bowl of roasted vegetables and then up at my face, a fond smile touching her lips.

"So," Erika begins, resting her elbows on the metal table. She seamlessly shifts the conversation away from the missing hours. "How are your savings going, Lethe?"

I blink, thrown completely off-balance by the sudden pivot to my finances. I instinctively reach up to touch the fabric of my jacket, where my Rhodes Island ID card sits safely in the inner pocket.

"I am… still a bit away from my first plushie," I admit, my voice dropping into a slightly disappointed murmur. I had envisioned stacking three of them on my recessed bed, but the internal credits seem to trickle in much slower than I anticipated.

Erika's smile widens.

"Well," she says, leaning forward slightly, "you would probably reach your goal a lot faster if you bought fewer snacks from Ms. Closure's vending machines."

I freeze. My fork clatters against the edge of my metal tray.

My eyes blow completely wide, staring at her in absolute, terrified shock. I had been so careful. I had meticulously timed my trips to the engineering when I knew she was on duty, sneaking sour gummies and milk teas back to my dorm like a seasoned smuggler.

"How…" I squeak. "How… how did you know?"

Erika just laughs, a bright sound that dances over the ambient noise of the cafeteria. She reaches across the table and lightly taps the tip of my nose.

"Trade secrets, little Lethe.”

Erika pauses then she points at my half-eaten bowl. “Finish your dinner and let’s head back to your dorm."

The walk back to the dormitory block is quiet. But my mind is completely, agonizingly loud. It is looping relentlessly.

Why would she lie?

We turn the final corner into my residential block. I stop so suddenly that my sneakers skid against the floor.

"Oof!" Erika gasps softly, practically crashing right into my back. Her hands instinctively fly out to catch my shoulders, steadying us both before I can tip over. "Careful, Lethe. Did you trip?"

I don't answer. I am staring straight ahead at the door of my dorm room.

Sitting perfectly upright on the cold steel floor, resting right against the threshold, are two plushies. They are beautifully made, stitched from rich, soft brown fabric, with long, floppy ears and bright blue button eyes. They look incredibly, undeniably like Amiya. The stark contrast of the soft, innocent toys sitting in the middle of a militarized landship corridor makes my breath hitch.

"Erika…?" I whisper, my voice wavering in the quiet hall.

She steps around me, a gentle, sheepish smile spreading across her face.

"I had to make a very quick stop at Ms. Closure's general store before I met you at the cafeteria," Erika explains softly, her pale feathers fluffing up slightly. She kneels down, picking up the two brown bunnies and holding them out to me. "One is for you. And the other… the other is for you to give to Opal, the next time you visit her."

That was the lie.

I don't even reach for the plushies. I just spin around and throw myself forward.

My arms wrap tightly around her waist, burying my face deeply into her shirt. I squeeze her as hard as my small frame will allow, my tail wrapping securely around the back of her calf like a lifeline. I inhale deeply, letting the warm, unadulterated comfort of her presence completely override the clinical bleach of the corridor.

"Thank you," I sob into her shirt, the sound muffled and wet.

Erika lets out a soft, surprised breath before her arms securely wrap around my shoulders, pulling me flush against her warmth. She doesn't say anything about the tears soaking into her uniform.

"You're welcome, my little Lethe," she murmurs, resting her cheek gently against the top of my hair. "You're welcome."

The door of my dorm is sealed shut, locking the chaotic noise of the landship entirely outside. The room is bathed in the dim, soothing amber of the night cycle.

I am lying sideways on the mattress, my head resting comfortably on Erika’s lap. I cradle my share of the plushies, the soft, brown Cautus-esque with the bright blue eyes, against my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around its stuffed frame. Erika’s soft fingers gently, rhythmically comb through my hair, navigating carefully around the bases of my horns.

The quiet is peaceful, but suddenly, the steady movement of her hand stills.

I blink, shifting slightly against her thighs to look up. Her eyes are incredibly soft, reflecting the dim light of the room, but there is a heavy, quiet thoughtfulness pulling at her features.

"I have been thinking, Lethe," Erika murmurs, her voice dropping into a tender, hushed whisper. "About how much you have been contributing since you officially joined the Convalescent Garden. You’ve done so much for the Operators here."

I squeeze the Cautus-esque plushie a little tighter.

"It's just my job, Erika," I reply softly, letting my chin rest against the top of the plushie's head. "It is all I can do."

"No, Lethe. It is incredible," she insists gently, her thumb tracing a soft line down my pale cheek. "You are willingly sacrificing your own memories to take away their pain. For most people, their memories are the dearest things they hold onto. They are the foundation of who they are. To actively choose to discard them to heal someone else… it is a profound sacrifice."

Erika sighs, her gaze dropping from my face to her own hands resting on my shoulder.

"Sometimes, I feel so entirely helpless next to you all," she confesses, a bitter edge of self-deprecation creeping into her tone. "I can only perform the most basic, textbook healing Arts, and even then, I have to rely entirely on the Originium dust inside my Arts Unit wand to process the energy. I don't have the deep, resonant connection to the Arts like Lena do because of their Oripathy. And I certainly don't possess the natural, terrifying manipulation of a Sarkaz like you or Dr. Warfarin."

The dull, grey taste thickens in the air around us. It is the flavor of a dedicated, hardworking Medic who feels she is falling behind in a desperate race where the absolute cost of entry is a terminal disease. It tastes like stagnant water and cold, hollow dread.

My instincts instinctively recoil from the bitter flavor. I hate it. I don't want her to feel small, and I certainly don't want her to envy the glowing black crystals that are actively eating my mind. I need to pivot the emotion, to pull her out of this sudden, downward spiral before the dread completely extinguishes her warmth.

I shift on her lap, turning entirely onto my back so I can look directly up into her face.

"I've never actually asked you, Erika," I exclaim, intentionally pitching my voice with a bright, innocent curiosity to cut through her gloomy introspection.

"You aren't infected. You don't have the black crystals in your blood, and you don't need the medicine," I point out, widening my eyes. "Rhodes Island is a very dangerous place. We are constantly walking right into Catastrophes, and everyone in the world hates the Infected. If you are safe… why are you here?"

I look up from my place on Erika's lap, waiting for her answer.

For a moment, the Liberi Medic just looks down at me, her eyes distant.

"I am from Columbia," Erika finally says, her voice a soft, steady murmur. "From Trimounts, specifically. My parents managed to escape Iberia when I was very young, looking for a better life across the continent of Terra."

She pauses, her fingers resting lightly against my shoulder. "Before I came to Rhodes Island, I was actually working as a researcher. At Rhine Lab."

"But… isn't Columbia a very, very wealthy place?" I ask. "And I read on the terminal that Rhine Lab is a huge company. Far bigger and more powerful than Rhodes Island. Why would you leave?"

Erika lets out a slow, heavy sigh. Her fingers resume their gentle, rhythmic path through my hair.

"It is wealthy, Lethe. And it is powerful," Erika murmurs, her presence carrying a profound, melancholic undertone. "But working there… it changes you. You see things that make you question what all that progress is actually worth. When Saria; one of our Directors; suddenly left… there were rumors she had gone to a pharmaceutical company called Rhodes Island."

Erika looks down at me, her expression a mix of lingering grief and quiet resolve. "When she walked away, a lot of us grew completely disenfranchised. I realized I couldn't stay in Trimounts anymore. I wanted to heal people, not just be a cog in a machine that didn't care who it crushed."

She brushes a stray lock of hair from my forehead, her smile returning.

"You will understand one day, little Lethe," Erika whispers into the quiet of the dorm room. "What things look like on the surface is often very, very different from the truth." The quiet, amber-lit safety of my dorm eventually fades away, replaced by the crisp, unforgiving daylight cycle of the landship.

Today isn't my scheduled day to visit Opal. But before I had even finished my quick breakfast of warm oats in the cafeteria, I had sent a message on my slate to Miss Lena. She understood. She always does.

Now, I find myself standing inside the high-security quarantine ward. In my hands, clutched tightly against the dark grey fabric of my jacket, is the soft, brown Cautus- esque plushie with the bright blue button eyes.

Opal is sitting up on her mattress. Resting on her bedside table is her own warm bowl of oats.

Her dull eyes slowly track my movement as I step closer to the bed.

I stop near the mattress and gently hold out the plushie.

"This is for you," I say softly, my voice chiming in the sterile air.

Opal stares at the stuffed toy. Its floppy ears and bright blue button eyes stare innocently back at her. Her small hands remain resting tentatively on the white blankets.

"It is a representation of our boss," I explain, offering a small, encouraging smile. "Her name is Amiya. She is a very brave, very strong young Cautus girl, just like you."

Opal’s long, black ears twitch. Once. Twice. The small movement is deafening in the quiet ward.

She shifts slightly on the mattress. Reaching out with trembling, fragile fingers, she carefully takes the plushie from my hands. As she pulls the soft fabric against her chest, she ducks her head, letting her long, black hair fall forward like a dark curtain to completely hide her face.

A tiny, fractured sob escapes her lips. It is a fragile, heartbreaking sound that echoes off the brushed steel walls.

I grip the twisted, petrified branch of my Arts Unit, waiting for the agonizing, drowning ocean of grief to flood the room, expecting the emotional dam to completely shatter just like it did months ago.

But the dam doesn't break.

She just clings to the stuffed animal, anchoring herself to the physical comfort in her arms. She is hurting, but she is holding herself together.

"Amiya," Opal whispers from behind the curtain of her black hair.

She repeats the name, her voice barely a breath, testing the shape of it on her tongue like a protective talisman.

"Yes," I answer her. I reach out, gently resting my hand over her trembling fingers where they grip the plushie.

I look down at the broken Cautus girl, silently projecting as much steady, quiet reassurance into the room as I possibly can.

"Amiya watches over you, Opal," I murmur, my voice a soft, unwavering promise in the cold medical ward. "She watches over everyone on this landship. As long as you have her… you are safe."