October, 1097

The rhythmic, reassuring beep of the monitors is the only sound in the ward.

I sit perfectly still in the plush visitor’s chair, my hands folded neatly in my lap. I do not leave her side. For days, the sterile walls of this room have been our entire universe as Miss Sussurro, mom and the medical team fought to force the Originium crystals in Opal’s lungs into dormancy.

I watch the slow, even rise and fall of Opal's chest beneath the blankets.

Miss Sussurro steps inside the ward again, her clipboard in hand. Her eyes sweeping over the readouts above the bed. She lowers the device, giving me a single nod.

Opal is officially cleared for discharge.

I reach out, my fingers gently resting over Opal's. "Ready to go, Opal?" I ask softly, my voice as bright and gentle as a chime. "The garden is waiting for us."

Opal nods.

We take the walk through the landship’s metallic arteries slowly, our joined hands serving as a quiet, steady anchor. I had sent a direct message to Miss Lena, Podenco, and Miss Beanstalk hours ago. I told them the absolute truth about Miss Sussurro's prognosis. I told them about the months.

I brace my senses as the doors of the Convalescent Garden opens. I expect to be hit by a suffocating, heavy wave of rotting ash and bitter sorrow.

Instead, a massive, brilliant wave of pure, concentrated warmth washes over me.

The three of them are waiting.

If they are mourning, they refuse to let it show.

"Welcome back, Opal," Miss Lena offers a flawless smile.

Opal gives a small, shy nod.

"Come here, you two!" Podenco calls out, her tail giving a rapid, enthusiastic swish. "I have something amazing to show you!"

I gently guide Opal down the path, leading her into the annexed section of the greenhouse. Podenco stands proudly before her row of micro-climate pods.

"Look closely," Podenco whispers, motioning for Opal to step right up to the condensation-beaded glass.

Opal leans in. Inside the glowing terrarium, a sprawling, web-like pattern of white fungal threads pulses with a faint, ethereal bioluminescence. It casts a soft, magical glow against the dark soil of the enclosure.

"It glows in the dark," Opal breathes out, her voice undeniably captivated.

"It does!" Podenco beams, her hands resting confidently on her hips. "We finally got the humidity regulators perfectly balanced!"

"And if you think that's cool, look at these little guys!"

Miss Beanstalk practically vibrates with entrepreneurial energy as she steps out from her designated nursery pen. She crouches down, carefully lifting one of her metal crabs into the air. The little critter clicks its claws rhythmically.

Opal's eyes blow wide. She takes a tentative step closer, her chin resting on the head of her plushie as she watches the crab flail its legs. A tiny, fascinated smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

"They are very polite," Miss Beanstalk promises, gently setting the crab back down onto the floor tiles to let it scurry in a chaotic little circle.

The sweet, domestic tranquility of the garden is perfectly cemented when Miss Lena approaches with a tray. The rich, comforting scent of steeped chamomile and warm grain fills the space. She pours the golden-amber liquid into delicate cups, sliding them onto the table alongside a massive plate of her signature cookies.

I sit right next to Opal, wrapping my hands around the warm teacup. I watch her take a small, deliberate bite of the tart, sweet cookie, the crumbs dropping onto the golden- brown wood. The suffocating dread of the medical wards feels impossibly far away. Then, Podenco reaches under the table.

She pulls out a pristine, brightly colored cardboard box and slams it triumphantly onto the center of our table.

Pioneers of Columbia.

"Alright," Podenco declares. "I have an empire to run, and a win streak to maintain. You two ready to go bankrupt again?"

I puff my cheeks out, slamming my teacup down. I turn to Opal.

"We are not going bankrupt this time, Opal," I announce, pointing directly at the smirking Perro. "We are going to buy entire districts before she can even roll the dice!" Opal looks at the colorful paper currency and the plastic playing pieces spilling out of the box. Her eyes flick to me, and then to Podenco. A tiny, competitive spark ignites in her gaze.

"Okay," Opal whispers, her ears perking straight up.

The corporate warfare commences. The clatter of plastic dice echoes through the humid air of the greenhouse. We move our tiny plastic pieces across the sprawling commercial skyline of the board.

But today, the dice are completely, miraculously on our side.

Every single roll lands us on prime real estate. Opal meticulously counts our colorful paper money, her fingers eagerly trading bills for plastic houses. We lock down the commercial zones, building a ruthless, impenetrable wall of high-rent properties right in Podenco's path.

Podenco shakes the dice, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She rolls.

Her plastic piece hops across the board, landing directly on our most heavily developed, expensive property block.

The garden falls dead silent.

Podenco stares at the board. She looks down at her meager, dwindling pile of paper currency, and then up at the towering plastic houses Opal had just placed on the square.

"What?!" Podenco gasps, throwing her hands up in the air. Her ears flat against her head in highly theatrical, absolute disbelief. "I am going bankrupt?!"

I shoot straight up from my chair, my tail giving a massive, triumphant swish that nearly knocks over my teacup.

"We did it!" I cheer, throwing my arms up in the air.

I turn to my right. Opal is staring at the board, her hands still hovering over the plastic houses. The realization of our total victory washes over her.

Her shoulders shake. The edges of her lips tremble upward, breaking into a massive, undeniable smile. A bright, musical giggle tears out of her throat, completely uninhibited and free.

"Opal! We win!" I exclaim, gently bumping my shoulder against hers.

"We win," Opal echoes, her laughter ringing beautifully through the leaves of the Convalescent Garden.

I look up, catching Miss Lena's eye from across the table. Her serene smile is radiant, shining with unshed tears of profound happiness. For today, at least, the light is blindingly bright.

The walk back from the Convalescent Garden to the quarantine ward is quiet, but it is a comfortable, peaceful kind of quiet. Opal holds my hand, her other arm securely wrapped around her brown plushie.

We step into her ward. The ambient air immediately shifts back to the scent of ozone and bleach. I help her settle onto the edge of the mattress, my tail swaying slowly. Before I can even pull the blankets up for her, the doors slide open again.

Mom steps inside. In her hands, she carries a small metal tray lined with precise doses of suppressants with our logo and a glass of water.

"Opal," mom says gently, her voice a soothing anchor. "Time to take your meds."

Opal's ears droop just a fraction, but she gives a brave, tiny nod, reaching out for the small plastic cup.

I know this routine. The medicine is heavy, and it usually makes Opal incredibly drowsy. I give Opal's hand one last, reassuring squeeze and slowly stands back up.

"I will see you for dinner, mom," I offer them both a small, polite wave. "Rest well, Opal." Mom flashes me a fond smile, and Opal gives a tiny wave of her plushie's paw as I step backward.

I need a change of scenery. The silence of the Archives is exactly what I need.

I find her at our usual table.

Miss Adele is sitting with her magnifying glass, hovering over a sprawling topographical map.

I pull out the chair beside her and sit down.

"Miss Adele," I begin. I look down at the intricate, swirling contour lines of her map. "Can you teach me about Wolumonde? About how a Catastrophe like the Great Rift can happen?"

Miss Adele slowly lowers her magnifying glass. Her soft, kind eyes meet mine, reflecting a quiet understanding.

"Of course, Lethe," Miss Adele says calmly. She gently turns on her slate to a spread detailing the tectonic plates of the region.

She points at a jagged, violent tear illustrated across the map.

"A Catastrophe like the Great Rift does not just happen on the surface," Miss Adele explains patiently. "It is a violent, subterranean rupture. Deep beneath Wolumonde, the fault lines were subjected to massive, localized Originium pressure."

I lean forward, my chin resting on my hands, completely absorbed.

"When the pressure became too great, the plates shifted catastrophically," she continues, tracing the jagged line. "It tore the land apart, creating a chasm so vast and deep that it swallowed the surrounding terrain and completely isolated the town. It severed their logistics routes and their communication lines, leaving them stranded in the wake of the earth's wrath."

I stare at the terrifying geological rendering. The planet itself can simply rip its own surface open and swallow a city's hope whole.

I spend the rest of the afternoon buried in the maps, soaking in the dormant hearth fire of Miss Adele's presence as she patiently untangles the violent mechanics of the world for me.

Evening eventually falls. The landship transitions into its night cycle, the crisp white lights dialing down into a bruised, dim amber.

I am waiting near the primary intersection of the residential block. The air is quiet. Footsteps echo down the hall. Slow. Dragging.

Lisa turns the corner.

She looks so incredibly small. Her nine tails, which usually sway with such vibrant, musical joy, are dragging limply against the cold steel floor.

I drop my staff.

I rush forward, closing the distance between us, and wrap my arms securely around her.

"Lisa," I whisper, my voice cracking.

She doesn't hug me back immediately. Her arms hang limply at her sides. She slowly lifts her head. Her eyes, usually sparkling with an unyielding, radiant optimism, are hollow and shimmering with heavy, unshed tears.

She looks at me, her lower lip trembling violently.

"Dr. Atro…" Lisa whispers. "…she is gone."

The dam breaks. She completely collapses forward, burying her face into the shoulder of my oversized jacket, her hands finally coming up to fist into the fabric of my back. A agonizing sob tears out of her throat.

I don't say a word. I just hold her tightly, burying my face into her hair, letting the scorching, bitter taste of her grief wash over me as she weeps for the friend they couldn't bring home.

We don't stay standing. My legs eventually give out under the heavy, suffocating weight of her grief, and we sink together onto the cold floor.

I don't let her go. I keep my arms wrapped securely around her. We sit there for a long time, the silence of the landship's night cycle broken only by her jagged, wet hiccups. I let the burning, bitter taste of her sorrow wash over my tongue. I don't use my Arts to violently siphon it away. Amiya's lesson echoes clearly in my mind. If I steal this grief from her, I steal the memory of Dr. Atro, too. So, I just hold her, letting my own steady, enduring warmth act as a quiet anchor against the storm inside her chest.

Eventually, the violent shaking of her frame slows. She lets out a long, ragged exhale that shudders against my jacket.

I gently pull back just enough to look at her tear-streaked face.

"What happened, Lisa?" I ask, my voice a fragile whisper.

Lisa swallows hard. Her tails pull tightly around her legs.

"The town… they hated each other, Lethe. The Winterwisps and the Elafians… they were actively tearing themselves apart from the inside."

She stares blankly at the floor between us, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt.

"They have these massive, towering machines in the town," Lisa whispers, her eyes blowing wide with the phantom terror. "They call them Gramophones. They are giant Originium Arts conductors. They were supposed to be used for music Arts to keep the city safe from invaders. But when the riots started… they turned them into weapons." The sheer horror of it drips from her words.

"The Casters hijacked the towers. They used them to rain down massive, blinding strikes of Originium Arts directly into the streets," Lisa chokes out, her breath hitching.

"It was deafening. The sky was just constantly flashing, and the ground wouldn't stop shaking. People were being incinerated by their own city's phonographs…”

"But the people…” Lisa continues, a fresh tear carving a track through her cheek. "The Winterwisp rebels… the Blood Shamans…"

The ambient flavor in the air drops to absolute zero. The taste of cold copper and rusted iron is so intense it makes my teeth ache.

"They used their own blood to cast their Arts," Lisa sobs, her voice dropping into a terrified, high-pitched whimper. "They didn't care if they died. When they fell… their bodies would violently erupt into these massive, toxic bursts of Originium Arts. They just exploded, Lethe. It didn't matter who was standing nearby. The guards, the innocent people trying to run, their own friends… the Shamans just blew themselves up to spread the infection and the fire."

I stare at my best friend. The sweet, radiant girl who had excitedly packed her woven wicker basket for a festival had been forced to walk through a burning town where people were literally turning their own bodies into biological bombs.

"Dr. Atro…" I prompt gently, though it physically hurts to ask.

Lisa buries her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking with a fresh wave of agonizing sobs.

"She just wanted to help them," Lisa cries, the words tearing out of her raw throat. "She didn't care if they were Winterwisps or Elafians. She didn't care if they were Infected. She was just trying to pull the wounded out of the crossfire. But they were so blinded by their hatred… they didn't see a Medic. They just saw someone in the way."

She looks up at me, her eyes completely shattered by the sheer, senseless cruelty.

"She was caught in the middle of a riot, Lethe. The town tore itself apart, and they took her with it."

The heavy, suffocating silence of the corridor presses down on us. Dr. Atro didn't die fighting a monster; she died because the people she was trying to save hated each other more than they wanted to live.

"I'm so sorry, Lisa," I murmur, my own tears finally spilling over to drop onto our joined hands.

"I was so scared, Lethe," she whimpers, leaning forward to rest her forehead against my shoulder. "I tried to use my Arts… I tried to slow them down, to make them stop hurting each other… but there was just too much hate."

"You were brave," I whisper fiercely into her hair. "You walked into the dark to find her. You did everything you could, Lisa. You survived."

I wrap my arms around her again, holding her securely against the cold steel of the landship. I cannot completely erase the burning towers or the blood-soaked streets of Wolumonde from her mind, but I can make absolutely sure she never has to carry the weight of those ashes alone.

"Come. Lisa. Lethe. It is getting late."

The voice cuts through the heavy, suffocating silence of the corridor.

I lift my head from Lisa's hair. Standing just a few paces away, bathed in the dim, bruised light of the night, are mom and Miss Lena.

Mom steps forward.

"Have some dinner, and go to sleep," mom murmurs. She kneels down beside us, her hand reaching out to gently rest on my shoulder while her other hand softly cups the back of Lisa's head.

Miss Lena steps up right beside her. Her expression is incredibly gentle, a quiet promise of safety.

"We are leaving Kazimierz in a few days," Miss Lena says, her voice a calm, melodic hum in the quiet corridor. "We are moving on."

The words settle over us like a heavy, warm blanket. The landship is going to keep moving, carrying us away from the dark.

Lisa sniffles, her breath hitching. She slowly lifts her face from my jacket. Her eyes are red and swollen, her tails still limp against the cold floor.

I don't let go of her. I shift my weight, carefully pushing myself up from the steel floor while keeping one arm securely wrapped around her waist. Mom's hand guides my shoulder, offering the physical leverage I need as I help pull my friend to her feet.

"Come on, Lisa," I whisper, offering her a small, fragile smile. I reach down and pick up my Arts Unit from the floor, my fingers curling securely around the handle. "Let's go get some food."

Lisa gives a tiny, exhausted nod. She leans her weight heavily against my side, completely drained.

Mom and Miss Lena don't rush us. They walk close, forming a protective, quiet barrier around us as we slowly make our way down the dim corridors of our home, walking together toward the promise of tomorrow.