October, 1098

I stare blankly at the sterile, white ceiling of the medical ward. The quiet, rhythmic beeping of the life-support monitors is a steady, grounding anchor in the otherwise silent room.

The pneumatic hiss of the door sliding open pulls my attention. The lingering, clinical smell of antiseptic is instantly swept away by a wave of absolute, undeniable warmth.

Blindingly pure crystallized sugar.

I turn my head against the hospital pillows. A young Vulpo girl steps into the room, her nine incredibly fluffy tails swaying gently behind her. She offers me a bright smile.

"Good morning, Lita," Lisa says softly, her voice carrying a delicate, soothing cadence.

She walks over and hops lightly onto the plush chair sitting right next to my bed. Her tails curl neatly around her legs.

"Good morning, Lisa."

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her eyes filled with an earnest care.

I reach up, my fingers lightly brushing against the black monitor collar secured around my neck. A physical reminder that my passive Arts are being suppressed so I don't drown in the ambient emotions of the landship.

I thought it was a shackle, but, it is just to make sure my Oripathy doesn’t get worse.

"I am doing fine…" I murmur, lowering my hand back to the sheets. "Dr. Warfarin says I can get back to work soon. Though… I don’t know what work really is."

The idea that I have a job here, working alongside these kind people in a place called the Convalescent Garden, feels like reading a storybook written in a language I can no longer speak.

Lisa leans forward, her hands resting on the edge of my mattress.

"Don’t worry, Lethe."

Her ears immediately twitch.

"Sorry… Lita," she quickly corrects herself. "We can find out together."

"It is okay," I whisper, offering her a small smile.

I look at the monitors. "It is already October now, isn't it?"

The desperate escape from Londinium feels like a lifetime ago.

"Yeah, today is 2nd of October," Lisa nods quietly.

I grip the edges of the white blanket, pulling it slightly higher over my chest.

"I wonder how Amiya and everyone is doing…"

My heart hammers a frantic, anxious rhythm. I think of the Cautus girl. I think of Raidian, Blaze, and Doctor, who all risked their lives and stayed behind in the apocalyptic ruins of the capital.

"They are winning," Lisa states.

"They are?"

"Yes!" Lisa says, her tails giving a sudden, hopeful swish. But just as quickly, her posture sags. The blindingly pure crystallized sugar radiating from her shifts. It grows damp, tainted heavily by a sharp undertone of bruised peaches and stagnant rainwater.

"The Shard fell…" her voice fractures into a quiet, trembling whisper. "But… a lot of people are dying…"

The Shard.

The monolithic, 300-story titan of architecture. The absolute, beckoning beacon of the Regent's wrath that could pull Catastrophes down from the sky. It was the symbol of Kazdelian iron, the impenetrable fortress I had once proudly marched toward.

It fell. Theresis's absolute power had been broken.

But as I taste the bruised peaches and stagnant rainwater from Lisa, the crushing, suffocating mountain of guilt physically presses down on my lungs again. The war might be ending, but the cost was an ocean of blood. I lower my head, staring blankly at my hands resting on the sheets.

I had personally added to the ocean of blood.

The door opens again, breaking the quiet hum of the medical machinery. Another Sarkaz steps into the ward.

It is Hibiscus.

The absolute second she crosses the threshold, her empathic flavor washes over the sterile room. It hits my senses as a sweet, concentrated burst of floral nectar, but it is immediately and perfectly balanced by the sharp, clearing bite of medicinal eucalyptus. It is a mature, no-nonsense warmth that completely refuses to let you wallow in self- pity.

After Dr. Warfarin managed to stabilize my Oripathy after a gruelling four-day course of a lot of complaints from the Vampire, she officially appointed Hibiscus as my primary medic. Apparently, Caladria is simply too busy to be pulled away from frontline triage, forced to deal with the endless waves of casualties pouring in from the Victorian conflict.

Hibiscus walks briskly toward my bed, holding a large plastic shaker bottle in her hand. It is filled with a thick, highly questionable, purplish-green sludge.

The absolute bane of my entire existence.

"Morning, Hibiscus…" I mumble, my tail drooping dead against the bed frame in immediate defeat.

"Good morning, Hibiscus," Lisa adds brightly from her chair.

"Morning, Lita and Suzuran," Hibiscus replies. Her smile is radiant, but it holds an absolute, uncompromising clinical authority. She sets the shaker bottle directly onto my bedside tray with a dull thud. "Your daily nutrition, Lita. Be sure to drink it all."

I shrink back against my pillows, staring at the viscous liquid clinging stubbornly to the sides of the plastic bottle.

"Can we not…" I whisper, my voice cracking with genuine despair.

I just stare at the smoothie. For the first time since escaping the pitch-black grip of the Regent and the Royal Court, I find myself genuinely missing the suffocatingly bland, dry nutrient bars of the Military Commission of Kazdel. At least those just tasted like compressed cardboard and ash, rather than whatever concentrated, medicinal nightmare Hibiscus has synthesized for me today.

I stare up at Hibiscus. She stands right beside my bed, looking incredibly composed in her dark purple and black uniform, the bright pink floral accent on her lapel providing a stark contrast to the dark coat she wears. I look down at the plastic shaker bottle on my tray, and then back up to her face.

I widen my eyes, and give her the absolute most desperate, pleading look I can physically muster.

"No can do, Lita," Hibiscus states, entirely unmoved by my display.

"It is very necessary for you," she continues. "Your digestive system is a complete mess right now."

I whine, shrinking back.

"I will smu…" Lisa starts, her voice a frantic, delicate whisper beside me.

Her nine fluffy tails puff out in a brief flash of panic before she quickly corrects herself.

"I will get you some red bean roll later, Lita!" Lisa promises. "Your favorites!"

Hibiscus narrows her eyes, casting a strict, deeply calculated side-glance at the young Vulpo. She lets out a soft, exasperated sigh.

"Just one," Hibiscus says, finalizing the negotiation with the absolute weight.

I look back down at the plastic bottle. It sits on my bedside tray like a localized Catastrophe. I reach out and pick it up. The absolute second I pop the cap open, the smell hits me. It is a pungent wave of raw, unidentifiable vegetation and synthetic vitamins that completely overpowers the lingering antiseptic scent of the room.

I quickly pinch my nose shut with my free hand. I squeeze my eyes tight, tilt my head back, and start drinking.

The purplish-green sludge hits my tongue. It is thick, incredibly gritty, and tastes exactly like liquefied despair.

Just think about red bean rolls, I chant frantically in my head, desperately forcing my throat to swallow the horrific concoction. Red bean rolls. Sweet, soft, warm red bean rolls. This tastes so unbelievably bad…

Red bean rolls…

I force my throat to swallow the last, horrific gulp of the purplish-green sludge. It hits my stomach like a heavy, cold rock, tasting exactly like wet grass.

With a loud, definitive clang, I slam the plastic shaker bottle onto the bedside tray. I quickly grab the edge of my standard-issue Rhodes Island patient gown, desperately scrubbing the residual gritty sludge from my lips.

"There," I wheeze, my face practically scrunching into itself.

"Good job, Lita," Hibiscus praises, her expression softening into a warm, radiant smile.

She turns her attention to the monitors mounted to the wall. She begins tapping at the terminal, methodically logging my forced nutritional intake.

I watch her for a moment in the harsh, clinical light of the ward. My fingers nervously twist the fabric of my gown.

"Hibiscus… I…" My voice is a hesitant whisper, nearly drowned out by the quiet, rhythmic beeping of the machinery. "You have been taking care of me for almost two weeks. But I never asked… have we met… before everything…?"

Hibiscus pauses her typing. She turns her head, her expression gentle.

"Well, Lita," she begins, her voice a steady comfort. "We were colleagues back when I was just a Reserve Ops medic in 1096. But we didn’t really talk much back then. We properly connected when we were in Siesta last year, and then again during the triage for County Hillock in January this year".

Siesta. County Hillock.

The names echo in my mind, but they land against a complete void. There is no warmth, no visual recall, no residual data to grasp onto. My shoulders sag against the pillows.

"Sorry… I don’t remember any of it…"

Hibiscus steps back to the side of my bed and reaches out, gently patting the top of my blanket.

"That’s completely fine, Lita," Hibiscus states, her tone carrying an absolute, uncompromising warmth. "You are back with us now, and that’s all that matters."

I nod weakly, comforted by the undeniable safety radiating from her frame.

I look between the mature medic and the young Vulpo girl sitting quietly in the plush chair next to me.

"Actually…" I start again, my tail giving a small, nervous flick against the bed frame.

"How old is everyone? Sorry if that’s something I shouldn’t have asked. I am curious because Caladria told me… I am fourteen."

"I am nineteen," Hibiscus answers smoothly.

"I am fourteen as well," Lisa chimes in from her seat.

Her nine incredibly fluffy tails sway happily behind her, the blindingly pure crystallized sugar of her emotional resonance completely filling the small space between us. She leans forward, resting her hands on her knees, and offers me a bright smile.

"I picked your age, Lita," she says.

I blink, completely bewildered.

"You… picked it, Lisa?"

"Yep!" Lisa adds. "We weren't too sure how old you are, so we decided we are the same age!"

"I see…"

"And I didn’t know back then our real names are so close," Lisa adds, her nine fluffy tails swishing excitedly behind her. "Lisa and Lita. We are destined to be sisters!"

I smile at her. She is so sweet, a pure girl, unlike me.

We chat with each other for a bit more, the quiet hum of the medical machinery fading into the background as she fills the air with gentle chatter about the landship. After a few minutes, a soft, electronic chime interrupts us. Lisa reaches into the pocket of her skirt and checks her PRTS communicator.

"Time for me to go to my classes, Lita," Lisa says, hopping lightly off the plush chair.

She smooths down her skirt and flashes me one last bright, earnest smile. "See you later. I will bring the roll! Promise."

"Okay, laters," I reply, my tail giving a small, genuine flick against the mattress.

The pneumatic door hisses open and shut behind the young Vulpo, sealing the ward back into its quiet, clinical rhythm.

Hibiscus stays.

She finishes logging my vitals on the terminal, the harsh. She turns back toward my bed, her hands resting casually on the footboard.

I look at her.

"You know, Lita," Hibiscus says softly. "It is nice to not have my patients fear me. When they are not Sarkaz, I mean…"

My chest immediately tightens.

"I…" I swallow hard, my voice fracturing into a ragged whisper. "I think I made sure the world fears us more…"

Hibiscus immediately steps closer, closing the distance to my bedside.

"The Regent and his Military Commission use that fear to justify their atrocities, Lita,"

she states. "But do not let their crimes define you."

She reaches out, her hand gently resting over my trembling fingers.

"You were a healer, like me," her floral resonance blooms with an undeniable certainty. "I am sure you can be again."

I stare at her hand covering mine. I think of the life I don't remember, the people waiting for me, and the impossible grace they have extended to a girl who wore the enemy's colors.

"I… I hope so," I whisper, a fragile, tentative warmth flickering to life in the void of my chest.

Hibiscus steps back from the medical terminal, the harsh, clinical light reflecting off the datapad in her hand.

"Have some rest, Lita," Hibiscus instructs, her voice dropping into a gentle but firm tone. "You used way too much of your Arts recently. We found you just in time before any lasting, irreversible damage happened to your nervous system."

I slowly reach up, my trembling fingers grazing the cold, matte black surface of the Infection Monitor secured tightly around my neck.

I lower my hand, shrinking down into the crisp white hospital sheets.

"Okay… Sorry…"

Hibiscus immediately pauses. She crosses the small distance to my bedside. She reaches out, her hand resting gently over the blanket near my shoulder.

"It’s not your fault, Lita. The Military Commission forced you to wield those Arts, and they didn’t even give you a proper focal unit to shield your mind. It is basically a miracle your Oripathy didn't completely spiral. Dr. Warfarin’s suppressants are working."

She offers a reassuring, radiant smile. "Your old one is still kept by Perfumer. Once you are better and cleared for duty, you can have it back."

"Okay. Thank you, Hibiscus. I will take a nap."

"See you later, Lita," she says softly, adjusting the IV drip one last time. "Rest well."

The door hisses open and slides shut, sealing the medical ward in a heavy, sterile quiet. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic, steady beeping of the life-support monitors. I let my eyes flutter shut. The pitch-black void drags me under, it is a dreamless, quiet sleep.

When I finally blink my eyes open again, the harsh, multi-paned surgical lights overhead have been completely extinguished.

The medical ward is bathed in the dim, low-emission amber glow of the landship’s night cycle. The ambient air is incredibly still, filled only by the distant, low mechanical hum of Rhodes Island’s massive engines pushing us forward through the barren wastelands.

I let out a slow, quiet breath, turning my head against the soft pillows.

Resting on the bedside tray, is a small, neatly folded brown paper bag.

I push myself up onto my elbows, the patient gown shifting against my shoulders. As I lean closer to the tray.

My fingers reach out, carefully pulling the paper bag onto my lap. Pinned to the top of the fold is a small white sticky note, inscribed with incredibly neat, delicate handwriting. Two red bean rolls for Lita. - Suzuran.

I carefully peel the tape back and open the bag. The sweet, rich scent of baked dough and warm red bean paste wafts into the dim air. She actually came back. While I was asleep, the Vulpo had quietly slipped into the room just to leave me the exact treat she promised.

I hold the small paper bag against my chest in the quiet light of the medical ward.

Hot tears run down my cheeks.

They are all so nice.

The sweet, rich warmth of the red bean rolls settles in my stomach, melting away the lingering, grassy nightmare of Hibiscus’s medicinal sludge. I hold the empty paper bag to my chest for a long time in the dim, amber light of the medical ward, the quiet rhythm of the life-support monitors slowly pulling me back under.

When I finally blink my eyes open again, the amber night-cycle lights have shifted back to the crisp, harsh white of the landship’s morning.

The door of the ward opens.

Even through the dense, suppressing nature of the black monitor collar secured around my neck, the flavor effortlessly brushes against my senses. It is a blindingly pure, sun- drenched field completely overflowing with warm honey.

Caladria, Erika steps into the room.

She looks incredibly exhausted. There are deep, dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes, and her deep plum tactical shirt looks slightly rumpled, as if she hasn't slept in a proper bed for days. The sheer, overwhelming toll of frontline triage is physically stamped into her posture. But the moment her eyes lock onto me, sitting up in the bed, the exhaustion is completely eclipsed by an absolute, profound relief.

"Oh, Lita, you are awake," Erika says softly, her voice carrying a fragile but deeply comforting warmth. She walks over to the side of the bed, her movements slow but deliberate.

"Good morning… Erika," I murmur. The name still feels a bit unfamiliar on my tongue.

Erika’s smile. She reaches out, her hand resting gently on the edge of my mattress.

"I have good news, Lita," Erika says, her thumb lightly brushing against the blanket.

"Amiya and everyone else… they are back today."

"They are?"

"Yes," Erika nods, her expression growing a fraction more solemn, the sun-drenched field of her resonance shifting with the heavy gravity of the world outside this sterile room. "The conflict in Londinium… it has reached an end. Theresis and Theresa were killed in the fighting."

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor next to my bed completely fades into the background.

Theresa.

The ghost of her boundless, sweeping ocean of unconditional love physically aches in my chest.

"An organization called Babel, led by someone named Wiš’adel, has declared themselves as the new government of Kazdel," Erika continues, her voice a steady anchor in the quiet room. "The remaining Sarkaz forces have retreated."

"Wait… Babel?"

Babel. The name Raidian spoke of in the subterranean maintenance room. The place where my birth mother, Lethia, had fought for the light, and the very place where the Confessarii had slaughtered her.

"Yes?" Erika tilts her head, her white feathers shifting slightly. Her warm hand moves to gently cover my trembling fingers. "What’s wrong, Lita?"

I stare at our joined hands. I swallow hard, forcefully pushing the suffocating mountain of guilt and phantom sorrow back down into the void.

"It… it is nothing," I whisper, forcing a small, fragile smile for her sake.

Erika's eyes search my face for a moment, she doesn't push me. With an endlessly patient sigh, she turns slightly and reaches for a small insulated container she brought in with her.

"I have your breakfast, Lita," she says. She opens the container and places a warm ceramic bowl onto my bedside tray.

I look down. It is a bowl of warm, creamy oats, generously topped with vibrantly colored, fresh fruits. It smells of sweet berries and comforting hearth-warmth.

"Once you are done," Erika murmurs softly, her hand gently brushing a stray lock of woodsmoke grey hair behind my ear, "we can see if you can visit them. If you want."

I look at the oats, and then back up to the exhausted, relieved Liberi woman who loves me with her entire being.

My tail gives a slow, steady swish against the sheets.

"I… I would like to," I whisper, picking up the spoon. "Thank you, Erika."

I slowly but steadily eat the oats with my suppressants.

"I finished. The meds too," I say, setting the warm ceramic bowl and the small plastic pill case down onto the bedside tray.

"Good job, Lita. Let’s go?" Erika asks, her exhausted face softening into a genuinely warm smile.

"Okay."

Erika reaches down and places a pair of soft, quiet slippers onto the floor for me. I slide my feet into them.

We leave the medical ward together. We walk slowly down the brushed-metal corridors of the landship, the ambient hum of the engines thrumming beneath our feet. We step into a heavy, reinforced elevator, taking it all the way up to the upper decks.

Erika reaches out and taps the terminal. The doors to Amiya's office part with a soft, pneumatic hiss.

We step inside.

Amiya is standing near the center of the room. The absolute first thing that strikes me is her expression… She looks so incredibly, devastatingly sad. The blindingly pure crystallized sugar of her usual presence is completely submerged in a heavy, quiet mourning.

She is dressed in a pristine white dress featuring a complex, ruffled bodice that cascades elegantly down her frame. Over it, she wears a dark, oversized tactical jacket. Similar to the one she lent me in the ruins, but distinctly more intricate. Its striking teal inner lining flashes brightly against the dark outer fabric. Long, pale ribbons drift almost weightlessly around her, tangling loosely with her long brown hair. Dark tights and simple blue shoes complete her attire.

But my eyes do not stay on her clothes. My attention is pulled upward, completely transfixed by what is resting just above her head.

It is a crown.

It is formed of dark, jagged, geometric shards. It looks like shattered obsidian and cold iron, suspended in the air by some invisible, gravitational force. The jagged spikes frame her fragile Cautus ears, looking impossibly sharp and terrifyingly heavy.

But the crown…

The flavor bleeding off that dark, shattered crown is absolute. It crashes into me. It is a boundless, sweeping ocean of unconditional love, entirely saturated in a profound, agonizing sorrow. It tastes of crushed ash, spilled blood, and the crushing, agonizing weight of a million weeping ghosts.

It tastes exactly like Theresa.

"Lita… Caladria… glad to see you two are safe," Amiya says.

Her voice is incredibly soft, trembling slightly under the immense, suffocating weight of the recent days.

I grip the hem of my patient gown. "Amiya…" I whisper.

Amiya looks at the Liberi woman standing beside me.

"Caladria, if you don't mind," Amiya asks quietly. "Can I have some time with just Lita?"

Erika’s sun-drenched, warm honey presence shifts with a brief flutter of protective hesitation, but she offers a slow, understanding nod.

"Of course, Amiya," Erika says. She reaches out, giving my shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Just ping me to pick Lita up."

"Thank you. I will."

Erika turns and steps back out into the corridor. The door hisses and clicks shut, sealing me entirely alone in the office with the young Cautus leader.

The ambient air near Amiya visibly flickers, vibrating with a dense energy.

I take a hesitant, trembling step backward. My eyes are locked entirely onto the shattered obsidian shards hovering in the air.

"Amiya…" I stammer, my breath catching in my throat. "What’s… the crown? Why…"

Why does it taste exactly like the woman who co-ruled the Military Commission?

Amiya lowers her gaze. Her long ears droop heavily.

"It is the Civilight Eterna," Amiya answers. "The Black Crown of the Sarkaz."

"Wait, are you…?"

"Yes," Amiya says. She looks up, her eyes brimming with a quiet, devastating sorrow. "I am the Lord of Fiends. The King of Sarkaz, Lita…"

Before I can even begin to process the sheer weight of a Cautus girl ruling my people, the ambient air in the office ripples.

It isn't just an empathic flavor anymore. The boundless, sweeping ocean of unconditional love and profound, aching sorrow begins to physically condense in the sterile light of the room. The heavy scent of crushed ash, spilled blood, and weeping ghosts fills my lungs.

A woman slowly appears.

She manifests right beside Amiya, stepping seamlessly out of the flickering air. She is breathtaking. She is dressed in the exact same pristine, flowing white gown adorned with dark, jagged crystalline accents. Her long pinkish-white hair spills beautifully around her striking black horns, and her pink-hued eyes are perfectly, flawlessly composed.

I pause.

My knees go completely weak. The sterile metal floor feels as if it is dropping out from beneath my slippers. I stare at the woman who had walked into my quarters in the monolithic shadow of the Shard, the woman who had touched my horns and wept for the cold iron I was forced to wear.

"Theresa?!"

"No, Lita… Theresa is no more," the woman says.

Her voice is gentle, carrying the exact same tragic, fragile cadence that had echoed in my quarters back in Londinium.

"This body, this vestige before you, is but a program that exists within the 'King of Sarkaz.' My form and my presence are the result of Amiya's emotions. As much as I may remember everything from the past, please do not mistake me for Theresa herself."

I stare at her.

"But…" My voice cracks into a desperate wheeze. "You feel just like her… I…"

I take a trembling step forward. I reach out, my hand extending toward her flowing white gown.

My fingertips brush against her.

There is nothing.

My hand simply passes through the projection. There is absolutely no temperature. No physical resistance. No warmth. She is a ghost woven entirely out of memories and light.

My hand drops to my side, my shoulders completely collapsing under the weight of the hospital gown.

The vestige of Theresa looks at me, her eyes filled with that familiar, devastating sorrow.

"Lita…" the projection murmurs softly. "You are back with Rhodes Island… with the successor of Babel. I am sure Theresa and Lethia will be very glad."

She remembers everything…

"Lita…"

Amiya steps forward. The Cautus girl closes the distance and wraps her arms securely around my shoulders. I lean into her, burying my face against the dark fabric of her jacket.

The vestige of Theresa smiles… so soft, so flawlessly beautiful… it holds no malice, only grace.

"The myriad souls have departed…" the projection whispers into the quiet room, her voice carrying the absolute, final weight of a closed chapter in history. "Sarkaz are no longer bound by their ancestral hatred… Lita. There is hope yet."

My voice completely fractures in the sterile air of the office.

"I… I… I am not…"

I cannot even finish the sentence. I am not strong enough to hear this. I am not worthy of standing here, wrapped in the arms of the Lord of Fiends, receiving the unconditional grace of a ghost I had blindly served to destroy.

Amiya’s grip on my shoulders tightens gently. The drowning, suffocating ocean of her sorrow and crystallized sugar wraps around me, acting as a physical anchor.

"It is okay, Lita," Amiya says softly, her voice trembling against my ear.

I take a ragged, trembling breath, my fingers digging completely white-knuckled into the fabric of her oversized jacket.

I need to know the cost.

"What happened in Londinium…" I whisper, my eyes dropping to the floor panels. "…

after I left?"

Amiya’s long ears droop.

"After you left…" Amiya begins, her voice tight and wavering. "Alexandrina Victoria, the newly elected speaker of the Parliament and the true heir of the Aslan royalty… she and her Exemplars initiated a counterattack."

I listen to the Cautus girl's heartbeat drum frantically against my chest.

"But the Sanguinarch of Vampires, Duq’arael…" Amiya’s hands begin to physically shake against my back. "He initiated a blood witchcraft that turned the townspeople to…"

The flavor bleeding off Amiya is sheer, paralyzing horror. I can taste the sickening, metallic tang of spilled blood and the stagnant rot of innocents turned into monsters.

My chest seizes. I know exactly what Royal Court cruelty looks like when it is unleashed upon the defenseless.

I reach up, gently placing my trembling hand over Amiya's to stop her.

"It is okay, Amiya…"

She doesn't need to finish that sentence. I already know the shape of the nightmare.

Amiya takes a slow, shaky breath, leaning her weight fully against me.

"You probably heard Wiš’adel… she took control of the Lifebone…" Amiya continues, her voice dropping into a quiet, devastated wheeze. "Kazdel’s flagship, built from the bones of a Feranmut. With all this, the Grand Dukes finally acted."

She pauses. The sorrow radiating from her spikes into a blinding, apocalyptic dread that makes my lungs burn.

"But Theresis… he used the first Originium. And the Shard…" Amiya chokes on the words. "He summoned a Catastrophe that… it was… it wiped out three of the Grand Dukes themselves…"

My mind completely stalls.

I remember standing on the towering defense walls with Blaze, looking out at the sprawling, monolithic silhouettes of the Victorian landships. I remember the endless, entrenched armies that stretched across the jagged horizon like iron mountains. Wiped out? In an absolute, singular instant?

"What…" The word barely escapes my lips, completely hollow. "How…"

Above us, the shattered obsidian shards of the Civilight Eterna pulse with a dense, quiet energy.

The vestige of Theresa shifts. Her eyes look at us, brimming with that flawless, tragic grace. The overwhelming flavor of her profound, aching guilt crashes over the room.

"It was… Theresa and Theresis believed there was no other way…" the projection whispers.

"…to free the Sarkaz from the myriad souls trapped in the Originium network," the Civilight Eterna says, her flowing white gown shifting in the air.

“He also tried to use Amnannam to summon Catastrophes on top of Columbian capital of Max D.C., Lateran City, Zwillingstürme, capital of Leithanien… everywhere… the clouds were forming…”

Civilight Eterna lowers her head, offering a completely peaceful, mournful smile.

"The first Originium, Amnannam… is with Babel now. It is safe."

"Yes… well, what else, Tara has declared themselves independent…" Amiya finally adds. Her voice is a fragile, exhausted whisper, but the drowning ocean of her sorrow parts just a fraction. Through the heavy, suffocating grief of the war, a faint, pure light of crystallized sugar bleeds into the sterile air of the office.

"It will take a long time for the Sarkaz to truly lay down their arms…" Amiya continues, her ring-clad hands gently squeezing my shoulders. "But Lita… there’s perhaps finally a road to peace…"

A road to peace.

I look at Amiya. I look at her exhausted, tear-stained face, and the impossible, suffocating burden she carries as the Lord of Fiends. Then, I tilt my head up, my eyes tracing the dark, shattered obsidian shards of the Civilight Eterna hovering above her, and the flawless, tragic ghost of Theresa watching over us with her boundless, unconditional love.

My hands tremble against the fabric of Amiya's jacket.

"I… I don’t know if I truly deserve this chance still…" I whisper, my eyes dropping to the floor. The crushing, suffocating mountain of guilt physically burns in my throat. I am a monster who tasted the terror of innocents.

Amiya immediately opens her mouth to speak.

"But…" I add, my voice cracking, cutting her off before she can utter a single syllable of absolution.

I slowly lift my hands. My fingers reach out, gently resting against Amiya's arms, holding onto her just as securely as she is holding onto me. I force my spine straight. I push the pitch-black void of my guilt down, desperately grasping onto the fragile, tentative warmth that Hibiscus, Raidian, and Erika had coaxed back to life in my chest.

I look directly into the Cautus girl's shimmering eyes.

"I want to help you walk that road, Amiya."

Amiya and I hold onto each other on the cold metal floor of the office.

The Cautus girl’s grip on my shoulders is a physical lifeline.

We just sit there.

Then, the doors of the office suddenly hiss open.

Before the footsteps even fully cross the threshold, the ambient air has a new taste.

It is a flavor I recognize from Londinium. The complex, sharp biting flavor of dark, over- steeped black tea and cold iron. But the muted, tasteless flavor of melting snow and thick, grey fog that has clouded his resonance has been completely torn away.

In its place is a staggering, agonizing clarity.

It tastes of a crushing, suffocating guilt. It is the undeniable, heavy flavor of rusted iron chains dragging endlessly across the lightless bottom of a freezing ocean. It tastes of bitter ash, buried under an insurmountable mountain of regret so deep and profound that it makes my own chest physically seize in sympathy.

It is the resonance of someone who believes they have completely failed the world.

Doctor walks in, heavily obscured beneath his dark coat and tactical hood.

He takes one step into the room and completely freezes.

His posture goes entirely rigid.

"Oh…" Doctor breathes out. The single word is muffled beneath his cowl, dropping into the sterile air like a lead weight.

The vestige of Theresa slowly turns her head. Her eyes lock onto the hooded tactician. Her expression remains flawlessly beautiful.

"Doctor," the Civilight Eterna greets softly, her voice brushing against the walls with absolute grace.

The Cautus girl's ears instantly snap straight up.

"Ah! Doctor…" Amiya stammers, her voice completely flustered.

The drowning ocean of her sorrow spikes with a sudden jolt of nervous energy. Amiya quickly lets go of me, her ring-clad hands pulling back as she scrambles to wipe her tear-stained cheeks with the sleeves of her jacket.

I remain sitting on the floor, my hands resting in my lap. I look up at the hooded man standing completely frozen in the doorway.

The suffocating, lightless ocean of his guilt continues to bleed heavily into the room, crashing against me with devastating force.

I stare at him.

If this flavor is bleeding so powerfully into the ambient air, then I am not the only one tasting it.

I look at Amiya. I look at the ghost of Theresa, born directly from the shattered obsidian shards of the Black Crown.

They feel it too. They have to. They are standing right here, completely enveloped in the agonizing, rusted chains of his regret.

The suffocating, lightless ocean of Doctor's guilt continues to flood the sterile office. It is so heavy, so profound.

"Doctor…" The word scrapes out of my throat, a ragged whisper in the air. "Your taste… why does it hurt so much?"

He doesn't answer. He remains completely frozen in the doorway, his posture rigid beneath the coat.

Beside me, Amiya gently squeezes my shoulder before stepping forward.

"Doctor," Amiya says softly, her voice trembling but resolute. "I can feel your guilt, your confusion… and your sorrow."

She stops just a few paces from him, her ears lowering slightly. "But… we need to look forward. We have to. Blaze invited me to an event she's organizing. It's to celebrate our return to the landship, and a lot of Elite Ops will be there."

Doctor's dark visor shifts slightly toward the Cautus girl, but the rusted iron chains of his regret do not loosen.

Then, the vestige of Theresa moves.

"Doctor," the Civilight Eterna murmurs. "Go and spend some more time with Amiya and Kal'tsit."

Kal'tsit.

My mind flashes back to the damp, subterranean maintenance room in Londinium. I remember the white bandages soaked completely through with dark crimson, and the terrifyingly fragile, shattering glacier of her emotional presence as she clung to the very edge of life.

"Kal'tsit…" I whisper, my fingers curling tightly into the fabric of my patient gown. I look up at Amiya. "She is…?"

Amiya turns her head back to me, her expression softening into a deeply relieved, albeit tired, smile.

"She is," Amiya answers quietly. "She is weak… but she is alive."

A massive, physical weight lifts off my chest. The woman who had thrown herself in front of the Regent's blade to save the future had actually survived. Shining and Nightingale had done it.

I look back at Doctor, and then up to Amiya and the ghost of Theresa. This is their moment. This is the core of Rhodes Island, the people who carry the impossible weight of the world, trying to heal from a war that almost broke them all. I shouldn't be the one anchoring them to the floor.

I force myself to push up from the metal panels, my soft slippers finding purchase.

"Please go…" I say, my voice steadying just a fraction. I offer the hooded tactician a small, fragile nod. "The Elites… I am sure they would like you all to be there."

"Thank you, Lita," Amiya says gently. She reaches into her jacket and taps her PRTS communicator. "I will ping Caladria. She will come back soon."

As Amiya turns back to Doctor, the ambient air in the office ripples. The breathtaking projection of Theresa offers one last, flawlessly composed smile before she simply dissolves. She fades into the sterile light, her physical form vanishing completely. But the flavor does not disappear. I can feel it retracting, settling deeply and quietly within the shattered obsidian shards of the Black Crown hovering just above Amiya's head.

She is still there, living within the Lord of Fiends.

A few minutes pass in a heavy, quiet stillness before the pneumatic doors of the office hiss open once more.

The sharp, biting cold of Doctor's lingering guilt is instantly swept away by a blindingly pure, sun-drenched field overflowing with warm honey. Erika steps into the room.

The Liberi woman looks at the three of us, her exhausted eyes sweeping over my hospital gown and Amiya's solemn posture.

Amiya steps toward the doorway, Doctor falling silently into step beside her.

"Please take care of Lita, Caladria," Amiya requests.

Erika's expression softens. She steps forward, her hand reaching out to rest warmly against my shoulder.

"I will," Erika promises.

The doors of Amiya's office shut behind us, completely cutting off the suffocating, agonizing weight of Doctor's guilt and the lingering, ethereal grace of the Black Crown. We step back into the brushed-metal corridors of the landship.

I walk slowly beside her, my soft slippers padding quietly against the polished floor panels. My mind is still spinning, desperately trying to organize the massive revelations I had just been handed.

Theresis is dead. The Shard has fallen. And Babel is in control of Kazdel.

I tilt my head, looking up at the exhausted Liberi woman walking next to me.

"Erika…" I start. "Who is Wiš’adel? Have I met her before?"

The absolute second the name leaves my mouth, the deeply comforting flavor of sun- warmed honey surrounding Erika spikes. A sudden, sharp undertone of tart, spoiled berries bleeds into the air.

Erika lets out a long, deeply exasperated sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Thankfully, no," Erika answers, her tone carrying a heavy, weary resignation. "She was… W. A Sarkaz mercenary who tried to kill us back in Chernobog and Lungmen…"

She drops her hand, shaking her head slightly as we continue down the corridor.

"She eventually joined us…" Erika continues, the tart, spoiled berries of her resonance vibrating with a lingering disbelief. "But her idea of entertainment is planting explosives everywhere and just seeing what will happen…"

My slippers completely halt on the metal floor panels.

My tail freezing mid-swish.

"She… she is leading Kazdel now?"

The new ruler of the Sarkaz… The one who replaced the ancient, absolute monolith of Kazdelian might…

Is an explosive-obsessed mercenary who treats detonations as casual entertainment?

Erika stops and looks back at me. The tartness in her emotional resonance slowly melts away, replaced by the dependable care of her usual warmth.

"Yep…" Erika sighs, offering a small, complex smile. "She is smart and she is strong… I am sure it will be okay."

I stand there in the sterile hallway, desperately trying to reconcile the terrifying image of the Military Commission with a woman who randomly plants bombs for fun.

I slowly nod my head.

"Okay…" I whisper, deciding that the geopolitics of Kazdel are entirely too incomprehensible for me right now.

We keep walking.

The brushed-metal corridors of Rhodes Island stretch out before us, the low, ambient hum of the engines vibrating gently against the soles of my soft hospital slippers. Every step takes me further away from the sterile, quiet safety of the medical ward.

My fingers nervously twist the hem of my gown.

"Where are you taking me, Erika?" I ask, my voice a quiet, hesitant whisper. "I am not getting in trouble… am I?"

I am an executioner of the Military Commission. Even though Amiya and Doctor accepted me, surely there must be consequences. An interrogation. A tribunal.

Something.

Erika glances at me. A soft, gentle smile touches her lips, her white feathers shifting slightly.

"Of course not," Erika answers, her tone light and teasing. "Unless you are not eating your veggies."

"I… I am," I desperately trying to defend my nutritional honor. "I drank the whole grassy sludge Hibiscus gave me!"

Erika lets out a warm, quiet chuckle.

"See? Not in trouble."

I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders sagging just a fraction. "But where are we going?"

"Well," Erika says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "We are going to go to the garden." The Convalescent Garden.

My chest tightens. The crushing, suffocating mountain of guilt presses down on my lungs. I think of the ruined, ash-choked streets of Londinium. I think of the blood on my hands.

"The garden…" I whisper, shrinking back against the corridor wall. "Can I really go there…? It sounds too peaceful for someone like me…"

Monsters do not belong in sanctuaries.

Erika stops. She turns around and walks back to me. She reaches out, her hands gently cupping my shoulders.

"That is exactly the reason for you to visit, Lita," Erika murmurs, her unyielding warmth washing over me. "Peace is exactly what you need."

I look into her endless, patient eyes. I force a slow breath into my lungs and nod weakly. We reach the angular doors of the Convalescent Garden.

Erika rests her hand on the pneumatic control panel. She looks down at me.

"Ready, Lita?"

I squeeze my hands into tight fists, bracing myself.

"Ready."

The doors hiss, sliding apart with a heavy mechanical thud.

The absolute second I step across the threshold…

BOOM! POP!

A deafening volley of explosions violently shatters the quiet air.

"Eh?! An attack?!"

I violently backward, my hands flying up to shield my face. I desperately try to reach into the void of my mind to summon my Fear Beast.

Instead, a cascade of brightly colored paper confetti and shimmering streamers rains down from the ceiling, completely burying my head, my lopsided horns, and my hospital gown in a chaotic, vibrant mess of paper.

"Welcome back, Lita!!" a chorus of voices yells out in perfect, joyous unison.

I peer out through the colorful paper draped over my eyes.

Standing in the middle of the lush, sunlit greenhouse is a massive banner strung between ferns. WELCOME HOME, LITA! is painted across it in bright, slightly messy letters.

And standing beneath it are the people I was absolutely certain I didn't deserve to see again.

A tidal wave of impossibly bright, pure flavors crashes into my empathic channels.

"Lita!"

Leading the charge is a young Vulpo girl. Lisa practically flies across the pathways, her nine incredibly fluffy tails swaying frantically behind her. The blindingly pure, flawless flavor of crystallized sugar completely floods the air as she throws her arms around my chest, hugging me tight.

Before I can even process the sugar, a Perro girl crashes into my other side.

"You're finally awake!" The Perro cheers, her tail wagging so fast it is practically a blur.

The deeply soothing flavor of sun-ripened yuzu tempered by smooth green tea wraps around my panicked frame.

I stand there, completely paralyzed by the embrace, my hands hovering awkwardly in the air. "W… What is all this…?"

"It's a party, obviously!"

A Reproba woman steps forward, a casual, confident grin on her face. She is accompanied by a chorus of happy chitters from her metal crabs scuttling around her boots. Her resonance hits me as a grounded, dependable mix of over-steeped green tea and dry, sun-baked hay.

Standing just beside her is a Caprinae girl. She offers me a quiet, enduring smile.

Beneath her calm exterior, her presence wraps around me like a dormant hearth fire perfectly mixed with the rich, earthy sweetness of roasted chestnuts.

"We are so glad you are safe, Lita," The Caprinae says softly, her eyes shining with genuine relief.

"We even brought the good snacks from the procurement department!" A Feline girl with a distinct, scholarly energy chimes in. The young Feline bounds forward, her flavor an energetic, buzzing static of freshly printed parchment and sweet mint leaves.

I stare at them, my vision blurring with hot, sudden tears. I look past the younger girls and see the older Operators standing near a wooden picnic table piled impossibly high with pastries, teas, and sweets.

An older Vulpo woman smiles at me with a mature, soothing calmness. Her presence washes through the garden, tasting like a profoundly safe cup of warm lavender and steeped chamomile.

Next to her, a striking Feline in a sharply tailored coat crosses her arms. She tries to maintain an air of aristocratic composure, but her tail is flicking behind her. Her flavor is sharp chili pepper and spicy cinnamon that slowly softens into roasted spices and a crackling hearth fire.

And finally, setting down a massive tray of fresh cakes, is another Feline. The pink- haired Feline wipes her hands on her apron, her ears twitching with excitement. The comforting scent of toasted sugar and warm milk, spiked with a sharp, happy crackle of static electricity, fills the space around her.

I look at all of them. The vibrant flora, the colorful confetti dusting the grass, the table full of food, and the radiant, smiling faces of the people who still love me.

I am not an executioner here.

"I…” I whisper, a tear finally escaping and tracking down my cheek, catching a piece of stray confetti.

I wrap my arms securely around Lisa and Podenco, hugging them back.

The vibrant cascade of brightly colored confetti finally settles, dusting the lush green ferns and my crisp white hospital gown in a chaotic, celebratory mosaic. I slowly pull back from the tight embrace of the young Vulpo and Perro, my chest heaving with a fragile, trembling breath.

Erika steps forward, her deeply comforting presence of a sun-drenched field and warm honey cutting gently through the overwhelming excitement of the room. She places a guiding hand on my shoulder and leads me toward the wooden picnic table.

Resting right next to a massive tray of fresh cakes is a brand new slate.

"Because your old slate was destroyed when you were taken… all your documentations and notes were lost," Erika says softly, her voice carrying a protective, aching tenderness. She taps the polished glass screen of the new device. "But you can write down everything again, Lita. Starting right now."

I look at the slate, and then up at the smiling faces surrounding the table. My fingers, still trembling slightly, reach out and pick up the device. The screen illuminates, casting a soft glow against my face.

Erika stands beside me, gently pointing to each person in the sunlit greenhouse as she does a quick, careful round of introductions. I pull up a blank digital document, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

I take a shaky breath, and I begin to type.

Lisa (Suzuran): Your best friend, and dessert smuggler.

Podenco: A very teasing botanist. She is nice.

Beanstalk: The master of metal crabs.

Adele (Eyjafjalla): My geological tutor. The world’s best Catastrophe Messenger.

Eleanor (Mint): My study buddy and also a geologist. Am I geologist too?

Lena (Perfumer): The owner of the garden, and my manager, I think so?

Skyfire: Mint’s senior and my thermodynamics tutor. She is secretly a softie.

Susie (Goldenglow): Rhodes Island’s resident barber. She is cozy.

As I input each name, the sheer volume of their love bleeds into the air. I taste the sun- ripened yuzu of Podenco, the comforting roasted chestnuts of Adele, the buzzing academic static of Eleanor, and the soothing, mature lavender of Lena.

Plink.

A heavy, burning teardrop slips from my eyelashes and hits the slate’s glass screen, distorting the neatly typed letters.

I stare at the growing list.

So many people…

The Confessarii told me I was nothing but a hollow blade, a pureblood executioner stripped of all warmth.

But looking at this slate, looking at the vibrant, undeniable reality of my existence… my life was completely overflowing with warmth.

I keep typing, my vision violently blurring with fresh tears. I think of the people I had just spent time with in the medical ward.

Dr. Warfarin: The scary but brilliant doctor. She definitely sees you as a blood bag.

Hibiscus: A gentle medic who needs a cooking lesson.

Erika (Caladria): She tastes so safe. She feels so safe.

I wipe my eyes with the oversized sleeve of my gown, my mind drifting far beyond the safety of the landship. I think of the apocalyptic, ash-choked ruins of Londinium. I think of the people who risked everything to drag me out of the pitch-black dark, who held me while I wept, and who looked at my Kazdelian uniform with nothing but weeping pity and unconditional grace.

Bagpipe: A brilliant soldier, and definitely a country girl.

Logos: Don’t mess with him. Unless you want to end up conceptually nonexistent.

Closure: She seems fun. But… I have a feeling that’s not everything…

Misery: He is reliable. He kept the camp safe.

Raidian: The person who brings you back from the brink. She is secretly very scary.

Blaze: Do NOT let her carry you ever. EVER.

Shining: She proves anyone can choose to heal. Her blade is still eerie though.

Liz (Nightingale): A fragile but dedicated healer.

Theresa: She loves you. Even though she is no longer of this world. Her memories lives on in the Civilight Eterna.

Doctor: A brilliant man drowning in his own grief.

Amiya: Heir to the Black Crown. She is technically your King, but she acts as your friend. You will fight for her. She also needs a cake and a break.

And then, my fingers freeze over the keyboard. I take a ragged, shuddering breath, the phantom ache in my chest swelling as I type the final, most profound anchor of my reality. My biological mother.

Lethia: A mother who fought and died for the light.

"There are so many more, Lita!"

A bright, delicate voice pulls me from the screen. Lisa leans over my shoulder. She looks at the tear-stained list on my slate.

I blink, looking up at the young Vulpo in absolute bewilderment. "More?"

"Yes!" Lisa beams, her eyes shining with an earnest, unadulterated joy. "You were friends with Rosmontis! She is an Elite Ops!"

An Elite Ops? I was friends with someone of Blaze and Raidian's caliber?

"You also met Sussurro, and Breeze, and Dr. Folinic!" Lisa continues, counting them off on her fingers with bright enthusiasm. "And Franka, and Almond… oh! And Gummy, and Zima, and Frostleaf… there are so many others, Lita!"

I sit completely frozen at the wooden picnic table, the slate resting heavy in my lap. I look at Lisa, then at Erika, and finally at the sea of smiling, radiant faces gathered beneath the messy WELCOME HOME banner.

I am not a ghost haunting a ruined capital. I am not a monster forged in the shadows of the Shard.

Ping.

The sharp, cheerful electronic chime of the new slate pulls me completely out of my tearful reverie.

I blink, looking down at the polished glass screen. A small, bright envelope icon bounces in the top corner of the display.

"A mail?" I ask quietly, my voice still thick with emotion. I use the sleeve of my hospital gown to hastily scrub the remaining tears from my cheeks.

I tap the icon, my thumbs navigating clumsily through the unfamiliar operating system. I find the mail application and open the single unread message sitting in my inbox.

The sender ID reads: Chief Engineer Closure.

I swallow hard. The Vampire.

I read the text.

Kiddo. This is your 3rd tablet. You lost your custom tailored uniform. And the oxygen you are breathing in the garden is premium. Not to mention your medicines.

Consider we are not paying you in any LMD, and consider you are a Djall with a few centuries to live. Just work free for us, deal?

The slate suddenly feels like a slab of freezing concrete in my hands. My tail, which had been gently swishing against the wooden bench, drops completely dead.

I knew it!

Rhodes Island really is just a smuggling ring! The Confessarii warned me about this!

They are going to chain me in the dark and force me to be their docile puppet… doing administrative paperwork and sweeping the landship corridors for the next three hundred years just to pay off a tablet!

My eyes dart up from the screen, tracking frantically over the vibrant, sunlit greenhouse. I look at the table piled impossibly high with fresh cakes, sweet pastries, and warm teas. I look at the brightly colored confetti still resting on the fern leaves.

This party… I swallow a dry lump in my throat, my chest seizing in sheer, absolute horror. This is it. This is my last full meal before they send me to the Originium mines.

"Lita?"

Lisa’s voice cuts through my internal voices. The young Supporter tilts her head, her tails drooping slightly. The blindingly pure, flawless flavor of crystallized sugar bleeding off her ripples with sudden, genuine concern. "Are you okay? You look really pale all of a sudden…"

I slowly reach out with a trembling hand. I grab the largest, frosting-covered cinnamon pastry from the tray and pull it defensively to my chest, completely ready to savor my final taste of freedom.

"I… I have to pay for the oxygen…" I stare blankly at the cake.

Erika, who is standing just behind me, pauses. The deeply comforting flavor of sun- drenched fields and warm honey suddenly shifts. A very distinct, sharp undertone of tart, spoiled berries bleeds into the air.

She leans over my shoulder, her eyes scanning the screen of my slate.

Erika lets out a long, profound, and deeply exasperated sigh. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"That Vampire," Erika mutters, the words carrying a heavy, weary resignation.

She reaches out, gently placing her hand over mine and pressing the slate face-down onto the picnic table. The tart berries instantly melt back into that unyielding honey.

"Lita, sweetie, look at me," Erika says. She offers me a strained but immensely patient smile, her feathers puffing up as she shakes her head. "Closure is joking. She just has a terrible sense of humor and an absolute obsession with accounting. You are not paying for the oxygen, and you are absolutely not working for free for the next century."

"I'm… I'm not…?" I clutch the pastry a little tighter against my hospital gown.

"No," Erika promises, her thumb gently rubbing my shoulder to anchor me back to reality. "You are an Operator, and you are a patient. Your medical care is covered, and we will get you a new uniform. Now, please, eat your cake before Ceobe smells it from three decks down."

I look down at the pastry in my hands, and then back up to the sea of smiling faces around the table. The crushing, suffocating mountain of indentured servitude slowly lifts from my lungs.

I take a slow, shaky bite of the pastry.

It is warm. The dough is undeniable soft, with gooey sugar mixed with sharp cinnamon, and topped with melting cream cheese icing.

It is unimaginably sweet.

"Okay…" I mumble around a mouthful of frosting, my tail finally giving a tentative, happy flick behind me. "But I am keeping the tablet close… just in case."

The last crumb of the impossibly sweet cinnamon pastry vanishes, leaving my fingers completely coated in a thick, sticky layer of melting cream cheese icing and caramelized sugar. I hold my hands up awkwardly, trying to figure out how to navigate my new slate without turning the polished glass into a sticky mess.

Before I can even reach for a napkin, Erika steps up beside my bench. She offers a soft, entirely patient smile, pulling a damp cloth from a drawer.

"Here, let me," Erika murmurs, her voice carrying an absolute, undeniable care.

She gently takes my wrists, carefully and methodically wiping the sticky icing from my fingers. Her touch is so incredibly gentle, grounding my lingering anxiety with her unyielding warmth.

As Erika finishes cleaning my hands, the space on the wooden bench beside me is suddenly occupied.

A wave of blindingly pure, crystallized sugar crashes into my right side, perfectly mingled with the deeply soothing flavor of sun-ripened yuzu and smooth green tea on my left. Lisa and Podenco squeeze in right next to me, showing me their communicators, their photo albums.

"Look at this one, Lita!" Lisa says, her tails swaying happily behind her as she taps the screen.

An image projects onto the table. It shows us right here in the Convalescent Garden, laughing around a steaming, bubbling pot of cheese. Amiya and a grey-haired Feline girl are also here. And a young Cautus with severe Oripathy.

"This is our Kjerag-themed fondue picnic!" Podenco chimes in, her Perro tail wagging with bright enthusiasm. "We had so much fun setting it up after Opal was discharged."

Lisa quickly swipes to the next picture. This one shows a rolling grassy plain. A group of us are bundled up in camping gear, standing next to a cave entrance. Me pulling Eleanor, me curved into a V shape while she marches into the dark,

"And this is in County Ascarat," Podenco adds, pointing to the screen. "We went on a huge geological and botanical expedition together!"

I stare at the smiling girl with lopsided horns in the photograph. I look so genuinely happy.

Across the picnic table, the ambient air suddenly superheats with a theatrical flair.

A sharp, biting wave of chili pepper and spicy cinnamon floods the greenhouse, slowly softening into the comforting scent of roasted spices and a crackling hearth fire.

Skyfire stands near the edge of the table, one hand resting on her hip, the other gesturing dramatically as she commands the attention of the scholars.

"It wasn't just a normal eruption," Skyfire recounts, her voice carrying the absolute, confident authority of a senior caster. "Deep within the Siesta Volcano, the ambient Originium density was off the charts."

She leans forward, her eyes narrowing for dramatic effect.

"And rising directly from the magma was a monstrosity. An Originium slug, but absolutely gigantic. They called it Pompeii. It was a walking, superheated Catastrophe."

Sitting directly across from her, Eleanor is completely paralyzed with awe. The young Feline's empathic flavor is vibrating at an impossible frequency. She is leaning so far over the table she is practically falling out of her seat, her tail wagging back and forth like a frantic, metronomic fan.

"Fascinating…" Eleanor breathes out, her eyes wide with curiosity. "The sheer thermal output required for an organism to survive in that magma chamber…!"

Beside her, Adele simply sits with her hands resting neatly in her lap. She offers a soft, enduring smile, nodding along calmly to her peer’s explosive retelling of the crisis.

Across the table, Susie looks on in pure awe with a half eaten mochi egg tart in her hands, completely forgotten.

While the geological team gets swept up in the fiery tales of mutant slugs, a much quieter conversation drifts from the back of the greenhouse.

Lena and Beanstalk are standing near a row of hydroponic tanks.

"If we adjust the humidity regulators on the southern vents by just five percent, it should prevent rusting of their metal shells," Beanstalk explains, casually petting behind the shell of a metal crab scuttling up her arm.

Lena nods thoughtfully, her presence an absolute sanctuary of peace. "I will have the engineering department look at the ventilation filters this afternoon. The current moisture levels are perfect for the lavender, but we certainly don't want to compromise your little friends' carapace."

"Lita? Look at this one!"

Lisa’s bright voice pulls me back. Guiding my focus away from the crushing, paralyzing weight of my lost history and back to the glowing screen of her communicator.

I lean closer to the Vulpo.

The image on the screen projects a bright, chic café with large, sunlit glass windows and polished wooden tables. Sitting directly in the center of the frame is me. My posture is completely undone. I am practically melted into the chair, my arms draped weakly over the edge of the table in a display of sheer awe.

Sitting on a ceramic plate directly in front of the past version of myself is a towering, impossibly thick stack of Columbian pancakes. They look incredibly fluffy, drowning in melting butter and rich syrup, wobbling precariously under their own massive weight.

"This was in Trimounts!" Lisa giggles. "Miss Erika took us to this really nice café on our shore leave."

Erika steps up just behind us, leaning slightly over my shoulder.

"That was the city I used to work in before I found my way to Rhodes Island," Erika adds, her voice carrying a fond, nostalgic warmth. She reaches out, her finger lightly tapping the edge of the screen. "You had never seen a pancake that big before, Lita. I genuinely thought you were going to dissolve into a puddle right there in the chair."

I stare at the digital photograph, my eyes tracing the lines of my own face.

The girl in the picture doesn't have the cold, calculating eyes of a Djall executioner.

There is no heavy Kazdelian history pressing down on her shoulders. There is no Royal Court dictating her every move. She is just a normal girl, completely overwhelmed and immobilized by the simple, innocent joy of a sweet dessert.

They are really me…

I look up from the communicator. I look at Lisa's bright, earnest smile. I look at Podenco's happily wagging tail, and at Erika's endless, patient eyes. Beyond them, the Convalescent Garden is bathed in the gentle light, overflowing with vibrant life, scattered confetti, and undeniable safety.

The void in my mind is still there. It will always be there.

Not unless I fill it with new memories.

If I lived that life once, I can live it again.

The wastelands outside might be scarred by Catastrophes, betrayals, and endless wars, but there are still chic cafés, towering wobbly pancakes, and sunlit greenhouses waiting out there for us.

"Can we…" I whisper, my voice still slightly raspy, but my tail giving a soft, hesitant swish against the wooden bench. I look up at Erika, and then back to Lisa. "Can we go back there someday? To get more pancakes?"

Lisa’s eyes completely light up. Her tails puff out in a burst of pure joy, the crystallized sugar of her resonance filling the air to the brim.

"Yes!" the young Vulpo cheers, leaning in to press her cheek happily against my shoulder. "We can go anywhere, Lita! Together!"

“Together.” Podenco adds.

“Okay. Together.” I reply.