September, 1097

The observation window of the middle deck lounge usually offers a peaceful view of the night sky. But tonight, there is no darkness.

We are hovering near Kawalerielki, the capital of Kazimierz. I press my hand against the cool glass, staring out at the sprawling metropolis depicted. Ms. Skyfire had not exaggerated in the slightest when she described the nation. Massive, towering skyscrapers curve and jut into the sky, their dark glass facades completely overwhelmed by colossal, glaring holographic billboards. One screen directly in our line of sight blazes with the stark white silhouette of a knight’s helm, advertising the

"Kazimierz Major." The sheer volume of artificial light bleeds into the low-hanging smog, turning the midnight sky into a sickly, perpetual, glowing twilight. It is blinding.

I pull away from the window, my eyes aching slightly from the glare, and turn my attention back to the table. Mom is sitting across from me, quietly reviewing a medical manifest on her slate.

It is late September now, and the passage of time feels a little more manageable.

Mom’s birthday had come and gone. Instead of emptying my entire internal savings account into Ms. Closure’s greedy hands, I had planned ahead. On my second logistics mission out into the barrens with Podenco and Miss Beanstalk, I had meticulously searched the lands until I found a beautiful, resilient little wildflower. When we returned, Miss Lena patiently taught me how to press and preserve the petals, sealing them perfectly into a clear resin clip pin. When I gave it to mom, her smile had been so bright it rivaled the neon outside. She hasn't taken it off her uniform lapel since.

I am also, miraculously, still alive.

Lisa’s "Arts training" had nearly broken me. Between dodging foam projectiles from the training drones and desperately trying to push the right emotional buffs and debuffs, I had seriously contemplated officially unfriending the Vulpo. I had drafted the verbal resignation of our friendship in my head while lying face-down on the training mat. But then, she had shown up to my dorm with a peace offering. It was a delicate, perfectly thin crepe, folded with meticulous care. Inside, it was generously filled with a velvety, deep green matcha cream. The slight, earthy bitterness of the cream perfectly cut through the rich, heavy sweetness of the chunky red bean paste hidden in the center. It was an absolute masterpiece of a dessert that melted instantly on my tongue. I had devoured the entire thing in under two minutes, and Lisa was thoroughly, undeniably forgiven.

I take a slow sip of my water.

Then, the doors to the lounge slide open with a soft hiss.

I don't even need to look up to know who it is. The ambient air always announces her arrival. But as the empathic wave hits the back of my tongue, my tail instantly stops moving.

The sugar of Lisa is still there, but it is heavy and damp. It tastes like caramelized syrup that has been left out in the rain, and carrying a sharp, sinking undertone of bruised peaches.

I quickly look up.

Lisa steps into the lounge. Her tails are drooping limply toward the floorboards. Her ears are pinned against her hair, and her shoulders are slumped. She is clutching her digital slate tightly against her chest, her eyes cast downward, entirely avoiding the bright neon glare of the windows.

Across the table, mom immediately sets her own slate down.

"Lisa?" I call out. "What's wrong?"

Lisa doesn't answer immediately. She shuffles forward, her shoes dragging slightly. I quickly pull out the chair beside me. She climbs into it, setting her slate down on the table. Her tails pool listlessly against the backrest, entirely devoid of their usual, energetic bounce.

She looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with a quiet, terrified resignation.

"I am getting deployed, Lethe," Lisa whispers.

My fingers, which had been resting on the edge of the table, instantly curl into tight fists. The blinding, neon glare of Kazimierz bleeding through the window suddenly feels entirely irrelevant.

"To where?" I ask.

Lisa lowers her gaze to the dark screen of her slate.

"A nomadic town named Wolumonde," she replies quietly. "In Leithanien."

Across the table, mom completely freezes. Her hand, resting near her own slate, goes entirely rigid. The warm honey radiating from her is instantly violently pierced by a sharp, acidic spike of pure, tactical alarm. It tastes like cold copper and biting medical iodine.

"Wolumonde…" mom repeats, her brow furrowing deeply. She leans forward. "Didn't the town recently get damaged by a Catastrophe?"

Lisa slowly nods.

"Dr. Atro…" Lisa's voice catches in her throat, wavering under the crushing weight of the news. "…a R.I. Medic that was dispatched there has completely lost contact for a few days now."

"Dr. Atro? Oh no…”

Mom covers her mouth with her hand, a soft, horrified gasp escaping her lips. The ambient air in the lounge immediately sours, the sharp alarm dissolving into a heavy, suffocating wave of dread.

I stare at my best friend in absolute, bone-deep terror.

"But… but you're just a Support Operator!" I blurt out, my hands flying across the table to desperately grab hers. "Why are they sending you into a post-Catastrophe zone?! Where are the Elite Ops? Where is Ms. Blaze or Ms. Raidian?!"

Lisa squeezes my trembling fingers. Her damp, sticky aura of fear is undeniable, but beneath it, a tiny, fragile spark of her inherent, unyielding bravery tries to push through.

"With most of our people busy around Kazimierz, they have decided to send me with Dr. Folinic to investigate what has happened," Lisa explains, her voice steadying just a fraction as she names her escort.

Dr. Folinic.

I know the name. I have seen the fierce, incredibly strict Feline Medic marching through the medical wards, her presence tasting of sharp, medicinal alcohol and absolute, uncompromising lethality. She is fiercely protective of her patients and her colleagues, but she is still just a Medic. Just the two of them walking into a silent, ravaged town.

"The Major in Kazimierz is drawing too much attention, and the administrative operations here require almost all of our active Field Ops," mom murmurs. She lowers her hand from her mouth, her eyes shining with profound worry for the young girl sitting across from her. "They are stretched entirely too thin."

"I have to go, Lethe," Lisa whispers, looking back at me. She offers a tiny smile. "Dr. Atro is our friend. We cannot just leave him behind in the dark. And Dr. Folinic needs a Support to help her."

I want to tell her to refuse the order, to hide in the Convalescent Garden behind Miss Lena's flowerbeds and never come out. I want to use my Arts and siphon the terrifying, damp sugar from her mind until she forgets she ever received the deployment notice. We do not ask them to stay. We keep the hearth warm.

Miss Lena's voice anchors my spiraling mind.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, forcing the tears back. I grip Lisa's hands tighter, pouring every bit of the grounding, sweet warmth I can muster into the empathic channel between us.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice shaking, but resolute. I lean across the table, my lopsided horns dipping as I press my forehead gently against hers. "You go find Dr. Atro, Lisa. But you promise me you will stay right behind Dr. Folinic. You don't take a single step without her."

Lisa lets out a soft, shuddering exhale, the heavy tension in her shoulders melting just a fraction under my touch.

"I promise, Lethe," she breathes out, her nine tails giving a weak, but genuine, swish against her chair. "I will be careful."

"Let’s have breakfast together tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

The fragile promise we made in the lounge echoes relentlessly in the quiet of my dorm room.

I lie on my side, completely unable to sleep. The glaring, artificial neon lights of the city bleed through the reinforced glass of my pill-shaped window, refusing to let the room truly fade into the dark. The sickly, perpetual twilight casts sharp, unnatural shadows across the brushed steel walls.

I pull my knees up tightly to my chest. My arms are wrapped around my plushies crushing them against my oversized hoodie. I bury my face into their soft fabric, squeezing my eyes shut, but the exhaustion simply refuses to pull me under. Every time I drift close to sleep, my mind conjures the terrifying image of Lisa walking away from the landship and stepping into the ash-choked ruins of Wolumonde.

By the time the landship's morning cycle finally clicks over, washing away the neon glare with a crisp, clinical white, my eyes are burning and my body feels entirely hollowed out. I drag myself out of bed. I don't bother to fix the messy tangle of my hair, simply pulling my Medic jacket over my shoulders and grabbing my Arts Unit.

The walk through the hallways toward the cafeteria is a slow, heavy trudge. Mom is already gone; a quick glance at my slate earlier confirmed she had been pulled into an early shift at the medical wards alongside Miss Sussurro.

The dining hall is filled with the usual morning clatter of trays and overlapping conversations. I join the serving line, mechanically reaching for the things I know will settle my twisting stomach. I slide a perfectly folded yellow omelette onto my tray, followed by a soft red bean roll, and a glass of warm milk. It is my absolute classic, a desperate anchor of comfort.

I turn away from the counters, my eyes scanning the sea of plastic chairs and tables. I spot them near the back. Podenco is sitting quietly, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug, her citrusy presence muted and heavy. Sitting right across from her is Lisa.

I adjust my grip on my tray and walk over.

The moment I approach, Lisa turns her head.

"Good morning, Lethe!" Lisa chimes.

Her voice rings out with that familiar, blindingly bright musical cadence. She offers me a wide, beaming smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. To anyone else walking past our table, she looks completely, flawlessly unbothered. She looks exactly like a normal girl ready to enjoy a sweet breakfast with her friends.

But she cannot lie to me.

The moment her emotional resonance brushes against my Arts, the ambient air in the cafeteria shatters. Entirely betraying her brave smile.

The pure, blindingly bright crystallized sugar of her usual presence is there, but it is stretched terrifyingly thin. It tastes brittle, like a delicate sheet of caramelized sugar placed under an immense, crushing weight, actively splintering at the edges. Bleeding through the cracks is the sharp, acidic tang of bruised peaches and the damp, freezing flavor of stagnant rainwater.

I take a slow, mechanical bite of my roll. The sweet, earthy paste is usually my absolute favorite, but today it feels heavy and thick in my mouth.

Across the table, Podenco is completely steering the conversation.

"I finally got the ambient humidity regulators perfectly balanced in the third pod,"

Podenco chatters, leaning forward and gesturing with a piece of her toast. "The spore density was getting a little too high, but once I tweaked the exhaust fans, the nutrient substrate stabilized. The mycelium networks are expanding exactly how Miss Lena predicted."

"Really?!" Lisa asks, leaning in. Her eyes sparkle with a manufactured, brilliant curiosity.

"Does that mean the bioluminescent moss from the underground caverns is going to sprout soon? Will it glow in the dark?"

"It should!" Podenco beams, though her ears droop just a fraction before she forces them back up. "I'll make sure to save a cutting for you to see when you get back."

"I cannot wait to see it, Podenco.”

I watch them. My fingers inch toward the black shaft of my Arts Unit resting against my leg.

My empathic instincts scream at me to open the channel. I want to throw the limiters wide open, reach across the table, and violently siphon every single drop of that suffocating panic right out of her chest. I want to swallow her nightmares so she can just be a happy girl eating breakfast.

But my fingers freeze just inches from the staff.

My mind flashes back to the quiet safety of my dorm room, bathed in the dim amber light of the night cycle. I had asked Amiya about Miss Lena’s teachings.

Amiya had been sitting right beside me on my bed, our hands gently clasped together as she taught me how to navigate the suffocating noise of the landship.

“It is terrifying when you can feel everything they are hiding, Lethe,” Amiya had murmured, her ears swaying softly. Her blue eyes were profound, carrying the heavy, agonizing weight of a leader who felt the deaths of every Operator under her command.

“When someone is hurting, your first instinct is to completely take it away. To burn your own memories to give them peace,” Amiya had explained, her thumb gently rubbing the back of my hand. “But you cannot always erase their fear. Sometimes, out in the barrens or in the ruins of a city, fear is the only thing keeping them sharp. It keeps them careful. If you hollow out their terror completely, you might take away their survival instinct.

I had looked up at her, my chest aching. “But it hurts them. And tasting it hurts me.” Amiya had offered me a sad, beautiful smile.

“I know it hurts,” Amiya had whispered fiercely. “But being an empath doesn't mean you just erase their struggles. It means you stand beside them. You let their pain wash over you, you let it hurt you, and you help them carry the weight so they don't have to bear it entirely alone. You hold their hand in the dark, Lethe, and you let them be brave.” The memory anchors me to the cafeteria chair.

I slowly pull my hand away from my Arts Unit. I unclench my fists and press my palms flat against the metal table.

Lisa doesn't need me to hollow her out. She knows the post-Catastrophe zone of Wolumonde is dangerous. She knows Dr. Atro is missing. She is absolutely terrified, but she is willingly choosing to pack her bags and walk into the ruins alongside Dr. Folinic anyway. She is choosing to be brave.

I cannot steal her bravery just to make myself feel better.

Instead, I close my eyes. I dig deep into the core of my being, gathering up the absolute warmest, most unwavering sensations of safety I possess. I pull from the memory of mom's protective hugs, Miss Lena's soothing teas, and the quiet, starlit shores of Siesta. I channel that pure, concentrated comfort outward, wrapping it gently around the splintering, brittle edges of Lisa's emotions, offering my strength to help shoulder her burden.

Lisa looks across the table at me, her eyes softening.

Eventually, the plates are cleared. The morning cycle marches relentlessly forward. Lisa stands up, gathering her empty tray. She smooths down the fabric of her skirt, adjusting the small brown bag resting against her hip.

"I have to go meet Dr. Folinic at the flight deck now," Lisa announces. Her voice still trembles slightly at the edges, but she holds her chin high.

Podenco stands up with her, offering a firm, reassuring nod. "Be careful out there, Lisa. We will keep the garden perfect for when you get back."

I look directly into Lisa’s eyes. I stretch my face into a genuine, unwavering smile, holding onto the promise of our home.

"We will see you, Lisa," I tell her.

Lisa’s ears perk straight up. The damp, frightened shadows in her emotional resonance are momentarily eclipsed by a brilliant, radiant spark of her true, unadulterated light.

"See you, Lethe! See you, Podenco!" Lisa calls back, offering us one final, energetic wave before she turns and bravely marches out of the dining hall, stepping into the dark of Terra to save a friend.

I watch the cafeteria doors shut, swallowing the last glimpse of Lisa's tails. The vast dining hall feels immediately colder.

I turn to Podenco.

"I am going to find Miss Adele first. Tell Miss Lena not to worry about me. I will be in the garden later."

Podenco gives a firm, reassuring nod. A familiar, cheeky spark attempts to push through the heavy air, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Good idea, Lethe," Podenco teases. "Maybe studying with the Professor will help boost that Kazdelian intellect of yours."

I puff my cheeks out, a hot flush of indignation immediately warming my face. I point at her, leaning forward across the empty space between our chairs.

"I am going to break your… ten-time win streak next time, Podenco! Just you wait!" Podenco laughs, the sound bringing a desperately needed, genuine lightness to the cafeteria. "I'd like to see you try!"

With our battle lines officially drawn, I offer her a small wave and turn my steps downward, navigating the arteries of the landship toward the Archives.

The air inside is cool, hushed, and perfectly still. I navigate the sprawling labyrinth of bookshelves, letting my Arts brush the ambient air. I expect the comforting, dorman warmth of my tutor to wash over me.

But as I turn the corner to our usual table, my steps falter.

The aisle is completely empty.

The sudden absence makes my heart stutter, a brief, irrational spike of panic tightening my throat. Did Dr. Kal'tsit deploy her, too?

I quickly pull out my slate. The screen illuminates my face in the dim aisle as I frantically tap open the messaging application.

[Lethe]: Miss Adele, are you free?

I stare at the glowing glass, my thumb hovering nervously. A few agonizing seconds pass before a sharp chime echoes in the quiet library. A massive wave of relief instantly washes the icy dread from my stomach.

[Eyjafjalla]: Yes, Lethe. I am at the Middle Deck 3 lounge. Do you want me to come to the Archives?

[Lethe]: I will come, Miss Adele.

I slip the slate back into my bag, ensuring the flap is secure.

The elevator doors parts, depositing me onto Middle Deck 3.

I step out into the lounge. It is a sprawling, modern room. Floor-to-ceiling glass partitions divide the space, reflecting the cool, atmospheric glow of a massive circular halo light suspended from the exposed industrial ceiling ducts. Black leather sofas dominate the center of the room, arranged neatly around low-profile tables, while large potted plants add a vibrant, grounding touch of green to the otherwise monochromatic, highly polished aesthetic.

Sitting alone on one of the dark leather sofas is Miss Adele.

She has a warm ceramic mug of cocoa cupped gently between her hands. She isn't reading any of her sprawling geological maps or peering through her magnifying glass today. She is just staring blankly into the dark, swirling liquid of her cup.

The ambient air in the lounge is different. The comforting, enduring flavor of her fire is still there, but it is heavily smothered. It tastes of scorched chestnuts and bitter, crushed petals of mountain flowers.

"Miss Adele…”

No replies.

“Miss Adele.”

Miss Adele slowly lifts her head. Her soft, kind eyes meet mine, and a fragile, tired smile touches her lips.

"You want to ask me about Wolumonde, don't you, Lethe?" Miss Adele asks softly, her voice barely rising above the low hum of the landship's ventilation.

I stop at the edge of the glass partition.

"Yes…”

I pull up a small stool across from her, carefully resting my staff against the table. I lean forward, desperate to understand the exact shape of the dark that my best friend is currently walking into.

Miss Adele takes a slow, delicate sip of her warm cocoa. The bitter, scorched flavor bleeding off her deepens, filling the quiet space between us with the heavy weight of her homeland.

Miss Adele begins, her focus dropping back to the ceramic mug in her hands. "I want you to know, Lethe, the town itself is relatively safe. It wasn't crushed or entirely leveled. But…”

She pauses, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic.

"But a Catastrophe. A devastating phenomenon known as the Great Rift, tore through the surrounding region," she explains, her tone taking on the precise, solemn cadence of a researcher detailing a disaster. "The sheer geological devastation of the Rift has unfortunately cut Wolumonde off entirely from the rest of the nation. They are completely isolated."

I swallow hard, the phantom taste of the cold tea making my chest ache. "If they are cut off, why isn't the Leithanian army going in to help them? Why are we sending Dr. Folinic and Lisa?"

Miss Adele closes her eyes, a heavy, exhausted sigh escaping her lips.

"Because the situation there is intensely complicated, Lethe. The Leithanian aristocracy has long let that town fend for itself. They have no strategic interest in saving it. In fact, they are simply waiting for the situation to develop; waiting for the town to fail entirely so they can legally decommission it and absorb its remaining resources into other, more compliant communities."

"And the danger isn't just from the aristocracy's neglect," Miss Adele continues, her eyes opening to meet mine with absolute, uncompromising seriousness. "Within the town itself, there is a deep, festering anger."

She reaches out, her hand gently covering my fists.

"The Caprinae natives of Wolumonde. They call themselves the Winterwisps, have long harbored a bitter, generational grudge against the Elafian majority," Miss Adele explains.

"The Winterwisps deeply resent the Elafians' historical decision to uproot their once- stationary town and convert it into a nomadic one. To them, it was a desecration of their ancestral home. Now, trapped together by the Great Rift with dwindling supplies and no outside help, that old hatred is a powder keg waiting for a spark."

The realization hits me with the force of a physical blow, freezing the blood in my veins. Lisa isn't just deploying to an empty, post-Catastrophe zone to search for a missing Medic. She and Dr. Folinic are walking entirely unbacked into an isolated, starving town that has been abandoned by its rulers and is actively tearing itself apart from the inside. They are walking into a cage match of political malice and ancient grudges.

"It's a trap…” I choke out, my eyes blowing wide with horror.

Miss Adele gently squeezes my hands, her thumb brushing over my white knuckles.

"It is incredibly dangerous," Miss Adele agrees softly. "But Amiya knows this. Dr. Kal'tsit knows this. They did not send Lisa and Dr. Folinic in blindly. They are Rhodes Island Operators, Lethe. They are trained to navigate the dark."

I promised Lisa I would keep the hearth warm. But knowing the exact shape of the nightmare she is facing makes the waiting feel like a punishment all its own.

I carefully stand up from the small stool.

"Thank you, Miss Adele," I offer her a deep, respectful bow. "For telling me the truth, even when it is scary. I will leave you to your rest now."

Miss Adele offers a gentle, serene nod. I step away from the partitions of the lounge and back into the pathways.

"Hi, Lethe!"

The sudden, cheerful greeting echoes down the hallway.

I look up. Walking toward me are two heavily armored Field Operators. I recognize them instantly. It is the Lupo and the Perro.

I stop in the middle of the corridor, pulling my staff close to my chest, and offer them a bright, genuine smile. I remember the promise I made to myself on the Columbian barrens. I will not leave them nameless in my mind.

"Hi, Mr. Zip. Hi, Mr. Fourteen," I greet them, my voice chiming clearly in the quiet hallway.

"No deployment order today?"

Mr. Zip lets out a soft, exhausted but contented chuckle. He rolls his shoulders, the plating of his armor shifting with a dull clank.

"We just came back from a logistics run yesterday," Mr. Zip explains, offering me a relaxed, weary smile. "Just taking a breather for the afternoon. Heading toward the garden?"

I give a firm nod. "Yes. Miss Lena is expecting me."

The easy, comfortable atmosphere between us suddenly shifts. Mr. Fourteen, crosses his arms over his chest. The grounded, earthy flavor of his emotional resonance is briefly pierced by a sharp, metallic sting of lingering tension. His grey ears twitch irritably.

"Good luck, kid," Mr. Fourteen murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, serious octave. "I heard the Area 0 investigations have been chaotic."

"Area 0?" I repeat, the name leaving a cold, unfamiliar chill on my tongue.

Mr. Zip exchanges a dark, silent look with his partner before turning his gaze back to me. The relaxed posture he held just moments ago completely vanishes.

"That’s where the Infected live," Mr. Zip says, his tone heavy and bitter. "And where corporate assassins, the Armorless Union, hunt in the dark underbelly of Kawalerielki. Some of our people have come back from the operations."

The air is violently sucked out of my lungs.

I hadn't realized the depth of the shadow cast by those blinding lights. While the uninfected citizens cheer in massive arenas above, the Infected are forced into a subterranean nightmare, actively hunted for corporate interests in the dark.

And our Operators had just walked directly into it.

"Assassins…" I breathe out, the word fracturing into a tiny, terrified squeak.

"Yeah. It’s a mess down there," Mr. Fourteen adds quietly, offering me a sympathetic, grounding look. "The medical bays are already getting busy. Pace yourself, Lethe. Don't take on more than you can handle."

I force my chin up, meeting the eyes of the two Operators I had helped put back together.

"I will be careful, Mr. Fourteen. Mr. Zip," I promise, injecting as much steady resolve into my voice as I can muster. "Enjoy your break."

They both offer me a respectful, solemn nod before continuing their walk down the corridor.

I force my feet to move down the corridor, but as I pass the next panoramic observation window, I instinctively slow down. I come to a complete halt.

Outside, the perpetual, sickly twilight of Kawalerielki burns against the glass. My eyes are drawn immediately to a colossal billboard plastered across the sheer, mirrored face of a towering skyscraper.

The massive screen blazes with a blinding, golden light, completely dominating the skyline.

24th Kazimierz Major.

The bold, stylized letters flash across the display, followed by a sweeping, cinematic banner. Standing perfectly centered in the projection is a Kuranta woman. She is clad in gleaming, immaculate white armor, her long blonde hair catching the artificial wind. She looks incredibly majestic, holding her weapon with an undeniable, fierce dignity that seems completely at odds with the chaotic, corporate neon drowning the city around her.

Beneath her, the text declares: The Return of the Radiant Knight.

"Is that… our Nearl?"

The hushed murmur drifts through the corridor. I turn my head slightly. A passing Feline logistics worker has stopped a few paces away, a heavy clipboard clutched to his chest. He is staring out the window, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Nearl.

The name echoes in my mind. Mom had told me stories about her during our quiet dinners in the cafeteria. She is one of the Followers. Mom spoke of her with a deep, profound reverence. Nearl travels the scarred, broken lands of Terra alongside two Sarkaz Medics, Shining and Nightingale, dedicating her life to healing the discarded and protecting the Infected who have been left to rot in the dark.

I look back out the window, staring up at the towering, commercialized broadcast of the Radiant Knight merchandises, like pins and standees.

My brow furrows.

Why would someone like her… a noble warrior who heals the broken alongside my own kind, willingly step into a corporate arena?

She has joined the Major?

My family aren't just fighting Catastrophes in the barrens or investigating ruined towns; they are throwing themselves into the blinding, commercialized slaughterhouses of the cities, too.

I press my hand flat against the cool glass for one last, fleeting second.

"Please be safe, Ms. Nearl," I whisper to the glowing billboard.

I pull my hand away, and turn my back on the blinding lights of the capital. I have my own battlefield waiting for me.

I step inside the garden, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor tiles.

Deep within the foliage, Miss Lena is already standing by one of the benches. She is holding a small tray. Sitting on the bench, her hands trembling violently around a steaming porcelain teacup, is a Feline Operator.

I recognize her instantly.

It is the Caster I had treated back during the thunderstorm of Tkaronto. The one who had wept uncontrollably over the frozen Forte defender she had accidentally trapped in the path of a collapsing building. Her uniform is different now, updated and repaired, but her posture is exactly the same. She is hunched forward, her white ears pinned completely flat against her skull, her chest heaving in short, jagged gasps.

I don’t know her name.

I made a promise to myself. I will not leave them anonymous anymore.

I step forward, moving carefully through the hanging ivy until I stand just beside Miss Lena.

"Hi," I say softly, pitching my voice to be as gentle as the rustling leaves above us. "I am Lethe… can I have your name, please?"

The Feline flinches, a sharp breath tearing through her throat. She slowly lifts her head, her exhausted, bloodshot eyes locking onto my face.

She pauses.

"Fres," she whispers, her voice ragged and wet.

I take a tiny step closer, offering her a small smile. "Ms. Fres… are you okay?"

The teacup rattles violently in her hands. The dam completely shatters.

"I… I am…" Ms. Fres stammers, her voice cracking as fresh tears immediately spill over her cheeks. "It is just… what I saw in Area 0, Lethe."

The ambient air in the greenhouse violently ruptures. It is cold. It is meticulously, terrifyingly sterile. It tastes like bleached iron, frozen ash, and a sickeningly sweet, synthetic syrup.

"It was a slaughter," Ms. Fres chokes out, bowing her head.

"The Major… it is just a farce," she sobs, the words scraping painfully against the quiet of the garden. "A neon distraction so they can clean the entirety of Area 0. Of the Infected. Dead… dead bodies are everywhere…"

The air is sucked violently out of my lungs. My mind immediately flashes back to the towering billboard I had just stared at in the corridor. The majestic, gleaming armor of the Radiant Knight, broadcasted to millions of cheering fans across the nation.

It is a distraction.

While the uninfected citizens of Kazimierz stare up at the blinding lights and cheer for their corporate-sponsored “Knights”, their “government” is sending assassins into the subterranean dark. They are using the deafening roar of the arenas to completely drown out the screams of the Infected being systematically, quietly butchered in the shadows beneath their feet.

It is a premeditated, corporate-sanctioned extermination.

Miss Lena closes her eyes, a heavy, heartbroken sigh escaping her lips as the profound sorrow settles over her shoulders.

I look at Ms. Fres. Her hands are shaking so badly she can barely hold the tea. She had survived the horrors of Tkaronto, only to walk directly into a slaughterhouse in the dark underbelly of the capital.

I swallow the vile, synthetic taste coating the back of my throat. I push the terrifying image of the neon-lit circus out of my mind.

I step right up to the edge of the bench.

"You are safe now, Ms. Fres," I whisper, my voice trembling but absolute.

I reach out. I place my left hand gently over her shaking knuckles, completely covering her grip on the teacup. With my right hand, I grip the staff tighter. I close my eyes, visualize the invisible channel opening, and prepare to siphon the cold, bleeding nightmare of Area 0 directly out of her mind.

She doesn’t need to carry this alone. None of our Operators do.

"It is safe here, Ms. Fres," I whisper.

Slowly, the violent rattling of the porcelain teacup ceases.

"Are they still there?" Miss Lena asks, her voice a quiet, delicate murmur under the canopy of the greenhouse.

Ms. Fres draws a shaky breath, staring down at the steaming liquid in her cup.

"Yes…" she answers, her voice barely a rasp. "Doctor and Kal’tsit, with the House Nearl and allied Knights, are trying to resolve the crisis…"

The moment the words leave her lips, my Arts catch a silent shift in the air.

Miss Lena’s flawless, tranquil aura flutters for a split second. A sharp, icy prickle of genuine, unadulterated worry, tastes of crushed petals, pierces straight through.

But Miss Lena masks it instantly. The serene, welcoming smile returns to her face before the exhausted Caster can even look up.

"Take as much time here as you need, Fres," Miss Lena says, her tone wrapping the battered Operator in a velvet blanket of absolute safety. "I will get more tea."

Miss Lena turns as she heads back toward her tea counter I watch her walk away. My ears easily catch the fragile, breathy whisper she lets slip just as she disappears behind the ferns.

"Please be safe, Doctor.”

I grip the black shaft of my staff, my own chest aching with the weight of her prayer. I look back down at Ms. Fres, keeping my hands steady over hers.

Then the toxic sludge I had just swallowed from Ms. Fres violently rebels against my stomach. The synthetic, bleached horrors of the Kazimierz underground hit the back of my throat like a wave of boiling acid.

I want to throw up so badly.

I pull my hands away. I don't say a word. I just turn and quickly, quietly leave the seating area.

“Lethe!” Miss Lena calls out from her counter.

I cannot answer. If I open my mouth, I am going to be sick right on the polished floor tiles of the Convalescent Garden. I just press my hand tightly over my lips, keeping my head down as I push through the doors.

I stumble into the corridors, my vision violently blurring into a nauseating, spinning smear of grey and white. I barely make it past the primary intersection before a familiar figure steps directly into my path.

Mom.

She takes one look at my sweating face and the desperate grip I have on my mouth. She doesn't ask a single question. She steps instantly to my side, slipping one arm securely around my shoulders and pressing her hand firmly against the center of my back. She guides me forward, her pace brisk and uncompromising, physically supporting my swaying body as she hurries me directly toward my dorm room.

We barely cross the threshold before I break away from her and crash through the bathroom door, dropping heavily to my knees before the toilet.

The spasms are agonizing.

I slump back against the cold tile, my chest heaving with shallow gasps.

Mom is kneeling right beside me. She is holding a bottle of chilled water in her hand. I look up at her. The ambient air in the cramped bathroom is thick with the sharp, acidic bite of pure alarm. Her face is completely, unyieldingly stern, her light eyes flashing with a fierce, terrifying mix of medical authority and absolute panic.

"Lethe!" mom says, her voice slicing cleanly through the echoing quiet of the bathroom.

"I cannot let you keep doing this! This is the fourth time you throw up like this."

I reach out with a trembling hand, taking the water bottle from her grip. I take a desperate swig, vigorously rinsing my mouth and spitting the acidic residue into the bowl before leaning my heavy head back against the tiled wall.

"But mom…" I whisper, my voice raw and fractured. I look up at her, my eyes shining with exhausted, unshed tears. "She was hurting so much. They all are. I have to help them…"

"No but!" mom snaps, cutting me off entirely.

Her voice echoes sharply against the walls, echoing with a fierce, uncompromising desperation.

Mom looks at me desperately, her hands trembling where they grip my shoulders.

"You left your slate open one time…" she breathes out, her voice fracturing. "I had a look, Lethe… Be honest with me. Dr. Warfarin said your Oripathy gets destabilised when you push your Arts like this… what do you actually remember?"

The cold tiles of the bathroom floor seem to entirely vanish beneath my knees.

She had seen my pillars of truth. She knew about the distilled, concentrated paragraphs I had meticulously carved into the digital glass.

"I… I…"

I close my eyes, frantically digging. I try to pull up the memory of Opal. I know she is my friend. I know she loves the brown Amiya plushie. I know her Oripathy numbers. But when I try to picture the exact moment I met her… It is a bottomless freezing well. The memory is gone. Burned to ash to fuel my Arts.

"I… nothing since a few days before Tkaronto…"

The absolute horror that crashes over mom’s face is unbearable. The ambient air in the cramped bathroom violently curdles, thickening into a suffocating wave of curdled milk, soured honey, and profound, agonizing devastation.

"You need to stop this!" mom cries out, her voice breaking as fresh tears immediately spill over her cheeks. She releases my shoulders, pulling back slightly as her hands clench into tight fists against her thighs. "I am going to tell Dr. Kal’tsit and Amiya."

The threat is an execution sentence. If she tells them the extent of my cognitive decay, I will just be a liability again.

"Mom… no…" I plead. I scramble forward on the cold tiles, grabbing the fabric of her coat. "Please, no!"

"Lethe!" she sobs, her eyes completely shattered by grief. She looks down at me, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. "We love you for who you are. We want you to enjoy the light! Why do you keep trying to push yourself into the dark?"

The question rings off the walls, heavy and absolute.

I stare at her tear-streaked face. I taste the overwhelming, desperate honey of her love, soured only by her absolute terror of losing me to the black crystals in my brain.

"Because you are in the dark, mom!" I cry out. My own tears finally spill over.

I squeeze the fabric of her coat, desperately trying to anchor her to my words.

"You, Amiya, Ms. Skyfire, Ms. Blaze… all of you," I sob, the truth tearing out of my throat in a desperate rush. "You walk into Catastrophes. You walk into meteor showers and burning cities. You throw yourselves into the freezing dark so that I can have the light." I look up into her devastated eyes, my vision entirely blurred by the saltwater.

"If I just sit in the sun and hide while you are out there bleeding… if I don't take your nightmares when you come back…" I whisper fiercely, my voice cracking under the sheer, crushing weight of my love for her. "I don't care if the crystals take my memories. I don't care if I forget the past! As long as I can write down your names on my slate… as long you all exist for me in the present… that’s all I need."

Mom doesn't say another word. She simply throws her arms around me.

She pulls me flush against her chest, her embrace so desperate and crushing that it forces the last remaining breath from my lungs. We collapse together onto the cold, unforgiving tiles of the bathroom floor. Her hands fist into the fabric of my oversized jacket, holding me as if the sheer strength of her grip alone can physically pull me back from the void expanding inside my mind.

"You need to take a break," mom cries into my shoulder, her voice muffled and trembling against me.

I weakly raise my hands. I try to pull back, desperately needing to make her understand.

"How can I? How can I just sit and rest when Lisa is out there in Wolumonde? She is walking into a bloodbath… she is in the dark, mom. How can I stay in the light when she is terrified?"

Mom's grip on me tightens. She physically refuses to let me pull away, burying her face deeper into my hair.

"Don’t argue with me. Please, Lethe," mom begs.

She pulls back just a fraction. Her eyes are bloodshot and overflowing.

"Me, Miss Lena, Podenco, Lisa… no one wants to see you like this. Do you understand? No one!" she sobs, her thumbs frantically brushing the tears from my cheeks. "We spent almost two years pulling you out of the dirt, feeding you, and taking care of you to make sure your body and mind is healthy again. We fought so hard to give you a future."

She rests her forehead gently against mine. Her breath shudders against my skin.

"I will not stand by and watch you shatter it again just because you think you have to bleed for us. I won't allow it, Lethe. Please."

The tense, rigid coil of my tail drops limply against the bathroom tiles. The desperate fight drains out of my muscles, leaving me feeling incredibly small, fragile, and utterly exhausted.

I slowly slide my arms around her waist, burying my face into the warmth of her chest.

"I…" I let my eyes flutter shut. "I… I will. I'll take a break, mom."

Mom lets out a long, ragged exhale. The trembling in her shoulders slowly begins to ease as she rocks us gently back and forth on the cold floor, wrapping me entirely in her warmth, anchoring me to the present before my Oripathy can steal another second away.

The cold seeping into my knees from the bathroom tiles finally becomes too much. Mom gently shifts her weight, her arms still securely wrapped around my shoulders as she helps me up. We shuffle back into the dim light of the dorm room, moving with the sluggish, heavy steps of the utterly exhausted, and collapse together onto the edge of my bed.

I lean my head against her shoulder, my tail curling loosely around our legs.

"Mom…" I mumble, my voice barely a hoarse, fractured whisper. "Can I have a cake laters?"

The room falls perfectly still.

Mom pauses.

"Oh, my little Lethe," mom breathes out. A wet, breathless chuckle escapes her lips, vibrating against my cheek. "Of course. I will see what the cafeteria has. If not, I will go to shore to get you some."

"Is it safe on the shore?"

"For me, yes," she promises, her tone dropping its gentle cadence to become fierce and absolute, leaving absolutely no room for my anxiety to take root. She gently covers my trembling hand with her own, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Don’t worry, Lethe. I will always come back to you."

"Have some rest, Lethe," mom gently pulls the thick blankets up to my chin and tucking them securely. She lingers for a second, her thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "And don’t forget to check in with Dr. Warfarin later."

"Okay, mom…" I whisper, my eyelids already fluttering shut.

The exhaustion dragging at my bones is absolute. The moment the door of my dorm shuts, the darkness pulls me under. It is a deep, void-like sleep, entirely dreamless, mercifully shielding my mind from the suffocating psychic noise of the landship.

I sleep all the way through the night, not stirring until the crisp, clinical white of the morning cycle floods the room.

The new day begins with a brutal, grounding routine. Breakfast in the cafeteria is a heavily monitored affair. True to her authority, mom ensures my tray is loaded with her strict, mandated diet: a bowl of nutritionally fortified oats and berries.

Then comes the laboratory. The sterile scent of bleach and ozone bites at my nose as Dr. Warfarin subjects me to her rigorous check-up. The sharp, inevitable pinch of her needle digging into my arm makes my tail coil tightly against my leg. I squeeze my eyes shut as she draws the blood, her predatory, clinical hum echoing over the whir of her centrifuges.

But I survive it. I am finally allowed to retreat to the quiet safety of my dorm.

I step inside, a new addition catches my attention.

Sitting squarely in the center of my desk, resting on a white paper plate, is the promise mom made to me last night. It is a thick, perfectly cut slice of Leithanien chocolate cake.

I slowly approach the desk, pulling out my chair and sitting down. The cake looks like an absolute masterpiece. It is exactly the breathtaking culinary creation Miss Adele had described to me in the Archives.

I pick up my fork and press the edge through the delicate layers. I take a small bite. The taste is staggering. The slight, refined bitterness of the dark chocolate melts seamlessly into the heavy cream, cut perfectly by the bright, tart sweetness of the cherries. It is a profound, grounding comfort.

But as the sweetness washes over my tongue, my thoughts inevitably drift away from the safety of my dorm room and out into the sprawling, unforgiving expanse of Terra. Wolumonde.

I think of Lisa, with her nine fluffy tails and her blindingly bright, pure heart, walking into a town ripped apart by a Catastrophe and actively tearing itself apart from the inside. A cold shiver traces its way down my spine. I grip the fork tighter, forcing myself to push the dread away.

Lisa will be safe, I tell myself, swallowing the rich chocolate. She has to be. There are people in that town that still want to see another day… they will ally with her, I am sure. Her light is too bright to be swallowed by the dark.

Needing a distraction to keep my mind from spiraling into the ashes of Leithanien, I reach across the desk and pick up my slate. I tap the glass screen, navigating away from my personal logs and opening the standard news feed.

The screen instantly explodes with a blinding, saturated glare.

It is the Kazimierz Major. The broadcast is a chaotic, sensory overload of sweeping camera angles, flashing neon banners, and the deafening, static-laced roar of tens of thousands of screaming fans.

The camera zeroes in on the center of a massive, brightly lit arena. Two knights are locked in combat.

One of them is a hulking, heavily armored warrior wielding a massive halberd, his chest plate plastered with a dozen different corporate logos that gleam under the stadium lights. He swings his weapon wildly, the heavy blade tearing through the air with brutal, desperate force.

But his opponent is completely untouched.

She is an elegant, towering Elafia, moving with a breathtaking, fluid grace that makes the heavy-handed strikes of her opponent look like the flailing of a child. The commentators scream her name over the broadcast. Viviana the Candle Knight.

She doesn't just fight; she dances. With a flick of her wrist, her Arts ignite. Brilliant, blinding bursts of golden light flare across the arena, moving with terrifying, pinpoint precision. The light completely overwhelms the armored knight. He stumbles, blinded and off-balance, his halberd swinging uselessly into empty air.

Viviana steps inside his guard with effortless elegance. A final, resounding clash echoes through the speakers of my slate, and the armored knight crashes heavily to the arena floor, completely defeated.

The crowd in the stadium absolutely erupts. The deafening roar of the audience shakes the tiny speakers of my tablet as Viviana stands victorious, the golden light of her Arts slowly fading into the glaring, artificial neon of Kazimierz.

Suddenly, the roaring crowd is abruptly, jarringly cut off.

The screen violently flashes white, instantly transitioning from the brutal reality of the arena floor to a pristine, highly produced studio setting. A man in a sharp, impossibly clean suit smiles with perfectly bleached teeth directly into the camera.

“What an incredible victory! We will return to the glorious 24th Kazimierz Major in just a moment," the announcer's voice booms, dripping with a slick, manufactured enthusiasm. “But first, a quick message from our sponsors!"

Upbeat, painfully cheerful synth music begins to play. The screen transitions to an animation of a happy, smiling family standing in front of a suburban home.

"Catastrophes can strike without warning! But that doesn't mean your peace of mind has to suffer!" A bright, entirely tone-deaf voiceover chirps happily. "With Szelest Corporate Insurance, your assets are protected against everything from Catastrophes to active Originium contamination! Secure your family's future today. Szelest Insurance: Because your tomorrow is our business!"

I stare at the glowing screen.

The sheer, sickening absurdity of it makes my stomach heave. People are bleeding out in the dirt of an arena for entertainment. A town in Leithanien is torn apart from the inside out. Children are turning to crystal. And on the screen, a corporation is using cheerful music to sell Catastrophe insurance during a commercial break.

I reach out and press the physical power button on the side of the chassis. The screen snaps to black, cutting off the cheerful jingle and plunging the room back into quiet. I look back down at the beautiful slice of Leithanien chocolate cake resting on my desk. I pick up my fork, but the rich, sweet flavor feels suddenly very heavy in my mouth. I look at the two Cautus-esque plushies resting on my desk.

The soft brown one with the bright blue button eyes, and the floppy-eared grey one. I reach out, letting my fingers gently brush against the stitched fabric of their long ears.

"Are you two safe?" I whisper into the quiet isolation of my dorm room.

Beside them, my digital slate sits completely dark and stubbornly silent. I tap the glass, pulling up the messaging application one more time, just in case the notification chime had failed.

Nothing. My messages to Amiya are left entirely unread. And the one I tried to send to Rosmontis didn’t even send. A glaring red error icon sits next to the text bubble. She must be completely outside communication range, swallowed entirely by the thick, atmospheric Originium interference of an active Catastrophe zone, or buried so deep in the combat sectors that the landship's network cannot reach her.

I set the slate face-down on the desk.

Terra allows us absolutely no break. It just keeps grinding forward, relentlessly pulling the people I care about into the freezing dark and the burning cities. Yet here I am, mandated to take a break once again.

I cannot just sit here in the silence. The quiet of the dorm is too loud, leaving entirely too much room for my mind to conjure terrifying images of suffering.

I guess I will visit Opal.

I step out into the corridors. The landship is in its usual state of grim, hurried efficiency. I keep my head down and just walk.

I approach the familiar doors of her ward.

But before my hand can even reach out to touch the control panel, a small figure steps directly into my path, completely cutting off my approach.

Miss Sussurro.

Her coat is slightly rumpled, and her face is drawn tight with an absolute, uncompromising severity.

Her usual grounded taste is completely scorched. It is overwhelmed by the sharp, acidic bite of sterile iodine, and the frantic, vibrating static of medical emergency.

She reaches out, her hand grabbing my wrist with surprising, iron-clad strength. She pulls me aside, forcefully steering me away from the threshold of the doors.

"Miss Sussurro? What's wrong?"

She doesn't let go of my wrist. Her eyes lock onto mine, completely devoid of any softening comfort.

"Lethe," Miss Sussurro states, her voice dropping into a harsh, clipped whisper that echoes terribly in the quiet corridor. "Opal’s lungs are failing. She is in surgery right now."

My fingers go entirely numb.

"Surgery?" I choke out. "But… but she was just starting to smile… she was getting better…”

I can siphon the nightmares of a Catastrophe. I can pull the suffocating terror out of a broken mind and swallow the venom of the battlefield. But staring at the grim, exhausted face of Miss Sussurro.

I cannot pull the black crystals out of her lungs.

"Is she safe?"

The words tumble out of my mouth, fragile and desperate. I search Miss Sussurro’s stern face, my eyes wide and pleading, desperately looking for any sign of a miracle. Miss Sussurro slowly releases my wrist. The sharp, frantic static of the emergency in her settles into a suffocating blanket of exhausted resignation. She lets out a slow, measured breath, her shoulders dropping just so slightly.

"She is," Miss Sussurro replies, her voice steady but hollowed out by the sheer volume of tragedies she has overseen on this landship. "For now."

For now.

The two words echoing in the corridors. They are the absolute most terrifying words a Rhodes Island Medic can speak. It means the scalpels, the sterilized tubes, and the suppressants had fought the black crystals to a bloody standstill, but the war was already irrevocably lost. The Oripathy hadn't been cured; it had merely been paused.

"How long…" I whisper, my jaw trembling so violently my teeth click together. "How long…"

"Months," Miss Sussurro states.

The word falls like an executioner's blade.

Months. Not years. Not enough time to grow up, to explore this brutal but beautiful world. Just a handful of pages left in a book that had barely even begun. The tears well up instantly.

But as the first tear spills over my lashes. I think of the soft Amiya plushie Opal clutches like a lifeline. I think of the tiny, fragile giggle she had let out when Ms. Blaze carried me like a sack of flour, and the sweet, diced-strawberry flavor of her tentative bravery when she first stepped out of her quarantine ward. She had survived the agonizing destruction of her hometown and the void of her own grief, just to have her own body betray her.

If her body is going to be consumed by the dark, then I will make absolutely sure her mind never has to touch it again.

I reach up, using the oversized sleeve of my jacket to forcefully scrub the tears from my cheeks.

"We…” my voice wavers, catching on a sob before I force it to ring clear and absolute in the quiet hallway. "We need to make sure those months are filled with nothing but light then."

Miss Sussurro’s ears give a slow, deliberate twitch. She simply gives me a single, solemn nod.