There is a net in my hands, and a heavy catch trapped within, while lightning splits the sky in two and the shake of chasing thunder rattles old bones. My hands, tanned and leathery, clutch at well-worn fibers so strained that they nearly break skin. Thick arms shake and tremble at the strength it takes, but I don't falter. My whole body is shaking with the effort by the time I've pulled in even a few inches of the net, but I don't stop. I can't. This needs to be done. My boat wobbles in the sky, shaken by the heft of the catch. The long-keel dips into the water below, and I worry that this catch may prove too much weight for the aerite stone that keeps us aloft. In its casing bolted to the middle of the boat, light spills through chinks in the stone cage as the aerite sparks and sputters in a way it shouldn't - but it holds. We stay airborne. The part of me that is still myself, and not playing the role of a fisherwoman in a storm, raises my eyebrows at the dramatic idea of an aerite stone "sparking." A particularly fierce wave splashes against the long-keel, the boat tilts dangerously, and I am back inside of the moment, forgetting any ideas of realism. Old, scarred hands once again feel the burn of the net fibers and the grit of salt spray in bared teeth. I pull and pull. My back aches in protest, but still I pull. My fingers go numb, but I continue. My knees creak and lock in place to keep from buckling, and the next wave that pushes against the long-keel nearly topples me. But finally, finally, the net gives. Just an inch. Then two. I grin in triumph, and give one final tug - only for the net to tug back. "No!" I cry out in dismay as that brief moment of relief leaves my muscle too tired to fight, and the net slips from my grasp entirely. My knees hit the wood of my tiny dinghy's deck as I peer over the side to the roaring, rising, bubbling waves below. Strands of my net float in tatters upon the water, tangled with something. A gasp is lost to the wind and the roar of the sky as a figure rises from the water. A massive hand, as long from wrist to nail as I am tall. Skin the darkened green of dried seaweed. Long, black nails encrusted with shells and sea glass tip elegant fingers that curl over the side of my boat. I brace myself for death by sea goddess, for surely there can be no other outcome to this meeting. "Little mortal..." A voice of scuffed velvet rises from the din of thunder and crashing waves, and wave after wave of black hair rises from the water and tangles with my legs as surely as the net in the goddess' fingers. A ring of glowing green as large as my head in a sea of fathomless black shines from between curls, and I realize I am staring into an eye. I fight not to drop my gaze, despite how disrespectful it feels, intent that at least I will watch my death come for me, even as I scramble back against the other end of my boat and away from her eye. "Little mortal," she repeats. "What do you seek in trying to trap a goddess? Surely you know this is a task you can only fail." "My trap was not set for you, my lady, and I beg forgiveness for my trespass." The words fall from my mouth too formal, too scripted, despite how they shake. I wonder if any mortal faced with a goddess could truly speak at all. "Then you would beg forever, mortal. You have trespessed, and my peace shall not be so recklessly disturbed..." Her fingers flex, and colorful nails splinter the wood of my boat. "Wait... wait!" I scream, coils of black hair tightening around my legs as cracks run through the wood around me. A bolt holding the aerite cage in place pops free from the wood, and the rest of them creak in warning. "Please, I meant no offense! This was a mistake - there must be something I can do to make it right!" Coils of hair relaxed, letting blood circulation return to my legs, and the goddess' fingers tapped against the wood of the boat with more gentleness as she hummed in contemplation. My bones vibrated with that hum, a shiver racing from the base of my spine all the way to my skull in time with the lightning. "Perhaps... it could be amusing to watch you try." She laughed, the sound like rain thundering down upon metal. "I would play a game with you, little mortal. Three tasks I shall give you. If you succeed, I will forgive you, and even grant you your heart's desire. But should you fail..." The goddess' hand twists to hold my boat up from below, rather than drag it down. She rises from the water to tower over me, black curls cascading with the waves at her ribs as her thin mouth and many serrated teeth are illuminated by a flash of lightning. I feel for the first time in my life that I might understand religion. "Should you fail in my tasks, little mortal, then I shall snap your bones between my teeth and spit you out as a jellyfish, to swim down here beside me forever. Do we have a bargain?" I gulp, the lines between myself and the old woman who's story I am inhabiting blurring more than they should. "We do," I say, and when I speak, for a moment my voice is not the tough croak of a hardened old fisherwoman, but the soft timidity of my own whisper. "We do!" I say again, in the the old woman's fierce tones, resettling myself in her skin and her role. It is too dark to see more than the reflection of light against teeth and the glow of green irises on the goddess' smiling face, so far above me. "These are your tasks," she intones, voice rising and dropping in the sing-song quality of magic being cast. "Find the flower that blooms in a storm. Retrieve from stars the key of silver feathers. Bring to me..." ---- /"...That which I need to remember."/ Theia woke with the velvet voice of a goddess already fading from her mind. She could not recall if the final item on the list of three tasks was what had actually been said, or if it was something she had thought to herself as she woke up and already began to forget the dream. She un-twisted herself from her quilt, just enough pink light from the streetlights filtering through her window to illuminate soft pink hands, young and unscarred. Soft arms filled out her sleeping shirt, no muscles in sight under the generous layer of pudge. Blinking tiredly and breathing out a soft huff, she pushed thoughts of long curling hair and glowing green eyes from her mind. Instead she focused on the story. Taking a moment before she rose, she centered in her mind all the main elements of the night's dream, trying to be certain that she retained all the key points. Her fingers traced worn blue embroidery on her blankets, repeating those key points in her mind. They gave her landmarks through which she knew she would be able to remember the details. A fisherwoman, a storm, an accidental catch, a goddess, and a bargain. Three tasks, success meaning a wish granted, failure meaning eternity as a jellyfish. Theia laughed to herself at what her dreaming mind had come up with, then sat up to write it all down. From the crate-turned-shelf near her hammock, she picked up a jar filled with glowertear shards and rattled it until the shards sputtered to light, glowing soft pinks, blues, and yellows. Then she retrieved the latest in a long line of journals. Dream Journeys, Vol. 27 A pen was retrieved from the pouch that swung from a hook at the side of the shelf. Theia crossed her short legs and set a pillow over them where she balanced easily in the hammock, long-since used to treating her lap as a writing desk. Stiff, dry strands of hair that had fallen from her night-time braid were shoved back behind her ear, but quickly fell in front of her face again. They were ignored, as she was now scratching away with the pen, mind on the waves some thousands of feet below, and the imaginary goddess who commanded them. When all that she could recall was recorded, Theia cleaned her pen and put it away. She set the journal open on the shelf so the ink could dry with as little smudging as possible. (There was already smudging. Despite ample practice and beautiful penmanship, Theia rarely managed to keep a page clean, and always came away with ink stains on her arms.) Assured that she would not forget this newest story, she closed her eyes a moment to listen for the familiar sounds of the world around her. The creak of old wood as the house shifted in the netting, soft stomps on the boardwalk outside as late-comers and early risers came and went. Under it all, the ever-present chirps, twittering, and squawks of the birds that built their nests and found their roosts in all the many nooks and crannies of the slums. This was the quietest home ever got, and Theia took a moment to breathe - and to wonder what it would be like to wake up anywhere else. But the sun was rising, and if Theia did not rise with it, her customers would find breakfast somewhere else. So she took in a deep breath, pushed back her quilt, and greeted the chill morning air with a grimace. She dressed quickly, throwing her sleeping shirt back onto her hammock and wiggling into a wheat-colored dress with a slightly-brighter yellow stripe on the back from where she'd added fabric the last time she'd needed to size up. Haphazard little embroidered flowers in colorful strands of scrap-thread adorned the hem and long sleeves of the dress, Theia's fingers idly rubbing the designs as she rolled the sleeves up. Her hair was roughly brushed out of its braid and bound in a low bun at the nape of her neck, an embroidered scarf wrapping around and hiding it all from view. Despite her best efforts, a few stiff strands still escaped the front and poofed out over her forehead like feathers on a startled owl. Almost prepared for the day, Theia grabbed her jar of glowertear shards to light her way, then brushed aside the curtain that hid her little corner of living space from the rest of the room and stepped out into the bakery. She wiggled past the crates and barrels filling the corner to bursting, and out to the kitchen area. A quick splash of water in her face and over her hands and arms from the sink, a well-loved and oft-patched apron tied about her waist, and she finally felt ready to face reality. Days at Cloudrise Bakery started with lighting the oven. A massive half-circle of brick and clay, wider than Theia was tall, with five little clay doors colored white, blue, or orange leading into five different chambers. A white door covered the chamber in the middle, which Theia lifted up and set aside on the lip of the oven. Grabbing the poker that hung on a hook beside the oven, Theia reached inside the middle chamber. A rod of iron speared through the middle of the chamber held a vertically split ring, with a hinge at one side of the split. Half of the ring stood in the chamber at the center of the iron rod. The other half of the ring hung from a hook that jutted out higher up on the rod. Theia nudged that hook with the poker until it fell out of place. With a creak of protesting metal, the suspended half of the ring closed at its hinge and rattled against the other half to complete the circle. As soon as the two halves touched, a wave of heat emanated outward, the runes hidden within the layers of the ring lighting up and shining orange through the metal. Light and heat flickered off and on as the ring-half bounced once and then twice, before it settled into place and the glow stayed steady. Theia leaned into the heat for a moment as it built, eyes closed and lips tilted up as chilled skin prickled comfortably. Soon the level of heat was too intense to lean so close, and Theia pulled away. She shut the door over the center chamber, and went off to her other tasks as the clay and brick absorbed the heat from the rune-ring. On the nearby counter, Theia pulled off the cloth covering an array of bowls to reveal fully-risen dough started the night before. Some of it would become bread, some would become cinnamon rolls, some would be buns - most of it would be good. Starting with the sweet dough that would become cinnamon rolls, Theia punched down the dough and took it to the free space on the other counter to roll out flat. Stretching and pulling the dough got her a long, flat slab that kept shrinking back into itself at the edges. From behind a curtain below the counter, she pulled a covered bowl of pre-prepared butter, sugar, and cinnamon. This was spread thinly over the dough, not too close to the edges. With the ease of long practice, the dough was rolled up tightly into a log, and that log then sliced into spirals. These were placed in pans coated in oil, then set aside to allow to rise further. The savory-seasoned dough meant for buns was next, and the process began the same with punching down and rolling out. This dough was sliced into sections, and then Theia opened up some of the nearby barrels and crates to fish out a few things: dried tomatoes, peppers, onions, and sausages. These were all cleaned, minced, and mixed into a bowl with salt and herbs. Previously sectioned slices of dough were flattened into circles, and some of the mixture spooned into the center. With twists and pinches, Theia closed the dough into a bun, and set it aside in a pan to rise. By the time multiple pans of these were ready, the oven was hot enough for baking to begin. Theia opened one of the blue doors and set it aside, heat wafting out and warming the room. The pans filled with buns fit neatly in that chamber, and the other half of the pans, all filled with cinnamon rolls, fit into the matching chamber on the oven's other side. Both blue doors were closed, and Theia flipped over an hourglass that was sitting by the sink. The rolls would be done baking before the sand in the glass had fallen even halfway, but the buns would take nearly twice as long. Dough for bread loaves was next, and came in a multitude of flavors seasoned with as many different herbs and spices as Theia could get her hands on. It was punched down, divided, and shaped into long or short loaves. Some she cut designs into that would widen as the dough rose a second time. For some of the loaves she would carefully slice a layer off to cut into three strips and then braid back together to curl over the top of the loaf. Before she was even halfway done with those, the sweet smell in the air and a quick glance at the level of sand in the hourglass showed it was time for the cinnamon rolls to come out. Theia dusted her hands off on her apron, took up two thickly woven hot pads, and lifted the blue door. The smell hit her face along with a wave of heat, and she hummed in satisfaction. Pans were pulled out one after the other, and left to line the lip of the oven as she put what bread was ready in to bake and closed the door again. The rolls were left to cool for a few minutes as she finished up a few more decorative elements of the bread loaves. Once she had some counter space free, it was time to make icing. A box from one of the shelves above the counter was opened to reveal finely ground sugar, prepared with Theia's own mortar and pestle every week. A few cups of this in a large bowl were joined with a splash of oat cream, and vigorously mixed, adding more cream as needed until a smooth, sugary paste formed. The rolls were plated individually on dried nolia leaves, and the icing carefully poured to cover as much of the top of each roll as Theia could afford. These were carried over to the window displays. Some were placed on the bottom shelf, and others a bit higher after Theia dragged the step-ladder over. A glance up as she placed the last of the rolls showed Theia that the boardwalk was beginning to light up, shadows shrinking enough that the rising sun glittered off the windows two houses up and across the way. Light trickled down between ramshackle boardwalks between old houseboats and the colorful netting tied underneath. It would be another half hour before light properly pierced all the way through, this deep into the heart of the rooter slums. Even when it did, the boardwalk would stay largely shaded except for particular spots lit by reflections bouncing off glass. The usual morning sounds were beginning to pick up. Quiet morning greetings between neighbors; windows opening to freshen the air in homes that had been closed tight against the night chill; the dull clink of wood on clay as dishes and utensils are utilized for breakfast. Theia propped the bakery's door open inside with the rickety old chair that held her "open" sign, knowing the smell would entice at least a few customers. A few minutes were spared from her baking to pour a pitcher's worth of water in the garden boxes she kept to either side of the door on the boardwalk outside. It was too late in the season for Theia to grow anything other than cabbages, but at least they were growing, adding a splash of green and purple against the backdrop of aged wood and warped glass. Beneath her feet, in the gaps between boards, Theia could look down past the netting to the next lowest layer of the slums. A layer down, one of the bumbling, boxy little aer-bikes of the affectionately named "water bee's" was tracking along its rope system. The old goblin pedaling it pulled the brake lever and the pulleys and gears squealed to a stop alongside a neighbor's water tank. He climbed around the side of the cargo box, lifted the hose from where it was wound on its hook, and twisted it into place on the neighbor's tank. With another twist of a faucet, rune rings glowed around the hose where it connected to the tank as sea water gushed from the water bee and clean drinking water filled the neighbor's tank. He hummed to himself as he worked, soft little words here and there from half-remembered songs. Twenty years prior, when Theia was still a child, there had been only two streets below the bakery. On clear days and through certain gaps in the boards, Theia had been able to look all the way down to the ocean far below. Now there were some five or six layers of houseboats going down, and any view of anything but the slums was at least a twenty-minute walk or climb away through the labyrinth of interconnected houseboats that was the rooter slums. She turned back toward her door, sighing and deciding she ought to take a walk to the docks soon. If she was feeling this nostalgic, she'd clearly been cooped up for too long. "Morning, Ms. Theia!" A reedy voice piped up from over Theia's head, and she glanced up to see a fluffy white face, eyes nearly hidden under layers of fur, and perky ears decorated with colorful ribbons. The ityr girl was nearly half again Theia's height, and looked almost too big for her surroundings. Her wet black nose wiggled and pointed into the bakery, tail swishing under her skirt behind her, nubby horns peeking out between the ribbons tied into the fur around her ears. "Rolls are ready?" Theia smiled, "Just in time-" "Matil, there you are! Oh, and your ribbon is all crooked again- oh, good morning, Ms. Cloudrise!" A willowy nymph child with glowing pink eyes and wearing a similar uniform interrupted. "Good morning Resui," Theia's eyes crinkled as she watched Resui fussing over Matil - a common sight as the two made their way to school. Matil's absent-minded appearance offended Resui's perfectly-kept poise - or so she would say to anyone who asked why she was constantly correcting Matil's ribbon's and cuffs. If asked why she put up with it, Matil would shrug, huff quietly, and say "it's cute." Both girls, despite being quite young for their respective species, towered over Theia. This was not unusual. Being a gnome meant most species towered over Theia. The only people who didn't were rattekin ityrs and itaurs. Even goblins tended to have at least a few inches over gnomes in height. "And good morning to you too, Matil," Theia continued. "Yes, the rolls are ready. Would our busy little scholars like one for the road?" "Two, please." Matil holds up two claws, tail wagging furiously. "None for me, thank you Ms. Cloudrise," Resui sniffs imperiously, then briefly appears to regret her words as she scents the air more closely. Theia tries not to laugh. She heads inside, the two girl's following. Despite being a child still, Matil's head nearly brushes the ceiling, and she has to duck as she comes through the door. Theia feels a pang in her heart, wondering how long before Matil never enters her shop again. She spoons a little extra icing over the girl's cinnamon rolls before wrapping them up. "How is secondary-school treating you two recently? I recall last week it all seemed a bit overwhelming..." Theia asks, thinking back to Resui's frazzled chatter about math and logic classes and how steep the learning curve was from primary school. Theia herself hadn't done well enough in primary to receive an invitation to secondary, so she had only been able to hum encouragingly and listen without having any advice to offer. Hardly anyone from the slums got into secondary, so it wasn't as if they'd expected her to be able to help. Even so, the inability stung at Theia's pride. Thankfully the girl's didn't seem to hold it against her, though she suspected that they'd hoped her friendship with Jero would have meant she had at least some small pointers to give them. She did not. It didn't help that Jero had stopped responding to her letters over a year ago. "We're settling in," Matil said. "First week was a lot," Resui sighed. "But some older girls agreed to mentor us, so we're making it through." A determined light burned in the girl's eyes. "We won't be drop-outs, Ms. Cloudrise, don't worry about us!" Matil chuffed firmly in agreement as Theia handed over her rolls. "Oh, I'm not worried," Theia lied. "I know you two will do brilliantly." This part was not a lie. "You've already made the whole fifth ring proud. Just take care of yourselves, alright?" Matil tried to hand over the coins to pay for the rolls, and Theia closed the girl's paw back over them. "No need, love. Just study hard, okay? And remember you've got all of us supporting you. Now go on, hurry to class!" The two tried one more time to get Theia to accept payment, but she staunchly refused, and sent them on their way. As they ducked out of the shop, she turned back to the oven to pull out the finished buns and bread. She could hear the girls exchanging greetings with someone outside. A moment later, that someone knocked at the door-frame. "Yoo-hoo! Is my favorite baker rising and shining?" The tinkling of tiny metal bells announces the arrival of a goblin with a nearly floor-length braid of shining black hair and an asymmetrically-cut dress. She bounces into view around the door frame, carved wooden sandal-heels clacking against the floor and bells tinkling where they're wound into her braid. The embroidery swishing into view with every turn of her skirt matches Theia's in design, but was crafted by a much more skilled hand. "Me? I'm always up this early. For you, though..." Theia rested the last of the finished bread on the lip of the oven and hefted the door back into place. "What has you up and about so early in the morning, Charry?" She eyes the dark circle's under her friend's eyes and frowns, uneasy. Chartreuse flounces up to the counter, and leans over it to snag a savory stuffed bun. The goblin takes a bite and moans in exaggerated enjoyment. Theia rolls her eyes, but her frown flickers away into an indulgent smile. "Stayed up all night finishing a rush order for an ogre couple from the Second. They met two weeks ago and then two days ago decided they must be married today. One of them insisted that I was the only tailor he trusted, and the other had enough money to pay for my lack of beauty sleep. So here we are, forty-eight hours later and rolling in enough dough for me to have a dozen of these buns for breakfast." Chartreuse hummed through a mouthful of food, tiredly stuffed the rest of the bun in her mouth and eyed the rest of the platter. "I didn't know you had clients on the second ring - wow!" Theia clapped in congratulations, and Chartreuse beamed. "Once the wedding guests see my work, I'll have even more." Her jaw cracked in a yawn showing off two rows of fangs and serrated molars. She dropped her head on the counter and blindly grabbed for another bun. Theia obligingly placed one in reach of her claws, then watched it disappear. "No more rush clients for a while though, please," Chartreuse whined through another mouthful of food. "So if you've been working for two days straight, why are you in my bakery and not at home in bed right now?" Theia asked. Chartreuse groaned, and her whole countenance fell. "You're not gonna like it, but I wanted to make sure you heard it from someone who was gonna be nice about it," the goblin sighed. Theia felt the unease that had been stirring in her gut thicken. "I heard this straight from my client when they came to pick up their clothes. I went by the Taja house to confirm it on my way over here, and it's true. Before you panic-! No one's dead." "Charry. Just tell me." "Last night, a squad of Beetles went to the Taja house and took Istullis and Besha in for questioning. No one knows for sure why, but safe bet it has something to do with Jero." "What??" Theia jumped up and started pacing, not really hearing Chartreuse's pleas for her to calm down, have a seat, take some deep breaths. 'Beetles' is what the people of the rings called the infantry force of Zaatar. With their heavy, spiked plate armor, horned helms, and pincer-style spears, the soldiers and guards of the island were an unwelcome sight in the rooter slums that made up the largest portion of the fifth ring. Thankfully, they were also a relatively rare sight. Most of the time the Beetle patrols only came to the Fifth if they had specific orders, and otherwise didn't interfere with the delicate eco-system of slum-lords and smugglers and all the rooters who couldn't leave or had nowhere else to go. Whenever they did appear, it was bad news. It meant someone had gained the attention of the First, the nobles, or even the lord of the island himself, Sarrem Zaa. For people like them, with limited options - such attention was never a good thing. Their was only one reason the Taja family would have caught the attention of someone who could command the Beetles, and that reason was named Jero Taja. "What- what could have- oh no, oh dear, oh Charry-!" Theia stopped pacing and whirled around to face her friend. "The triplets! If Istullis and Besha were both taken in, who's watching-!" "Iridia was there when I went by," Chartreuse patted the stool next to her at the counter, and Theia slumped down into it. Chartreuse handed her a cup of water and Theia drank gratefully, the pounding in her ears lessening enough for her to hear her friend's soft chuffs and words of encouragement. "He'll take care of his grandkids, Theia, the triplets will be just fine. I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure it will turn out okay. Just being taken in for questioning isn't a death sentence, and I'm sure Besha and Istullis haven't done anything to get themselves in trouble. And we both know Jero is the smartest of all of us. Whatever mess he's gotten himself into, I'm sure he'll be able to get himself right back out of it." They were both silent for a few minutes, waiting for Theia's breathing to return to normal. "Do you remember-" Theia's throat felt so dry. She took another sip. Her voice was quieter when she started again. "Do you remember how excited we all were, when we got the news about the scholarship?" "How could I forget - the whole ring was celebrating! The first scholarship from the runic academy given out in the last thirty years - your little shadow beat the odds." Chartreuse pulled a stool up next to Theia's and leaned against her. "Everything was going to change." "It was a lot of pressure to put on him," Theia whispered. "I think - I think that's why he got mad at me." "He's not mad at you, Theia. There's no way." "Why else would he have stopped writing?" "He's busy studying!" "I know, but..." "Besides, he's a teenager. You know that's a hard time for everyone. And besides-" Chartreuse kept going, but Theia was only half listening, letting the words flow in one ear and right out the other. She'd known Jero ever since he was born. She'd been a teenager herself, then. He'd been such a tiny thing, even to Theia. His parents had been friends with hers, and Theia had felt like an older sister to his brothers Istullis and Kivoni already. Jero was her tiniest baby brother, and she'd done her best to live up to that role, even if no one had ever said she needed to. She'd held his hand for his first ride on an aer-scooter, helped him learn to write his own name, led him through all the secret children's paths in the slums that only the very small could traverse. When he'd been invited to attend secondary-school, Theia hadn't been surprised, and had happily let him teach her the things he learned there (even if she couldn't wrap her head around most of it, and even if Jero was perhaps not the most coherent teacher). "...-I've got to go, Theia. Will you be alright?" "Hm? Oh! Yes, yes, I'll be fine, Charry." The two stood up and hugged, holding each other tightly for just a moment before saying their goodbyes. Theia waved to Chartreuse as she left, and resolved to go visit Iridia and the triplets later. Everything would be alright. ------------------- The Taja house was one level up and two boardwalks east from the Cloudrise Bakery. Most people would have taken about fifteen minutes to get there from the bakery. Theia, using the children's paths that her small size still allowed her access to, made it in about eight. And that was while touting a satchel full of leftover baked goods! Was it a little gouche for an adult to use the children's paths? Perhaps. But the rattekins did it all the time, and Theia knew she wasn't the only gnome or goblin adult she'd seen clambering through the nets and alleys. Sometimes one just didn't want to risk getting overlooked and kicked by the ridiculously tall species that dominated the world, even if it meant some undignified crawling and wiggling through tight spaces. Ocassionally a child she passed would give her a curious look, recognize her, and wave. She would wave back, and another day she might have offered them a pastry. But today she was in a hurry, and had a feeling those at her destination would be in need of the pick-me-up granted by something soft and sweet to eat. This part of the slums was a little older than where the bakery was rooted in. The homes here looked less like the boats they used to be, and more like lopsided towers. Stairways made of salvaged planks were reinforced with saltcrete set with shiny bits of seaglass. The boardwalk extended right up to the walls of the houses, with almost no gaps except for where there was a lift down to the other levels. Sizable sections of the enlarged boardwalk were cordoned off from walking space by old crates filled with dirt and bursting with vegetation. The residents, who's families had lived here for nearly a century, had made this part of the slums look intentional in a way that newer parts wouldn't manage for another generation or two. At the top of a tower, three floors up, with its own netting system between repurposed masts spreading out like a cobweb around it, was the Taja house. Honey-yellow walls were interspersed with boxes and crates blooming with the color of a hundred different kinds of flowers - the souveneirs of Iridia's decades of travel to the world below. Theia stepped off the lift that had taken her up to their floor, and ducked a bee or three as she crossed the short bridge over the netting to the door. "Iridia? Kivoni?" She calls out as she opens the door and walks in, stopping in the entry-way. "Auntie Theia!" "Auntieeeee!" "Aun'Theia!" Three shrill little voices scream out all at once, and three little bodies careen through the curtain seperating the entry-way from the living area. As Hosa, Ramus, and Beja all slam into Theia, it's all she can do not to topple over. The three of them combined, small as they might be, nearly match Theia in weight. Hosa is keeping a brave face, but the trembling of her tall brown rabbit ears gives away her distress. Her hands flutter between Theia and her siblings, torn between offering comfort or receiving it. Ramus is bawling, tiny squeaks of distress as his dripping nose digs into Theia's apron, both hands and front paws kneading at the cloth. Beja's face is red and her eyes puffy, but she's struggling to keep the tears in and makes no sound as she clings to Theia next to her brother, orange and white cat ears laid back flat against her head as her fluffy, black-tipped tail lashes behind her. "Oh, babies..." Theia croons. She runs a hand soothingly over their heads, two at a time. "Theia dear, thank you for coming." Iridia's wizened old paws hold the curtain open so Theia can waddle further into the house with the children who refuse to let go. His tall, torn ears twitch in amusement, but it's brief and overshadowed by the dark worry in the crease of his brow. His walking stick, muted with a cloth wrap at the end, thuds dully along the wooden floors as he returns to the kitchen counter, where Theia see's a steaming teapot. It's a bright spot of normalcy in an otherwise unsual scene - the house is a mess. Furniture tugged out of place or even toppled to its side, dirty bootprints all over the rugs, and various things swept off their shelves and scattered all over the floor. Some of the wall-hangings have been torn down or swept out of place. It looks like the Beetles came through and searched the place thoroughly. A few spaces have been cleared and tidied up, but it looks like a job too big for the aging Iridia, ailing Kivoni, and scared triplets to complete on their own. I should have come earlier, she realizes she's messed up, and the thought sinks into her stomach with a twisting weight. The one space that has been returned to rights is around the table in the living space. Cushions and blankets have been smacked free of dust and fluffed up and piled into a nest there, where Kivoni reclines with a mug in hand. The dark circles under the teenager's eyes are even deeper than usual, and the fur on his back legs is looking sparse where he must have been picking at it in worry. Nonetheless, he manages a weak smile for Theia as she approaches with armfuls of distraught toddlers. There are indents in the cushions near him where she suspects the triplets were earlier. "Hello, Theia," he says, voice little more than a rough whisper. "Hi, Kivoni. Can we sit next to you?" Theia offers him a smile of reassurance. He hesitates, and that's enough for Theia to know that he's had as much as he can take for the day. She nods, and has the triplets help her pull some cushions into another pile instead. Not terribly far away, but not close enough to accidentally touch. Kivoni's weak smile shines a little more genuine in thanks. The moment Theia sits, Ramus is crawling into her lap and burying his head in her shoulder. Beja curls tightly into her side, and Hosa leans against her shoulder. All of them look so tired, and Theia's heart aches. She should have come earlier. Iridia carries an armful of clay teacups to the low table at the room's center, placing 4 of them on the table's lower tier near Theia and the triplets, and one on the higher tier for himself. As Theia continnues to pat and coo and soothe the kids, he hobbles back to the kitchen to retrieve the steaming teapot and fill the cups. An aroma of clover and lavender fills the air, sweetened by honey as Iridia spoons a few crystallized chunks into each cup. "Come on you three; off of Theia and drink your tea." Iridia settles back onto his own patched cushion, graceful even with his bad leg thanks to years of practice. Hosa is quick to grab a cup of tea to hand to Theia, and another for Ramus so that neither of them have to move. Beja glares at her cup when Hosa holds it out, but takes it anyway. With the others settled, Hosa returns with a cup of her own to her spot nestled at Theia's side. Iridia sighs, and raises a heavily-whiskered brow in Theia's direction. She smiles and shrugs, not minding in the least. The kids need the comfort. Iridia shakes his head, but smiles fondly and sips at his own steaming drink. Theia wants to ask questions. A multitude of them are burning at the base of her throat, pressing into a knot there that makes it impossible to say anything. What happened? Are Istullis and Besha okay? Are they coming back? Is Jero safe? What did the Beetle's say? What are we supposed to do if they don't come back? Did the kids see their parents taken? Did they watch as their home was torn apart? Her throat closes even tighter at the thought of the last question, knuckles paling from the strength with which she grips her teacup. She forces herself to take a sip, the sweet flavor washing away the bitterness of unspoken words. These are all things that can be discussed with Iridia and Kivoni later, after the kids are asleep. The fact that Iridia isn't out of the house waging war right now is enough for Theia to know that nothing can or should be done at the moment about Istullis and Besha - and Jero. This moment, the best thing for Theia to do is comfort the triplets. So she takes a fortifying breath and another sip of tea, then places a hand on Hosa's head. She shouldn't have waited at all. She should have come as soon as she heard the news. But she was here now, and she could at least provide a distraction now. "Would you like to hear a story, Hosa?" she asks quietly, but in the somber quiet of the room, her voice carries easily. Kivoni smiles into his own mug of tea - probably a different blend from theirs, herbal and at least somewhat medicinal. Hosa nods shyly, and Ramus' sniffles quiet some as he waits to hear what story Theia will tell. "Hm. Have I told you the story of how the islands first floated into the sky?" Hosa and Ramus eagerly shook their heads, the latter's tears largely forgotten. Beja remains quiet and grumpy, but Theia knows she's listening. She can see out of the corner of her eye as one orange ear perks up in interest. "Well, it all started long ago... but not too long ago-" ---- /// Long ago... but not too long ago - everything began with Here and There - Aevera and Aevoia. The god of ground, and the god of sky. They loved each other, but remained seperated, and at this lonely fact they despaired. Aevoia could never leave the garden of time where he grew the sun every morning, and tilled the moons it left behind back into the soil. If he left his post, the morning would not come, for time would stop with his departure. Nothing may happen without time, so to leave would be pointless. Every night, his thousand glittering eyes gazed down on the world of his love Aevera, and he longed to be with her. For her part, Aevera had to remain with the world. Her magic kept life flowing in its endless cycle, allowing for souls to leave There and enter Here with every birth. Leaving the space of the physical to enter the realm of time would halt the cycle, and end life. Everything would have to start anew when she returned to Here once more. Many believe that Aevera and Aevoia have met many times, when their longing grew too strong to resist. Aevoia would either leave the realm of time, allowing all to halt and the sun of a new day to die before it could grow, or Aevera would leave the physical world, allowing life to halt behind her. Whenever they meet, the universe collapses, and everything ends. Whenever they part, the universe begins anew, and life enters a new cycle. Finally, the gods agreed that they would stay apart and allow this world to grow, hoping that with it they might find a permanent solution that would allow their worlds to join. Hoping that someday, they would never have to part again. This world grew and grew into something beautiful, and Aevera created all of us to live here - but that is another story. Much time passed by our measure, though by the measure of gods, who can say how much time it really was? Millenia, by our reckoning. To make the time apart more bearable, the two would send gifts to each other. Aevera would paint pictures on the ground to tell him stories, and Aevoia would allow the magic pouring through her words to give his stars a fixed position in the ever-shifting sky, reflecting her pictures. He would return to her gifts of his own self - star shards that he would drop to the ground below for her to hold close. Aevera took the shards that her beloved gifted to her - crystals filled with the chaotic magic of the sky - and wrapped them up in her own, more stable magic. She planted these shards wherever they fell, and her magic sparked life into the crystals, turning them into seeds. As these seeds sprouted, they began to push through the protective shell Aevera had wrapped around them, and Aevoia's chaotic magic began to leak out into the world. Star shards that had fallen near settlements were noticed first - those who ventured near to the sprouting trees came back changed, or did not come back at all. Some shards had been planted within settlements, and the changes washed over everyone. Aevoia's magic being of chaos meant that anything might happen - Aevera's magic being of life meant that most would survive it, no matter how changed they became. Landscapes changed to fields of golden grass and gemstone flowers; opulent labyrinths of manors that would keep all who entered safe, but never let them leave; mountains built of beautiful illusions where one wrong step will have you plummeting to your doom. Animals changed to match these new environments, or perished and fell to those who did. Titans and colossols ruled the lands. Some of them had been human once, changed so utterly that if they recalled ever being so, it no longer mattered. Humanity splintered, becoming many different races than had existed before. Many wars were fought, and we might have wiped each other out had the first of the chaos seeds not finally flowered. The smallest seed was the first to flower, right outside the home of two humans who had been changed by its magic and survived it. They guarded the chaos seed, for they recognized its changes as a blessing. They guarded it as it grew from sapling to tree. They guarded it as it flowered. They were there when the plot of land their home was built on, the place where the tree had spread its roots, broke away from the ground and lifted into the sky. They were there, and watched as Aevera and Aevoia were, for the first time since the beginning of this universe, able to meet in person, on this place that was both ground and sky, and therefore existed within both the domains of time and reality. The First Island, floating because of the first Nolia tree. These two were the prophets Devonte and Adela, blessed by the gods with avian forms that made them at home in the sky, and strong wings that could carry them across the world to spread the story of what they'd seen. They helped humanity find its way to trees that were about to flower, so that they could be there and rise up to the sky with them, escaping the chaos and strife of life on the ground. But there wasn't room for everyone, and not everyone could make it to the trees in time. Aevera, overjoyed to have finally been able to meet with her beloved again, was nonetheless still saddened by the state of her children. Now that there were many islands where she could meet with Aevoia, the two of them agreed that some of the star shards he had gifted her could be used by her children. The people of the ground were a part of her, after all, and he could see that their pain caused her suffering. So the two took a handful of the shards and broke them into tiny pieces. Some of these they gave directly to their prophets, others they scattered throughout the land, to places too far for even their winged prophets to fly. These shards were still full of the chaotic magic of the sky, with only the thinnest bubble of ground magic surrounding them to keep them from ascending all the way back to their origin - but not enough to keep them on the ground. With these crystals, named "aerite," - god gift - humanity was able to build vessels that would take them into the sky, and give us the ability to fly between the islands and even back to the ground again. Our world is still unfinished. All the largest of the chaos seeds have yet to sprout, and continue to change the landscape of the ground below. It is said that someday all of the land will rise into the sky, and the world below will be one of water and fire only. The islands will join to form continents, and the gods will finally have a place where they can walk together for all of time. The realms of time and reality will join as one, and the world will be complete. But for now, we live in a world remaking itself, and our gods allow us to share in the spaces built from their love. This is the story of the First Island. //// ---- I am sitting on a broad leaf, enjoying the sunshine streaming down through clear blue sky, unblocked by anything but the ocassional wispy cloud. My smoky stained-glass wings flutter in the cooling breeze that ruffles the black and yellow fur around my neck. Gold and blue sparks of pollen drift through the air and catch in my fur - or perhaps fall from it. Antennae on my head tell me that the garden I rest in smells healthy and bountiful. But there is a hint of a scent I don't like. Metal. There is a screech as the rope that moves the lift begins to turn. I scramble to my legs - all six of them - and my heart pounds in terror as I watch that rope turn. It is so far away, yet so massive. As if I am looking at a ship drifting closer, only to realize it's not a ship at all, but an island. The rope alone is far thicker than my entire body, and the lift it pulls must be carrying far more weight than I would even know how to calculate. I am just a bee. I can't stop what's coming. Someone bigger needs to handle this, someone stronger, someone who will know what to do! With a thought, the wings attached to my back are buzzing furiously, and I lift from the leaf with determination to go find the gardener. The garden is a massive place, with so many colors splashed out in every direction as far as the eye can see. They all blur together in a watercolor smear as I buzz from perch to perch, zipping ever higher up into the canopy of colorful petals hanging like curtains overhead. I must go higher, I must find a place where I can see the entire garden. I must find the gardener. All the while, the screech of metal as the lift ticks ever higher sends shockwaves of gray and blue into the garden. Finally I crest a mountainous rose bush and see him - the gardener. He is tall enough that his skinny gray ears twitch among the clouds. An orange robe of sunshine curls many times around his neck and drapes to brush the ground where he steps carefully between stalks drooping with the weight of abundant yellow blooms the size of airships. He is so far away, but even across the garden he sees me immediately. Within two loping steps he is right in front of me, kneeling down and holding out a paw so I might land on the back of his hand and rest my wings. "Hello, my little friend," he says, and his deep voice cracks in the air between us like thunder. "What has you so frightened?" "They're coming!" I pipe, breathless with fear. "They're coming up the lift - they're almost here!" Warm brown eyes narrow and turn cold as the old hare turns his gaze towards the distant shriek of metal. "So they are," he says, and hums in thought. "Gardener, what can we do? How do we stop them? They'll trample all the flowers, they'll take you away - they'll ruin everything!" Hot tears pour from the corners of my eyes, heart aching at the thought of a ruined garden without its gardener. Just a barren plot of dirt with its soul ripped away. "Are you scared, little bee?" he asks, eyes warming again as he turns back to me. "Of course I am - if they take you away, if they ruin the garden, if all the flowers are destroyed - what is a bee without a garden? I'll be lost without you all!" "Those who are lost may eventually be found again - or make a path all their own." The gardener reaches up to his eye, and pulls a single eyelash from its place. He holds it out to me, and it is nearly the length of my arm - but it is not just an eyelash. It is a seed, fluffy and dark. "If the garden is ruined, the only thing to do is plant it again. In time, it will grow, even without me. Especially if you tend it, little bee." "But if they destroy your garden, what will stop them destroying mine?" My words are a whisper as I clutch the seed close to my chest, feeling it sink into my fur. The gardener looks at me a long while, humming a harmony to the growing screech of metal and clatter of armor. "What will stop you from growing it again," he asks, "as many times as you must?" A sob catches in my throat. "Now you must fly, little bee. You must fly, and keep flying. Gardens may always grow again." He gives his massive paw a gentle shake. I fall, my wings buzzing into motion to catch me as I cling to the seed in my grasp, tears still dripping from my cheeks. The gardener gives me a final smile, then turns to face the approaching sound of metal. I see the sharp tips of jagged horns rising from below with the lift - the cruel pincers of massive metal beetles here to consume everything in sight. I turn from the sight I know and dread. I fly- ---- Theia wakes in the middle of a nest of well-patched and clumsily embroidered cushions, barely illuminated by the soft glowertear lighting spilling through the bedroom door from the main room. No hint of the sun yet peeks through the window, but a faint pink hue from the nightlights hanging over the boardwalk above filters through the netting here and there. Beja sleeps half on top of her chest, tail twitching in Theia's face as the girl sleeps. Hosa and Ramus are slightly better behaved, Ramus cuddled into his sister's side and Hosa sprawled between him and Theia, lightly snoring. The dream lingers only as the sensation of holding something fluffy in her hands, and she wonders if she had grabbed Beja's tail to push it out of her face. All thoughts of the dream are quickly pushed from her mind, however, as she notices what woke her - the sound of familiar voices, speaking softly together in the main room. Shifting Beja off her chest without waking the kit is an undertaking Theia accomplishes quickly through the ease of many years of practice. Slipping through the door, the voices become clearer, and she feels the weight of worry on her shoulders ease as she sees Besha talking with Iridia and Kivoni. When she can find no sign of Istullis, though, that worry sends off a screeching warning signal in the back of her head. "Where's Istullis?" she asks, voice rough from sleep. Besha's ears swivel towards her, the felikin itaur's golden eyes following right after. Those eyes, creased from being so often narrowed in laughter, are now wide and dark with worry. The woman's hands tremble where they're clenched in fists at her side, all four paws kneading restlessly as her claws catch in the rug underfoot. "The Beetles are keeping him in holding," she says bluntly. "Under the blatant lie that its for his own protection. They made up some bullshit story about Jero wanting to perform experiments on people, and specifically his own family." Theia blinked, blind-sided. "...Maybe you had better start at the beginning, Besha." "Won't make any more sense even if I do," she growled, teeth bared as she glared down at the floor. "They kept changing their story, so I don't think even THEY know what the truth is. Or if they do, they REALLY don't want us to." "Please, sit down, both of you. I'm exhausted just looking at you." Kivoni sighed. Theia nodded, feeling a little shaky on her feet at what her imagination had conjured up from the little Besha had said already. She would definitely prefer to be sitting down for the rest of this conversation. Besha grumbled, but curled up as gracefully as she ever did - if with a bit more force in her motions than usual. Times like this, it was easy for Theia to remember Besha as she was in childhood - hunting birds and pouncing on any other kid willing to fight her. "Beetles showed up early morning; still dark out. Stormed in, made a ruckus, woke us all up throwing everything around searching the place, yelling for Jero to come out and turn himself in. Obviously he wasn't here. They asked us if we'd seen him. We said of course not. Asked what had happened. They wouldn't tell us, just said they needed us to come in for questioning." Besha's voice was steady and flat, despite the fingernails digging deep enough into her legs that Theia was beginning to worry they'd poke holes. "So we both went in. They put us in a room, together at least, and left us there for a couple of hours. Came back in and asked if we knew that Jero had been supplying pollen to the dealers in the slums. Asked if we had helped, asked where we hid the stash of pollen and the money. They didn't like it when we said we hadn't seen Jero in over a year. They left us in there for a couple of more hours, still wouldn't tell us what actually went down." Theia wrinkled her nose at the thought of Jero supplying drug dealers. She tried to bring up a mental image. Scrawny, anxious, embarassingly empathetic seventeen-year old, selling magic dust to grizzled old dealers and smugglers. It would have been hilarious if it weren't something he was actually being accused of doing. "When they came back, the story was different. They still claimed he was stealing stores of pollen, but said he was using it for illegal experiments. That some other students had caught him red-handed, experimenting on another student, and that he ran." Scrawny, anxious, eternally curious Jero. Illegal magical experimentation was easier to imagine than smuggling. But on another student?? "And I suppose they had proof of these claims?" Iridia asked, looking similarly unconvinced. "Of course not," Besha scoffed. "Not that they need it. His life is ruined, proof or not." And that was the ugly truth, wasn't it. Whatever the Beetles said had happened was what had happened, as far as law and the history books were concerned. Jero's position as the sole scholarship student at the Runic Academy had already been tenuous, and nobody needed to say anything to know that this had all been a long time coming. The First-Ringer's didn't like it when those from the fringes of the rings got the same opportunities they did. Even if this whole scandal had some basis in truth, there was no doubt that it had been exaggerated to get Jero in as much trouble as possible and get him out of the academy. "They didn't stop there, though. No, they went one step further, and claimed that they had notes from Jero saying he was planning on experimenting on us next." "What?!" "Preposterous!" Kivoni and Iridia both exclaimed protestations, but Theia almost felt like rolling her eyes. The Beetles were really stretching to make Jero look like some kind of villain. "They said his notes claimed that his first victim would be his brother, so they said they needed to put Istullis in holding for his own protection, then closed the door on me and told me to beat it if I didn't want to join him." Besha was shaking with rage. "I would have clobbered 'em if I didn't have the kids to think about." Theia reached over to pat Besha's hand. The woman's tail twitched at the touch, but she turned her palm to meet Theia's and gripped her hand back, claws carefully tucked away. "They're trying to make him turn himself in," Kivoni mumbled. Iridia nodded agreement. "Clearly." he sighed. "I only wish we could know what really happened... It doesn't help that Jero stopped responding to letters." Theia startled. "He stopped responding to your letters as well?" "The last was three months ago. Before that we hadn't heard from him in two, and before that it had been six weeks." Kivoni shook his head. "There was nothing unusual about the letters - they just stopped coming so frequently." "He used to write us every week at least once, if not two or three times," Besha sighed. "So whatever's really happened probably isn't actually all that sudden," Theia said. "Whatever it is that's really going on, its been building for a while. He stopped writing me almost a year ago. I just thought... I thought I must have said something to upset him." Besha squeezed her hand. "Assuming its all related is all well and good for speculating, but until we have something more to go off of, that's all it is." She sat up and brushed down her pants as if that alone would erase the pinpricks her claws had left behind. "You should go home for now, Theia. The Beetles are probably going to be watching our place for a while, and you don't need that kind of attention." "But..." "Go home, rest. We can take care of things here." ---- Lucidity finds me in the midst of a common dream of mine. It is one where I stand on the board of an untethered kaete, sailbar gripped loosely in my hands as I fly with a flock of iridescent moenni. Their narrow heads and sinuous, finned forms cut through the clouds around us and guide my kaete on a path ever higher into the sky. The cold wind and damp of the clouds has me shivering, even with the feel of it muted through memory. Light flashes off the moenni's scales as they shriek and trill at each other. The pounding of my heart longs to trill back and indulge in this dream, but then- I remember the last dream that I had, of a giant version of Iridia giving me a seed - and the dream before that, of a goddess asking for a flower that blooms in storms. The memories connect, and I realize that I have stumbled into a dream-chain. My cheeks stretch with a grin at the thought, and I tilt the sailbar against the wind. It begins to drop, and I look down and down and down - to the ocean below. The moenni hiss in alarm as I fall away from them. One even darts forward as if to try and right the kaete; to catch me. I laugh, and let go entirely, turning my nose down to the water and laughing as it rushes closer. It's been a few months since my last dream-chain. Usually I'll have two or three of them a year - that number has increased from when I was a teenager, where I'd get perhaps one every few years. When I was a child, it felt like every night was part of one long continuous dream-chain. I hope to get back to that point eventually. 'Dream-chain' is a term that my mother came up with for me. It refers to when I have multiple dreams on different nights that all seem to follow a continuous plotline or story-thread. They were always her favorite to hear me talk about. I close my eyes as the blue-green of the fast-approaching ocean fills my field of vision. I take a deep breath, and feel water wrap around me. Not cold and hard, not painfully, not like it should feel to hit water that fast. The water wraps around me like a warm embrace, and settles over my shoulders like a coat, fluffy wave-foam cresting at my neck and wrists like fur trim. My eyes open to stacks of books surrounding me. They tower over me, leaning to meet in the middle over head, creating a one-room dome of paper and hardcovers. Blue and yellow light trickles down through the pages from whatever is beyond this place. Tiny fish of black, orange and white swim between chinks in the stacks, between this place and the other. Sometimes the fish are made of light, sometimes they're shreds of paper, sometimes they're blots of ink. A few flicker over to nibble at my fingers, and I brush them off with a giggle, the sound leaving my lungs in bubbles that float up and pop as they hit fish or books. "Hello friends," I say, voice rippling through the water. "I'm back." The water should be crushing my lungs, but instead I breathe deeply, and feel the ink of a hundred different stories try to write their words in my chest, knowing they'll find a space there. It smells of molding pages and spilled ink, like falling asleep while writing. I remember the mess that resulted from the last time I did just that, and laugh again. It feels so, so good to be home. Here in my refuge, here in the cozy dream I've built for myself over the years. Something tickles my palm, and I remember Iridia's eyelash - the fluffy little seed his dream-self gave me rests in my palm, as if I never let it go between this dream and that one. It is so much smaller, now. Or I am much bigger, I suppose. It doesn't do to worry too closely over the precision of such things in dreams. "What to do with you?" I wonder aloud. "Find the flower that blooms in a storm." "Ah, of course. I'm meant to grow you, somehow, into the right kind of flower." I stroke the fluffy seed with a fingertip, and hum. "How does one make a flower bloom in a storm?" I cast my mind to what I know of gardening in reality, and find it is... distressingly little. Thankfully, this is not reality. "I suppose... perhaps one should feed it the elements of a storm? You are what you eat, after all. But before that - you have to plant the seed." I crouch down over the books that make up the floor and open one. The pages dissolve and crumble into dirt under my fingers, and I push the seed down an inch or two into the soil. The water around me soaks the dirt, and a tiny, fluffy, two-leaved, blue-green sprout pops up between what used to be the pages of the book. "There we are. I'd say that's a good start." A few of the fish wiggle closer, curious about what I'm doing. I turn to the first, its inky fins leaving a smoky trail behind it. "Now to feed it - well, first thing you need for a storm is the clouds to form, of course." I boop the little black fish between indistinct eyes. It bursts into an enormous black cloud, enveloping the book dome and me and everything else within it. I laugh, coughing ink from my lungs. "Perhaps a bit smaller?" I suggest, and the cloud shrinks down almost to nothing, very nearly becoming a fish again. For a moment I almost see the ink form letters - it's happening again- And then it's gone, and I push the thought away. The little ink-cloud fish bobs about my head, and I turn to the second fish. The paper that forms its body is crinkled and nearly disintegrating in places. "Next, we need wind to push the clouds into place." I take a deep breath, and blow it out over the little paper fish. It shivers, trying to swim against the force for a moment, before the breath becomes a wind that blows the paper to pieces. Those pieces swirl and loop around the dome, faster and faster. They whirl around my head and snatch the little cloud fish away, tugging it along to hover over the sprout. The paper whips back and forth as the wind-fish nudges the cloud-fish back into place whenever it begins to bob away. "And finally," my voice shakes as I turn to the final little fish, its indistinct form glowing with light, "what storm could ever be complete without a show of lightning?" I reach out towards this little fish, then pull back, fingers tapping at my palms. In the space of my hesitation, I can hear something almost like a voice in the wind. "You're going to lose them." But the words are blurred, and I push forward. My hands cup around the final fish, and it sits calmly in my grasp. Nothing like the quick flash of lightning; more like a tiny glowertear, clutched in the hands of a child who can't sleep for fear of the dark. How does one make lightning? Lightning, which shreds the sky to pieces. Lightning, which powers cities. Lightning, which no one can stand against. I bring my cupped hands up to my face and kiss the little fish on its head. Sparks fill the room, and the breath is punched from my lungs as I am thrown back against the stacks. The little fish rips into bolts of light that tear jagged, boiling lines through the water. An echo of those lines burns against my lips, and cracks of charred flesh line my shaking palms. I try to breathe, and I can't. There is definitely a scream in the thunder that follows every burning bolt of lightning that tears through the dome around me. "USELESS!" ---- Theia jolts awake, chest heaving for every breath that tears through her throat. Her ragged, wet gasps fill the heavy air of the bakery. A glance at the dark window shows she wasn't asleep for very long. A groan rumbles from her lungs, and her fists press against aching eyes. "A walk," she grumbles. "I need a walk." Nevermind that she just got back from walking between the Taja house and her own home. A walk with a particular destination doesn't count, obviously. She rolls out of her hammock, slips into her shoes and pulls a coat over her shoulders, the roughly-woven fibers soft from many years of use. She doesn't bother to tie her hair back, knowing that the only other people traveling the small paths at this time of night will be a few ratkin, and they will neither notice nor care that her hair is a bushy mess. Slipping below the boardwalk to the small path, Theia doesn't think about where her feet are taking her. She knows, vaguely, where she's headed, and doesn't care enough to more consciously pick a destination. Her mind is too occupied, spinning with thoughts of Jero. Her tiniest baby brother, the smartest and most impulsive of them all. He also had a bigger brain than anyone else Theia had ever known, and definitely a little bit of an ego over it. Not that Theia could blame him for that. Honestly, she felt he deserved to have a bit of an ego over it. She herself had only made it through primary school. Jero had flown through primary, made secondary look easy, and for the few years that he still communicated with Theia while at the academy, he had been all too eager to show her all the glowing commendations from his teachers. And then he had just... stopped. It hadn't been a slow petering out of communication, like his family had described happening to them. No, he had sent Theia a letter talking about his latest round of exams and how he might be too busy studying to respond for a little while. Theia had sent back a response letting him know to take his time and focus on his work - and then nothing. She had kept sending letters, one every month as she had always done. Even if Jero didn't respond, Theia hoped he'd been reading them. She'd tried not to pressure him for a response, tried to keep things light-hearted and not show how worried she was - but she knew she'd probably failed. He was always too smart to be fooled when Theia pretended to be okay. So either he had been reading her letters and ignoring how she felt - or he hadn't been reading them at all. Theia didn't know which was worse. She shook her head, scoffing at herself. Here she was, having a pity party over her baby brother ignoring her, all while he was on the run from the law. Focus, Theia. Bigger problems here. But what could she possibly do about those bigger problems? She didn't know where Jero was, and it was probably best if he wasn't found. None of the ringers particularly liked the rooters. First ringers most of all. The scholarship program that allowed lower ringers and rooters into the runic academy was largely for show, and everyone knew it. First ringers never wanted to mix with 'dirty rooters.' That hadn't stopped Jero, but everyone knew it was going to be an uphill climb. Theia hadn't really expected it to go as far as... whatever all of this was. Sabotage? Framing him for some kind of crime? Did whoever set this up even have to plant evidence, or did they just tell the beetles that the dirty rooter charity case was a criminal and they didn't see the need to ask questions? Theia pulled her coat tighter around herself, expression growing darker as she wondered and wandered. The few ratkin out and about took one look at her stormy expression and prickly mass of hair and gave her a wide berth. Whoever it was who fucked up bad enough to piss off a gnome, they thought to themselves, had better start praying. Her feet led her where she'd expected they might. An open dock, at the lowest level of the slums. Open water visible for miles below, golden sunlight just beginning to rise over the curve of the ocean. She settled in by an out-of-the-way post, ignoring the coming and going of shiphands still yawning as they started their day, also ignoring her. As the sun rose, Theia breathed deeply in the warmth of its light, the chill of shadows sliding slowly back and away. Blue-green waves far, far below churned and danced with countless unknowable creatures. A flock of glowers were visible on the edge of the horizon, above the clouds. Their lights continued to flicker until the sun rose above the clouds and they disappeared. Noise on the dock rose with the light, shiphands calling back and forth with greetings and the business of the day. Tall ogres, wider than three of Theia bunched together, carried massive crates from one place to another. Two-legged tyrs and four-legged taurs of all kinds colored the world with beautiful arrays of fur and skin patterns as they went about their business. Faces and ears and bodies of all shapes and sizes could be seen in places like the docks, where everyone came together and split apart. It was a mosaic of life, and Theia came here as much for that as for the sunrise. It was a reminder that more existed out there in the world than just herself; than just the slums; than just Zaatar. Even if she would never see more than this little slice of it - it was important to remember that there was more. Theia sighed, and turned to go home. --- Just outside the bakery, Theia realized she wasn't quite ready to go home yet. So when she left the small path exit on her street, she moved to walk behind the bakery instead, wiggling between the vestigial ship walls that seperated the bakery space from her neighbors. The space was tight, just enough to store things that weren't needed often, but would doubtless be needed again. Ladder, rope, tarp - such things filled the space nearly to bursting. It was the tarp that Theia reached for and moved so it no longer covered a water barrel full of holes - the biggest of which was right down the center of the barrel, leading down a tunnel that probably shouldn't have been there. Theia was not surprised by the tunnel. What she was surprised by was the tiny tuft of black and white fur she found snagged to the rim of the barrel. A suspicion took root in her mind, and before she could tell herself not to get her hopes up, Theia was clambering into the barrel, tugging the tarp into place overhead, and tumbling down the far-too-big tunnel of old tubing. Once, it had connected to a water tank. It still did, technically. Only that water tank had been tucked under layers of netting so that no one would look too closely, and inside - well, inside it had been made practically cozy. Full of old rugs and pillows and soft things that had been too worn down to keep as they were, sewn together to make bigger cushions. Tattered books and games cobbled together from broken pieces of other things littered the spaces between. Colorful bits of trash and broken glowertears hung from the ceiling in strings, softly illuminating the small space. But Theia had seen all that a hundred times before, and didn't pay it any attention at all. All she had eyes for was the person sitting awkwardly in the middle of that space, looking somewhat terrified to be seen. A black and white felikin itaur, white striping his face like cracks in a mountainside, black ears pinned back flat against his head, thinner and taller than Theia remembered him from his last visit. "Jero!" she cried, forgetting to be quiet, and launched herself at him for a hug. The teenager stiffened, tense and shivering. Theia quickly let him go and pulled back to take a better look. His eyes were deepset and shifty, never settling on her face, ringed by dark bruises from sleepless nights. Whiskers were droopy and crinkled, and the fur on his face was thin over his brows in a way Theia thought probably spoke of not eating properly. "Oh Jero..." she held his face between her hands, not having the heart to ask what happened. Jero smiled weakly, gently pulling her hands away, but still holding them in his own. His paw pads were dry and cracked. "Hi, Theia. Long time no see? Haha... you uh. You wouldn't happen to have heard, uhm. Anything. Unuuuusual? Lately?" He drew out the words, hedging just in case, then winced at the look he got from Theia. "I was with your family most of last night." "How are they?" "Worried. Istullis and Besha were taken in for questioning, and Istullis hasn't been allowed to come back." "What?!" Jero jumped to all four feet, tail bristling behind him, claws catching in the rug that covered the water tank's metal floor. "Shit, shit, shit, shit shit!" He paced back and forth, muttering expletives. His eyes were wide, and Theia could see now that they glowed. Her breath caught in instinctive fear, but she was able to push it down before Jero could notice. He really was frazzled if he hadn't noticed her scent change. Not that Theia could smell such things, but the Taja's were always joking that they could smell her emotions, so she'd better confess to whatever was wrong before she gave them all headaches. She'd known his eyes would probably glow eventually. Anyone exposed to as much nolia pollen as a magician was would start to see the effects at some point. It just hadn't processed for her until now what that would actually look like. Especially with Jero seeming this haggard and worn down. Now that she was looking for it, she could see more signs of pollen exposure as he paced back and forth. The thinning fur over his brows was from the glow of the nolia pollen's magic flickering upward. The dry and cracked paw pads were marked with blue shatter-line scars from failed spells. They ran higher than his paws, thinning the fur where they ran up his wrist and disappeared under long sleeves. A bit of the fur on his tail looked more like feathers, showing the first signs of mutation. His claws didn't retract as he paced the room, pulling at the threads of the rug with every step. It was easy to imagine him with the beaked face mask that the military magicians wore, darkened goggles not enough to block the glow from their eyes, leaving behind feathers that would disintegrate as they walked away. Superimposed over it was a second image, of Jero lying still and cold in an alley with pollen junkies begging passersby for loose change, looking for the hit of magic that would send them to paradise for a few precious hours. For just a moment, Theia entertained the idea that the beetles weren't totally wrong about Jero - that he had gotten addicted and started dealing, that he'd gone crazy and started experimenting on fellow students, that he was a danger to himself and others. The thoughts flashed through her mind and were quickly pushed down, but the fact that they'd passed through at all showed her just how easy it would be for that story to sell if anyone who didn't really know him actually saw Jero like this. He looked crazy, and the pacing back and forth rambling to himself wasn't helping his case. "-need more time, it's not ready yet, but I can't just let them keep Istul locked up! But will they even let him go if I turn myself in? I mean, probably, it's not like they need him for anything but getting to me, so they'd have no reason to keep him, right? But aaagggh if I turn myself in I won't be able to finish it and Kivoni will be the one hurting instead, forever until he dies-" He was working himself up into a panic attack, breath coming faster and heavier with every word. Theia sighed, and stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop pacing. "Jero, can you explain what's really going on, or should I tell you what I've heard first?" She sat down as she spoke, pulling over the first half-broken little toy she could set her hands on, passing it to Jero. He took it automatically, sitting down beside her and pulling the toy to pieces without even looking at it, deconstructing it bit by bit, fingers flying over the bits of wood and crumbling rubber. "I-I think I'd like to hear what you've been told, first," he hedged, and Theia's concern that something actually was wrong with him dug a little deeper. Theia told him what Besha had told her, and Jero's frown pulled tighter with every word, lips curling up in a snarl when he heard the bit about Istullis being taken into custody for his own safety - for protection from Jero. "Bastards," Jero growled. "They really think people down here are going to believe that garbage?" Theia very carefully didn't tell him that she thought most people probably would, at least on some level. Even if they didn't buy it completely - it would be the more convenient thing to believe. "Your turn. What's actually happened?" Jero's tail lashed in irritation, feather-like fur fluttering, and his mouth screwed up in what might have almost been a pout. "...the illegal experimentation part wasn't entirely a lie. Just not as bad as they made it sound. And I certainly wasn't experimenting on other students! ...just ...some animals." Theia dropped her head into her hands, sighing deeply. "From the beginning please," she begged, trying not to picture what these experiments might have looked like, trying to keep an open mind. Jero fidgeted. "What would the beginning even be," he muttered. "I guess... I guess the beginning would be Kivoni, really." "Kivoni? What does he have to do with this?" "I-I wanted to-" Jero cuts himself off, huffs, and starts again. "I am going to figure out how to cure him." "What? How?!" It would be a miracle if it were true. Kivoni had alway been sick, for as long as Theia could remember. It happened sometimes, when different species of tyrs or taurs had children. Not often enough for anyone to expect it was going to affect them - just often enough that sometimes you got unlucky. Sometimes the child would take after both parents more than they should, rather than primarily taking after one. In most cases, this just resulted in an interesting appearance and sterility. Kivoni had gotten particularly unlucky. His digestive system didn't always accept the food he ate. Though technically he was omnivorous and could eat either plants or meat, sometimes his body would just reject the food. As a result he was malnourished, even when food was plentiful. He got sick easily and often, and was too frail to do anything strenuous. Every doctor who'd ever seen him said it was a miracle and a sign of how well his family took care of him that he'd survived into adulthood. (They all gave dire warnings that it couldn't last.) Jero's eyes lit up with a feverish light that had nothing to do with the glow of over-exposure to pollen. "I started with plants. Even got my professor's permission for that part. Got to the point where I could isolate and suppress specific leaves before I tried moving on to insects. Borrowed some of uncle's bees and got to the point where I could suppress their venom completely. Stingless bees! Great, right?" He lunged for the corner without warning, and Theia flinched, but relaxed when she saw he was only dragging some bags over. Again, he didn't notice her unease. He rifled through the messenger bag and pulled out a stack of notebooks and loose papers all crumpled together, flipping through them frantically until he found a specific paper and thrust it under her nose. "Here! This right here! The necessary words were pretty easy to figure out, but the order to place them around the circle and how to connect them all took ages." The paper showed a magic circle; arcane symbols and writing in a language Theia couldn't make heads or tails of. It looked very fancy, and the penmanship was neater than she was used to seeing from Jero, but other than that there was nothing she could glean from it. At the bottom of the page was a list of words and what Theia assumed to be their corresponding sigils, scribbled in slightly different ways over and over again. Venom. Bind. This. Exclude. Inert. That was all she could see before Jero was taking the page back, dumping it on the pile between his paws and frantically flipping through one of the notebooks. "After I could isolate specific parts of an insect, I tried on rats. That went well, but then I realized none of this was going to actually apply to Kivoni because his problem stems from him being an unstable combination of two incompatible species. So if I wanted to get anywhere with that aspect, I was going to have to find unstable combinations to test things on. I went back to plants," he held open the notebook so Theia could see a page with a detailed sketch of what looked like a green bean plant and a squash plant growing from the same stalk. "I got to where I could get the plants to combine, though they never grew fruit like I wanted. The sterility, I guess. I got the leaves of the beans to grow from the vines of the squash, then isolated everything else and removed it so that only the squash vine and bean leaves remained growing. Then I made sure I could do it the other way around, too." That drawing was pulled away and he flipped a few more pages in. "Back to insects again, I combined the stingless bees with spiders." He held the notebook out again, and Theia quickly covered her eyes, not wanting to see the bug he'd just described. Jero laughed at her, and as much as she'd missed the sound, it was also a little unsettling in the context of what he was talking about. "Jero," she interrupted, head spinning with the idea of him just casually magically combining plants and insects, playing god in ways Theia hadn't even dreamed were possible. "This is all really impressive and way over my head - how is it related to curing Kivoni?" Jero grinned. "His problem is his stomach, right? It rejects food that he should be able to eat sometimes, seemingly random. My theory goes that the carnivorous felikin and herbivorous harekin parts of our heritage are at war with each other in him. So if I can isolate one of those parts and find a way to supress it without messing with anything else inside of him, then Kiv can finally have a consistent diet and know exactly what foods will be safe for him and he'll always be able to eat!" "That- that sounds amazing!" Theia marveled at the idea - at the thought of just magically changing someone's body like that. No one had ever cured the problems that resulted in cases like Kivoni before. Not that Theia had ever heard, at least. If this really worked? If Jero could do what he proposed? It would save lives that no one had ever thought could be saved. "I'm so close to figuring it out-" Jero slumped. "But I got careless. Didn't notice the wards on my room failing last night while I was in the middle of things, and that idiot who rooms across the hall from me came in to see what I was doing. He screamed and ran off, and I knew he was going to get a professor or the guards or something and- and I'd never be able to finish, never be able to cure Kiv- but I almost have it! Just a few more tries and I know I'd be ready! So- so I grabbed what I could and ran." He groaned, slumping even further down into the cushions, staring despairingly up at the glowertear shards hanging from the ceiling. "And now it doesn't even matter, because they have Istul, so I have to turn myself in, and, and, and-!" He growled and pressed his fists into his eyes, shoulders trembling. Theia scooted closer and reached out to stroke the fur around his ears. When he pressed back into her hands, she gently pulled his head into her lap and kept stroking. He pressed his nose into her belly, and Theia felt the memory of being in this same position with a much younger Jero, a younger Istul, a younger Kivoni; the three brothers all having turned to her for comfort often when they were small. It had been years since any of them occupied that space, and they'd all grown bigger than Theia since then. Still, Jero seemed to find some comfort in the familiarity, and Theia didn't know what else she could do. It was such an impossible situation they found themselves in. Theia's head was still reeling trying to process everything she'd been told and the images the information conjured in her mind. It sounded like, for once, there were some nuggets of truth in what the beatles had told the Taja was going on. Jero was performing illegal experiments on insects and animals - and it had in fact been for the purpose of eventually performing magic on one of his brothers. It wasn't exactly a good look for him, and Theia herself was struggling somewhat with the idea that her smallest brother had been... combining animals? Weird. So weird. So, so, SO weird. Where had he even been getting them...? So he probably had been stealing, too. Animals and whatever supplies he'd needed in order to actually perform the magic. Theia wasn't too sure what all was needed for that kind of thing, but she knew that at least nolia pollen would be involved, and probably a greater amount than would usually be given to a student. Theia was sure the beaks - the military magicians - did plenty of their own unethical experimentation. They probably weren't upset with Jero for that - just for the theft and the secrecy. But they would certainly sell the case to the people as if it was the experimentation they were upset about, because that was the part that looked really bad. Like, really bad. Theia was actually very much struggling with the image of Jero performing magical experiments on animals. It was all for a good cause, clearly. Jero wouldn't have done something like this if it weren't for a good cause. And this was the best cause, really! They all knew Kivoni was living on borrowed time. It was admirable that Jero was trying to fix that, even if his methods were... questionable at best. And maybe it wasn't as bad as Theia was imagining! She'd actually only ever seen magic performed once in her life, and it hadn't been the kindest example. Aside from the devices everyone used, that one bad experience was all she'd ever seen of magic, so of course she was imagining something terrible. But this was Jero. He couldn't possibly be doing anything all that bad. ...Could he? "...Three days." Jero muttered, face still pressed into Theia's stomach. "What?" Theia asked, trying to pull herself from the swamp of worries she was mired in. Jero looked up at her, eyes wide and frantic and still glowing. They'd probably be glowing for the rest of his life. "Let me stay here for three days, Theia, please! I know I can finish the spell if I just have a little more time. Then I can heal Kiv and I'll turn myself in after and they'll let Istul go and everything will be fine!" His hands were clasped together, bottom lip pushed into a familiar pout that he'd used to get his way a hundred times in the past. Theia melted, pushing down the unease that the glow of his eyes still caused in her. Theia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed. "Of course, Jero," she said. "Of course you can stay." --- "I have most of the supplies I need-" Jero had told her. "But I'm missing two, and I can't go get them myself while the B's are looking for me. Theia, would you-?" The 5th ring market was bustling with noise and activity. Located squarely between the rooter slums, 5th docks, and the island bridge, it was a nexus that connected every walk of life that would ever have cause to visit the 5th ring. So the patrons were mostly poor civilians, dock-workers, criminals, and visitors to Zaatar who couldn't get a higher access pass. In the daylight, everything was relatively above-board. Theia had never gone at night, and hoped she would never have reason to. Thankfully, Jero's request wasn't anything that would be overly suspicious for her to buy - but it left a squirmy feeling in her gut all the same. The hares in the cage at the stall before her huddled together in the corner, eyes wide and noses twitching. Theia knew that eating meat was not uncommon, even among tyrs and taurs; that it was even a required part of some diets. Gnomes like herself were technically capable of it as well, but Theia's parents had never brought meat into their house, and Theia had never felt the need to get any for herself. She knew it was normal. She'd seen the carnivorous members of the Taja family eat meat before, at meals that she'd attended where she'd eaten alongside their herbivorous members. What Jero was going to do wasn't much different from butchering an animal for its meat, really. These hares were going to die regardless. Theia having a part in that process or not wasn't going to change the fate of these animals. If she didn't buy them for Jero's experiments, someone else was going to buy them for food. And if Jero succeeded in his experiments - no, when Jero succeeded - then these hares would have played a part in curing Kivoni and providing the means to cure others like him. It was for a good cause. Noble, even. Theia swallowed the lump in her throat, and turned to the mustekin seller who'd been not-so-patiently eyeing the gnome having a crisis outside her stall. "Three hares, please. And three cats." The seller put on a fake smile, named her price for the animals and the two basket-cages required to carry them, and waited as Theia painstakingly counted out the coins Jero had given her. Only once the coins were in hand did the seller busy herself snatching up three hares by their ears to drop on top of each other in their tiny basket. She latched that shut and handed it over to Theia before turning to the back of her stall. She pulled on a thick pair of gloves and a fierce caterwauling and yowling picked up as she dragged the requested cats into a second basket, kicking and clawing at everything in reach, making their displeasure well-known. At the end of it, Theia was left holding onto two baskets of angry and frightened animals, wondering how she'd gotten there. This, she reminded herself, is a thing that happens every day, all over the world. With that bracing thought, she steadied her spine and marched homeward. She wanted to be done with this business as soon as possible. Just because it had to be done didn't mean she had to like it. At the very least, she wouldn't have to do it again. Jero had told her that these were his final experiments - that he nearly had it. Theia would be able to wash her hands of this business as soon as she delivered these animals to him. A task easier said than done, considering the density of the crowd today. There was some kind of ruckus at the central fountain. The pop of fire-crackers, scattered applause, children cheering - and lilting behind it all, music. The dual strings of a sya, the bellowing hum of a cazion, the ringing thump of a beldrum - all joined together in a cheerful mix that sounded of mischief and play. Over the heads of the crowd, Theia caught a glimpse of a sprite in a colorful costume flipping high into the air. There were gasps and cheers, and Theia was pushed towards the spectacle as the crowd drew tighter around whatever performance was going on. She nervously clutched the cages close to her chest and desperately wished, not for the first time, that the small way continued through the rest of the ring and not just the slums. Nearly everyone was taller than her, and Theia knew from past experience that trying to push through the crowd wasn't going to be a battle that she would win. There was nothing to be done but let herself be pushed along until an opening appeared. Finally, after being buffetted back and forth by a knee here or a hip there for what felt like far too long, Theia spotted a clearing in the crowd, and took her chance. She darted for it, and burst out right as the performers in the center threw one of their brightly-dressed number high into the air. Theia realized she'd found an opening to the center of the crowd rather than its edge, and sighed in defeat. At this point, she may as well watch the performance that everyone was so enamored with. So she looked up, and there was a flash of silver. Time slowed. The performer thrown into the air was spinning, tufted tail ending in iridescent gray feathers that flashed in the light of the midday sun with every rotation. His costume of green, blue, and pink was bright enough to capture the attention of anyone, and the gray of his long hair was unusual on someone so young, but it was eyes of silver that caught Theia's attention. Laughing eyes that were clear and bright, that flickered over to catch Theia's own. When their eyes met, Theia felt something in her brain sit up and take notice. It was warmth in her chest, and a tug of memory in the back of her mind. Something like the feeling of deja vu, something like the feeling that she should know those eyes. She was certain she'd never met this man before in her life. But he was looking at her, and she could see that same puzzled familiarity reflected in his gaze. Whatever this was, he felt it too. Time snapped back into motion as the performer completed his spins, landing perfectly on the shoulders of his companions, back to Theia, arms raised high to accept the applause of the crowd. "Thank you, thank you! Please, if you enjoyed this little preview of our abilities, you'll be stunned to see what more we and the rest of our flock can accomplish at Cadmium's Circus! We begin performances tonight at sunset - and the festivities will continue all week!" His voice rang out clear over the cheers, and Theia pressed a hand against her chest in confusion. There was an odd sort of tug there, and even as the crowd began to disperse now that the show was over, she found that she didn't want to move for as long as the man was talking. Something in her said pay attention. "Our ferries are stationed at dock seven, ready to give a free ride to our ships, where you will find games and delights of all kinds ready and waiting for you! Please come join us - we're waiting for you!" The man leaped from his companion's shoulders, doing one final spin and landing so lightly he looked near-weightless. Then he turned, easily finding Theia's eyes once more. She felt rooted to the spot as he walked towards her. He was a tall man, easily six feet, completely dwarfing Theia. His tail swayed behind him as he walked, and curled around his knee as he knelt down with a hand out. Theia reached out unthinkingly, and found herself accepting a flimsy flyer and a tiny purple scrap with the words "ADMIT ONE" stamped on it. "It's a fantastic show," the man was saying, his head tilting to one side as he smiled. "You, I think, would learn a lot there. I hope to see you again." He winked, grinned, and sauntered off to loudly entice passers-by to accept flyers. Theia noticed that purple tickets did not accompany those flyers. With his eyes off of her, Theia's legs remembered how to walk. She stashed the flyer and ticket in her pocket quickly to pick up the cage of cats again, unable to remember when she'd set it down. One last glance at the strange man's back was all she allowed herself before bustling off into the thinning crowd, back to the task at hand. She pushed the enocunter from her mind long enough to get home and sneak the animals down to Jero. Long enough to prepare the shop for reopening the next day. Long enough to finish all the chores the excitement of the last day had her putting off. Then she lay down for bed, and fell asleep to a jumble of confused thoughts which, summed up, were mostly: What a strange encounter. --- The book dome was not exactly as I'd left it. Or perhaps this was all that was left of it after the explosion of lightning that ended the last dream. A crumbling wall of books, overtaken by thick vines unfurling from below the hardcovers, jagged blue leaves the size of my head unfurling beneath purple petals glowing with silver light trapped within tightly furled buds. Those vines stretched out in all directions, weaving through the piles of books and underneath the plush carpets beyond, spreading out to bookshelves that towered up to glass ceilings, blue and green light filtering down through an atmosphere of water. Everywhere I looked, black-wood shelves were filled with tomes of all sizes, a labyrinth of books all around me. My little book dome had been a child's fort in comparison. It was no more, now. Destroyed by the plant I'd managed to grow. A plant that continued to grow as I watched, the vines sparking with lightning and climbing the shelves nearby. Little puffs of angry gray clouds were released every time a new flower bud grew. Reaching down, I picked up one of the books that had made up my dome, and clutched it tight to my chest. I could hear the story I'd dreamed in its pages - a memory from long ago. "I'm sorry it fell apart." I looked up into the face of the sea goddess - almost. It wasn't exactly the same as the face I'd seen in my earlier dreams. There was no fuzzy indistinctness to the edges of that sharp jawline. The hair was not a rolling sea of curls, but a curly mullet - jagged around the face but allowed to grow past the hips in the back. Ears that stretched out into delicate frills flapped idly at the sides of her head. Her skin was more blue than green, but still very much a dark ocean. Cloth as thin and dark as shadows clung tight to her arms and legs, and only just barely rose high enough on her torso to cover her flat chest, left open on the sides where gills fluttered open and closed. Freckles like motes of light dotted her bare shoulders and flat cheeks. The wide mouth and narrow eyes were the same. Those eyes were focused intently on me, thin eyebrows furrowed. "I know," her gaze dropped to the piles of books at our feet, and her voice dropped, becoming softer; regretful. "I know it was a good place for you." "Thank you," I said, looking for constellations in those freckles, "but it's not your fault." "It is, though," the goddess whispered, closing her eyes. "I should be staying away from you. I shouldn't be pulling you in like this - I should know better at this point." The vines grew and grew, and more puffs of cloud escaped as more flower buds sprouted. The little puffs began to collect overhead, wind shaking the leaves on the vines and carrying a whisper between the shelves. The goddess looked up, green irises on black sclera. "It's not safe for you here," she reached out, hand hovering just above my chest. "I love your dreams," she said. "I don't want to lose you." I took her hand. Lightning zapped between the vines at our feet, and the goddess flinched. My eyes darted down toward the light, and I smiled at the bud growing there. Keeping the goddess' hand in one of mine, I reached down with the other and plucked the bud from the vine. "What's your name?" I asked, turning her hand over and placing the bud in her palm. "I- I... don't remember." She stumbled over her words, her hand shaking. "Don't worry, I'll think of one for you," I said, and pulled her hand close to my face to kiss the flower bud. The petals unfurled in a spiral of light and fluff as the clouds overhead built into a storm, but I only had eyes for the bright flush on my goddess' face. Her mouth gaped open, closed, and opened again a few times before her lips twitched up and a bark of laughter escaped her. "You-!" she laughed and laughed, doubled over until she was kneeling in the books, her face level with mine. I held her hand all the while. When finally the laughter subsided, the water around her eyes bubbled with tears, and the last laugh sounded almost like a sob. "You might not live to regret this," she warned. "But I will. And... I'll remember you, Theia. I'll remember you always." She lifted the flower that had bloomed between us, and stabbed the stem into my chest. "If you survive this," she said, voice trembling, "come find me." It sank all the way down to my heart, and I knew no more. ---- Throughout the day, there was the odd noise here and there from below that Theia had to cover up or find an excuse for. Whether it be the sound of a cat here, or a misplaced thud there - most things could be explained away easily enough, and she was only grateful that there wasn't any way for someone to see the lights in the hiding place. All of Jero's magic was probably creating quite the light-show down there. A part of her wanted to go down and see - be witness to the magic. Another part of her had no desire to revisit bad memories. Yet another part, however (the part that she knew would inevitably win), needed to know the fate of the animals she'd bought. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she certainly needed to. Besides all that, Jero needed to eat. So after all her work was done for the day, the last of the pastries and baked goods either bought or stored away (to be sold for discount the next day or eaten as part of Theia's own meals), she made up a basket of food to take down and approached the hideaway's entrance. A few furtive looks to be sure no one was watching, and she hopped over the lip of the barrel to clamber down the netting and into the water tank. "Jero, I've brought dinner!" she called down. "Oh, perfect - I was just finishing up here." Jero turned to smile at her, and the expression did not fit the scene he stood over. A magic circle, chalk runes making precise lines of a purpose Theia couldn't begin to guess, took up half of the water tank. Jero had pushed all the cushions and old toys and blankets into one corner, all the little treasures that they'd collected in childhood looking like nothing more than a pile of junk. Only the broken glower-tears had been allowed to remain where they hung, their feeble light dim against the fading crackle of light from the circle. Within that circle was a creature, shuddering and twitching where it laid on its side. Fur of two distinct patterns zig-zagged across its coat like puzzle pieces jammed together. Cat's eyes peered out from a rabbit's face, long ears flinching weakly at every noise as a mouth full of ill-fitting fangs drooled. "The fusion process went well - all three survived it, so I'll have more than enough chances to test my theories for the suppression." Jero rubbed out a bit of the chalk line with his toe as he spoke, breaking the circle and ending the remnants of the light show. He scooped up the trembling chimera and deposited it into a cage alone. Two chimera's of similar shape rested in the other cage, eyes wide and shell-shocked. One of them stared directly at Theia, unblinking. She walked closer for a better look, palms sweating where she clenched the basket handle tight. "Aren't they amazing?" Jero crooned, scooping up a glower-tear to hold over the cage. He looked proudly down at his work, but Theia only felt a distant sort of horror. "Of course, you can see I had some trouble with this one in the back here - something extra fell into the mix from all the junk piled up in here - stupid mistake - but that will just help me learn how to account for more variables in the final phase." The chimera he gestured to was the one staring unblinkingly at Theia. Now that the light shone on it, she could see that there was something wrong with its shape. Spines of black and gray rose from its back in pillars and corckscrews and branches. They rose and lowered with the creatures wheezing breaths, something oozing out at the base of each one and keeping the fur damp and dark. Theia's breath caught in her throat, and she spun around, unable to look at it any longer. This, she reasoned to herself, was all going to be perfectly fine. There was no call to be so upset. It was all for good reasons, and sometimes you had to hurt a little in order to heal. (Not like this though, surely. Not hurting something else-) "Ah, hold on, Theia," Jero's paw caught her shoulder, and he came around to shine the glower-tear over her chest, frowning. "When did you get a tattoo?" he asked, whiskers on one side of his face quirking higher in amusement. "I never thought you the type." Theia blinked, looking down, and saw a glimmer of black spiraling down her chest, fading out of her line-of-sight as it curled up her collarbones toward her neck. That's new. "Here, enjoy your dinner." She pushed her basket into Jero's chest and marched back towards the ladder. "Do you need anything else for the night?" If Jero was confused by her stiff fall into hospitality, he didn't comment on it. "Ah, no, no, I'm fine," he said. "Thank you, Theia. I... uhm. I didn't mean anything bad - I, uh, I like the tattoo! It's a very pretty flower!" Theia barely heard him, her heart thudding in her ears as she climbed the ladder. She barely paused to cover up the opening after clambering out of the barrel, marching back into the bakery and slamming the door shut. Running to the bathroom, she poured some water into the washbasin and tilted the glowertear hanging from the ceiling until she could see her reflection staring back at her clearly. Emblazoned across her collarbones in loops and spiraling vines, just above the wide collar of her dress, was a black flower. Familiar in its shape, if not the color. She'd just seen this flower recently, so of course she would recognize it. The storm-flower she'd grown in her dreams had a shape unlike any flower she'd seen in reality, so it was unmistakeable. There it was on her skin, clear as day despite being black as night. Fingertips tracing over the swirls of vines and jagged edges of leaves, her mind reeling with confusion, Theia could only think... ...what the fuck? Pacing back and forth, Theia nervously raked her hands through her hair, pinched at her apron, shoved her hands in her pockets - and found a small slip of purple paper there. She stared at the ticket for only a moment before making up her mind. Pausing only long enough to tuck a little money into her belt, Theia turned and marched out the door. ----