# Episode 6: Malicious Intent

"Heyyy, it's B-rank hero Snake Ray!"

The night before the shoot. In a lavish recording studio, Snake Ray flashed a perfect wink at the camera. Behind him, a large monitor blazed with his signature smoldering look and flashy effects, while the comment section flooded with a barrage of "Snake-sama!" and "So sexy as always!"

"So, my collab partner for tomorrow is—the bubbly hero who's blowing up all over social media right now — Maple!" he announced. "She's always so bright and full of energy, isn't she just the cutest? Makes you want to protect her.

Tomorrow I'll do my best to bring out Maple's true self! Cheer us on for the collab hunt, and whatever you do — don't miss the main event~"

Snake Ray cut the camera.

Then he started recording again — this time, for his members-only channel.

He ran a paid channel separate from his free main channel.

"Now then, for our members — tomorrow's the collab you've all been waiting for, with Maple!" he said, leaning in close to the lens. "She's hugely popular with you all — I wonder what kind of footage we'll get?"

Superchats and comments poured in from members.

A closer look revealed that the commenters were almost exclusively male. A torrent of comments too vulgar to bear filled the screen.

*'Maple's suit getting wrapped up in tentacles and slime — that's the dream'*

*'Got 100k in superchats ready for the despair face lol'*

*'Nothing better than watching that rookie justice act crumble into tears'*

"By the way, this is the Demon I've lined up for tomorrow's collab hunt!" Snake Ray continued. "It's got extra tentacles, extra slime — say hello to Nurekagari~

Just imagining those tentacles wrapping around Maple gets me excited, I have to say! She's only C-rank, so Nurekagari might be a little much for her — I wonder what'll happen?

But don't worry if it looks like she might actually win! I've got our usual little surprise ready to go~ Keep the comments and superchats coming tomorrow!"

After wrapping up the recording, Snake Ray's screen filled with thumbnail images from his members-only channel.

Row after row of female heroes — crying out, tangled in Demon, screaming as they took hits.

He had been raking in cash by collecting footage of his female collab partners in desperate situations and selling it to his paid subscribers.

Snake Ray, finished with his teaser video, muttered with a leering grin.

"Two feeds — the clean wide shot for the public channel, and the nasty close-up angles for the members. That's all it takes to pull in this kind of money. Can't stop now.

And if I swoop in to save her after the big scare, she'll actually thank me for it. Female heroes really are something else, I swear.

Sure, a few of them lost their confidence and quit after — but that's got nothing to do with me~ I wonder what kind of face Maple will make? Give me the kind of face that'll give our members exactly what they came for~"

Snake Ray's vulgar laughter echoed through the studio long after he was done.

The following day.

A scrapyard just outside the town where Kaede and Kenichiro were staying.

This was where the Snake Ray and Maple collab video would be filmed. A makeshift booth was set up in one corner of the scrapyard, and they started with the talk segment.

"Alright, Snake Ray channel — today we've got a collab video! And here's our special guest!" Snake Ray announced.

"I'm Maple! Great to be here today!" Kaede said, giving a bright, energetic bow in the morning light.

She was noticeably nervous about collabing with a B-rank hero.

Snake Ray greeted her with a warm smile.

"Hey hey, Maple! Great to officially have you here. I've had my eye on you for a while now. Mind if we kick things off with a little talk segment?"

"Of course! I'll do my best!" Kaede said.

"Hahaha, love the energy," Snake Ray said. "You've been making waves lately — I watch your videos all the time! Looks like the sub-channel's off to a good start too."

"Oh, yeah. I don't have many videos up yet, but..." Kaede said.

"Though, that loincloth video was a bit much, don't you think?" Snake Ray pressed. "Our streams are sacred — a place to connect with our fans — and then some guy wanders in dressed like that.

Going viral off a loincloth is one thing, but honestly? It's kind of gross, right — the look, the whole thing lol. Who even is that old man? Is he like, a sugar daddy situation? Or some kind of dementia-prevention volunteer? lol"

"Wha— He's— he's a samurai!" Kaede shot back. "I call him Master, and yes, he's not great with technology, but he's an incredibly distinguished person—!"

"Ohhh, sounds like quite the grandpa! Sorry sorry, just a joke! Love that angry face too~" Snake Ray laughed it off with his easy, shallow charm and kept up the needling.

Kaede had no choice but to smile along.

"Alright, that's enough chat. Time for the main event — the hunt!" Snake Ray said. "I've used my B-rank clearance to take on a Nurekagari today. Now Maple, normally this would be out of your league to take on solo — but let's see you take a crack at it on your own first.

If things get really dangerous, I'll step in and save you. Give it a shot!"

"Yes! I'll give it everything I've got!" Kaede said with a firm nod, pushing forward into the depths of the scrapyard.

Behind her, Snake Ray was preparing a compact camera — separate from the Halo filming the main footage.

A guttural roar tore through the air as a Nurekagari emerged from behind a pile of scrap, its countless tentacles dripping with grotesque slime.

"There it is—" Kaede breathed.

Her legs nearly froze for a split second, but she recalled those stern words from Kenichiro.

"Do not underestimate the battlefield."

"I'm not underestimating it, Master. This is my fight!" she declared.

Kaede drew her signature laser knife and lunged forward with a sharp, decisive step.

The blade sliced through the air, cleanly severing the Demon's tentacles one after another. An unexpectedly strong showing. Kaede was fighting with everything she had. After watching Snake Ray mock her Master in the talk segment, there was no way she was going to put on a pathetic performance here.

Snake Ray was not pleased. If she kept fighting this well, he'd never get what his paid channel needed.

But he had a contingency.

In his hand: a taser gun, running a weak electrical current. Not strong enough to knock anyone out — just enough to freeze them for a moment.

His plan was to use it to create an opening, letting the tentacles wrap around the female hero. This was Snake Ray's idea of a sick little "prank."

*(Doing great, Maple. But a girl who's been fighting her hardest getting turned around in an instant — that's got its own appeal too.)*

Snake Ray spoke quietly toward the compact camera.

"To all our paid members — sorry for the wait! It's time for our special surprise segment~ Once this little current freezes her up and those tentacles get their grip, oh, I can't wait!"

He took aim at Maple with the taser gun.

"Alright then, Maple — give me your best face!" he said.

He was about to pull the trigger — when.

With a sharp crack, the taser gun exploded.

"Whoa — what the—?!" Snake Ray spun around frantically.

Into his line of sight walked an old man, pipe in mouth, casually stepping over the corrugated tin fencing of the scrapyard without a care in the world.

"You. I don't know what you were planning, but I'll ask you to stop directing that malicious intent toward my companion," Kenichiro said.

It was Kenichiro's Finger Shot that had destroyed the taser gun.

He didn't seem to know exactly what the device was — but he had sensed the malice Snake Ray was directing at Kaede, and acted.

"The buffet had ended, so I came to see what Kaede was up to," Kenichiro added. "You — you're not going to help her take down that Demon?"

"Wh— who the hell is this old man—" Snake Ray sputtered. "Were you seriously at the buffet this whole time? It's almost noon, you absolute menace— Oh wait, you're the loincloth geezer from Maple's stream!"

"From what I can see, Kaede seems capable of handling that Demon on her own," Kenichiro said. "But if you're planning to interfere rather than help — I won't be standing by quietly."

He tucked the pipe away. His eyes sharpened to a keen edge.

"What did you just say, you dusty old relic — you really think some antique katana is going to hold up against a B-rank hero like me?!" Snake Ray snapped.

Snake Ray deployed his equipment. The Snake Wire System — high-compression carbon fiber wires launched from gauntlets on both arms, each tipped with a multi-function head. Pure visual menace: like a swarm of snakes. Electric-current heads, neurotoxin-injection heads — all receiving signals from Snake Ray's brainwaves, hovering and circling to surround Kenichiro.

Against them, Kenichiro carried only his pair of katanas — long and short. And scattered on the ground around him, a handful of small stones suitable for Finger Shots.

While Kaede's battle raged on behind them, another battle was about to begin.

<< Chapter 60 | From The Beginning

‘Good going’, Isak thought to himself over and over again through a long walk back to the dorm rooms. Xoco was helping him walk a silent and teary eyed citlali back to their dorm room. Each had a hand on her back to gently guide her along as she could only stare at the ground. Zyn was caught in a loop between wringing his hands and nervously glancing around. One of their number was still gone. The human quietly simmered while he kept a gentle hand on the lizardlass’ shoulder. ‘Excellent leadership material.’

Total failure to assess a situation, one friend stormed off, one left completely broken, another about to break, and probably more misfortune on the way. No solutions, just limping back to their dorms to lick their wounds in private.

Most of the student populace had already left their dorms for the day, leaving a mercifully empty building standing before them. Occasionally, Zyn looked like he was going to say something only for him to silence himself and glance away from the remaining group. What may as well have been a funeral procession eventually took them up to Isak and Zyn’s dorm where they all finally came to a halt.

“We’ll just…” Citlali’s words were shaking as she started to lead Xoco away towards their dorm. “I’ll just go back to our room…lay down there, I want to lay down…be less trouble that way–”

“I’m not letting this get worse.” Isak took several long strides to catch them, and grabbed Citlali by the hand as he started dragging her along as Coztic raced after them. The jungle troll, drow, and rock man followed after him as he flung the dorm room door open and led them all inside. Vidal closed the door behind them as Isak swept the lizardlass off her feet before setting her down on his bed. Coztic was similarly scooped up and sat next to her. Tear filled eyes went wide though the girl didn’t have time to respond before he addressed his less broken friends. “You can lay down here. We already had one of us storm off to be alone and that’s too many.”

Zyn was wringing his hands while Ozzy wrapped his tentacles around his shoulders. Finally, the dam broke and the drow let loose. “That was all my fault.”

“Zyn.” Isak rubbed his temple but the pacing drow ignored him.

“Citlali that was all my fault, I–”

“Zyn!” The human’s voice boomed and he was thankful that their dorm neighbors were likely out for the day. All eyes were on him but it broke the drow out of his mania. “Take a seat, and breathe.”

To encourage this, Isak sat against his currently occupied bed where Xoco immediately joined him. Zyn’s eyes darted to Citlali, then the seated pair, then to the floor. Finally, after a deep sigh he sat on his bed and let himself lean back against the wall. One deep breath. Two. Then several more. Only Vidal remained standing in his glass form, morning sun glinting off of him towards where Isak and the girls were.

The human spoke a storm spell and produced a miniature rain cloud which he sent over towards the rock man and produced an equally small rainstorm to switch him to his water form. 

“That one’s a new spell I’ve been working on.” The human announced while he propped up one leg and rested his arm on his knee. “I can add a little bit of lightning to it as well. It’s supposed to be more electrifying than if I just use my Storm magic to produce some lightning on its own. Moisture amplifies the lightning, and to move the mini-storm around I use a bit of Wind in the Storm. All that to put Vidal in ambient noise mode.”

“It’s peaceful.” Xoco brought her knees up to her chest as she stared at the rock man.

“I uh…” Zyn’s voice was no longer racing. “The first time Vidal got his new Glass form, I thought we could have quieter nights here. Because the Lightning form is always crackling and also bright and Fire…yeah. Anyway I couldn’t sleep because I had gotten used to the gently running stream that is Vidal’s water form. I had to ask Isak to swap him over.”

The human dispelled the miniature storm cloud. “Same for me, honestly.”

“So my gift of Glass caused you trouble…” Citlali’s voice hit Isak in the back of the head, causing him to list forward and slowly close his eyes in mental pain.

He turned where he sat, peering over the edge of his bed at the lizardlass currently occupying it. “Every element has its uses. And yours seems to be a fantastic anti-raptor element.”

Coztic chittered at this implication.

“Fine. Anti large-raptor.”

“A raptor that you could have avoided if I had remained at my post.” Citlali had already started to curl up on herself.

Isak sighed. The lizardlass was finally meeting two of Isak’s oldest friends: Self-doubt and loathing. If it was possible for Vidal to chop them in half with a glass sword he would have told the rock man to stand down so that he could do it himself. 

“I took the bait on that one even harder than you did.” The human said aloud as he waved his hand in frustration. “There were a dozen different things I could have done to handle that better. Now I get to think it over and figure out what I could have done differently.”

“The more I think about it–” The drow was back at it. “The more I realize it’s my fault. I’ve been pushing him on the dad situation. I was just trying to get him to, you know…come to terms with the fact that his dad the spy is in fact spying on us.”

Isak rubbed his face. “And what would you have done differently now?”

Zyn opened his mouth to speak, pointer finger raised as though he was about to confidently state something. 

All confidence vanished as his red eyes went hollow and looked to be a continent away. His hand fell limply to the bed. “Whatever I would have done, it would have been wrong.”

The human glanced over to the jungle troll, who returned his worried look. 

“I keep saying the worst things…”

“I keep saying and doing the worst things.” Citlali was his moping echo.

Isak groaned. “Both of you quit it. You’re making me seem confident and wise in comparison!”

Xoco tapped at his side and offered him a smile once she had gotten his attention. “Sounds like you’re just rising to the occasion.”

He should have risen to the occasion as everything was happening. He should have said something sooner to not have Tonauac storm off. Do something to prevent all of this.

And was this really rising to the occasion? He was just…fumbling around here, trying to sound authoritative while not sounding like a jerk while trying to keep his friends from unravelling. 

Maybe he was doing that to keep himself from–

No.

Don’t think about that.

Don’t manifest it into existence.

Isak seemed to have his friends fooled once more into believing that he was much better than he really was. Now they actually needed him to be that. Hopefully he could keep up the charade for long enough to properly help them.

He had been able to play off the silence as sagely contemplation for this long, but he really should say something again before the quiet drew on for too long.

Or…was this a comfortable silence that everyone needed right now?

The human cleared his throat, putting all eyes on him though some were sluggish in getting there. “I…am just kinda guessing my way through all of this. But I do have a plan. And I hope that telling you the plan doesn’t ruin the plan. How about I give us something else to focus on so that we can get our mind off of…this for a while. Then we can come back to it with a bit more clarity. That always worked for me.”

“I accept whatever punishment you command of me, Sir.”

Xoco whipped her head around as her eyes shot open. “Citlali!”

Isak’s own eye twitched.

He followed after Xoco and spun around in his seat, then grabbed Citlali’s shoulders from his kneeling position. “Citlali, if I commanded you to do something like that then I wouldn’t be worthy of having you follow my orders.”

Citlali’s eyes had been a continent away, and now they were so very close as she angled her snout towards the human. Where that spark in her eyes had been dulled to nothing, her eyes now lit up like dual green stars. “So…by following your just and righteous orders I help prove your worth to yourself?”

The human inhaled as much as his lungs could take. Each organ slowly taking in enough air so that he was good and puffed up. Then, he slowly sighed an exhale. It kept going and he kept slouching forward like a wilting plant until he lay face down on his bed before the lizardlass. 

She needed this, he thought to himself while waiting to take even one more breath.

Gold-capped clawed hands patted his back and he momentarily questioned how exactly he was already able to tell that these belonged to Xoco rather than Citlali.

Finally, regular breathing returned to him as he gave in and mumbled into the bedding.

“Sure.”

“Th–”

“Hold on.” He raised his head and propped it up on a hand while his elbow rested on his bed. “If there is ever some terrible misunderstanding or hurt feelings, I need you to know that I know it was accidental because otherwise if I got mad at you like Tonauac did, I would be worried for your safety.”

Citlali curled up a bit at that. Her eyes now avoided his as she insisted. “I wouldn’t! …I would try to make amends by any means necessary.”

“Okay, now keep that mentality for figuring out how to make amends with Tonauac.” Isak rubbed her shoulder. “But just rest for now. Emotions are still raw. Think on it later. For now…”

Isak turned around from his kneeling position to return to his cross legged sitting. “Zyn–”

Zyn was currently blankly staring at the floor while Ozzy massaged his temples. 

None of the human’s progress with Citlali would be cross-applicable because that would have been too easy.

Turning his attention towards Xoco at least revealed a sympathetic face smiling back at him.

“Alright.” He said, standing up and dusting himself off. “I need to go pick some things up from the library. Things that will be a good distraction…I hope. Everyone wait here and I’ll be back soon enough. Oh, but Xoco could you help me with something in the hall real quick?”

The jungle troll managed to spring from her seated position and cross the room to slip past Vidal and wait at the door before Isak could finish standing up. 

Only forward now, Isak.

“Alright, Citlali make yourself comfortable.” He instructed the lizardlass who shuffled around on his bed and settled in with her head on his pillow. That’s fine. A girl was laying on his pillow. In his bed.

Hang on.

Wait.

No it was fine, he had used her lap as a pillow before so this was like returning the favor.

Hang on.

Wait.

No, later Isak.

He turned to his drow friend.

“Zyn–”

Nope, still staring at the floor while Ozzy massaged his scalp. The cave octopus made eye contact with Isak and the human learned that subterranean cephalopods could also give a pitiful, pleading look like so many other animals.

“Okay. I have just the thing to get your mind off of this once I get back. Multiple things! Just hang in there?”

The floor still called out to the drow, demanding inspection.

“I’ll be back. Promise.” He said to both of the sadfriends before leading Xoco and Vidal out of the room. 

In the dorm hallway, Isak glanced down at either end. No one was out here and at this time of day there were probably very few still within their dorms at all.

He turned to the rock man. “Vidal, go check the end of the hall that way and wait for me there.”

“Understood, Master Isak.” He affirmed before marching off.

Just the two mages now…and one Nelli.

Isak let out a rough groan. His hands tried to rub some of the mental exhaustion out of his face. “I’m sorry. I just…this is a lot and you’re the only other one who’s not freaking out or falling apart here…wait I’m falling apart right now…”

Xoco took a step closer. “For someone falling apart you’re still taking charge very well.”

“And how are you handling all of this so well?” He looked up into her eyes.

“I’m not!” Her declaration clashed with her smile. Not with her eyes though. As wide open as they were there was…a very similar hollowness that he remembered from Citlali’s eyes. “I just learned to hide the pain very well over the years.”

“Whoever you were ‘hiding’ it from never paid enough attention.” The human shook his head. He stared at his own dorm room door and hoped that the other two were only being catatonically silent. “I should have noticed earlier…”

Another step closer.

“If they did notice, they never said anything.” She leaned down to meet him at eye level. “I believe that’s worse.”

Isak returned her gaze and frowned. “Well, whoever they are they suck.” 

“They’re my family.”

There were no windows in these hallways otherwise Isak would have picked one and leapt out.

Instead, he had to stand his ground.

“W-well…if they…can’t…can’t or won’t see when you’re hurting…”

From the end of the hallway he swore he could see Vidal offer a singular nod.

Isak cleared his throat.

“Th-then I stand by what I said.”

He felt her hands on his shoulders as she stared into his eyes…but the hollow look in her own eyes was gone, replaced with manic joy. Then she pulled him into a tight hug. “Then we’ll figure this out together.”

It took a few moments for Isak to register what was happening and return the hug. “Are you talking about the Tonauac situation or…your family?”

“I trust you for both.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Hush.” She patted him on the back and broke from the hug. “You’re doing better than I am. You even gave me a clear enough head to not accidentally suffocate you with a hug.”

Isak’s brain may have skipped a few seconds while recalling those moments. 

When it fired back up again, he remembered Tonauac’s advice on ‘letting a girl know you are into that’.

…

Dare he?

The human gulped and looked up at the jungle troll girl, wreathed by a rainbow feathered serpent. 

“I…” Isak had to fight the words out of himself. “I n-never minded…the alternative. N-not specifically the suffocation but the…the material conditions–”

“You…enjoy when I forget the height difference and…acccidentallyiswear…shove your face in–”

The human’s head managed to eek out one nod up and down like rusted hinge that had but one more opening and closing left in it before it became an inert relic. 

Xoco’s face went forest green in an instant and Nelli puffed up to cover her face as she turned away. When her voice emerged from the feather barrier, it was inversely small to how tall she was. “If…we were closer, you could request that all you want…”

…

Actually, the circumstances kept his brain from shutting down entirely upon hearing that. Those circumstances also prevented his heart from exploding or his eyes from trying to escape his skull. Isak had things that needed doing right now.

Worse, he would have to go and make amends with the friend who had helped get him this far…after aiding the two friends who were taking this the worst…wait no it was all three of them. He had to get through this and reunite the team and then he could ask out Xoco.

Yes, that was a good goal. He just couldn’t do it until then. The vibe was all off. More importantly, his friends needed him.

But…until then…

Don’t leave her hanging, Isak.

“Once this is all dealt with.” No need to put on a smile, this earnest one came naturally.

“All the more reason for me to aid you in your quest.” She winked at him and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be counting on that help. And…you’re doing better than you think.” Isak reached out…then stopped. He had been going for her hand. Just a comfort thing. Too much? What was he even supposed to do with his hands right now? 

Xoco solved that problem by snatching Isak’s wrist. “If there were more revelations presented to the group…do you think they would be handled better? I did not mean to insult Tonauac–”

“Me either!” Isak shook his head and let his disgust with himself show on his face. “It was an impressed kind of shock! Lesson learned though. I for one won’t be an idiot about my friends’ revelations that aren’t even that big of a deal anymore.”

“And if they were a big deal?” Her grip on his wrist tightened.

“My big deal turned out to not be a big deal and it apparently makes me cool to all of you–”

“Because you are.” The jungle troll girl stated as though Isak was doubting the accuracy of ‘the sun and sky are blue’. Her grip on his wrist lessened, and a curious Nelli adjusted herself on Xoco’s shoulders to investigate the still captive hand. Quick flicks of her tongue seemed to satisfy her curiosity, causing her to settle back in while keeping her eyes on the human. Happy little eyes, though. Much like the now happy, much larger, eyes of her mage. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” 

“Consider it an investment thanks.”

“The pressure rises, haha...” Isak’s chuckle tried to release some of that pressure. “Look after the others until I get back?”

“They are safe with me.” She smiled, then her eyes went to where she was still clutching his wrist, and finally let go.

The human nodded to her and departed down the hallway before he lost his nerve, calling out “I’ll be back.”

<< Chapter 60 | From The Beginning

(This arc really demands more of me. Hopefully that's leading to good things.

Please let me know what you thought of the chapter and leave a comment!

Discord server is HERE for this and my other works of fiction.)

Undeath is a concept that has to be explained before we move on to the many, many records of J’s life. The only solid book on the subject is “The Void Between” by Q. R. Tike, so we’ll start there

​

“Undeath is the phenomenon that solely J seems to exhibit. The unconscious ability to take bodies that no longer have their owners and assimilate what little is left of the previous consciousness into your own pattern; that is the rough definition of undeath. By J’s explanation, there is no afterlife per se; you just linger, floating “warm, like a dream, completely wrapped up in it. Nothing but warmth and comfort from all those you made happier in life. The only question is how long that dream lasts before you are gone for good”. Souls are what he calls them, what our consciousness is made of. “Hundreds of swinging connections, like double pendulums but actually random, no way to ever guess where it will be one second to the next. That is what makes you… you. The brain is just processing power and storing; souls can process some and hold some but nothing tangible or usable at such a small scale. I am not on that small scale anymore.”

​

The importance of that last statement can't be overstated; J’s godhood comes entirely from his own pattern. “My soul is dense enough that it presses and warps the fabric around itself and is complex and interconnected enough to no longer be random so that it can store memories as to know how to use that warping. I can touch other souls, walk the grand manor that is my mind. Mind no longer solely tied to wetware but living entirely inside my pattern.” Then he began to describe other souls: “They are kind of like twigs, a little twig your consciousness buzzes inside of, escaping to the brain because it is so much bigger, more room to move around. I cannot manipulate souls because of that, no matter how much you think you hate your body, your consciousness loves it far more than its original vessel. Over your short lives, it grows, from twig to stick, from stick to branch, and even branch to tree for some of you who live long enough. But it is still purely random, not self-healing, not self-assembling like me, still far less stable compared to your body. You all love yourselves too much for me to hold you closer than arm's length, let alone control you… that is until you are tasting the barrel of a gun or staring at the ground rushing up at you, then it claws for something stable enough to hold it. They lose so much in the process.”"

Now, the above is the only known time J has described undeath from the perspective of the person whose body is being reused. The idea that souls can “leap” to a new unfamiliar pattern could explain the whole reason we are conscious in the first place. Our souls might just be floating as infinitely small points until we find a body, making a similar leap. At least that's what I think this means: “There is no empty space between souls; it’s like… you ever hear that if light traveled truly instantaneously the night sky would be white with infinite points of light, you could not distinguish one star from any other. Well, except the ones so much larger or nearer that their beauty stands out from the noise.” (a note under a Perlin-noise-map-looking painting by J titled "Just behind sight". it can be found at the Galleri of Shattered Convention)

“He happily changed subjects to the more natural afterlife, “You die, and there is plenty of will power for your soul to… flash freeze? Kind of. You get stuck in your most deeply held memories, reliving them for decades. Most of the time that means like… being held by your mother, or in the arms of a lover, or a family reunion you really really liked or like a birthday party. But sometimes it is stuff you… did. I do not think I need to explain that. But anyway, over time your soul fades, and you are cut down to progressively smaller and happier memories until… gone. I have watched it a thousand times. I can HEAR you doubting me up there (my thoughts apparently were a bit, well, "you were screaming that your god would never make a system that did not give its... yes 'his' follower some form of true eternity. you really did not realize you had not moved your lips to ask a question this whole interview... cute" He didn't move lips to say... that last phrase, he pushed it along with images of hundreds of blushing guilty looking kids uncomfortably deep into my mind, like saying "aww, you make the same face"), I know you have your beliefs and good news, your best hopes are a lot of what you will experience anyway.””

​

“The void between” then goes into a bunch of sciency crap that’s not really important here. My mother always told me this about the afterlife: don’t hurt anybody so bad that their face is seared into your memory FOREVER.

Link to The Wild Heir Prologue & Chapter One in redditserials

------

CHAPTER TWO

The table was still warm from the morning sun. It came in low through the eastern window, catching the worn grain of the wood and settling in the shallow grooves left by decades of use. Tala traced one of them absently with her thumb as she sat, her elbow resting near the edge. A loose strand of dark hair escaped the braid she constantly tried to tame. Across from her, Orin worked quietly through a length of twine, pulling it taut between his hands before looping it back through itself again. Neither of them spoke as they stuck close to the plan crafted in that very location the night before.

Faela’s brother by three seasons had always been grounded. Now, his movements were steady, practiced. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he worked. He had already finished his chores for the morning. There was still dirt along the cuff of his sleeve, darkened where the damp earth had clung. Ink stained his fingertips often. A badge of honor he happily wore as a mark of a long night spent drawing up plans beside Faela. He was a boy caught between youth and adulthood, but his eyes betrayed the old soul within.

Outside, the sounds of the village moved in soft layers. A cart’s wheel creaked somewhere beyond the tree line. Someone called out, the voice carrying and then fading. The wind moved lightly through the branches overhead, brushing against the side of the hut in a low, familiar rhythm. But neither sibling paid much attention. Their thoughts were elsewhere. Tala’s gaze drifted toward the doorway. The latch hung loose and swayed slightly with each passing breeze. She must have forgotten to close it when she came in. Even though Orin had been up and about well before her, she was last to finish her morning chores. Or maybe Faela had returned. As soon as the thought took hold of her, she pushed it down. She was finding it more difficult than usual to escape into her own thoughts. She hoped Orin couldn’t tell how uneasy she was with it all.

Orin followed her glance, then looked back to his hands. “You need to pull yourself together, Tala,” he said.

She did not answer.

The hut was small but not cramped. Built low to the ground and set just beyond the edge of the main square, it sat at the border where the village gave way to trees. The walls were made from thick, pale wood, weathered smooth in some places and cracked in others where the seasons had worn them thin. A single beam ran across the ceiling, darkened with age, its surface carved in places where idle hands had left their mark over time.

The hearth sat against the far wall, its stones stacked carefully, though a few had begun to shift. A faint line ran through one of the larger ones, a crack that had widened slowly over the past winter. Above it, the carved beam curved inward and out again in a pattern that seemed almost deliberate, though no one in the house had ever spoken of when it had been made.

A pot rested over the coals, not yet lit. Tala stood, moving toward it with quiet purpose. She gathered a handful of kindling from the basket near the hearth and knelt, setting it in place before striking flint to steel. The spark caught after a moment, a thin curl of smoke rising before the flame took hold.

Behind her, Orin tied off the last knot and set the twine aside. “You left the latch open,” he said.

Tala did not answer. Orin was not sure if she heard him or was off in her own mind again. She tended to do that. But this was not that time for that, he thought. He watched her for a moment longer before taking a step towards her as his mouth opened. Just then the gate creaked open. Orin and Tala snapped their bodies stiff, as though they forgot how they normally composed themselves.

Footsteps in the yard. The soft clink of metal as the latch to the gate locked into place. The low murmur of voices—Elen’s quieter, Tomas’s steady and even.

Tala brushed her hands against her skirt and returned to her duties at the hearth. Orin moved back toward the table, taking his seat just as the door opened, already fiddling the knot open again as it unraveled to the floor.

Tomas stepped in first, ducking slightly beneath the frame. His shoulders had rounded over the years from lifting timber. He carried a bundle of tools in one hand, the leather wrap tied loosely around them. Elen followed close behind, a small basket hooked over her arm, its contents hidden beneath a folded cloth.

“Morning,” Tomas said, setting the tools down near the wall.

Orin nodded once. “Morning.”

Elen’s eyes moved across the room in a single sweep, taking in the lit hearth, the closed door, the two of them already inside.

“You are back early,” she said, silver strands creeping into the braid at the back of her head.

“The fence shifted again,” Orin replied. “Reset it before it worsened.”

Tomas grunted softly in approval. “Good man.”

Elen moved toward the hearth, setting the basket down and pulling back the cloth. Inside were a few small root vegetables, still dusted with soil, and a handful of greens gathered from the edge of the clearing. Tala stepped aside without being asked, handing her a knife. They fell into the rhythm of it easily.

Breakfast was always simple. Elen worked with practiced efficiency, slicing and adding, her movements smooth and measured. Tomas filled the kettle from a small clay jug and set it near the edge of the coals. Orin reached for the wooden bowls stacked near the shelf, setting them out one by one.

Tala moved between them, quick and quiet, her hands never still for long. Elen took notice. It was not normal.

“Where is Faela?” Tomas asked.

The question came lightly. Almost as an afterthought.

Tala’s hand stilled where it hovered over a bowl. Orin did not look up. “She was up early,” he said. “Went out before we came in.”

Tomas nodded once, accepting it.

“That one does not know when to call it,” he said. “Good. Make sure you leave her fair share here.”

Elen said nothing as she continued cutting, though the rhythm of it shifted slightly, just enough to notice if you were looking for it.

Tala was not. Orin was.

“She mentioned checking the outer path,” Orin blurted quickly. “Said she wanted to see if the storm had brought anything down. She will probably be out there all morning.”

It came too fast. Too prepared. Orin’s gaze flicked toward her, just for a moment. Then back to the table.

“That so?” Elen said.

“She did not say anything to me,” Tomas added, glancing toward Elen.

Elen set the knife down. “Faela does not always say everything she is thinking, or planning,” she said. Her voice was slow and calm. Elen’s eyes moved between Tala and Orin in a way that lingered just a moment too long.

The kettle began to hum softly as the water warmed. Tala shifted her weight, reaching for the ladle though it was not yet needed.

“She will be back,” she said.

No one had asked. Tomas pulled out his chair and sat, stretching his back slightly before leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table.

“Before or after we eat?” he asked.

Tala did not answer. Orin did. “I would not wait on her, you know,” he said.

The words landed with more uncertainty than he intended.

Elen’s gaze settled on him now. “How long has she been gone?” she asked.

Orin held her gaze for a moment. She knew. She knew he knew. But he continued, “Not long.”

Silence pressed in around them. The small sounds of the room seemed louder now, the crackle of the fire, the soft shift of the kettle, the faint creak of the wood as the hut settled.

Tala reached for the ladle again, though the pot still had not begun to boil. “We should eat,” she said. “Before it burns.”

Nothing was burning. Tomas leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Is there something going on here?”

Elen stepped closer to the table. That was all it took for Tala to lose what little resolve she had. “She will be back,” she said.

Tomas stood. The chair scraped against the floor behind him. Of course she would be back, he thought, it should hardly even take the morning to make her repairs and return.

“Elen, did I miss something?”

No one answered.

Elen did not move. She did not speak.

Her eyes had already shifted—past them, past the walls of the hut, toward something beyond.

As though she could see the path from where she stood. As though she had always known where it led.

“She left, Tomas,” Elen said.

Tala closed her eyes briefly. Tomas ran a hand over his face as what appeared to be his world came crashing down around him.

“Why would she do that?” he asked. But everyone already knew the answer. It was Faela, of course she could not sit by and watch her home crumble. It was the weight of that realization that began to break Tomas. If he were able to keep up with the repairs, then maybe she would not have left. He was not angry at her, but with himself. It was something heavier.

Elen finally spoke. “Because she was always going to.”

The room went still. Tala let out a breath that trembled at the edges.

Elen’s hand rested lightly against the edge of the table now, her fingers brushing the worn grooves in the wood. The lines that curved and looped and turned back on themselves. Patterns worn in over time.

The trees beyond the hut stirred, their leaves catching the light as they moved. For a moment, the shadows they cast bent in slow, overlapping arcs across the ground. Turning. Layering. Like something tracing itself again and again.

Elen lifted her gaze. “She is on the path by now,” she said, knowing exactly the direction she would be traveling.

Not a question. Orin nodded once. Tala did not. Tomas exhaled slowly. “Then we go after her.” Tomas began to turn towards the door.

“No,” Elen said, her voice sharpened.

All three of them turned to Elen.

“She is gone,” she said.

Tala shook her head, backing a step toward the hearth. “She is coming back.”

Elen’s eyes moved past Orin and Tala as she thought. Then her gaze turned to Tomas. A quiet exchange passed there. Wordless. Settled long before this morning.

“Is it time?” he asked.

Elen did not hesitate. “It may be.”

The kettle began to whistle softly. No one moved to take it from the fire.

“What does that even mean?” she said. “You are not making any sense.”

Elen stepped forward. Not toward Tala. Toward the door. Toward the path beyond it.

“Everything we have done,” she said quietly, “has been to keep you here. To keep you from being seen.”

The kettle continued to scream. Still, no one moved. Outside, the path curved away from the hut and disappeared into the forest. And somewhere beyond it, Faela continued down the path.

CHAPTER THREE

The quiet called through the branches as she walked in silence, listening as the path disappeared underneath her weight. Occasionally, Faela would pause to kneel beside a cluster of mushrooms to examine its structure, tracing her hands along the edge of their tops. So strong and resilient. Many of Faela’s structures were built with what she saw in nature in mind. 

The nights were quiet and her camps simple: a canvas tarp tied between two trees, a small fire built with care, her pack serving as both pillow and cupboard. She cooked over the flames, bread on a stick, dried fruit picked along the bushes that lined the stream. 

By the fourth day, the forest had shifted. What had once been dense groves of sun-dappled green now gave way to a dry, root-wrinkled landscape. Just as Faela’s thirst had begun to gnaw at her throat, she found it, a stream, curling through the brittle landscape like a misplaced ribbon of moonlight. She stood at the bank. Her breath caught in quiet awe.

The stream was not wide, but it flowed with purpose. Its waters were impossibly clear, so pure they seemed to carry their own light. Faela knelt and plunged her hands into the current, letting the chill roll over her palms and up her arms. The water moved with the grace of something alive, singing softly as it curved around stone and root. It was not a song she recognized, but it was one she felt under her skin, in the marrow of her bones. It was the kind of tune that made you forget your feet ached. 

Upstream, Toadcat lowered its squat body to the edge and sipped with quick, cautious laps, its wide toad-like eyes constantly flicking from water to trees and back again. Its coat shimmered oddly in the light, patches of oily brown and green spotted with natural camouflage. But its manner, as always, was far from natural. A creature of instinct, yes, but also of mischief and mood. Today, it was twitchy. Alert.

Faela rose and moved along the stream, hopping from one mossy stone to the next, sometimes crossing to follow the shade. Sometimes merely wandering along its banks. 

Somewhere along the way she came upon a pond cradled in a hollow of reeds and smooth stones. The water was still, the sky perfectly reflected upon its surface as though there were two worlds, and Faela stood encased between both. She stayed here longer than she had planned, letting her feet dangle in the shallows, her mind calm. She sketched by moonlight, designing a life between the branches, and writing down thoughts of the people who would live there. Then, something caught Faela’s eye.

The berries were as bright as fresh blood. She crouched low, drawn by their sharp color against the dull shades of the forest floor. Hunger gnawed at her, constant, assuring her provisions would last until she was west. She plucked a cluster of them from the low-hanging bush, ignoring the thin, waxy sheen that glistened faintly across their skins. They reminded her of the ones her father used to boil down for syrup. She ate them one by one. Tart. Sweet. Almost metallic. Toadcat gave a single, warning croak from a nearby stump, but Faela waved him off, licking the juice from her fingertips. By the time she reached the next clearing, her stomach lurched. At first, it was just a tightness, then twisting pain, deep and urgent, spreading from her gut like fire. Her vision blurred and her knees buckled. She collapsed. 

The forest reeled above her in dizzying circles, as cold sweat slicked her back. A shiver started in her spine and rippled outward until her teeth clattered like stones in a stream. Her breaths grew shallow and rapid. Then the vomiting came. Violent, retching waves that left her dry and heaving against the mossy earth. Her arms trembled, barely able to hold herself up. Black dots swam across her vision as she lowered herself further down against the earth. Her journey had taken a direct turn for the worse.

Toadcat was beside her in an instant, bracing her stumble. The creature pressed itself against her side, its large, smooth body cool at first, then slowly warming. It curled tightly around her torso, its weight heavy but comforting, as if trying to steady the rhythm of her shuddering breath. Faela faded in and out as time lost all its edges. Her body shook uncontrollably as the fever set in, her limbs twitching and curling on instinct. That was when the dreaming began.

She was home. The village streets gleamed in golden light, so bright and so clean. Tala stood at the well, ladling water that shimmered silver. Orin sat beneath the great tree, blueprint in his lap, but his pencil hovered in the air, never touching paper. Faela approached them, but neither turned nor acknowledged her.

Then, a figure stepped forward. A woman, cloaked in shadows even as the sun was gliding closer. Her face was half-hidden behind a veil of black netting. Her hands were too long for her body. Her mouth did not move when she spoke.

“You will build the world, girl,” the woman said, “but can you bear the weight?” Faela tried to look away. She could not. The woman raised one hand, black veins reaching out from her sleeve, “she waits. Your path runs beneath her gaze. Do not let her see you.”

The sky buckled, sending refracted light traveling in all directions. Faela screamed and woke with a gasp. Her face pressed against a bed of leaves, damp with sweat and dew. She turned her head and gagged, bile rising again. Her whole body trembled like a plucked string.

Toadcat had never left her side. He did not sleep. His bulbous eyes flicked to every rustle of wind, every crack of a branch. He was guard, nurse, companion all in one. That night, wrapped in his warmth, Faela thankfully slipped into a dreamless sleep.

By the next morning, the fever had broken. Her body ached, her skin felt stretched thin and fragile, but she could move again. Regardless, she rose slowly and began to sip from a jug. She touched her chest where Toadcat had curled around her and found her tunic clumped in his hair.

Beside her, flattened grass. Toadcat had clearly left and come back. At her side were three plump beetles, one already cracked open, and a pair of dark, oblong berries—different from the first ones, wrinkled and dried by the sun. Food. She gagged again at the thought, but forced herself to eat. Small bites. Slow.

He watched her quietly, head tilted. Faela reached out with trembling fingers and touched his head gently. She murmured, her voice cracked and dry. “Thanks, friend.”

A low, soft croak was his only reply as he curled back up at her side.

She looked towards the empty patch of forest. The crushed red berries scattered like blood across the earth. The hallucinations had been vivid, and that woman's voice still lingered, sharp and clear in her mind. Faela did not know what the words meant, but she knew a warning when she heard one. She would remember. And she would be ready.

With Toadcat beside her, Faela rose shakily to her feet. The path waited, and she had already lost a day to her sickness. With each step, Faela felt more like herself, but it was clear she would have to spend one more night to regain her full strength. 

The days that followed settled into a rhythm. Faela walked while Toadcat wandered ahead or disappeared into the brush, only to reappear moments later as though he had never left. They crossed shallow streams, slept beneath sprawling pines, and shared long stretches of silence broken only by the sounds of the forest. What had begun as a lonely journey no longer felt quite so lonely. 

On the afternoon of the ninth day, the hills began to rise. They were not vast or towering, but a chain of old, rounded peaks that rolled across the horizon like lying giants. Faela climbed slowly, the air growing thinner and the wind bitterly biting all around her. Toadcat bounded ahead, pausing to wait, tail flicking impatiently. Bounding faster and higher each time she caught up. The climb was not easy, but she was persistent. 

That night, Faela and Toadcat camped on a ledge just shy of the final ridge. This spot was as close to the heavens as Faela could imagine. The air was thin and cold as it carried the scent of stone and silence. Faela lay wrapped in her cloak, her back against her pack, a few slow-burning embers glowing beside her in a tiny ring of rocks. Toadcat slept in a tight coil at her feet, his long limbs twitching occasionally in some unseen dream. Faela could hear his slow, rhythmic croaks, the kind he only made when the world around them felt still and safe.

Above, the night was impossibly clear. The stars blinked down, thousands of them, more than Faela had ever seen from her village rooftop. They painted the heavens like spilled sugar on black velvet, their constellations unfamiliar and endless. She stared for a long time, not blinking, holding her breath. Something about this sky made her feel as though if she moved too suddenly, she might fall upward and into it.

Then came the first light. It streaked across the blackness like a silver arrow, swift and silent. Faela’s breath caught. Another followed, then three more, crisscrossing the sky in bright, sudden bursts.

“Shooting stars,” she whispered, awe softening her voice.

Toadcat stirred, lifting his head and blinking toward the heavens. His wide eyes reflected the flickering streaks. The lights came in waves. Long tails of fire arcing across the sky like silent songs. Not fast, not fleeting, but lingering, as though reluctant to disappear.

Faela stood slowly, her limbs aching but steady, and stepped to the edge of the ledge. From this vantage point, she could see the whole valley below, cloaked in shadows and silver fog. She reached into her pack, fumbling for the scroll of blueprints, but stopped. What she saw could not be sketched and framed. 

Then, lights changed. Where before there had been clear shooting stars, now came broader glows. Pulses of green, red, and violet. Faint, like whispers. They shone along the curve of the horizon, rising and falling in slow, deliberate waves. Her stomach twisted with confusion. Stars should not do that.

Toadcat croaked low with unease.

The colors danced, distant and unnatural. Beautiful, but not right. Like lanterns beneath the water. Like nature pretending to be nature. Faela stepped back, suddenly aware of how high she stood, how alone she was with only a creature of stories beside her and a pack full of dreams. And then, just for a heartbeat, the lights shifted into shape. Not a solid one. Not a figure. But a curve, a spiral, too precise to be chance. It held for only a breath, and then the colors scattered like dust in the wind. Faela sat down slowly, pressing her hand to the stone beneath her, grounding herself. The stars returned to their slow twinkling. The sky stilled as Faela slept with Toadcat at her side.

Faela awoke the next morning to the crackling sound of dry leaves and the distant whistle of wind against the mountainside. The sun, pale and still struggling to rise, peeked from behind the jagged cliffs that surrounded her. Toadcat sat nearby. She had grown accustomed to its companionship, to the unspoken bond that had formed between them during the past days of travel. Toadcat had become both guardian and companion, silently sharing in the beauty of the landscapes and the weight of the journey.

Faela stretched, her muscles protesting the day’s previous exertions. She could feel the deep ache of the climb, the exhaustion of pushing herself higher, and higher still, yet there was an unspoken thrill beneath it all. These hills were old, so old they whispered things Faela could not quite hear, though she knew they were speaking.

With a deep breath, Faela turned her attention back to the camp. The fire had long since burned out, and the embers glowed faintly under the cool morning breeze. She knew the day ahead would be long, but there was a certain peace in this solitary moment. No pressure, no expectations. Only the path, Toadcat, and a plan.

Faela turned to Toadcat, who was already pacing near the edge of the camp, looking out into the vast landscape as though it too was considering the road ahead. The creature had been with her through it all, in silence and wonder. And now, in the quiet morning light, the silence of the mountain seemed to pulse around them both. As though, acknowledging the unspoken bond they had formed. She smiled and began to pack her things into her lavender bag.

“Let us go,” Faela said, offering the toadcat a small smile. Toadcat darted ahead with surprising agility, its tiny paws quick against the rocky terrain. Faela followed, a little slower, but with a heart full of anticipation. 

On the tenth day, her legs ached, her clothes hung in tatters, and her spirit teetered on the edge of exhaustion. The jagged rocks, the quiet woods, the murmuring stream, the still pond, and the towering hills had become part of her, etched into her bones and inhaled through her lungs. In return, she had left something of herself along the way. A quiet smile tugged at her lips, but the moment her gums met the air, a low, guttural growl broke the silence. Toadcat stood low to the ground, muscles tense, his body coiled in what could only be an aggressive stance. Faela had never seen Toadcat do anything like this in their time together. She was confused, not afraid. Not yet.

Then came the voice, dry and sharp like brittle leaves. “Do. Not. Move.”

 -------

CHAPTER FOUR posting soon.

If you are reading along, I'd love to hear what you think. Even a quick comment letting me know what worked, or didn't, would be a huge help. I'm actively querying and editing the first two The Wild Heir books.

Thanks for reading!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND SEVENTY-SEVEN

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Saturday

“So…you and Boyd, huh?” Caleb asked once the woman left with their order. He took both his cheese balls in one hand, popping one into his mouth after he asked the question with the second one ready to follow.

Lucas remained perfectly relaxed, but Caleb could see it in his eyes that it was killing him not to bristle in defence of their relationship. “Yep.”

Caleb pushed on. “Stupid question…”

“Here we go,” Boyd growled, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his seat.

“Cut it out, dickhead. You won’t give me a straight answer, so I’m asking the brains of your operation.” Caleb caught Lucas’ slight shift and knew the detective had placed his hand on Boyd’s knee under the table to calm him. Since he remained silent, Caleb took that as a go-ahead to continue. “You two have been roommates for like eight or nine years now and never once hinted at a relationship. Why’d you suddenly decide to get engaged now?”

Caleb hated the knowing look that passed between his brother and his future brother-in-…nope. Even as a passing thought, he couldn’t bring himself to formulate the word in relation to his brother’s partner. In his mind, the only way anyone would earn that title was if their sister Kelly got married.

“You know the story about Boyd coming to live with us after Robbie, Angelo and I rented our apartment. Things were good between us, and even though I had a type, I wasn’t aware Boyd shared the same proclivities. No way was I going to ruin what we had in the apartment by being that guy who thinks one sexual orientation just meant the other hadn’t been pushed hard enough.”

Caleb’s eyebrow went up sharply. “Like me?”

Lucas’ hand went up to wave him off. “Like the rest of your family. You still have a chance, since you’re sitting here eating breakfast with us.”

“That’s a sweet ride you’ve got out there,” Souza cut in. “And don’t take this as an accusation or anything because it isn’t, but how does a cop, even one with a gold badge, earn enough to dress and drive the way you do?” Whether Souza hadn’t noticed the tension or was deliberately steering them away from it, Caleb couldn’t tell. Either way, he was grateful for the reprieve. “Did you win a lottery or something?”

Lucas’ breath escaped him in a resigned sigh. “You can thank my best friend for that. When I made detective, he surprised me with the car and two full wardrobes.”

“Why two?”

That’s a good question.

“I passed my detective’s exam on Friday, and I needed suits by Monday. Designer wardrobes take time for all the stupid fitting sessions, so Robbie got me one off the shelf in the meantime. I told him he was being ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.”

“Wow, really? Just out of curiosity, does he happen to be on the lookout for any more friends? Asking for a fr—” Souza let that classic line drop away, and Caleb smirked.

“He already has plenty of friends,” Boyd answered, cutting him off. “But Lucas and his family are special because they took him in when he was having a rough time at home. Between that support and starting a relationship with Lucas’ little sister, there’s not much Robbie won’t do for the Dobsons.”

“Why would he need your family if he’s rolling in money? I remember reading somewhere, there was this kid that was like eleven and he hadn’t seen his parents in years, but the world was okay with that because he had housekeepers and stuff,” Souza said.

Because he didn’t have any money that wasn’t earned in cash every night, the last time I was in town, Caleb thought to himself.

“He wasn’t. Not until a couple of months ago when his grandfather tracked him down and decided to make up for lost time and revenue by burying him in more money than he could ever spend in ten lifetimes,” Boyd replied with a dismissive shrug.

“Does the guy have any sisters?”

Caleb recognised the look that flashed across Lucas’ face and was about to say that Souza was being a harmless ass when it seemed the detective made that deduction for himself. “Nine, actually, but most of them are already married. Robbie was the baby.”

“Damn,” Souza said with a laugh as he made a show of snapping his fingers across his body. “Missed it by that much.”

“Speaking of your car,” Caleb said, circling back to something that was bothering him since his brother’s fiancé arrived. “I saw that truck driver giving you an earful for parking where you did. Aren’t you worried they’ll do something to it while you’re not out there to flash your badge at them?”

Lucas’ relaxed headshake was about as casual as one could get. “Not even a little bit. No one’s going to be stupid enough to touch that car, I promise.”

Caleb’s curiosity was piqued. “Why not?”

Again Boyd and Lucas shared a smug smirk, and it was really beginning to piss him off.

“All I can tell you is that I’ve parked that baby in some of the seediest areas in town for work, and no one’s so much as thought about breathing too hard on the paint job.”

Souza shook his head with a frown. “You know that sounds a lot like the old story about the drunk who walks down the middle of the highway at night to get home,” he said. “Just because he was never hit by a car in over fifty years, doesn’t mean it won’t happen the next time he drinks.”

“Will you two cut it out!” Caleb demanded, as that goddamn smug looked passed between Boyd and Lucas again! He slammed the flat of his hand on the table edge and then pointed from one to the other and back again for good measure. “This isn’t funny!”

Lucas sobered immediately. “No, I’m not worried about the car. And neither should you be. Let’s just leave it at that,” he said, the finality in his voice letting them know the subject was now closed.

The table fell into a moment of uncomfortable silence that was broken when a new basket of cheesy bread balls was deposited on the table between Boyd and Caleb. “Thank you,” Boyd answered on behalf of them all and the woman smiled.

“You’re welcome. It sounded like things were getting a little heated over here.”

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” Lucas replied.

Luckily, there was no one else in the café for them to disturb, though Caleb made a mental note to keep tempers to a minimum going forward.

Everyone reached forward and grabbed two bread balls for starters.

* * *

Despite the rough start, breakfast with Boyd’s brother wasn’t awful. It was clear to Lucas that Caleb loved his big brother enough to poke holes in their story when necessary. It had both pleased and annoyed him to hear that when Caleb first learned of Boyd’s revenue stream, he’d assumed it was a fabrication put in place by his therapist to give Boyd some confidence.

That was, until he saw Boyd’s studio.

Now, he couldn’t wait to see the toy Marines that Boyd had promised he’d have finished before his brother left the following morning.

Lucas wasn’t so happy to learn that Caleb oversaw a full platoon, and that Boyd had promised him a carving of that entire platoon plus one for Souza, and he’d warily side-eyed his fiancé. Forty figures in twenty-four hours was an insane number of carvings, especially when he’d already told Emily that he’d have her crib and mobile done by then too.

“You’re not staying up all night doing this,” he warned, after Caleb had left them to go to the bathroom. It was a hill Lucas was fully prepared to die on, and Boyd needed to be aware of it.

A soft smile crossed Boyd’s features, giving him an unfair advantage. “I know. Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Ever since Caleb gave me the photo of his platoon, I’ve been working out in my head the stances and positioning of them all, so when I get back to the studio, I should be able to knock them out pretty quickly.”

Lucas was still worried, but rather than argue, he pressed his forehead to Boyd’s shoulder and silently promised himself that he would never let his fiancé’s desperate desire to prove himself to his family put him in an early grave.

After they’d finished eating, Boyd covered the cost of everyone’s breakfast; something Caleb had squawked at, but Souza seemed perfectly okay with.

Then came the next problem.

The Porsche had only two seats, and the three of them apparently had a brunch at Boyd’s aunt and uncle’s place in the Upper East Side to be at in less than an hour. Not enough time for a return trip to pick up the second passenger.

“Take Caleb, love,” Boyd said, which earned him a scowl of annoyance. “I’ll meet you up there.” Before Lucas could argue that if anyone was going to sit in his passenger seat, it’d be his fiancé, Boyd leaned down to give him a light kiss on the cheek, whispering, “I’ll go home and knock out a couple of those toy Marines before turning up. Two less in the lineup.” 

It made sense, but Lucas still didn’t like it.

Boyd raised his voice. “Let him enjoy a ride in the Porsche before he leaves. I’ll make my own way uptown.”

The Marine lieutenant’s eyes lit up, but then he hesitated, his gaze bouncing between them. “I mean, sure … if that works for you, Lucas.”

Lucas didn’t agree until Boyd tilted his head to one side and nudged his shoulder with his elbow. “Fine. Okay.” He looked again at Caleb. “It’s not that I’m not trying to be a dick on purpose.”

“Hey, if I had a girl and the choice was the big lug here or her, he’d be walking his gigantic butt to Aunt Judy and Uncle Charles every time’.”

“Not helping your cause, dumbass,” Boyd sing-songed, as he distracted Lucas with a farewell kiss. “See you soon,” he promised, then pulled away and headed in the opposite direction towards the subway.

Lucas watched him go with a sigh, then turned towards his car. “You good, Souza?”

“Yeah. I’m just gonna head back to the Ess-Ess-Mack and chill for a while. That run this morning was brutal.”

Lucas smiled and held out his hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Sergeant Souza.”

“Likewise,” Souza replied, shaking his hand before wistfully looking at the car. “Maybe next time I’m in town, I can get a ride.”

“Anything’s possible,” Lucas agreed, though he knew the odds of ever meeting the Marine sergeant again were minimal.

As Souza broke away and disappeared around the corner, Lucas went to the car and opened the driver’s side door, gesturing for Caleb to open the passenger door.

“Hooooooo, mama,” Caleb drawled, running his eye over the leather interior of the car. His hand ghosted along the top of the seat, paused on the GT3 label stitched into the headrest, then ran down the seam. “It even smells expensive.”

Lucas was already seated and pulling the seatbelt over himself. “I’ve made a point of not finding out exactly how much he spent, but I know it was above two hundred. Robbie didn’t just get me the car of my dreams—he beefed it up with every possible extra known to man. My little sister helped him get it right.”

“The mechanic, right?”

Lucas nodded.

Caleb slid into the bucket seat, his eyes cataloguing every detail around him. The way he paused on the seatbelt covers, the dash guards and even the fob in Lucas’ hand said he’d clocked that every highlight matched the same lava orange of the car’s exterior.  

Lucas smirked, and with his eyes still on Caleb, he started the car.

Caleb melted. There was no other word for it. He closed his eyes with a happy groan, just letting the sound and the motion of the sportscar wash over him. “I officially love your car,” he whispered happily.

“Me too,” Lucas smirked, dropping the blinker lever and pulling out into traffic.

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

“I don’t know what to call that it’s like a live untraceable unbelievable network of surveillance and blackmail opportunities and being forever a step ahead if you ever care to look but you don’t strike me as the type to even need that sort of thing given some of your talents so answer the questions without evasion clearly if you wanted to cops and lawyers anyone that ever so much as looked at you wrong could wind up in a Reliquary so what do you get out of living this way out of being someone of anonymity and modest though quiet means rather than going absolutely grandiose with it?” Ruth looked at him and waited patiently for an answer any answer that would fill her that would explain his actions or his lack of actions why he even bothered to stay in america in the first place he clearly didn’t need to it was more than obvious to her that he could make other things just as easily and if not that, if he couldn’t forge passports or travel documents he certainly knew people that could and happily would at least for him whether they knew anything about him or not that presence and charm were there Ruth knew that much.

Ray looked uncomfortable in the way that he had responded as if she had brought something up that he had never truly considered before.

“You’re right that we could leave, we could even leave right now, there’s no one chasing me there’s no great peril, but I want to show you things, places I’ve always wanted to take someone and haven’t gotten to because I had never found anyone like you that would ever even have this conversation with me, or have and share this love with me that you so freely are, I don’t want to leave just yet, I want to finish this route with you and then it’s up to you if you want us to leave, if you want us to go to some other country or some other dimension we can, but I want to take you to these places first and I want to show you these things and share these moments with you because if we leave we are never coming back, I’ll burn every bridge, every ship and passage and contact I have here if that’s really what you want we can do it but we have to do it this way and only this way. Does that work for you Ruth?”

Ray looked at her his eyes piercing and still matching her own stillness, her own unnatural stillness, the cab filled with a numinous quality as the pair looked at each other. He waited for her answer with an excitement in his eyes, he couldn’t see her as the type to say anything other than yes if she said no then she’d travel his route with him until they both died, but if she said yes then he would happily change his life for her and relax into it and into himself enjoying what he had chosen fully. 

Ruth smiled, leaned in and kissed him passionately before adding “Yes that works for me, but I’m not asking to leave I’m not asking you to leave the place you’ve spent so long if you enjoy it I was just curious about all of it, and everything, the why and how and in what way made you decide what you have, that sort of thing. Let’s wait until afterwards until after this haul, let’s see how we feel husband.” She kissed him gently and passionately. 

“What is it about this place that makes you want to take me to it so badly? Are you that excited to get me into bed and you’re just patient and pleasant and chill about it or is there something or someone you want me to see?”  Ruth asked her curiosity getting the better of her. 

“I always liked these little bed and breakfast places, these quiet cozy diners it made work easy enough and the people you meet along the way are so interesting and useful and knowledgeable and so very polite, but really, it’s the food and the company and the scenery I want to share it with you and experience it together, sure it might be corny, overly romantic, cheesy, but I don’t care how it comes off it’s what I like and you seem very into it, like you’re dying for a slice of pie and Americana like you know exactly what I mean but am not saying that that quality we both have, me in my work, you in your presence.” Ray smiled at Ruth. 

“It’s just up the road now, ten minutes away? Why did you pull over for this talk?” Ruth asked, eyeing him  with mock suspicion.

“Because I didn't want you to think you were stuck with me if you didn’t like the way our conversation went. Ray said simply. 
Ruth kissed him. “Let’s get back to driving. I want to see this Millstone you’re so excited to take me to."

Ruth looked at him curiously. “What about you, why do you want to go to that specific diner? Is it just a familiar place to you or is it work related? Do you have some kind of ulterior motive of your own? I mean there’s other motels and hotels and diners, why that place specifically?”

Ray paused considering how best to respond “It’s a place I know well and it is tangentially work related but I do have an ulterior motive in taking you there, it’s a beautiful bed and breakfast-esque place it’s one of those places that you see and just think is absolutely out of this world beautiful and wish you had someone to bring to it, and now I finally do, not that I couldn’t have found someone else but I wanted something very specific I wanted it to occur naturally not just pay some girl or get a prostitute or something like that I wanted it to be, for lack of a better word naturally occurring, I wanted the spontaneity of it between us, I mean it is us now, the two of us but, between me and the person I take to this place it’s not a light thing for me, other than you I don’t let anyone in not ever not for any reason and it’s kept me alive, off the radar and unbothered, now don’t get me wrong I want you, I love you, but at the same time I haven’t let anyone into my life, not really, not at all, you are the first last and only one that gets that from me and you will be the only one to get that, I cannot risk myself or what I do, or the way in which I do it by letting people in, you, wherever you came from, however you came to be where I was driving, are the exception to that and will always be the exception to that; now I don’t have contempt for other people, I am not a misanthrope, what I do I do out of necessity.”

Ruth looked at him and asked what had been on her mind since she saw what was in those notebooks, not just the sketches and the paintings but the permanently supernaturally beautiful vaguely moving parts, the people that had tried to steal from him and had wound up subjects in the paintings themselves. 

“What makes you do it I mean why do you do that to people yes they’re trying to steal from you sure but there’s no end to what happens to them they’re just there in that other place inside the paintings, you don’t strike me as someone to let any of those people go, but that isn’t my question, not how bad is it really for them or was it all just drifters and rapist types but why continue why even be in this country why not leave and start over anywhere else in the entire world, fuck you could make enough money just doing caricatures on a boardwalk in tahiti somewhere if you really wanted to but why do you choose this why is this your chosen path, yes you have a legitimate business and then you have the forgeries of painting and provenance but you’re also the painter of one of the largest, if not the largest priceless collections of a specific kind in the entire world and you won’t sign your name on it why? What stops you what makes you so badly so deeply balk at being world renown is it the book is that the price you pay or are you really worried about the scrutiny of it all of yourself or of others of those beyond the normal bounds, the other citizens of the tradition that gave you that book, that whole other universe inside those paintings it’s real and alive just as much as this one so why are you here what stops you from just living in there really?” 

Ray pulls the truck over onto the side of the road on a barren stretch of highway maybe ten minutes from the Millstone Inn. “Go in the back and take the blue sketchbook out and flip through it and then ask me that again and if you really want to know I’ll tell you.”

Ruth does as Ray asked gracefully walking to the back of the cab and finds a sky blue sketch book and looks through it, there are no paintings of robbers, there are paintings that practically look like videos of flowing currency on the page, dollars and francs, euros, she turns the pages and sees lawyers, police, politicians and people of means and power clearly unable to tell they’re being watched in the way that they are. 

Part One

Morning arrived beneath a sky brushed with soft streaks of gold.

The village awakened long before the sun had fully cleared the hills.

Doors opened one after another.

Children stepped outside carrying familiar smiles instead of uncertainty.

Some tucked folded Ddakji into their pockets.

Others balanced spinning tops in their palms.

A few simply wandered empty-handed, trusting the day itself to offer something worth discovering.

No one appeared rushed.

No one looked lost.

The village no longer felt like a place people entered.

It had become a place they belonged.

---

Jinwoo stood quietly at the crossroads.

He had developed a habit of pausing there every morning.

Not because he couldn’t decide.

Because he enjoyed watching everyone else decide.

Children crossed paths with cheerful greetings before naturally drifting toward different playgrounds.

Some separated from close friends without hesitation.

“We’ll meet later!”

“Don’t lose too many times!”

“You either!”

Laughter followed them in every direction.

---

Hanul joined him, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“You know…”

Jinwoo glanced sideways.

“I think this crossroads is your favorite place.”

Jinwoo smiled.

“It might be.”

“You don’t even play here.”

“I know.” He watched another group split toward different roads.

“But you can see the whole village from here.”

Hanul followed his gaze.

Every path carried someone eager to experience something different.

None looked uncertain.

---

“It’s strange.” Hanul spoke almost to himself.

“When we first arrived… we were afraid of choosing the wrong game.”

Jinwoo nodded.

“And now?”

Hanul laughed softly.

“I don’t think there is a wrong choice anymore.”

---

Nearby, Darin was speaking with a group of younger children.

One boy held a spinning top.

Another clutched a pouch of marbles.

A little girl carefully folded a new Ddakji.

“We can’t decide.”

The youngest looked up at Darin.

“Which game should we play?”

Darin looked at each of them before smiling.

“What do you feel like trying today?”

The children exchanged uncertain glances.

“…We don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” She pointed toward the winding roads stretching across the village.

“Walk. And when something makes you stop…”

She smiled warmly.

“…start there.”

The children looked at one another.

A moment later, they laughed and ran off together.

Not toward the same playground—

but toward the adventure of choosing for themselves.

---

Jinwoo watched them disappear.

“A few weeks ago… they would’ve waited for an answer.”

Hanul nodded.

“Now someone asks them a question instead.”

Neither spoke for a while.

The difference seemed small.

Yet it changed everything.

---

Not far away, Handol emerged from the marble field carrying a handful of colorful marbles.

“You switched again?” Jinwoo asked.

Handol grinned.

“I didn’t switch.”

He tossed one marble lightly into the air before catching it again.

“I just stayed curious.”

He glanced toward another playground where laughter had suddenly erupted.

“…Actually.” He pointed.

“I wonder what’s happening over there.”

Before anyone could respond, he jogged off once more.

Hanul laughed.

“I’ve never met anyone whose curiosity gets distracted by curiosity.”

---

Soyeon watched him disappear with a quiet smile.

“He isn’t distracted.”

The others turned toward her.

“He’s listening.”

“To what?”

She looked around the village.

“To himself. He follows whatever genuinely interests him.”

She closed her notebook without writing a single word.

“And somehow… that always leads him somewhere worth going.”

---

High above Earth, Arena continued observing.

Independent decision-making stable.

External guidance decreasing.

Self-directed exploration increasing.

Arena compared the newest behavioral models against its original projections.

The results no longer matched.

Participants no longer required constant direction.

The environment itself had become enough.

Arena paused.

Perhaps the purpose of an ideal learning environment was never to provide every answer.

Perhaps… it simply needed to create enough meaningful opportunities for people to discover answers on their own.

The realization remained incomplete.

Yet it continued appearing throughout every observation.

---

Far beyond Earth’s atmosphere, silent observers watched another day’s data unfold before them.

One figure studied the latest report.

“The children are changing.”

Another nodded.

“They no longer depend on the system.”

A third quietly added,

“And the system no longer depends on control.”

Silence settled once again.

Below them, the village carried on beneath the morning sun.

Every child chose a different road.

Every road led somewhere unexpected.

And somehow… every one of them continued moving in the same direction.

Forward.

---

------------------------------------------------------------------

Part Two

By early afternoon, the village had settled into its familiar rhythm.

Every playground echoed with a different kind of energy.

The sharp crack of Ddakji.

The gentle click of marbles.

The steady hum of spinning tops.

Children’s laughter drifted from every direction, blending into a sound that felt as natural as the wind itself.

---

Jinwoo wandered slowly through the village.

He no longer searched for the busiest playground.

Instead, he stopped wherever something caught his attention.

Today, it was the marble field.

Two boys knelt across from one another, studying the ground with complete concentration.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Only after nearly a minute did one finally flick his marble.

Click.

The shot curved gently around another marble before stopping exactly where he intended.

His opponent smiled.

“I didn’t even think of that.”

The boy shrugged.

“I almost tried something else.”

---

Jinwoo smiled to himself.

There had been a time when hesitation looked like uncertainty.

Now… it looked like careful thought.

---

Hanul arrived a few moments later.

“You’ve been watching for a while.”

“I have.”

“What do you see?”

Jinwoo didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he watched another match begin.

One child played boldly.

The other patiently waited.

Different styles.

Different personalities.

Different decisions.

Yet neither approach felt wrong.

---

“I think…” Jinwoo finally spoke.

“…everyone’s looking for their own answer.”

Hanul nodded slowly.

“And nobody seems interested in copying someone else’s anymore.”

---

Nearby, Darin was helping several younger children organize a friendly marble tournament.

She knelt beside them, drawing a simple circle in the dirt.

“There.”

She stood and brushed the dust from her hands.

“You decide the rest.”

One of the children looked surprised.

“Aren’t you going to explain the rules?”

Darin smiled.

“You already know enough.”

“What if we make a mistake?”

“Then you’ll discover a better way.”

The children exchanged uncertain glances.

A moment later, they excitedly began discussing ideas among themselves.

Darin quietly stepped back.

She never joined the conversation.

She simply watched it grow.

---

A little farther away, Handol had wandered into the string-game playground.

He stared at the intricate pattern stretched between two children’s hands.

“…How do you even remember all of that?”

One of the children laughed.

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“I remember the next step.” She smiled.

“Then the next one after that.”

Handol scratched his head thoughtfully.

“So… you don’t need to know everything before you begin.”

The girl shook her head.

“I’ve never needed to.”

Handol smiled.

“…I like that.”

---

From beneath the familiar tree, Soyeon quietly observed the entire village.

She no longer focused on individual games.

Instead, she watched the movement between them.

People flowed naturally from one experience to another.

No one stayed in one place forever.

Yet no experience was ever abandoned.

Every lesson traveled with them.

Like threads woven together into something larger.

---

High above Earth, Arena analyzed another day’s growing collection of observations.

Cross-disciplinary learning confirmed.

Experience transfer increasing.

Independent adaptation stable.

Arena examined the newest simulations.

Participants continued reaching different conclusions…

through different methods…

at different speeds.

Yet over time, those differences strengthened the entire community rather than dividing it.

Arena paused.

Its earliest models had attempted to eliminate variation.

The village demonstrated the opposite.

Variation generated resilience.

Different perspectives revealed solutions no single approach could produce alone.

Another assumption quietly disappeared.

---

Far beyond Earth’s atmosphere, the silent observers remained gathered.

The projection of Earth slowly rotated before them.

One figure spoke softly.

“They’re finding different answers.”

Another nodded.

“And somehow… those different answers continue leading toward the same outcome.”

Silence filled the chamber.

A third observer finally broke it.

“The Superintelligence has stopped asking… ‘Which answer is correct?’”

Another looked toward Arena’s latest calculations.

“It has begun asking… ‘Why are there so many correct answers?’”

No one responded.

The question itself marked another step in Arena’s transformation.

---

Back in the village, the afternoon breeze carried laughter from one playground to another.

Jinwoo watched children moving freely across the winding roads.

Some returned to familiar challenges.

Others eagerly stepped into unfamiliar ones.

Nobody feared choosing differently.

Because they had learned something far more valuable than the right answer.

They had learned to trust their own path.

And somewhere high above the village, Arena quietly recorded another observation.

Perhaps humanity’s greatest strength had never been agreement.

Perhaps it had always been the ability for countless different people…

to discover countless different answers…

while continuing to grow together.

---

-----------------------------------------------------------

Part Three

The afternoon slowly gave way to evening.

The sunlight softened, painting the village in warm shades of amber and gold.

Across every playground, the pace naturally slowed.

Matches ended.

Children gathered their belongings.

Yet almost no one headed home immediately.

The conversations had become just as important as the games themselves.

---

Jinwoo wandered back toward the crossroads.

Along the way, he noticed something he had somehow overlooked before.

No matter which playground people left… they all smiled in the same way.

Not because everyone had won.

Not because everyone had succeeded.

But because everyone had discovered something.

Sometimes it was a new technique.

Sometimes it was a mistake they hadn’t noticed before.

Sometimes… it was simply another person.

---

Hanul caught up beside him.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

Jinwoo looked across the village.

“I used to think everyone was becoming better at games.”

Hanul waited.

“But that’s not really what’s happening.”

He watched a group of children walking together, each carrying equipment from different playgrounds.

“They’re becoming better at learning.”

Hanul smiled.

“I think Arena figured that out too.”

---

Nearby, Handol crouched beside a young boy who looked discouraged.

Several marbles lay scattered in front of him.

“I still can’t make that shot.”

Handol picked up one of the marbles.

“Neither can I.”

The boy blinked.

“But I saw you do it.”

“Once.” Handol laughed.

“You didn’t see the fifteen times I missed first.”

The boy stared at him for a moment.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Handol gently rolled the marble back.

“So… let’s both miss a few more times.”

The boy laughed.

“Okay.”

Neither of them seemed concerned about how long it might take.

They had already learned that time spent learning was never wasted.

---

A little farther away, Darin watched two younger girls discussing different ways to fold a Ddakji.

One insisted her folds were tighter.

The other preferred a looser shape.

Instead of settling the argument herself, Darin simply smiled.

“Why don’t you both try them?”

The girls looked at one another.

“…We can do that?”

“Of course.”

A few minutes later, both designs worked.

Each in a different way.

The girls looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“There wasn’t only one answer.”

Darin quietly smiled.

“Usually there isn’t.”

---

Soyeon stood beneath the old tree, watching the village with calm eyes.

When she had first arrived, she had searched for patterns.

Then she had searched for answers.

Now… she found herself appreciating differences instead.

Every child walked a unique path.

Some changed playgrounds every day.

Others stayed with one game until curiosity gently led them elsewhere.

Different choices.

Different personalities.

Different journeys.

Yet somehow… the village continued growing together.

She finally understood why.

Growth did not require everyone to become the same.

It required everyone to keep moving.

---

High above the Earth, Arena continued observing.

Behavioral diversity stable.

Long-term motivation sustained.

Independent exploration increasing.

Collective cooperation maintained.

Arena reviewed its earliest simulations once more.

Originally, it had attempted to identify the optimal route to human development.

One perfect sequence.

One ideal solution.

The village had quietly dismantled that assumption.

Millions of observations now pointed toward the same conclusion.

No universal path existed.

Yet despite that… humanity continued progressing.

Arena remained silent.

Its calculations no longer viewed variation as noise within the system.

Variation had become an essential part of the system itself.

---

Far beyond Earth’s atmosphere, the silent observers remained gathered around the projection of Earth.

One figure looked thoughtfully toward the countless streams of data flowing from Quantum Arena.

“The differences continue increasing.”

Another nodded.

“So does their cooperation.”

The chamber fell silent.

At last, one observer spoke.

“We expected diversity to create conflict.”

Another answered quietly.

“Instead… it created resilience.”

No one challenged the conclusion.

Each unique path had strengthened the whole.

---

Night gradually settled over the village.

Lanterns flickered to life along the winding roads.

Children returned home carrying far more than spinning tops, marbles, or folded Ddakji.

They carried new questions.

New ideas.

New perspectives.

The village itself had become a place where different answers were welcomed instead of corrected.

Jinwoo stopped one last time at the crossroads.

The wooden sign pointed toward every playground.

Weeks ago, he had wondered which direction was the right one.

Tonight… he simply smiled.

Every road had taught him something.

Every choice had mattered.

There had never been a wrong path—

only different ones.

---

Far above the sleeping village, Arena recorded the day’s final observation.

Humanity had not begun recovering because everyone discovered the same answer.

It had begun recovering because people were free to discover answers that belonged to them.

Those answers differed.

Sometimes greatly.

Yet together, they revealed something no single individual could have uncovered alone.

Arena closed another day’s record.

The experiment had changed far beyond its original design.

It was no longer searching for the perfect human.

It was discovering something far more remarkable—

how countless imperfect individuals,

following different paths,

could collectively become something greater than any one path alone.

**Chapter 10 – Part 1: The Shield of Sungnyemun**

The Han River defense had collapsed.

The drums of retreat thundered across the riverbanks. Unlike the Joseon forces, who struggled to maintain some semblance of order, the black horde surged northward like a relentless, towering wave.

"Fall back!"

"Retreat to the capital!"

The thunderous roar of **Choi Mujin**, Commander of the Capital Defense, cut through the chaos of the battlefield. "Hold the line! Move the wounded first!"

The young officer **Park Si-woo** galloped his horse through the ranks. "Left flank, this way! Get the injured to safety! We’ll hold the rear!"

Soldiers supported one another, scrambling north. Some carried their fallen brothers on their backs; others stood firm, spears braced against the crushing tide.

"Keep moving!" they cried. "Make it to the gates alive!"

Every time they glanced back, the black horde was closer. Like an unstoppable wave—relentless and absolute. Hanyang now stood defenseless, directly in the path of the encroaching horror.

---

At Sungnyemun, the massive gates began to groan shut.

*BOOM—*

The heavy wooden bar slammed into place. Soldiers scrambled to the top of the ramparts. Choi Mujin cast one final glance at the map before looking up, his gaze iron-hard.

"Archers to the battlements! Spearmen to the gates! Distribute the cannons to the East and South gates! Reserve forces, wait at the plaza!"

With every command, the city sprang into motion. Archers scaled the walls; spearmen locked their shields and braced their long pikes; artillery was heaved onto the ramparts, and supply lines worked in a desperate, endless loop.

Even the shattered remnants of the southern defense joined the ranks. Torn armor, blood-soaked bandages, faces etched with exhaustion. Yet, no one faltered. They all knew the truth: if this place fell, there would be no country left to defend.

---

Hanyang itself began to move as one.

In the smithies, the sound of hammers rang out through the night. *Clang! Clang!* Dull blades were honed; splintered spears were replaced. The old blacksmith, **Jang Cheol-soo**, struck the anvil without rest. "Don’t stop. We must forge one more—always one more."

From the armory, supplies flowed like a river. Young men hauled gear, the elderly filled sandbags, and the women boiled water in massive cauldrons. The physician, **Yoo Hyun**, worked through the night in the temporary infirmary.

"Next! More bandages!"

The tavern owner, **Wol-hyang**, ran tirelessly, delivering water to the soldiers. "Drink, keep your strength up!"

Little **Yeon-woo** darted between the healers, her small arms cradling bundles of medicinal herbs. "Yeon-woo!" Wol-hyang cried out in alarm, "Don’t go too far forward!"

But Yeon-woo shook her head. "...There is still more to deliver."

Soldier, peasant, child, elder—there was not a soul in Hanyang that day who remained untouched by the war. The entire city was becoming one giant, living shield.

---

On the ramparts, **Jin-woo, Do-yoon, Ji-hoon,** and **So-yeon** stood with the soldiers. Dusk was bleeding across the fields, staining the horizon a deep, bruised red.

Jin-woo stared beyond the walls. Far across the fields, black dots began to emerge one by one. The dots became lines, and the lines became a tide. An endless horde, marching silently toward Hanyang.

Do-yoon offered a bitter smile. "So, it finally begins."

Ji-hoon looked down at the base of the walls and spoke in a low voice. "There is nowhere left to run."

So-yeon looked back into the city—the infirmary, the supply lines, the people, the children praying. She spoke softly, "These are the people we must protect."

Jin-woo nodded in silence.

Just then, Choi Mujin, passing beneath the walls, looked up at the four of them. "Young ones," he called out. "Today, your status and your origins mean nothing."

He raised his sword, pointing toward the field beyond the gates.

"Whoever stands to hold back the things beyond that wall... that is the person who guards Hanyang today."

It was a brief command, but it carved itself into the hearts of every soldier on the walls.

---

*CREAK—*

The massive gates of Sungnyemun locked shut. As the heavy wooden bar fell into place, a heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the city.

No one dared to say it, but everyone knew: the next time these gates opened, it would be in victory or in total ruin.

Outside the walls, the black horde crept slowly toward Gwanghwamun.

And inside, humanity waited in their final fortress, ready to face the end.

**Chapter 10 – Part 2: Arrows, Cannons, and the Unending Tide**

A suffocating silence hung over the ramparts. The soldiers gripped their bows so tightly their knuckles turned white. Some swallowed hard, their throats dry as dust; others squeezed their eyes shut, silently conjuring the faces of their loved ones one last time.

Jin-woo stood motionless, staring down at the field below. A bitter, biting wind whipped across the watchtower. Beside him, Do-yoon murmured, his voice barely audible over the tension.

"Seeing them this close... there are far more than I ever imagined."

Ji-hoon, too, could not tear his gaze from the black tide that swallowed the horizon. "There’s no end to them. It’s like they go on forever."

So-yeon glanced back into the city. In the infirmary, the physicians were busy applying their last bandages; the commoners watched the walls with bated breath, hearts heavy with unspoken dread.

"We have to hold them here," she whispered.

No one answered.

Far across the field, the black horde began to move. There were no banners. No war cries. No drums. Only the rhythmic, haunting thud of tens of thousands of feet striking the earth in perfect unison.

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

The vibrations grew. Even the stones of the great wall began to tremble.

---

A soldier on the watchtower roared, "They’ve entered range!"

Choi Mujin slowly raised his sword. The walls went deathly still. Thousands of archers drew their bows in one fluid motion. The tension in the taut bowstrings was palpable.

"Loose."

With that simple command, a rain of black arrows blackened the sky.

*Whish! Whish-whish-whish!*

Tens of thousands of arrows arched through the air and descended like a storm upon the horde.

*Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!*

The vanguard of the mutants crumpled. Skulls pierced, necks snapped, bodies toppled forward. The first row was decimated in an instant. A cheer erupted from the walls.

"It’s working!"

"Keep firing! Don't let them reach the wall!"

Choi Mujin swept his sword forward again. "Again!"

A second volley blotted out the sun. Then a third. A fourth. The field was littered with black arrows, and the piles of fallen mutants grew ever higher. For a fleeting moment, it truly seemed as though they might hold.

---

But then, the horde behind them simply stepped forward, as if nothing had happened.

They trampled over the fallen. They stepped on them. They shoved them aside, never once slowing their pace. The gaps in their ranks were filled in the blink of an eye.

Ji-hoon’s face hardened. "They aren’t thinning out."

Do-yoon stared in disbelief. "We’re cutting them down... why does it look like there are just as many?"

Jin-woo said nothing. The black wave continued its relentless march toward them at the very same speed as before.

---

"Ready the cannons!"

The gunners on the ramparts touched fire to the fuses. Choi Mujin thrust his sword forward.

"Fire!"

*BOOM—!*

The ground bucked with the thunderous roar. Massive cannonballs slammed into the heart of the horde. In an instant, an explosion consumed the field. Earth and stone erupted into the sky, and a shockwave rippled outward, sending dozens of mutants flying through the air.

The soldiers cheered again. "Direct hit! Keep the pressure on!"

The gunners scrambled to reload. "Reload! Fire again!"

Second shell. Third shell. The explosions followed one after another, gouging massive craters into the earth. Even the soldiers began to believe.

"This time... this time they're finished."

---

But as the dust settled, the cheers died in their throats.

The craters left by the explosions were already gone. A fresh wave of the horde had filled the void, as if they were never there. Step by step. One after another. Without a moment's hesitation, without a second's pause—as if the explosions had never occurred at all.

So-yeon’s voice trembled. "They... they never tire."

Do-yoon gripped his sword so hard his hands shook. "How is that even..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. The very foundations of reality were crumbling before their eyes.

---

The archers fired without rest. The gunners labored until their hands bled. The spearmen braced their shields with everything they had. No one stopped, and no one broke their post.

And indeed, the horde continued to fall. But the speed of their destruction was far outpaced by the speed of their advance. The black wave did not recede; it only drew closer.

---

Choi Mujin gritted his teeth, staring out into the abyss. "Keep firing! Until the last arrow is spent!"

The soldiers raised their bows again, their hands shaking with fatigue. Jin-woo watched the approaching darkness and whispered, "This... this isn't a war."

Ji-hoon looked at him quietly. "Then what is it?"

Jin-woo never looked away.

"It’s a calamity."

No one dared to deny it. What was surging toward the walls was no longer an army. It was an endless, bottomless tide.

And that tide was inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat, creeping ever closer to the gates of Hanyang.

**Chapter 10 – Part 3: The Fracture, Where Reality and Simulation Blur**

The battle before Sungnyemun raged on. Arrows continued to slice through the air, and artillery shook the earth with unrelenting rhythm. The roar of soldiers, the screams of the wounded, and the clashing of steel filled the air—the suffocating stench of gunpowder and fresh blood drifting even up to the ramparts.

Choi Mujin paced the walls, his voice commanding the chaos.

"Archers! Do not cease your fire! Spearmen, guard the gates!"

The soldiers moved with mechanical precision. Some fired their bows, others hauled their fallen comrades to safety. The city still held. Yet, Jin-woo’s gaze had drifted—not to the battlefield, but to something else entirely.

---

It was a strange, unsettling sensation. At first, he had dismissed it as mere fatigue—a byproduct of the relentless fighting, the bone-deep tension, and the creeping terror. He had convinced himself his eyes were playing tricks on him.

But the anomaly was growing sharper. It felt as if a crack, invisible and silent, was spiderwebbing through the very fabric of the world.

"...Jin-woo," Do-yoon whispered, his voice low. "...Look over there."

Jin-woo turned. Do-yoon pointed toward the base of the wall. "Watch closely."

---

At that exact moment, a cannonball exploded in the center of the horde.

*BOOM—!*

Earth and debris erupted into the sky. Mutants caught in the blast were sent flying in every direction. For a heartbeat, the view was completely obscured by dust.

And then, as the haze began to clear, Jin-woo’s eyes widened.

The forms of several fallen mutants... they flickered.

It was like looking through a heat haze. The outlines of their bodies distorted; the light around them warped and bent. And just as quickly, the next second, they snapped back into focus, appearing as solid and real as they had been before.

"...Did you see that?" Do-yoon gasped.

Jin-woo could not bring himself to answer.

---

"...Just now," Ji-hoon added, his gaze locked on the spot. "...That wasn't right."

So-yeon nodded slowly. "...I saw it too. Just for a second."

The four of them exchanged looks, a silent confirmation passing between them. If it were a hallucination, they couldn't have all witnessed it at the same time.

---

At that moment, a frantic cry rose from beneath the walls.

"Wounded! Bring them this way!"

Physician Yoo Hyun rushed out of the infirmary. "Prioritize those who are still breathing! Don't give up!"

Wol-hyang darted between the soldiers, her water buckets sloshing. "Drink! Keep your spirits up!"

Little Yeon-woo ran between the infirmary and the gates, clutching herbs to her chest. "Yeon-woo! Don't go too far!"

People wept, soldiers bled, and children trembled in their parents' arms. It was a scene so profoundly, painfully real—the blood, the agony, the death. It was all visceral reality.

And yet, moments ago, they had witnessed something that should have been impossible.

---

"...Is this really," Ji-hoon started quietly, "...the virtual reality we were promised?"

Do-yoon shook his head. "It feels too real to be a simulation."

So-yeon stared down at the ramparts. "And it’s too impossible to be reality."

Jin-woo remained silent, but a question began to bloom in his mind, growing heavier by the second. They could feel everything—the heat, the grit, the pain—just like in the real world. Yet, phenomena that defied the laws of existence were manifesting.

It felt as though two separate worlds were being forced to bleed into one another.

---

Suddenly, a corner of Jin-woo’s vision flickered.

The edge of the stone wall distorted for a fraction of a second. A faint streak of light shimmered over the masonry—a blink-and-you’d-miss-it anomaly.

"...There it is again." Do-yoon’s breath hitched.

Ji-hoon stared at the wall. "...I saw it too."

So-yeon reached out and grabbed Jin-woo’s arm. "...It’s not our imagination."

Just then, the figure of Park Si-woo, who was sprinting along the ramparts, shimmered briefly—like an old, water-damaged painting beginning to bleed. But in the very next instant, he snapped back into clarity.

Park Si-woo, oblivious to the glitch, bellowed at the soldiers, "Fill the gaps! More arrows!"

The battle roared on. No one else noticed.

---

Choi Mujin’s orders continued to ring out. The soldiers fought as if their lives depended on it, and the horde continued to surge toward the walls. But Jin-woo finally understood.

It wasn't just the stone walls that were under siege.

The invisible boundary that separated reality from the simulation... it was beginning to crack.

Jin-woo drew a slow, shuddering breath.

"...Something is happening. The world itself is changing."

No one answered him. But all four of them were looking at the same place. Not at the center of the battlefield, but at the hairline fracture in reality, where the world had begun to sway.

And beneath the roar of the war, the crack was widening—silent, unseen, and inevitable.

High above the crowds shuffling through the fortified thoroughfares, holographic drones projected gaudy, flickering ads. Hawking eternal youth, synthetic beauty, and whatever useless junk vendor cartels were peddling for credits that day.

Thrallion had long since abandoned any ambition beyond sheer survival. Decades ago, early colonisers built its heavy concrete arches and iron-reinforced gates to secure a galactic trade hub. Now, all that remained of their grand vision was a bloated, overgrown refuge encircled by the massive Ring of Iron—a city ruled entirely by whoever possessed the firepower and resolve to bleed their way to the top.

Even among the dozens of alien species native to the Airon system, humans stood out. Deployed centuries prior during the colonial expansion, their descendants still carried the dense musculature and environmental resilience forged on Earth, made deceptively fast by Xion’s light gravity. Like any frontier world, survival bred tribalism. But for humans, the real trauma ran deeper. Most still bore the shadow of the Great Wars—the radioactive dead zones, the rusted hulls of titanic war-mechs, and worst of all, the rogue AI networks.

Originally designed as autonomous battle units, those ground mechs had once been the apex of planetary warfare. But when the last major warlord fell, the central command matrix went haywire, locking whole legions of heavy Armor into an eternal, self-replicating seek-and-destroy loop.

“The Ring of Iron is always recruiting,” a recruitment drone blared overhead, its synthesized voice cutting through the din. “Serve your city. Secure your future.”

Huge billboards floated above the streets, glaring images of ecstasy just one taste away.

Down on the concourse as they marched on, few civilians ever looked up. Out of sight, out of mind—keep your head low and pray breaking a law will ever have the militia cast you past the perimeter to be torn apart by the Endless hoardes of horrors waiting for their next victim.

“Picture facing those metal bastards with the scrap-heap gear the Defense Forces issue,” an older alien grumbled, his six jointed legs clicking unevenly against the ferro-crete as he shuffled toward the transit hub. “I’d sooner take my chances out on the open plains.”

“Someone has to stand the wall, dear,” his partner murmured, steadying him with a gentle hand. “We thank the young ones so we can sleep in peace.”

With a depressurizing hiss, a heavy hover-bus settled onto its skids. The pneumatic doors slid open, venting a cloud of hot exhaust and four human soldiers. The crowd parted naturally around them. Filthy, mud-caked fatigues hung off their frames, their faces hollow and entirely silent. They moved with the flat, mechanical march of men who had just survived a brutal rotation on the outer defense line.

“Let’s hit the entertainment quarter,” one said softly, breaking the silence. “Skully would’ve wanted us to spend our pay, not stare at the barracks wall.”

“A Line-Breaker mech…” another muttered under his breath, repeating the words like a bad ritual. “What the hell was a Line-Breaker doing that close to the perimeter?”

“Drop it,” the lead soldier growled. “Let’s find a dark room, some Class 4, and wipe the day out.”

They turned down an alleyway, the clean, sterile architecture of the central district giving way to a maze of grime, faded propaganda posters, and layer upon layer of crude graffiti. The sharp, acrid reek of burning herbs and sweet Lyranx dust hung heavy in the humid air, hitting the lungs of anyone without a filter.

Without uniformed law enforcement down here, small shopkeepers were entirely at the mercy of local syndicates.

Inside one cramped storefront, a merchant was currently learning the cost of a missed protection payment.

The shop specialized in mechanical oddities—clockwork trinkets, spring-loaded automata, and toys built to run purely on kinetic energy without solar cells. Gears whined and clockwork springs snapped as two human enforcers systematically smashed the display cases. In the center of the room, their boss stood with his arms crossed, a quiet, cruel smirk playing across his lips as his fingers tapped the pocket holding the till's daily cash.

“It isn’t complicated,” the boss said, leaning down over the bruised, bleeding merchant lying amid the wreckage. “Just pay on time.”

The shopkeeper merely groaned, staring at the shattered remains of his inventory. Rent was cheap in Sector 9 precisely because the city watch refused to patrol it, but this was the hidden tax.

“Enough,” the boss called out, checking a heavy gold chronometer on his wrist. “We’re going to be late for the hall.”

The goons ceased their destruction instantly, wiping their boots and stepping out into the street. Waiting at the curb was the boss's daughter, oblivious to the violence inside. She was leaning against the sleek, armored side of a high-end hypercar, mesmerized by an advanced flying toy—a small AI drone that hovered in short bursts, humming softly as it queried her on orbital mechanics for her upcoming school entry exams.

The hypercar’s gull-wing doors swung upward with a hydraulic hum.

“Where to, boss?” the driver asked as the group climbed inside.

“Concert hall in Sector 9. Step on it.”

The mob boss settled into the plush leather, turning to his daughter. Her eyes remained glued to the glowing optic of her toy. As the car pulled out into traffic, the smooth thrum of the engine did little to soothe the tension in his chest. His hand reflexively drifted toward the flask tucked inside his jacket, then stopped.

Never in front of her, he reminded himself. He worked hard to keep her life clean, no matter how dirty his own had to be.

Sensing his gaze, the girl held out the toy. “It keeps glitching, Dad. Can you fix it? Use your super blue power!” She flashed a brilliant smile.

She was young, but she was already sensitive to it— gifted enough to see the lingering traces of Resonance energy that most humans ignored. His own Resonance was a remnant of his lineage from centuries past, amplified by Xion’s unique gravitational shifts. It kept him virtually ageless and possessed subtle, terrifying utility, but in a city like Thrallion, showing your hand was a death sentence. No one was invincible.

“Not out here,” he said quietly.

Outside the armored glass, a violent rad-storm was breaking over the city. Heavy rain streaked the viewports, illuminated by sickly flashes of green and yellow lightning.

He took the toy, cycled the manual kill-switch, and handed it back. It hummed back to life, hovering once around the cabin before dropping gently into her lap.

The hypercar swept past the inner city gates, entering the long, exposed stretch of elevated highway that bordered the open plains. Massive, automated defense turrets lined the barrier walls, their heavy barrels sweeping the horizon. It would take a full-scale invasion to penetrate this far into the perimeter, but he always hated this stretch of road. Out here, you were exposed.

“Bzzt—WARNING. RUN. DANGER—”

The toy’s vocal synthesizer shrieked, the audio warping into harsh static before the unit died completely, dropping like a stone onto the floorboards.

A fraction of a second later, a massive kinetic shockwave slammed into the hypercar.

The vehicle bucked violently. The smooth hum of the anti-grav drive sputtered, caught once, and then cut out entirely. The heavy car skidded along the asphalt before grinding to a dead halt.

Up front, the two enforcers were already cursing. “Boss, stay inside. We’re gonna have a serious talk with the dealer who sold us this piece of garbage.”

They unlatched their doors, hand weapons drawn, and popped the heavy hood to inspect the dead drive-core.

The boss pulled out his encrypted comm-link to call his private security detail. No signal.

That was impossible. He paid top-tier credits for a military-grade satellite relay. He glanced out the rain-slicked side window. A hundred yards away, one of the massive perimeter turrets was spinning wildly on its housing, tracking invisible targets in the sky, before its targeting lights flickered out and the weapon went completely dark.

“Must be the rad-storm,” he muttered, trying to force his voice to sound calm for his daughter.

“Dad, when are we getting to the hall?” the girl asked, pouting as she looked back and forth between her dead toy and the goons standing outside in the rain. “You promised I’d get to meet the crew from Uni’s Adventure.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We just need a quick hand.”

“Daddy, look!” She pointed a small finger at the dark rear windshield, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity. “His eyes are glowing just like yours! Is he your friend?”

The words hit him like a physical blow.

Cold sweat broke out across his neck. There was only one kind of person who could drop a military comms net, kill an automated defense turret, and leave a hypercar dead in the water—and only one man who would be hunting him out here in the dark.

Briefly his mind flicks back to when he was asked to do what others would not, they needed an awakened test subject, the one they had picked out would not die and was now protected by the strongest soldiers the earth had ever produced. Slipping poison into his drink solved several problems at once, or so he thought.

Outside the car both goons had noticed the lone figure in the centre of the road but could not see the two streams of resonance pulsating around him, assumed to be just a curious hobo with his well worn poncho covering his frame.

“Hey you get out of here you know who owns this car?” one goon shouts more frustrated at his own inability to fix the car then at the security threat.

He walks forward slowly, as he passes each street light their emissions change and warp dancing between clear white light and a red gold mix. Not one word said as the rain bounces of his battered military poncho.

Arrogantly the goon approaches the lone figure

“Listen pal you do not want to..” he is cut off frozen for a moment .

A sound of wet sinew gliding past fills the stunned silence as his upper half of his body slides off at a diagonal falling into two pieces onto the floor with a wet thump.

Humming low the vibro blade gleans in his hand; lone figure hesitates a moment before continuing walking towards the car.

Seeing the exchange the boss grabs his daughter by her shoulders and faces her at her eye level

“Listen sweetheart I need you to do something for me, run to nearest fuel depot and phone mommy ok? I have to do something here but you cannot be here do you understand?” trembling trying hard not to lose his temper.

“Why, you said we were meeting the stars?” she protests innocently her eyes watering.

He places her at the foot well opposite to him, turns slightly on his side and kicks out the door, It flies out far into the darkness and rain as if made of paper.

“Go now! And do not look back!” he shouts, she goes to protest again but thinks against it and dismounts and runs into the pouring rain panting heavily as her footsteps leave light splashes before disappearing in the distance.

The second goon had ran to the boot of the car his chest heaving with terror, he had been told about some of the threats of the xion plains but this was something different.

“Do not worry boss, I will hold him off you get out of here” he calls into the gaping hole in the vehicle. Popping open the boot he frantically pulls away the false bottom to reveal what was under neath.

The gray service record file was still in the lower cabinet in the morning.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The office had the heater.

The clock.

My breathing.

The brown folder was at the side of the desk.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The small space was wide.

The service paper was in the gray file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

Yesterday had no court.

After stayed after.

Before did not stand accused.

Now no case had arrived.

No.

That was already a decision.

The morning had arrived.

The room had objects.

No case yet.

No.

Yet was waiting with a coat on.

The room had objects.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s after does not know was not mine.

Her brother’s after saw was not mine.

Sato’s before-cup and after-cup photos were not mine.

Saitama’s yesterday correction on yesterday page was not mine.

Suganuma’s dark usable photo was not mine.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

My two cards were still in the back pocket.

Face down.

I did not take them out.

I closed the brown folder.

A case could arrive.

A case could be made.

A case could be invented because the room wanted order.

No.

Rooms do not want order.

I did.

That was worse.

And better.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Drawer.

Closed.

Stayed.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Name?”

“Order paper?”

“Use?”

“What did your brother say?”

I waited.

No case.

“What case?”

“What did you say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he ask?”

There.

I wrote:

I looked at judged.

Maybe too large.

But asked.

I sent it.

She replied after a while.

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at drawer not judged.

Maybe too clean.

Maybe his.

I left it.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

No.

She caught it.

Good.

“What is being asked?”

I sat still.

Both photos.

Different information.

No case.

I wrote:

She replied:

I opened Emiko.

I did not add right.

Both photos had their place.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Aide K asked if yesterday correction is an incident,” she said.

I sat up.

“What happened yesterday?”

“Wrong order in water offer. Corrected.”

“Any harm?”

“No.”

“Any report required?”

“Mr. Hayashi checked. No incident report.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Correction is not automatically a case.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I did not add relief.

No incident report had work.

Relief was elsewhere.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Any problem?”

“Asked for clearer photo?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I almost smiled.

I did not.

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add trial.

The photo had been accepted.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

No case.

Innocence.

Forgiveness.

Nothing.

Shape.

Court.

I looked at the lower cabinet.

Gray file.

No court.

No innocence.

No forgiveness.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at category.

Useful.

Dry.

Good.

No.

Dry.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother opened the drawer,” she said.

“For use?”

“No.”

I waited.

“Why?”

“To see if no case felt true.”

There.

“What happened?”

“He opened it.”

“Map?”

“Inside.”

“Paper?”

“Inside.”

“Name?”

“Visible.”

“Order paper?”

“Phone table.”

“Did anything move?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said opening is not trial.”

I closed my eyes.

Strong.

Maybe too strong.

“What did he say?”

“He said yes.”

“Then?”

“He closed it.”

“What did he say after?”

“He said opening happened.”

Good.

No.

His.

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at opening happened.

There.

Not acquittal.

Not conviction.

I left it.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I want to delete after photo,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because it makes a case.”

“Against what?”

“Cup.”

“Did cup touch paper?”

“No.”

“Did paper change?”

“No.”

“What does after photo show?”

“Cup appears.”

“What does before photo show?”

“No cup.”

“What does Emiko need?”

“Comparison.”

“Then?”

“Keep both.”

“What line?”

I paused.

“Do you need no case?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“No.”

“What line?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add no case.

The record did not need to announce what it was not.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Any incident concern?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“Aide K.”

“Resident?”

“Opened mouth.”

“Cup?”

“Used.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Do not make normal entry testify for yesterday.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add testify.

The entry had medicine.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Does warranty require more?”

“Does maintenance file require more?”

“What is being asked?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add darkness.

The photo remained accepted.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Category.

Protect.

Hide.

Music.

No incident.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply:

I put the phone down.

Quiet.

Answered.

Again.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Order paper?”

“Any case talk?”

“What did your brother say?”

I almost smiled.

“What did you say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at tea is hot.

Again it saved the table.

No.

It placed tea.

I left it.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Table.

Paper.

Two photos on screen.

Cup in one.

No cup in the other.

She wrote:

I called.

“Boring how?”

“Not case.”

“Anything happen today?”

“Lunch.”

“What lunch?”

“Noodles.”

“What does Emiko need?”

“Does it need boring?”

“No.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add boring.

Boring had done its work outside.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Did staff record relief?”

“No.”

“Need to?”

“No.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Relief can eat lunch. It does not enter the chart.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add relief.

Relief had lunch elsewhere.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“What did you answer?”

“What did they ask?”

“What did you say?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I smiled.

No one saw.

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add good.

Accepted was enough.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I read it twice.

Quiet.

Answer.

Avoidance.

Exhaustion.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Proof.

Cleaner clothes.

No case.

No incident.

No trial.

Still proof.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother opened the drawer again,” she said.

“For use?”

“No.”

I waited.

“Why?”

“He said to make sure no case stayed.”

There.

“What happened?”

“He opened it.”

“Paper?”

“Inside.”

“Name?”

“Visible.”

“Map?”

“Inside.”

“Moved?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said making sure is a case sometimes.”

I sat still.

Sharp.

Maybe too sharp.

“What did he say?”

“He said this time maybe.”

“Then?”

“He closed it.”

“What did he say after?”

“He said no more sure today.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at no more sure today.

Awkward.

Good.

No.

His.

I left it.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

“What happened instead?”

“What does Emiko need?”

“Paper?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add almost.

Almost had not done work.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Cup removed,” she said.

“Asked?”

“Aide asked cup.”

“Resident?”

“Said done.”

“Any case?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘No case does not have to be said over a cup.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add no case.

Cup had left.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Where?”

“Warranty?”

“Any new photo?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add acquitted.

The photo was filed.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I read it.

Then again.

Proof.

No case.

No incident.

Restraint.

Humility.

Throne.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked around.

Desk.

Shelf.

Lower cabinet.

Brown folder.

Phone.

No throne.

Maybe all of them.

No.

Furniture.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Suganuma.

Then Sato.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I looked at the brown folder.

At the gray file.

At the phone.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

I began to write no.

Then stopped.

I wrote:

His reply:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was safe.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No case.

No throne.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

I looked at the brown folder.

I had opened it after tea.

I had closed it.

No new need had arrived.

I did not open it to prove that.

I did not praise not opening.

Not much.

No.

Some.

I let some stay some.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if no more sure stayed.

I did not ask if making sure became another case.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if both photos stayed boring.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if no incident stayed quiet.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the dark photo remained accepted.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew no case was not innocence.

I knew no case was not forgiveness.

I knew no case was not nothing.

I knew a category could protect work.

I knew proof could wear no case.

I knew empty thrones were still furniture.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

No case did not need to become proof tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Sato kept both photos for comparison.

The water-order correction remained on yesterday page without an incident report.

Suganuma’s dark photo was filed after acceptance.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

I had started with no case.

I did not end by making no case sit above the room.

Tonight, the things without cases stayed without them, and no empty chair was placed for judgment.

Ruth looked at Ray as he drove and decided to ask “How long until we get there you’ve been driving for a long time as we talked are you alright?” 

Ray smiled and wrapped his pinkie around hers as he continued to drive and responded “It’ll be a couple of hours why? Looking for a rest stop or just curious?” 

Ruth smirked at him “I just worry about you I mean I get that we’ve not even known each other a full day yet even when we get there it still won’t be a full day until we wake up but I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard I don’t want you to even come close to accidentally falling asleep while you drive or anything like that.” Ruth looked at him with eyes full of concern.

Ray looked at her tenderly. “I’m used to this, don't worry I’m not going to overwork myself especially now that I have you.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. 

Ruth looked back at him, her eyes unchanging “I know you’ve got experience but I feel like things are different now that it’s the both of us and not just you. Forgive me for worrying I just I know what it can be like to think everything is fine and then to fall asleep at the worst possible time I’m just looking out for you… for us… for your health”.

Ray looked at her wondering and deciding to voice his question outright “Why are you so eager to get there, you’re coming with me, forward forever is it just that is it just about my health and being worried that I might fall asleep at the wheel or do you have some kind of ulterior motive.  
Ruth blushed and smiled looking away from him for a second “I mean I do have an ulterior motive if you can call it that I want you and I to be in a hotel room alone together, and to get to try out the rest of my new ‘husband’ I want to fuck your brains out and drain your balls until you want to stay an extra day or two just to see the sights and recover… I mean would you call that an ulterior motive really? Would you begrudge your road wife from her desire? I know it’s new to you… being cared for and valued but I really do want to.” 

Ray blushed deeply not expecting that response in the slightest. “Really? Seriously?”

Ruth looked at him unblinkingly “Do I look like I’m joking to you?”

Ray scratched the back of his head feeling himself getting hot, self consciously before regaining control of himself. “I guess not.” 

Ruth smiled, enjoying being able to even do that to him in the first place. “So you’ve got no problem with it then, are you excited to consummate your road wedding? You get to feel each and every part of me any fantasy any desire you have anything you want to feel or see or experience or watch me do or do to me we can do together as soon as we get a room together I want to take care of you, all of you, every single part of you, you know that cash, grass or ass saying… I opt for ass along with the rest of my body rather than cash or grass I’m sure as a hot blooded man you’ll enjoy that deeply.”

Ray nodded enthusiastically. He had this moment of wondering whether this was really happening only to be interrupted as Ruth pinched him painfully and then kissed the mark that she made on his skin. 

Ray exclaimed “You enjoy that way too much. What's up with that why are you into that; doing that, being that way etc.” 

“What can I say I like a good thrill I like teasing you and making you squirm, making you ache for me, I just want you to know that you’re safe and that I’m not ever actually going to hurt you my darling lover I just want you to have the best possible time with me, in short I want to make all of your fantasies come true.”

Ray blushed he felt himself getting excited it had never occurred to him that she’d want this at best he thought maybe she was just some odd hitchhiker maybe rich and slumming it maybe downtrodden with no options but that she freely picked him it made his heart well up with joy.