△△△’s chair creaked a protest as he pushed away from his desk, muscles stiff from hours of stillness. Coaxing life back into his limbs, he stretched, then made his way to the sideboard where a porcelain teapot exhaled wisps of steam into the quiet room.

But the tea never touched his lips.

A chill raced down his spine, sharp and electric.

The room tilted on an unseen axis. The teacup slipped from his grasp, amber liquid spilling unheeded onto the carpet.

—Then came the pain.

It arrived in waves, each crest higher than the last. Invisible blades sliced his skin. Phantom bullets tore through muscle and sinew. His flesh felt as though it was being burned and torn apart. All without leaving a single mark on him. It took every ounce of his willpower to stifle the scream clawing its way up his throat.

Through vision blurred by pain, △△△’s gaze locked onto the fireplace mantle, where four colorful animal figurines stood in a row. The fish, hand-carved from lapis lazuli—began to crack. Hairline fissures spread like spider webs across its surface, and △△△ knew. The hourglass of fate had been upended. Udo’s time—the moment everyone, except Nnenne’s warrior himself, had all dreaded and prayed against—had come.

“W-wait,” he gasped, lurching toward the figurine as if his touch alone could mend the cracks.

His body betrayed him mid-motion, his left leg suddenly leaden and unresponsive. The paralysis spread like wildfire through his veins, stealing sensation from his limbs inch by agonizing inch. Yet the creeping numbness offered no reprieve from the agony that tore through him.

These were not his wounds. This torment was not truly his.

And that is why he did not try to block it out like he would have usually done. He would bear this. This was his penance, the barest fraction of what he owed to those who had given everything in service to their cause. Their faith, their sacrifice—he would honor it in the only way left to him.

A sound like splintering ice pierced the air.
The fractures deepened, spread.

△△△’s breath came in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint. The figurine trembled on its perch, then, with a sound like a thunderclap, shattered.

His heart exploded in his chest, a maelstrom that obliterated all thought, all sensation. As the shards of blue rained down, darkness rose up to claim him. He crumpled to the floor, a marionette with cut strings, and knew no more.

---

---

The night sky erupted in bursts of light, each flare a fleeting star born and dying in the span of a breath. Streaks of gold and red split the darkness, cascading in shimmering arcs before fading into stardust as green flowered against the dark backdrop. The air thrummed with each boom, a deep vibration that Udo felt in his chest. Across the park, the thunderous heartbeats pulsed, eliciting the gasps and cheers of the crowd below.

In his hand, a half-eaten funnel cake left a dusting of powdered sugar on his fingertips as he stood transfixed. He had sampled nearly everything the festival had to offer and none of them suited his taste. The churros had been cloyingly sweet, the turkey legs overly salted, and the corn dogs... well, he still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of those. But he’d tried them all the same. Each new experience was a story to be collected and preserved; a fragment of this world to carry with him when the time came.

When Nnenne finally welcomed him home.

Eyes closed, Udo imagined himself by a fire on that distant beach. Long-lost family gathered close, eager to hear what he had seen and done in his long years of service. He would tell them of strange foods and stranger customs, of the lands he had walked, of lives saved and battles fought in Nnenne’s name. His tales would span centuries, recounting the wonders and horrors he had witnessed.

He had seen the rise and fall of empires, watched the Great Flood—a cataclysm that reshaped the Eastern Islands—transform from history into myth. “Home,” and hundreds of the surrounding islands, once vibrant and real, faded from the world’s memory like seafoam. But Udo remembered. He would always remember.

The scent of his wives’ cooking wafting through their modest hut. The laughter of children playing in the crystal-clear waters. His blood-father’s fishing spear, worn smooth. Stories shared by firelight. Everyone’s voices raised in song.

These small, everyday moments were as much a part of him as the crushing guilt. He’d survived only by chance, away at sea in prayer when the flood came. Returning to… nothing. No island, no village, no family.

Why?

Had he angered Nnenne somehow? Failed in his devotion? Was this divine punishment for some unknown transgression? These questions haunted Udo as he moved through life like a ghost, untethered and hollow. Days bled into years, years into decades, decades into centuries. The world moved on, but Udo remained trapped in an endless cycle of grief and longing. Until…

“Do you want to die?” Mercy came as a ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ with ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ as ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ as ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ and ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ to match appeared before Udo while he was drowning his sorrows in cheap rum. A ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ extended, a pact offered: “I promise to be the death of you.” Their hands met, and everything changed.

Traveling with ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎, Udo’s world expanded. Color slowly seeped back into his grayscale existence. Joy found him—rare at first, then often—in life’s small wonders and great marvels.

Memories flickered through his mind. Peter’s crooked grin as they faced down a band of thieves, back-to-back despite their constant bickering. Karleen, radiant on the ballroom floor, finally herself in a gown that fit her masculine frame. And Wayra, whose chaotic magic turned a simple walk through the forest into a desperate escape from an army of enchanted flowers. Together, they had traversed sun-scorched deserts and scaled frost-capped mountains. They had fought monsters—human and inhuman—, solved mysteries, and saved each other more times than Udo could count. Each adventure, and countless moments in between, became treasured memories for him—the happiest times he’d known since losing Home.

Another firework’s crack drew Udo back to the present. The park bustled around him, a riot of sights and sounds. His gaze drifted to the gathering on the hill, where the Varian Princess had laid out an impressive array of picnic blankets and pillows. There, playing with a child, was... was… ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎. Udo’s brow furrowed. Though he could describe every other person in perfect detail, everything about ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ remained frustratingly indistinct. ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ features blurred and shifted, refusing to solidify in Udo’s mind, and ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ name came out as a string of blanks.

The curse was working as intended. Udo should’ve felt relieved. Instead, a bittersweet ache settled in his chest. For it was ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ he wanted to tell his family about the most, the ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ who had saved him from an eternity of emptiness.

As fireworks lit the night, Udo made his decision. When he reunited with his family, he would tell them of these man-made stars, how they blazed against the darkness, leaving their mark despite their brief existence—just like ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎.

Though name and appearance eluded him, perhaps in describing fireworks, Udo could capture ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎’s essence: brilliant, powerful, and beautiful. They rekindled Udo’s dormant spirit, infusing his life with a vibrance he thought long lost. In his darkest moments, ⬜︎⬜︎ had been a guiding light, offering hope in the vast sea of endless years.

Perhaps that was enough. To carry the feeling, if not the memory.

Yes, he thought, watching a starburst of color ignite the sky. Fireworks would do nicely.




Udo danced to the rhythm of the ocean. His body swayed with the strength of the deep. Each step, falling in time with crashing waves, traced bloodied patterns across rain-slick cobblestones. The spear in his hands became an extension of his body, cutting arcs through air and flesh alike. Every movement was a prayer, a warrior’s offering to Nnenne, Grandmother of All.

Her song swelled. Home beckoned across centuries—a siren’s call Udo answered with his entire being. For Nnenne, he danced, yes, but also for those who had made his endless life bearable. Harder. Faster. Though no mortal would live to speak of this performance, he poured himself into it all the same.

Steel bit. Arrows hissed. Bullets tore. Yet Udo felt nothing but the rhythm. Nnenne’s tears fell from the sky, cleansing him and the fallen, purifying the ground and washing away the carnage. One with the dance, one with the sea.

Even as poison from a coated blade seeped into his veins, making his movements sluggish, he refused to falter. Bodies crumpled in his wake until only one foe remained standing.

“Be seeing y’all in hell, motherf***ers,” Peter grinned, cocky and unrepentant.
Karleen shook her head and chided, “Too vulgar.”
“Agreed.” Udo chimed in.

Peter’s lower lip jutted out as he puffed up his chest like the man-child he was. “Yeah? What’d be your final words then, huh?”

Karleen straightened, a spark of challenge in her eyes. “Poetry... or a quote from one of my favorite novels.” She cleared her throat and began to recite:

“In the twilight of life’s grand play,
Where curtains fall and shadows sway,
I'll whisper to the fading light,
A verse to ease the coming night—”

“Karl,” Peter interrupted, “if you’ve got that much energy to deliver a soliloquy, you ain’t dying.”
Udo scoffed, “I’m shocked you know what a soliloquy is.”
“Shut up.”

⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ looked thoughtful, in the way that usually preceded either profound wisdom or utter nonsense. “You know, if we’re operating under the ‘monologues can never be interrupted’ rule, perhaps a lengthy soliloquy wouldn’t be such a bad move. In theory, it would ward off death until the speaker finishes. I could recite the entire ‘The Infinite Chronicle’ while waiting for medical attention.”

“And you think you’d pull it off?” Peter asked.
“Oh no,” came the reply, “there’s an 80% chance my parting words will be something profoundly eloquent like ‘Well, that sucks.’”

Laughter erupted from the group. “What about the other 20%?”

“It depends. If it’s an accident or a friend who kills me, I’d probably say ‘I forgive you.’ But if it’s someone I don’t like—”
“There’s people you don’t like?” Karleen interjected, surprised.
“Oh, absolutely. Anyone who voluntarily eats black licorice is clearly in league with forces beyond mortal comprehension.” ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ chuckled. “If it’s someone I don’t like, then I’d try to say something ominous, like... ‘The antidote... is in the…’” ⬜︎⬜︎ trailed off with a series of dramatic gasps and wheezes before going limp.

Peter snorted beer out his nose. “Diabolical. And surprisingly petty coming from you.”
“If they’ve gone to the trouble of murdering me, I think I’ve earned the right to be a little petty. It’s only polite.”
Peter raised his hands in mock surrender. “No arguments here, Boss.”

Karleen turned to Udo. “What about you?”
“A prayer,” he answered simply. “If I have time left.”
“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, throwing his hands up. “It’s literally the last thing you’re ever gonna say. Your last hurrah! Make it count! Go out with a bang, not a whimper.”

The memory receded, leaving Udo facing his final opponent in the rain-soaked present, chests heaving. Fine, he thought, how’s this then?

Udo’s gaze locked onto the man before him, past him, beyond him to the one pulling the strings. He leveled his spear, pointed it at the puppeteer.
The enemy raised his gun.
Udo smirked defiantly, his lips curling around his final words. “F**k you, Marek.”
The spear flew.
The gun fired.

As Udo’s spear pierced through the other man, the bullet shattered his heart. The sky blurred above him as he fell.
He was plummeting, down, down…
The street melted into seafoam.
He plunged past earth and stone, sank into the endless blue.

Bubbles, pearls of air, escape skyward,
A rush of swirling brine.
Udo sinks, weightless,
Into depths beyond time.

Above, a vast shadow looms,
Its gaze piercing the watery veil.
The dark sentience seeks his mind,
Tendrils probe, grasping for memories,
Only to find echoes and absence.

Fury ripples the boundary of worlds.
Nets descend, hooks glint, a final reach
To claim a soul that was not its to possess.

But Nnenne will not be denied her Grandson;
Her currents cradle him,
Pulling towards her heart,
Away from harm.

Wind’s emissaries dive,
Sleek arrows of feather and bone,
Slice through waves with righteous fury.
Beaks and talons flashing silver,
Sever threads of malevolent design.

Movement catches his eye—
A beast, familiar yet unknowable,
Wounded and struggling, sinks beside him.
Its mouth works, forming shapes without sound,
Again and again, a name lost to the depths.

△△△ △△△△△△△ △△△△△△△△

Udo’s heart aches with unspoken apologies,
For this one thing he cannot carry home.

The abyss swallows them both, darkness absolute.
Then—light.

Udo’s eyes flutter open to cloudless skies,
As wavelets lap at outstretched limbs,
Home’s music fills his ears.
His head cradled in grandmother’s lap,
Her weathered hands, etched with time,
Caress his cheeks with boundless love.

“Nno n’ụlọ, nwa nwa m nwoke. Anyị echeworo gị ọtụtụ.”
Welcome home, my dear grandson. We’ve deeply missed you.

“M na-atụ uche unu niile.” Udo breathes, his heart full.
I missed you all.

“Kedu ka njem gị mere?” she asks.
How was your journey?

A lifetime of stories press against his lips:
“Enwere m ọtụtụ ihe m ga-agwa unu.”
I have so much to tell you.

As if in answer, the sky erupts—
A blossom of fire and light,
Dazzling as Udo remembers.

Home at last, with tales to tell,
Of a world changed and changing still,
Of those left behind, and those who wait,
On this shore where all journeys end.

---

---

A figure cloaked in feathers stepped carefully over the cooling bodies, ​​intent on reaching the one that mattered. Wayra’s keen senses picked up the coppery scent of blood mixed with the petrichor from the rain and the smell of spent magic hanging heavy in the air. Beneath it all, a familiar scent. They approached what they knew to be the vessel that once housed Udo’s spirit.

Wayra knelt beside the still form and reached out, tracing the contours of Udo’s face. A smile, frozen in death, greeted their touch. Something tight coiled in Wayra’s chest—regret, perhaps, or a flicker of an emotion they thought long buried. They closed the man’s unseeing eyes and, with unnatural ease granted by arcane might, lifted his body.

As they made their way out of the alley, Wayra paused to retrieve Udo's spear still lodged in the corpse it had felled. The weapon came free with a soft squelch. Wayra left the other bodies littering the ground undisturbed; they were not their concern.

Above, native corvids and birds less familiar to these lands descended, drawn by some unspoken call. Soon, the air filled with the wet sounds of tearing flesh, but Wayra paid them no heed.

Carrying Udo’s body and the spear resting easily in their grasp, they moved on. Behind them, the scavengers continued their grim work, and the rain cleansed what remained.

---

---

Consciousness returned in fragments as the world came into focus. Ryn lay prone on the carpet floor, his body struggling to move a muscle. Echoes of pain pulsated through him and his skull pounded relentlessly.

He blinked several times before he could make out the figure kneeling in front of him—Peter, with his trademark bright red hair seeming ablaze in the dim light.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Boss,” Peter said.

Rhythmic clopping accompanied by the steady sound of carriage wheels turning made for a calming ambiance as Ryn regaled Luz the tale of a holy man who wanted nothing more than to reunite with his deceased family. Far to the east of the Three Kingdoms there was an archipelago located in one of the most dangerous oceans in Eromora. Amongst the thousands of islands was a small island Udo called home. Home, where his tribe and family resided. Home, where his most precious treasures lived—his many grandparents, his fathers, his mothers, his siblings, his three gorgeous wives, and all nine of his beautiful children. Home, the place that no longer existed above the ocean surface.

Years ago, a great tsunami swallowed hundreds of islands. A majority of the islands were spat back out, but the "chosen" few sank deep into Nnenne's embrace, never to resurface. One of the chosen islands was Home. And Udo was the only one left behind.

For years, Udo wandered the seas, taking on one dangerous quest after another, fighting for those who asked him, searching for an “honorable death.” For Nnenne’s taught her grandchildren to never waste one’s life unless it was to save another life. He fought and fought and fought and fought. Until one night, Nnenne came to Udo in his dreams, telling him about a boy with the abyss for eyes who would grant him his wish.

“And he got what he wanted.” Ryn turned his head away from the carriage window to look at Luz sitting across from him. “We should be celebrating his death, the end of his long journey, for a dream finally fulfilled but…” He smiled as he usually did, “I know I’m being selfish when I say this… I wish he stayed with us longer, even if it was hard for him… I wanted him to live a long life as Udo.”

“It’s not selfish to wish a friend a long life,” Zarai had kept her hand on his, squeezing every now and then to show her support for Fritz as he told Udo’s tale. “And we will celebrate the end of his journey, but first we must grieve. Should we not?”

“When you are ready we will throw the kind of celebration he would have wanted, we’ll make his memory proud, yes? Whatever he is reincarnated into or not, Udo will be proud.” She smiled at him, “We’ll exchange stories about Udo, wild stories of his bravery, and his killer charms. About how much he meant to us.” Her nose prickled, and Zarai had to stop talking before her voice broke. It took her a few seconds to blink the wetness from her eyes. “But for now, we grieve.”

Ryn leaned in and rubbed his thumb under her eye, “Not very convincing when you’re holding back.”

“I’m sorry I don’t want to cry in front of people.” Zarai rolled her eyes, “Some of us aren’t pretty criers.”

“Oh? Only pretty criers are allowed to cry? That’s too bad, I’m not much of a pretty crier either.” He sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “I guess I’ll keep my tears to myself since it bothers you.”

“Worry not; I won’t judge if you are.” Zarai cracked a smile at him. “Maybe only a little.” But all she wanted to do right now was crawl into bed and cry until she could no more.

“LLliiiaaR!” the parrot shrieked beside Luz’s ear. Ryn looked up at them. They looked back. His gaze traveled over to Karleen, who had been sitting right next to him and was also staring back at him. Although Peter was driving, Ryn could sense the weight of his attention.

A persistent feeling gnawed at Ryn, as if his crew were nudging him in a particular direction. They wanted him to divulge more to Luz, to have at least one confidant who had access to the power to protect him—the Hendrix family, the employees of Crosswinds Trading Co., the Erwynn citizens—should circumstances take a turn for the worse.

He finally looked at Luz, his friend. Heir of Puerto Vira, Lady Zarai Lesdeman. Daughter of a duchess who wanted nothing more than House Hendrix’s downfall. Did he trust her? Yes, he absolutely did, as both Luz and Zarai Lesdeman. No question about it. That was exactly why he did not want to reveal everything to her.

Zarai could see a shift in his eyes. Her stomach fell, and her chest tightened, readying herself for what could be coming.

Ryn felt the gentle warmth of Luz’s hands as he tightly clasped hers, “Udo died in peace. He didn’t feel any pain or was truly alone in his final moments.”

“I’m not saying this to comfort you. I’m saying this because… We made sure no one who swore fealty to us would ever depart this world in agony or solitude.”

On cue, Karleen, with her impeccable timing, extended her hand towards Luz, revealing a broken fish statuette. Alongside it, there were three other animal figurines, each crafted from different colored stones. Luz’s brows furrowed at his words and leaned in to look at the figurines closely.

“Everyone has their own. If they pass away, their figurine breaks.” He patted Luz reassuringly when the hand that reached over to the statuettes retracted. “Don’t worry, they won’t die if it breaks first. But I will get an ear full from Wayra.” Their avian companion confirmed his statement with a whistle.

“That moment when death becomes inevitable… my body takes on the experience of their death and my mind links to theirs until they cross over.” Ryn watched Luz’s reaction cautiously. He had just admitted to being involved in magic. There was no telling how she would respond. “So… whatever pain Udo felt transferred to me and… well, I suppose I was with him to the very end. If not in body, in spirit.”

Her lips parted, and she drew a breath in but quickly closed it before saying anything. A weight settled in her chest, heavy with unanswered questions and an unsettling sense of dread.

“How—how are you able to do this?” The hand around his tightened, trembling with a mix of concern and fear. “Why?” Why would he willingly link himself to others’ suffering? To feel a life slip away? To linger in the depths of death without its release? The thought sent chills racing down her spine.

The corner of Ryn’s mouth curled upward. “Magic,” he confessed. There. He said it. The plainest answer he could ever give. An answer that could cost Ryn his life, the Hendrixes’ status, reputation, and their livelihood. “As for the specifics, you’d have to ask Wayra yourself. This one’s their handiwork.” The parrot fluffed out in pride.

Bewildered would be one of the words Zarai would use to describe what she was feeling. She stared between Fritz and the bird, grappling with the enormity of the secret that had just been laid bare before her. She blinked once, twice, three times, as if hoping the revelation would dissolve into smoke. “The bird did this?” The implication hung in the air, heavy and surreal. If the bird could wield such power, maybe she should start calling it by its name. Her name? His name? Their name? Each possibility felt like a new layer of complexity to an already intricate web.

“Not this one, no. The person… people? Behind the bird.”

Ryn glanced down at Luz’s tight grip and he drew circles against her skin with his thumb. “Have your parents ever ordered someone to risk their life for their own purpose? And not necessarily for the benefit of the person whose life is actually on the line?” he asked instead of directly answering Luz’s last question.

Zarai frowned down at their hands, her heart racing as doubt clawed at her. In truth, her knowledge of her parents' dealings was a mystery, a dark cloud hanging over her understanding of them. She knew they were involved in some shady transactions, always brushing aside her suspicions by attributing them to tax evasion or business as usual. Duchess Francesca was the one in charge of the family’s trading company finances, while her father busied himself with their newly obtained railroads. The disconnect between her perception and reality gnawed at her.
“It wouldn’t be above them to do so,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with bitterness and resignation.
“How easy—” Ryn reconsidered his words, “or hard, would you say it is for them to send someone to their death?” Though he was well aware of the lengths Luz’s parents went to ruin Ryn’s family, he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt: it was always possible that they put such effort because they only disliked the Hendrixes. Almost flattering, if that were the case.

Zarai looked down, the weight of her family’s legacy pressing heavily upon her shoulders. She doubted her father cared enough to kill someone; he mostly retreated to his office, absorbed in his work or pinning insects. But her mother? That was a different story. She ruled their household with an iron fist, her brand of “discipline” often bordering on cruelty. The memory of her mother’s cold, calculating gaze sent a shiver through Zarai.

“Easy,” Zarai finally answered, her voice steadier than she felt. Yet, a knot tightened in her stomach as she ventured to ask, “... but why are you asking me this?” Her heart twisted at her own question, a quiet terror settling in as she braced herself for Fritz’s response.

He essayed a smile in hopes that it might gentle Luz’s disquiet. “I don’t want to become that sort of person.” Ryn held her gaze so she would understand he meant it, at the very least. “Power’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The more you gain, the higher you rise, the smaller all the little people seem. Like ants. And crushing an ant starts to feel like a small price for the ‘greater good.’” The “greater good” chiefly being the ruling house and not the people they ruled over.

“I don’t ever want such a decision to be easy. I want it to twist me up inside, make me lose sleep. I want to fight it, find another way even when it’s obvious there’s no other way. Sacrificing another’s life or well-being must be the last resort, never the first choice.” He glanced at the statuettes, “Those are supposed to remind me not to take anyone for granted. My anchor to earth… so I don’t fly away.” One of which had shattered; he allowed the figurine to break. Had that truly been Udo’s own wish, or was it self-deceit on Ryn’s part, to gloss his creeping resemblance to the Lesdemans and the Danroses?

Ryn peered at her, brow troubled. “Does… any scrap of that make sense?” he asked.

History itself bore witness to his words, a chronicle of countless lives recklessly cast aside at the altar of power and wealth. Zarai couldn’t help but reflect on her own family, who had been guilty of the very transgressions that fueled Fritz’s fears. The Lesdeman ascent to power in Puerto Vira had left a grim trail of bodies in its wake. How many lives had been sacrificed for their ambitions? How much blood stained her parents’ hands? Her own?
Zarai nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It makes sense.” She gazed at her hands, opening and closing them repeatedly as if expecting thick, red liquid to suddenly surface. “Heh, fuck. It makes perfect sense.”

In the half-light of the carriage, Ryn gently covered Luz’s hands. He said, “Their sins are not yours, Luz.” Though he understood how she might have felt she inherited them, as if they were woven into her very being. How could it not be? Families like his and Luz’s ingrained in their offspring the obligation to uphold the legacies of their forebears. Did that not include their sins as well?

The deeds of the past were like shadows—they followed them and could loom large over their present, but these shadows need not define their steps. Remember their forebears’ faults as lessons to learn from, but no more than that. For if they were to bear their forebears’ sins as their own, they would be doomed to a cycle where hate begets hate, an endless, sorrowful spiral. “Your hands aren’t dirty.” He brought her palms to his lips—with hands far from “clean”—to prove it.
Heat flushed her cheeks, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on her chest, which grew heavier with each passing moment. It felt as though rocks were piled on top of her heart, rock after rock after rock, until she was on the verge of sinking beneath the earth, gasping for breath. Despite the flutter of her heart, the sensation was suffocating, a consuming tide of helplessness that threatened to pull her under.

"But they’re not clean," Zarai murmured, shaking her head in denial. It was her inheritance now, immutable and unchangeable; of that, she was certain. The burden of her family's legacy pressed down on her shoulders, a constant reminder of the choices and actions of those who came before her. She longed to break free from its grip, to carve out her own path untainted by the bloodbath of the past, but the weight of expectation felt like chains wrapped around her, anchoring her to a history she wished to escape.

Crushed under the invisible weight of her family’s name, deeds, and hopes, Luz seemed to appear smaller than usual. “Oh? I didn’t realize I was dealing with a master assassin,” Ryn smiled briefly before asking the real question. “Why do you think they’re not clean?” His thumbs rubbed circles around the places he kissed.

Zarai found solace in his ability to make her smile, even in situations such as these. It was like magic. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. It was a difficult matter that she could not entirely articulate, but Zarai could not deny that she had reaped the rewards of her family’s history. Though neither of them had directly participated in the violent events of the past, she had nonetheless benefited from them. Every dress she wore, every jewel she adorned herself with, was paid for with the lives of who knows how many individuals. How many souls had been sacrificed for the sake of the simple dress she wore now?

“We’ll figure it out later,” Zarai tried a smile, wanting to set the matter aside, at least for the time being. They were nearing the guest house, and she could sense the weariness in everyone. They had lost a dear friend, someone who had been like family to them. Zarai did not want to detract from that no more than she already had.

"You all need to rest," Luz insisted, taking Fritz's hands this time. "A full night's sleep, perhaps with the aid of some alcohol if need be." She turned her gaze to Fritz, her eyes pleading for him to agree. "That includes you, sir. No arguments, no excuses. Please." She pressed his knuckles into her lips, hoping her insistence would finally end the discussion.

A tightness gripped Ryn’s chest as Luz made a desperate bid to end the conversation. His hands moved slowly, fingers threaded through hers with utmost care. “Remember asking if I will help you?”

“And never forget, you’re not alone. Just reach out and someone will take your hand. You’re the only one who can save yourself, but it’s okay to ask for help.”

Luz nodded, wiping the corners of her eyes. “I didn't know you were some kind of wise man.” She sniffed and laughted weakly, “Fuck.” Tears spilled over and trailed down your face. Beautiful despite everything; beautiful because of everything. “Fine. I'll ask for help.” She took a deep breath, reached for his hand. “Will— oh fuck, this is hard.” She tried everything in her power not to sob, to stay strong because in the world they lived in, vulnerability was a weakness to exploit. “Will you help me? Please?”

“I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t let me…” Ryn’s voice dropped to a plea laced with a need for understanding. “Please… Don’t push me away, Luz.”

Zarai felt her lips part as if to speak, but no words came out. She quickly closed them, pressing them into a thin line. Was she pushing him away? This was still uncharted territory for her. One wrong move and the world could fall apart right under her. But this was Fritz. The man she so desperately wanted to help, and how could he ask her if she did not in return? She nodded slowly, swallowing back the forming knot in her throat. "I won’t, I’ll try." Fritz gave her a bitter sweet smile in response, but a hint of sorrow clouded his eyes.

“Your hands are beautiful. Clean or dirty, flawless or marred, pure or tainted. You are beautiful, Zarai.” He leaned in close until their faces were a hairsbreadth apart, leaving no room for her to deny or deflect his words with one of her quips. “You are.”

Dark eyes held her transfixed, a deep pool she could drown in. The count did not release the future dutchess’s hands or look away, not until the carriage jerked to a halt.

Zarai felt the rush of blood in her ears, the pounding in her chest so loud she feared Karleen might hear it. And yet, she found herself lost in his eyes, drawn in as if they held some irresistible enchantment. A familiar sense rushed to her, deep inside her, that she didn’t know was there. Zarai was drowning in those eyes, letting the darkness envelop her all around until there was nothing else but the darkness itself. At that moment, nothing else mattered; there was only the warmth of his hands and the depth of his gaze. She allowed herself to be taken over by the calmness and peace, if only for a fleeting moment.

“I won’t stop you if you really want to rest… But you did promise we’d celebrate Udo’s departure together.” Ryn’s tone took on a teasing lilt. “Join us? How else are we to finish all this stuff we got?” He nodded at the picnic basket beside her on the seat, filled with what they brought from The Tough Tavern.

"Okay," Zarai's voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat and reached for the basket. "Let's celebrate and drink to him." Despite her mind urging her to retreat to her room and seek solace in solitude, she couldn't bear to leave them. None of them wanted to be alone.

“Stay close to me; I’ve got the perfect room,” Zarai announced, lifting the basket and waiting for everyone to gather around her before leading them inside. A guard posted by the front door began to protest at their attire, but quickly bowed down when he noted Count Hendrix and Lady Zarai were amongst the group.

Zarai guided them through a series of hallways, the walls becoming barer and lacking the Caesonian art that adorned the more populated guest wing. She pushed open a pair of dark wooden doors, revealing a drawing room. Most surfaces were covered in a thin layer of dust, except for two couches, a small bookcase, and a liquor cabinet. They all settled on the couches surrounding the basket as they passed out the various hearty foods.

Surrounded by heavy drapes that had not danced with the wind in years and dust-covered antiques, they shared stories and laughter, toasting to memories that would never fade and ate every scrap of food they brought. As the night deepened, the room, filled with the echo of their camaraderie, gently lulled them into a collective slumber, their bodies finding rest in a jumble of antique settees and floor cushions.

In the soft glow of dawn, Ryn stirred, half-awake, to find Luz curled up beside him on one of the couches, their bodies entwined in a comforting embrace. With a featherlight touch, he reached out and gently brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen across her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingertips lingered for a moment, tracing the curve of her cheek with tenderness.

Her lips twitched, and her brows furrowed, a subtle flinch rippling through her muscles. Under her closed eyelids, her eyes moved rapidly; she was dreaming. Moments later, Zarai stirred but kept her eyes closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She nestled closer to the warmth surrounding her, seeking solace in its embrace.

“Morning already?” Her voice was a mere whisper, heavy with the remnants of sleep. Her mind swam in a haze, the lingering alcohol in her system and the vivid images of her dreams. Delicate snowflakes drifted down like a gentle cascade of white, the metallic taste of iron lingered in her mouth, the comforting darkness of the lake and the stark silhouette of the bare willow tree remained vivid in her mind.

“Yeah… We’d better get you back to your room before your mother summons the entire garrison to hunt you down.” Neither of them moved, however, content to remain where they were… as long as they could.

Ryn’s fingers found their way into Luz’s long locks, gently working through the tousled knots. “It looked like you were dreaming. Was it a nice one?”

Zarai groaned at the mention of her mother. "She'd do that, wouldn't she?" The woman's determination to control her was maddening. No matter the punishment, it only pushed Zarai further away. It felt like she was standing at the edge of the cliff. “I don’t remember, but there was a nice lake.” She sighed contently, relishing the warmth of Fritz's fingers in her hair.
He hummed and after few strokes of her hair said, “Luz? I know it’s not easy to let someone in, letting them see the real struggles—you’re brave for taking this step. Thank you for trusting me.”

Strong was the complete opposite of what she felt, but the seed had already taken root. There was no turning back now, for either of them. Zarai now had to brace for the worst if her mother happened to catch wind of this.

“We’ve made promises to each other, and I’m committed to keeping mine. But to help you the way you deserve, can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Take some time—just a little—to think about what you truly want. It doesn’t matter if it feels out of reach or if you or others might call it selfish. What do you wish for? What needs to change for you to feel happy? You don’t have to tell me right now… you can think about it first. And then let’s talk so we can make a plan together.”

Zarai didn’t need time to think. She knew her desires were selfish, but she had made peace with that. She knew exactly what would bring her happiness.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from outside, accompanied by not-so-hushed voices. A commanding woman’s voice issued sharp orders to her two ladies-in-waiting to open the doors to the empty hall.

“...must be here…!”
“Find her, or you…punished!”

Zarai recognized the voice just as the door swung open. She tried to scramble to her feet, but it was too late. Panic set in as she thought about how to protect Fritz from her mother’s wrath. Perhaps she could pretend to have fallen asleep on the floor instead of the couch beside him. Duchess Francesca stormed in, pushing past her trembling ladies-in-waiting, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

“Good morning, Mo—” Zarai began, but the icy look in her mother’s eyes cut her off mid-greeting. What happened next, she half expected.

The ground rushed up to meet Zarai as she fell, the old carpet scraping her palms, but the sting was nothing compared to the sharp slap across her cheek. She felt like a little girl caught red-handed, trying to sneak a cookie from the kitchen. Above her, she heard the Duchess turn her fury toward Fritz as she struggled to rise.

“You. You did this to her,” Francesca spat at Fritz, her voice dripping with disdain. “Have you no compassion? My daughter is already damaged goods; she does not need another stain on her reputation. If you truly cared for her, you would steer her away from you. For her sake and her future.” Before he could utter a word in his defense, she seized Zarai's arm in a vice-like grip and dragged her out of the room.

A rare emotion flooded Ryn's body when he witnessed the Duchess strike her daughter across the face with such force that Luz crumpled to the ground.

Rage.

Red fury ignited within him, a wrath directed at both the Duchess and himself—at his own impotence, his failure to shield Luz from harm. The emotion swelled, poised to rupture through his flesh.

Then, nothing.

Swift and sudden as its arrival, the feeling fled, leaving the world drained of color, reduced to black and white. Hollowness replaced the overwhelming sensations.

This emotional neutrality was fortunate, as it allowed the count to handle the situation with the ladies-in-waiting more effectively. Based on their body language and facial expressions, the women exhibited signs of distress. Negative emotional reactions would be counterproductive in this scenario. The optimal course of action: maintain a calm disposition and leverage the opportunity to establish rapport and trust.

He went through the motions. Hitting the right notes, selecting words calculated to yield the most favorable results.

Color bled into Ryn’s world, sensation returned
—and with it, fear.

__________________________________________________________________________

Later, when Luz was alone for the briefest moments, Ryn appeared beside her. A carefully orchestrated encounter facilitated by the ladies-in-waiting. “I should’ve returned you to your room sooner.” He pressed his lips to the spot where Luz’s mother had struck her. “I regret not preventing this, but I cannot regret our time together.” His whisper tickled her ear. “Think about what I said,” he urged, a plea and a reminder all at once. “Take care of yourself.” Another kiss on her cheek, and he vanished, as if the count had never been there at all.

Leo hates Riona's decorating choices, so with the help of his bodyguards (Martin and Ray) and some Smithwood servants, he has the unwanted furniture hulled off to the slums. As they move what they think is the original furniture back into the room they learn Leo's been moved to a different room, the furniture they moved belongs in storage for refurnishing, and Leo's daily misfortune has left him tipsy. Meanwhile, Riona enjoys a double helping of tea, both beverage and gossip, with Leo's unhappy servants.

Riona and Leo attempt to have a conversation like reasonable humans. It could've gone worse.