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Chapter Text

The sky was leaden; the air charged with static suspense before a looming storm. Distant clouds piled up into towering, menacing thunderheads such a deep blue, they were almost black. The biting wind drove its teeth into Drifter's face no matter which way he turned, as though the King's decree that all Kaithes be banished was not enough to ensure that he could not reach his mentor Teshin in time to save him. 

He ran anyway. He didn't know exactly where Thrax had taken him, so he leaned into the wind and ran whichever way it opposed him the hardest. That took him up the road to Castle Town and towards the high spired Palace. That road took him through patrols of the king's Dax. Literally through, melting through their metal armor-flesh with the fire, ice, and toxin of his decrees just as much as the sharpness of the twin nikanas Teshin lent him back when he first started his long escape from the kingdom of Duviri.

He took strength from their defeat and decreed that which he needed most now: speed. Fear made him fleet footed. He rushed through the streets, but not as quickly as his Kaithe could have flown above and past the ranks of hammer-wielding Dax who blocked every archway. Each battle cost precious seconds.

King Dominus Thrax watched his progress from high on his throne. In the courtyard below, two of his Dax dragged a old man who had once been a renowned warrior to kneel in front of the king's lackey, Lodun. "You never cared this much about me, Drifter," Thrax whined. "If you had, I wouldn't have had to break something of yours. Justice comes swiftly in my kingdom."

Lodun snarled out the charges. "By the order of his Majesty Dominus Thrax, you are charged with treason."

The Dax drew their swords.

Teshin raised his eyes to Lodun's furious face with the calm of a true warrior, which only infuriated him more. "It is not treason to help the true king of this place escape his own kingdom. Perhaps he'll even figure it out this time."

Three levels lower in the town, sprinting up the stairs, stabbing one Dax in the chest and shooting another about to stab him, Drifter spoke the words of the sentence along with Lodun. "The penalty for which is death."

He knew every word of this sentence, because every day he'd been caught trying to escape, sentenced to die, killed, and then Thrax banged his fist on the throne and made him do it all again. 

"Death by IMPALEMENT!"

Thrax laughed, high and childish in anticipation of victory. "This wouldn't have to happen if you'd just stay safe where I keep you! What do you see in that world outside, anyway? There's nothing but war and death and madness out there."

At that moment, in the midst of Fear and on the cusp of Sorrow when there was absolutely nothing funny about any of it, Drifter rediscovered his sense of humor.

This wasn't his daily routine, where he'd be the one kneeling at Lodun's feet waiting for a stabbing pain in his back like a hot fire poker, in, out, always in the same damned place. Then the creeping blackness that took him just before he smashed his face on the ground. The last sound he heard? His own nose breaking and then a fist slamming down on the arm of a throne.

No, Teshin knelt there in his place, and he couldn’t save him.

He looked up at the sky as the storm clouds rolled overhead and said, "I could really use a meteor right about now."

Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. It would have been absurd for a miracle to happen twice, and besides, wasn't it absolutely ridiculous that "Death by METEOR" was the best thing that ever happened to him? That he'd have a literal "helping hand" fall from the sky, replace his own, and grant him mysterious powers from magic children on the Other Side who wanted to help him for no discernable reason? Simply ludicrous!

A cold, fat raindrop splashed down right between his eyes.

He laughed.

The Dax squads assembling on the second tier to keep him from the courtyard actually backed off at the sound. Not that it saved them. Curtains of rain swept over Castle Town, drumming on the roofs and pouring down the streets in rivulets. They looked for him in vain. He found them first and wasn't that ironic, how the tables turned?

Maybe some of Mathila's mad happiness was rubbing off on him, because he held onto that thought, taking grim refuge in dark humor all the way to the castle courtyard where Teshin knelt, bleeding from a fatal wound.

Lodun turned tail and fled. The Dax died. Humor's shield gave one last gasp. Hey, who would've thought that the muscle memory of stabbing one stubborn asshole in the exact same place every day meant that Teshin lived a little longer?

Then he crashed to his knees in front of him. He could not staunch that piercing wound. Though thunder beat out a drumroll of grief, the rain lifted for a brief moment of peace.

They knelt in the eye of the storm. Here, he made space for love. Love for an old man who'd persevered through countless loops to pull him from despair. Gratitude so great he choked on it and could not gasp it out.

Teshin grasped his shoulder. "You're feeling again."

"Yes," he managed. He had so much to say, so little time to say it, and above all he wanted him to know he wouldn't waste his sacrifice. "I know what I must do."

"Then take care of Sol for me."

It suddenly occurred to him that when Thrax's goons came to Teshin's cave to arrest him and replace him with a false Dax wearing his guise, Teshin must've stuffed his sweet, gentle Rablit pet into the dormizone to hide before going to fight them off. And so he hadn't seen. He didn't know.

Completely inappropriate laughter spilled out of him. "Sol. Teshin, he- Sol, he ripped out that Dax's throat like it was nothing."

Though pained, his incredulous smile was very real.

"I'll take care of him," he promised, holding him upright as he began to lean. "He doesn't need it, but it'll give me something better to do than wallow in my routine."

"Good."

Strange that such a solid support in life should be so light in death.

From on high, Thrax observed, "I feel nothing."

He laid Teshin back down, crossing his hands over his chest. The eye wall around them began breaking down. The sky turned red like fire. 

He faced himself and named what he felt squarely; anger hot enough to scorch the land bare. 

"Ah, ah," Thrax scolded.

Thrax was right there, up in his tower. Fireballs rained from roiling skies.

"Your little tantrum won't bring him back. And now that he's dead, maybe you'll get the picture. You're safe here in Duviri. And You Don't. Get. To. LEAVE.”

He knew what he must do. Teshin had not merely playacted the wise old mentor in the cave when he sent him on fetch quests to reconnect with his lost emotions and memories as though a broken doll's pieces were sacred succession scrolls that marked him the true king of a Void-made make-believe kingdom in the skies beneath the shattered wreck of a spaceship. 

Piece by piece, each fragment that painfully snapped back into place rebuilt him from the traumatized child he'd been into an adult who could stand on his own two feet and, even in the midst of anger, forgive himself for what he'd made of his life and resolve to do better with what the future brought him.

"I made Duviri." He told Thrax. If Teshin was correct, and he was certain he was, then Thrax was also a reflection of his own self, made for the sole purpose of keeping him safe. "I made you. I have grown beyond the need for a hidden sanctuary. I do not need your protection any longer. Let me go and this Outlaw Drifter will not trouble your reign any further."

Thrax shrieked back, "I don't care how angry you get. You can't change anything. You can't even change yourself!"

"I already have changed myself."

"Oh, yeah? Then prove it!"

On the heels of that boyish taunt, a portal ripped the sky open. Five Orowyrms spilled out their immense coils. They jostled for position and preeminence until Thrax shrieked in rage. All as one, they swarmed towards Drifter.

Chapter Text

All five Orowyrms arrowed through the sky towards him. Red, blue, storm-gray, green, and pink, none less deadly than the others.

A distant recollection came to him. A woman's voice, aristocratic, measured, and cool as if she read from a book: "The Orowyrms are a metaphor for unbridled emotion. Control your emotions and you will one day be a whole person and a worthy servant to the Orokin Empire."

Oh, he had thoughts about the Orokin Empire now that he remembered who'd ordered the rash leap through the Void that wrecked the ship on the far horizon and his life and family with it. The Empire was surely still out there beyond Duviri's borders, still ruining lives for their rulers' ambitions. But that was irrelevant now, since unbridled Anger, Sorrow, Fear, Envy, and Joy would sooner destroy Duviri itself at Thrax's command rather than let him go.

He stood in the courtyard with the twin swords Sun and Moon still in their sheathes, waiting for the inevitable. He'd die when the Orowyrms reached him and try again. At least this time, he'd die on his feet.

Then hooves clattered on the pavement behind him.

Kaithe folded in his wings as he trotted up to him, tossing his proud head without fear of five-fold death bearing down on them. Sol leapt off his back and bounded to Teshin's side.

Guilt rose up in his throat until he might be sick from it. "You shouldn't have come, friends." In hindsight, guilt was one emotion he'd never lost. He half wondered if he ought to give into it and become an Orowyrm himself to battle the five. But no, Teshin would've hated that. He'd die as himself and maybe next spiral he'd save them all. So he reached out to pet Sol one last time.

Sol ducked under his hand and shoved Teshin's Orvius glaive into it instead. 

Oh.

He'd never looked at the weapon closely before. The Orvius had a central grappling hook and a rim of coiled, winding wire.

Kaithe whinnied and pranced impatiently.

Oh! 

As Sol bolted for safety (or to munch on more Dax, he really wasn't sure which was more likely at this point), he leapt up on Kaithe's back. They took off, spiraling up the king's tower far enough for him to see that Thrax positively frothed at the mouth.

"You should've let me go," he shouted, and then soared up into the battle.

This time he didn't have Teshin to guide and train him; he had half-remembered tales. Whenever an Orowyrm ravaged Duviri, Loneryder would take to the skies on his faithful steed, grapple to its head to calm the beast, and drive it back to its portal.

Well, he wasn't Loneryder, the hero of the story. Maybe that was how he started out? Wandering out of the wreckage of his life into a world tailor-made by him for him to adventure in, it must have been easy to abdicate his responsibilities to Thrax and his feelings to the nobles of the court while he ran around doing everything but living his life-

Envy spat a gob of poison at his head.

"Shit!" Okay, maybe the battlefield wasn't a great place for sudden bouts of introspection.

Kaithe weaved and dodged like a champion around Lodun's fiery breath and the orbs the other Orowyrms threw into the fray. Sorrow's ice ball froze the air behind it into tiny pellets of hail that stung like needles. Joy's wake left him feeling as empty as the Void itself. Fear's lightning struck one of the tall towers near the Agora and split it open like a dead tree.

They couldn't keep getting lucky for long. He leaned over Kaithe's neck and urged, "The head!"

Kaithe folded his wings and dove for Lodun's head. He judged the distance between their plunge and the ringed spikes on the side of Lodun's neck, and threw the Orvius.

If he'd thrown it right-

-if Teshin kept the ancient weapon in good condition-

-what was he thinking? Sun and Moon were just as old and Teshin kept them immaculate -

-the Orvius hooked its grapple in deep and flew back to his hand. He swung free of Kaithe. Kaithe dropped like a stone to get out of the battle. The glaive reeled him in until he clung to Lodun's side like a burr on the side of a beast.

"Gerroff me, peasant." Lodun roared. "I will not suffer this humiliation!"

He clung on, though his grip strength was vastly insufficient for the task of steering the massive wyrm. He must control it as he did the Warframes in the Undercroft starting with Teshin's advice: "Lean in to the disassociation." At first, it had been awkward to essentially control someone else's limbs. Then he remembered the gawky awkwardness of waking up each day feeling like his teenage body wasn't the same as it was yesterday. Once he understood - and his Guiding Hand bridged the gap - he could transference with a warframe.

This time, he understood Lodun's fury at his own powerlessness all too well. Teshin was dead. 

Thrax shouted, "Cease this childish tantrum immediately. It won't bring him back."

Thrax was right. If all he did with his anger was vengeful destruction, he was wasting Teshin's sacrifice. And the reason he had the clarity to realize that? "He taught me the difference between petty spite and righteous anger."

Then he looked at his Guiding Hand. "Help me one more time. Please?”

Then he was Lodun, coiling in slow, majestic flight above the islands of Duviri. Instinctively, he understood that he must not let the other orowyrms at his unprotected back. He flew straight up, intending to swoop down on them instead like a hunting Paragrimm.

The islands burned. The fields and silos beneath Upperhaven were ablaze. Had he/Lodun done that in battle frenzy?

Thrax must've lost track of him when he transferenced with Lodun. In the absence of direction, Envy coiled his way south, dumping loads of poison on the way to the Chamber of the Muses. Sorrow chased after him, wailing hailstorms. Fear twisted up like she would tie herself in a knot. The resulting lightning strikes obliterated the Archarbor starting with the top level and blasting all the way down.

Joy took particular offense to Mathila's Farm. Her void beam blasted down on the tamm pens. Peasants vanished with their homes, shepherds with their flocks, children with their pets. One unlucky soul was fast enough to leap onto kaithe-back and run for it. 

Joy reared back and plunged right for the racer. The cataclysmic impact shattered the crust of the floating island.

When she rose back out of the new ring she'd made, Drifter was waiting. His fire scorched her armor and cooked her internal organs.

Dying, thrashing, and smashing the ruins of the farm in the process, Joy shrieked, "WHY does no-one appreciate the HAPPINESS I bring?"

One down, three to go, then Thrax and freedom. He ought to be happy. After all, the dead bodies in the field weren't real people. They were masked puppets, conjured up by a child's fevered dream. Right?

Fear took a bit of hunting. She was too terrified to put up a fight. She was also terrified enough that as she ran she smashed a dozen new holes in the large southern island. With each impact, the houses and streets that clung to the underside broke free and spilled their inhabitants into the abyss.

HHe was an Orowyrm. The people of Duviri watched him fly toward the battle where Sorrow soundly thrashed Envy for salting the earth at her stage. They all wore masks. He was as far above them as a mountain was to an ant. How easy must it be for one like Thrax to pretend they gazed at him with awe instead of fear and horror?

How easy, he thought with the distance and clarity that transference afforded him, would it be to pretend that just because he made them, they weren't real?

He must make it quick. Envy and Sorrow were badly wounded from their battle and fell quickly to his fiery breath from above. The damage was already done. Luscinia's stage where she'd once commanded even the king's own attendance was marked only by a lifeless scour.

Then he turned around, flying quickly north to Thrax's palace. 

"You can't escape this way," Thrax taunted.

Drifter slammed into the palace's base and wrapped around its spire. 

Thrax' taunts became a shrieking litany. "You can't. You can't. You can't!"

Drifter released Lodun. He was himself again, just an ant sprinting through a collapsing palace and up the stairs towards the throne room. 

Lodun shuddered and moaned with the remorse that aways came after a rampage. "Next time, Drifter. Next time I shall not lose control…”

Drifter controlled himself. He slowed his steps. This was his palace. His story would not end with him crushed to paste beneath fallen masonry. 

This was his Duviri. With that thought, Thrax tumbled from his throne. Sprawled on the ground, the short child-king scrambled to his feet awkwardly, stumbled over a broken chunk of ceiling, and scrambled backward away from him.

The last piece of the doll lay between them. Its head wore Thrax's visage. Thrax howled, "That's mine."

He didn't need his doll in order to remember anymore. He picked it and snapped the head back in place anyway. After the wreck he'd made of his life and now Duviri, it seemed fitting that something should be whole at the end of it.

Thrax ripped it out of his hand. "That's mine!" 

Then the boy cowered, appalled at his own daring. He clutched it close anyway. "It's mine." He resembled nothing as much as an animal cornered in its lair. Cringing, yet ready to lash out tooth, nail, and claw.

Drifter remembered.

The ship in the sky was the Zariman. Though Teshin spoke about children who returned with awesome Void-bending powers, he clearly wasn't one of them. He crept along its dark corridors like some nocturnal scavenger searching for scraps to hoard in his dormizone during the day when the adults were active. Hunger gnawed at his belly constantly. There was a leaky pipe in the gardening systems along the hallway where he filled his water bottles. He drank a full bottle just to have something in his stomach. 

The elevator creaked and groaned. Someone was coming down. He dropped the bottle and ran back to his fragile sanctuary before heavy, stumbling footsteps made their way after him.

Thrax whispered, "It's mine, murderer."

He was that frightened, feral, cornered animal with his back to the wall and nowhere to run. And when the ragged, sunken eyed man he barely recognized crawled to his dormizone, and whispered, 'hey, kiddo…'

Yes, a part of him was a wild creature lashing out to protect itself, and fully capable of killing. Even his own father.

No wonder he'd shut it out. No wonder he'd buried himself in his favorite book until the Void itself helped him pretend it never happened. The Void responded to his needs and he'd created Duviri as a kingdom where he could protect himself. Where his emotions were other people to be befriended and battled, where he either ruled as a king or rode where he pleased as free of care and responsibilities as Loneryder, and where eventually the wretched, violent part of him that was Thrax was remade into a half-benevolent, half-malevolent child king tasked with keeping the realm safe at all costs.

With memory came grief and the tears he couldn't shed at the time. Softer, gentler emotions he'd thought long-lost followed. Compassion for the broken child he'd been. Forgiveness for his father's death, for all the deaths on the stricken Zariman he couldn't change, and for the guilt that surely there was something he should have been able to do to save his family, friends, and classmates. Forgiveness for all of it, including the fact that he'd made Duviri with all its misery and wonder and then trapped himself in it.

"It's mine!" Thrax sobbed.

Drifter crouched down. A wounded animal could not be expected to parse friend from foe. At least he need not loom over the boy. "You can keep it. I don't expect it matters much to you right now, but I forgive myself and I forgive you. Next spiral, maybe you'll be a better king for it."

Thrax only sobbed.

He sighed. Then he laughed at himself. How many days had it taken him to break free of his loop of daily executions and win his freedom? Days upon days upon days until he didn't remember anything else, and he'd only just managed it with a Guiding Hand and help from the other side of a paradox. He wasn't going to change his innermost self with a few words of epiphany.

"Right. I don't want to be king or hero of my own make-believe world anymore, so you take care of yourself on the throne, okay? No need to worry about me. The outside world isn't safe out there…but that's the price of living my life how I want to."

Before that, though, he selfishly wanted one more thing. 

He climbed the stairs, sat on the throne, and slammed his fist down.

"Begin again!"

Chapter Text

He began, again, fittingly enough at the moment when he stood at the edge of a smoking crater, staring as green tendrils of energy ripped his right arm open and replaced his hand with another's. This time he took a moment to appreciate that it actually didn't hurt as his hand split open like a banana peel and his skin amalgamized into adaptive armor.

"You know-," he said, even as a part of him cut capers with joy that he hadn't lost everything in the reset. That he remembered, that he could feel again. That he could make bad jokes again, "-something like that really ought to hurt."

The woman's hand who replaced his had long graceful fingers and purple nail polish. Her low, sweet voice echoed in his ears. "Wake up, Tenno."

"Oh, I'm awake." He frisked the dead Dax for Sirocco. "I'm alive. And I'm planning on staying that way."

The reset hadn't taken everything from him. Hopefully, it'd given him someone back.

Lodun gibbered in rage. "Death. Death by METEOR. It should have killed you. Even the cosmos conspire to spit in my face. Guards! GUARDS!"

A mounted Dax answered the call, charging forward on a very familiar Kaithe, azothane greatsword ready to decapitate him.

He rolled out of the way of the thundering charge. He whistled sharply.

Kaithe wheeled, reared, and bucked his master. He stomped once and dished his helmet in like a bowl. Then he trotted over to him.

He patted Kaithe's flank. "Alright, make that two someones. I'm glad to have you back too." He swung up on his back and they took off, winging away from the Palace and Castle Town's archers towards Teshin's cave to find out.

He didn't make it far.

Duviri stretched out beneath Kaithe's wings. Fields of golden kovnik glowed under the harsh red light of Anger. Workers storing their harvest in grain silos took no notice of a single rider high above. When he flew over Mathila's Farm, Barris the shepherd boy looked up from his gamboling tamms. They flew over hamlets he'd watched wiped off the map bare minutes before, around towers that were reduced to smoking ruins, and if he wanted to delay finding out if he'd saved Teshin or failed, he could still go to the Chamber of the Muses and listen to Luscinia sing a song so sad it could wring tears from a stone.

Torn between wonder that his imagination and the Void had conjured up such a beautiful land and the guilt that squeezed around his chest like an iron pathos clamp, he guided Kaithe down to a high hill crowned by a copse of trees. Maybe solid ground would steady him.

It didn't. Kaithe, however, was a solid, warm bulwark to lean on as he laughed and wept through the rush of real, raw feelings.

Murderer. Outlaw. Drifter. What right had he to live through such wondrous and terrible things when so many others died? Surely none, yet he had. He would not squander that gift.

Was his desire to leave Duviri truly as selfish as Thrax said? No, or Teshin and the Tenno on the other side would not have supported him. Yet Bombastine's response lingered in his mind: "A way out? When all of us are obliged to stay?"

As for that part of him that had looked down from on high at men, women, and children panicking and dying as if they were ants scurrying beneath his boot, he wasn’t sure he liked it. He could change. He must.

Slowly but surely, the iron clamp of guilt eased under the pressure of compassion. Forgiveness burst it asunder. Responsibility fashioned it anew until it lay on his shoulders more like a mantle than a yoke. "I made this place," he acknowledged. "Just because it's my make-believe kingdom from a story-book doesn't mean it isn't real. That its people aren't real and deserving of peace and protection. I can leave, but I cannot leave behind my responsibility to what I made."

Kaithe whuffed at his hair.

"Hey, you can't eat that." He hadn't been the only child on the Zariman doodling his own kaithe in his school books when he should have been studying about the Void. As far as he knew, he was the only one to take what he'd learned about conceptual embodiment and make his favorite book into a Void-manifested reality. "I made you loyal and stalwart, strong and fast and clever. Apparently I made you hungry too."

Kaithe snorted. 

"Yeah, I know I wouldn't have beaten Lodun without you. I'm very grateful." In the book, Kaithe had sometimes seemed more clever than his rider. Given that this rider kept getting himself executed, maybe there was something to it. “You’re the best Kaithe a boy could ask for. But if I’m to change, your loyalty can’t be forced just because I made you that way. If you’d rather fly fast and free…”

He stepped back. He’d miss him. He’d walk back to Teshin's cave the slow way and carry on from there.

Kaithe stepped forward and started nudging around in his pockets looking for fruit. Another iron band of guilt fell away, replaced by the reminder that Kaithe was far bigger than he was, and that the last man dumb enough to make him do something he didn’t want to got his head kicked in. “Hey. Hey! Fine, fine, we’ll stop at the orchards for some fruit. You deserve it.”

They flew to the orchards. He paid for Kaithe's treat by filling a couple bags with fuzzy orange makapa fruit for the farmers. The woman of the house gave him one back in payment. It was sharp and sweet. Juice ran down his chin and through his short beard. He licked his fingers clean and realized that for the first time in centuries, he was smiling so broadly his cheeks hurt.

When was the last time he enjoyed eating food? It must have been back in the dormizone with Sol and Teshin. Before that, he couldn't remember. Not even the taste of cake.

When they flew back to his old dormizone, he rooted around in the back of the cupboards until he found the old, forgotten can of frosting. There was nothing left but a few dried flakes of hard sugar left. He swiped them up and licked them off his finger.

Sweet. So sweet it made his teeth ache.

“Drifter? Is that you?” 

Frosting forgotten, he rushed to Teshin and embraced him. The old man rocked back on his heels, then leaned into the hug to steady himself, holding on with more force than necessary to stand upright. Sol chittered in his ear at the indignity of being squeezed between them. He let him out before the rablit’s powerful hind legs left their mark on him. Then Teshin’s hand was on his cheek and his glowing eyes searched his face. “I remember each and every failure that brought you back to me. This time, you feel.”

He nodded. There was no speaking how it felt to see him alive again. He'd been like a second father, one he hadn't asked for and hadn't wanted in the depths of despair, but who'd loved him anyway. He dashed at his eyes. Teshin's smile was too radiant to be that blurry.

They played Komi. He lost. Teshin let him practice with the Orvius until he wasn't going to slice his Guiding Hand's fingers off and then sent him to practice with Sun and Moon at the battered practice dummy. There were gashes and chips he didn't remember making. He must've because his left hand bore calluses from Moon's hilt.

When they stopped for dinner in the Dormizone, Teshin remarked, "You won. Yet you gave rule over Duviri back to Thrax. Why?" He asked.

Musings about why he might have put Thrax in charge the first time aside, Drifter had only to look around at his life and the people and things he loved to know why he'd done it now. "It seemed like a good trade.”

"What will you do now?"

"That's the million credit question, isn't it? Thanks to you and everyone who's lent me a helping hand in friendship, I'm "me" again. I know now I'm going to have to live with being me whether I stay or I go."

Behind them, the dormizone door beckoned with the light and color of the real world, the wrecked Zariman 10-0, and the war-torn Origin System beyond that. That might sound like hell to another man, but he'd spent hundreds of years living and reliving the same damned day. It sounded wonderful. Besides, he owed the Tenno for their help.

In other direction, Teshin's cave promised familiar warmth, and beyond that, the lurking reminder that he had tasks left undone in Duviri. Just because he was feeling his emotions again didn't mean he'd mastered them.

He weighed them both and chose. 

"I will stay. For now. Not as Duviri's king or its Loneryder hero, but as the man who just handed control back over to the mad whims of a child-tyrant and his nobles who are reflections of my own unbridled emotions. I owe it to myself and my people to make this place better before I leave to repay the debt I owe the Tenno.”

Teshin accepted that with his usual equanimity. "I would be honored to train you in the ways of the Dax. You may find the Conclave a harder master than Thrax.”

He snorted. "Pull the other one."

"I'm serious," Teshin warned with nary a hint of a smile. "You may find yourself longing for the days when you wallowed in your daily routine."

He raised an eyebrow. 

Straightfaced, Teshin sipped his tea in silence. 

Drifter broke first. His explosive snorting giggle was all the louder for having tried to muffle it with his hand. Teshin shook with slow, heaving chuckles. They looked at each other and that set them off. Sol took advantage of their distraction to pilfer a nutricube from Teshin's tray and nibble at it, which set off a fresh round of laughter completely out of proportion to how funny it actually was.

Oh, these small moments made him happy. 

I owe the Tenno. I owe Duviri. And I owe myself. This isn't a prison. It's my life, and I'm going to live it properly this time.

Chapter Text

In Duviri, time passed according to the king's moods. If he woke up angry, perhaps because he'd woken with a crick in his neck, or he'd stubbed his toe before putting on his boots, or his breakfast of jellied eels and makapa fruit jam was not precisely as he desired, the sky turned sullen red like an inflamed boil.

Today, the sky was overcast with bilious green cloud banks.

"I guess someone's a little envious of my good fortune," he said to Teshin as they surveyed the Arsenal. The Tenno had been generous this morning. Where before they'd lent him the choice of three warframes, now there were four and different weapons besides. One of the swords was a gleaming curved greatsword as tall as he was. 

He picked it up. It clanged to the ground. "Right. Weighted for a Warframe. Not me."

"Practice with the Azothane if you want a greatsword of your own," Teshin instructed. "You'll find it quite different from Sun and Moon."

He sighed at the prospect of homework.

"Are you jealous?" Teshin asked.

Sometimes, the old man saw him all too keenly for comfort. Surrounded by so many powerful weapons and warframes who used those weapons like they were born with them in hand, which were only lent to him by the Tenno who'd survived the Zariman with powers he certainly hadn't gotten and who he undoubtedly owed a debt for their aid, yeah, he was a little jealous. "Okay, yeah, maybe more than a little. Guess I can be Master of Duviri, but I’m not yet master of myself.”

"To master oneself is the hardest battle of them all. You will fight it every day of your life, whether you face the Spiral or not."

Then he'd best get on with it, except for one worry. "Will Thrax bother you?”

Sol bounded over, leaping into Teshin's arms and nudging at his hands until the old warrior submitted to his demands for petting and scritches. "This time I shall not be so foolish as to shut out my best defender. Besides, I do not believe Thrax will try again unless you fall into old, bad habits and back into his thrall."

Bad habits like shutting out his feelings or, conversely, giving into unbridled emotions. Or more insidious, the trap of playing the role he'd created for himself as the moody child-king or the role he fell into naturally now: the wandering outlaw-hero Loneryder. "I want to change Duviri for the better. I can't do that unless I grow beyond my role in the storybook and encourage everyone else to do the same."

"Your empathy for the people of Duviri does you credit. When you have no other guide to action, lean on that." Teshin put his hand on his shoulder. Sol leaned in for a scratch under the chin. "Finally, for your sake, remember that you need not always call out and conquer the Orowyrms. You could just explore, fish, or listen to a concert."

He could spend a whole day picking fruit in an orchard. Or ride the wind currents with Kaithe. "I get it. Though Bombastine will never forgive me if I listen to Luscinia's concert instead of his plays."

Teshin shrugged and stepped back, clearing the way to the portal out of the cave into Duviri's Envy Spiral. "That's his problem."

He stepped out and through. In addition to the huge head and arms of Dominus Thrax, giant staring eyeballs floated in the green sky. They never moved. They didn't need to in order to see all that moved across the land. He didn't really remember that well, since Thrax's resets stole both memory and experience, save for a vague premonition that he hadn't lasted long during past Envy Spirals unless he sought refuge in a cave network.

Today, however, he squared his shoulders, whistled for Kaithe, and rode to the Agora where Bombastine performed plays, recitations, and other arts for theatrically inclined citizens. The main stage was empty, so he went backstage where he found Bombastine paging through old playbills, muttering imprecations about critics who didn't appreciate him, and plotting.

"So," he asked brightly, "what're we doing today?"

Bombastine's mask was a fixed, unsettlingly wide grin. His voice and body language did all the acting for him. With his long arm on his hip and head canted to one side, he was the picture of aggrievement. "If I had your resources, I'd be on the throne right now. Bombastine the First. Just saying."

"I decided I'd rather see a play today." He pulled a playbill off the stack at random and read, "The Many Deaths of the Dissenter." The sketch showed an Orowyrm looming over a familiar-looking puppet wielding dual swords. "Oh, come on."

"Thrax commissioned that one specifically in your honor. Want to help me take him down a peg?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, I'm not putting on a play today unless I'm paid my dues. Now that Luscinia is the royal favorite, Thrax pays me a pittance compared to what I used to command. Go take the difference from his tax collectors' chests."

This much he did remember: the tax chests were hidden by one of the three bridges near the Agora. It took a few minutes to find the right bridge, hack the chest open, and pocket the gold.

Bombastine's head popped over the side of the bridge. Of course he was keeping tabs on him. "That's rightfully mine, thief," he hissed. In a moment, he'd raise his voice and start shrieking "Thief, thief!" at volume that carried to the back seats and beyond. Dax patrols would come running. If he couldn't have it, no one could.

Drifter patted his pocket. "How else are you expecting me to pay for my ticket?”

"Hmph."

Back at the stage, he presented the gold with a flourish. "For my ticket."

Bombastine snatched the gold up, counted it, and sniffed. "If you think I'm going to perform for a lowly drifter, Sire, you're sadly mistaken. You need a mask."

That made no sense. "Come again?"

"You want a performance? You're about to be my partner on the stage."

His jaw dropped. Bombastine chucked him under the chin and said, "Go get a mask."

He was pretty sure this hadn't happened in the book and even more sure that if it happened in any past Spiral, he would've remembered getting up on stage to royally embarrass himself. On the other hand, didn't he want to change things? And it might actually be kinda fun. He clapped Bombastine on the shoulder. "Sure. How bad of an actor can I be?"

"Really bad," Bombastine predicted dourly. "I only hope that when you get booed off the stage, my audience appreciates my genius all the more."

Bombastine wouldn't let him take the extra masks from backstage. He claimed they belonged to him.

Drifter thought otherwise. He suspected that any actor who met Bombastine's standards to share his stage was promptly driven away by his constant backbiting and sabotage. He followed his Guiding Hand's guidance out of the Agora and up a nearby hillside where a lone table stood in the clearing.

The table looked just like the one in his dormizone. So did the tray and the two cups. Come to think of it, it'd been long enough since breakfast that he was hungry.

When he picked up the chopsticks, two hands reached for the food, and only one of them was his. He looked across the other side at the much younger Tenno. "Hey. You want some too?"

Messily, with more than a few dropped pieces, and quite a few curses, they ate and drank together across a mirror, backwards. When they were done, he walked around looking over his shoulder for the light that connected them until the Tenno found the mask and carried it back to the table.

The corners of the mask' face drew down in an exaggerated sad face. "Thanks," he told the Tenno. "I'd invite you to watch me make a fool out of myself, but I dunno how that'd work." 

They vanished. 

"Yeah, I don't blame you for skipping out on that offer."

By the time he got back, there were already people in the seats. His hands got clammy. He fled backstage like it was a sanctuary.

Bombastine examined his mask. "What a mood, Sire. And what recitation will you give us today?"

"What?"

"Unless you'd rather act out the part of the Dissenter?"

"No."

"Or," he scooped up a fat script scroll from the shelves, "I know, you can play His Majesty Dominus Thrax in "The Scholar's Landing."”

He unrolled it. It told a dialogue between a Scholar from a far off land who'd fallen into Duviri and the King and that was as far as he got before he registered the sheer amount of lines he'd have to memorize. "Look, I didn't sign up for homework."

"That's why you'll never be a great actor." Bombastine said snidely. "Go out there, pick one of your favorite decrees, and gussy it up with words so fancy they hardly know what you're talking about. They'll lap it up like a kexat drinking tamm milk."

"Shit."

He peeked out. The audience shifted restlessly. Some of them drank from refreshing water-filled connla sprouts. If he didn't please them, he'd get soaked and driven off the stage. "Shit. Wish me luck."

Bombastine smacked himself on his mask’s forehead. "Break a leg."

"Thanks?!"

He went out on the stage. He cleared his throat. He took up a stance like Lodun reading out from his judgment scroll.

"Fleet-"

His voice cracked. Oh, shit, that hadn't happened in years. The oratorical mask carried the shameful sound all the way to every ear within the edge of the Agora.

"Fleet-footed."

"I am a racer. Fleet of foot, am I. Leaping, I spring forth faster than Kaithe at full gallop."

Someone tossed their connla sprout. It hit the edge of the stage and popped, spraying water all over his boots. Fancier, fancier. 

"My toes alight upon the earth as a butterfly sups from a nectared flower. My heels, a drumbeat, thrumming the ground to my pulsing rhythm."

A woman in the back booed. Too fancy? No, if he were listening to himself, he'd be bored to tears. Fleet-footed only got faster with more decrees. Decrees were earned by-

"I rush to a chest. I plunder it. The Guardian spirit raises its scythe to cut me down where I stand. I run away. He slices the very air in twain, but I am gone. A squad of Dax block my escape. Twisting, dashing, ducking, I rush past them to freedom. They eat my dust, billowing in choking clouds that blind them."

They were rapt. Probably because he spoke borderline sedition and they were eagerly waiting for the moment when the Dax took offense and hauled him off for his daily round of death by impalement. That spot in his back itched. Right, time to bullshit his way out of the hole he'd just dug and hope it worked. He gestured to the sky and the staring eyes above.

"I race the King's roads under his beneficent eyes. He guides my way. All hail thou fleet-footed runner who runs with the King's grace and favor!"

In the long pause that followed as the audience worked through whether it was more politically expedient to boo or cheer, he heard Bombastine mutter from the wings, "Riveting."

They cheered Thrax's benevolence. Bombastine shoved him out of the way to take center stage himself for his rendition of a monologue from "The Grapes of Manipura."

He retreated backstage, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and because he'd be back up on stage alternating with Bombastine in no time, cudgeled his brain into thinking up something clever about another decree that wasn't going to get him arrested or booed off the stage and then arrested.

Somehow, despite running out of ideas and resorting to talking about how the “Hammer of Retribution” decree was like an Orowyrm smashing its head into a wall over and over again, he made it to the end without getting arrested.

Bombastine grabbed his hand.

"What the hell?”

Bombastine yanked his hand up in the air and then dragged him down into a clumsy bow. 

"Oh."

Against all expectations, the audience actually cheered. For him too, not just Bombastine, who's grip got viciously tight. "They love you, Sire. Of course they do. Who wouldn't?"

He felt as though he stood on the edge of a cliff. A wrong word and they might both tumble over. 

He also remembered gritting his teeth and spitting well wishes, delivering too tight handshakes and congratulatory backslaps that left his palms stinging. All because he felt he'd deserved what the other children got.

He hadn't known then how little awards meant compared to the friendships he'd soured. 

He shook free of Bombastine's hand and took up a new pose: a herald, announcing the guest of honor. "Hail thou most renowned teacher, who takes a novice actor and sets him forth like a fledgling bird to fly. Hail, Bombastine, master of the stage!"

Alone, Bombastine stepped up to take his bows and revel in the applause as his rightful dues.

He beamed behind his crying mask and clapped until his palms stung.

When he returned to the cave, Teshin looked up from the game of Komi he was playing with himself as Sol watched. He hid his worry well. "I see you managed to not get executed. Good. How did the first day of your new life go?"

He hadn’t considered that Teshin had been just as nervous waiting here for either an Orowyrm or his triumphant return as he was up on the stage. So he resolved to show him that his day went well, no matter how silly he looked in the process. He set the mask back on his face. He struck a pose: the messenger coming before the king with tidings. "Well, since you asked, a funny thing happened on the way to the Agora…"

Chapter Text

He plucked wine-dark berries from a bush. For every three that made it into his bucket, he popped one into his mouth. It tasted like makapa juice. Wait, that wasn't right…

Something nudged under his hands, waking him up. He opened his eyes. Sol blinked at him from a distance of mere inches, his nose twitching.

"Did you have to wake me from a good dream?" He petted the blue rablit anyway.

Teshin already puttered around with the dawn of a new, bright, sunny day of Joy. "Seems like Thrax woke up on the right side of the crib today."

"Might as well take advantage of it while it lasts." He took Sun and Moon (because Thrax in a joyous mood was no less dangerous than Thrax in any other mood) and headed out through the portal.

Sunlight warmed his face. A breeze, just cool enough to keep him from being too hot while riding Kaithe, teased his hair. Sun Silph pollen drifted in sparkling, golden veils that smelled of fresh, growing things. Birds sang carols to find mates or chirped to their young in a rousing chorus of calls.

His brief idyll was interrupted by jingling bells. Mathila rode up alongside him on her Psyacus kaithe. The normally fearsome beast wore multicolored flowers stuffed into every open crevice of his body, big purple blooms in his eye sockets, and carried panniers with more flowers ransacked from the palace gardens. "Oh, its you. I won't have you making trouble on this fine day." She plucked a fresh pink blossom from a pannier, tucked it into her hair, then picked out another and tucked it into his. "So I'm going to keep you out of trouble for once. You're going to help me spread some positivity for a change!"

It tickled. It was a bright pink blotch in his peripheral vision. "Somewhere, a gardener is crying."

"Nonsense!" Her girlish giggle was a little too high-pitched. "These are too beautiful to stay mewed up behind the Palace walls. Anyways," she looped her arm in his. Kaithe tossed his horned head. Psyacus tried to crush their legs together. He hastily pulled free and put some distance between them. She sped up to match. "As. I. Was. Saying. Anyways, we're going to help herd tamms. Silly little Barris lost his tamms yesterday and they aren't back in their pen today. Weird, right? They'd surely be happier there. And you'll be happy too, because helping others brings happiness!"

Tamms were Duviri's version of sheep. Sweet, dumb, and prone to wandering off in a land riddled with caves, orowyrm holes, and wild kexats and krubies. They were easily spooked and thus easily herded by a big, fast moving animal like Kaithe. Compared to say, plundering the palace gardens for more flowers, it sounded positively relaxing. "Yeah, sure, herding tamms makes me happy."

She eyed him. "Wait…really?!"

How much of a sarcastic little shit was he during past Joy loops that the memory of it persisted through Thrax's resets? He decided he didn't want to know and headed towards the nearest tamm farm.

Barris was a small boy sitting by the empty golden pylons of the tamm pen, whistling a scrap of tune as if he didn't care that his animals were off gallivanting without him. When he rode up, Barris said, "Hey, don't get mad at me that she roped you in to help. I don't want to be a shepherd."

Drifter paused as that statement tickled at a memory. Loneryder normally got right to work herding tamms, which the tales lauded as the proper industriousness of a man from the peasant class. Loneryder didn't stop to wonder why a boy might not want to follow in his father's footsteps. That was just the way the world worked; he'd come around eventually when shown the correct way by a good example.

Barris cocked his head curiously. "Are you deaf now, Outlaw? I said I don't want to herd tamms."

"I heard you. I just don't remember if the story never says what you want to do instead of being a shepherd or if I've forgotten it."

"Not deaf then. Just crazy."

Well, he'd stuck his foot right in a metaphorical pile of tamm dung, hadn't he? "I'll go get your tamms. Then we'll talk."

"Sure," Barris said skeptically. He waved up at a nearby stone ring. "Pretty sure the three of them scampered off up there."

One of the reddish horned tamms was all the way on the top of the ring. He flew up with Kaithe and guided him back down before he could strike out for greener pastures on the far side. The two females stuck together, literally, tangled up in a stand of kovnik bushes and bleating at each other as they struggled with branches that poked out through their ribs. As he closed the pen behind them, Barris said, "Huh. I expected you to ride off into the sunset."

It was high noon. "Mathila said you let them out yesterday?"

"Yeah. Normally they're back in their pen in the morning. Now that they're sorted, I'm off for lunch at the farm, Crazy Outlaw."

Lunch sounded excellent. He'd just invited himself along when Mathila came riding up in a lather, trailing blossoms as she went. "Drifter, the tamms up at Fort Wyrmsoul have broken their pen. Do be a dear and round them up?"

"So much for lunch," he said, and offered Barris a hand to hop up in front of him on Kaithe.

"But I wasn't even up at Fort Wyrmsoul yesterday," the boy protested. His eagerness to climb up belied the token argument. "It's too cold."

"If it's too cold for you, it's too cold for tamms to be out wandering, right? Now hold on."

He needn't have worried. Barris' one-armed grip was as white-knuckled as a boy made of glazed ceramic and metal could manage; his grin as Kaithe reared up and the ground fell away with each powerful wingbeat was as delighted as he could wish. They flew past the giant statue head of Dominus Thrax in the sky. His hands were outstretched, as if to gift them this bright beautiful day.

Fort Wyrmsoul and the Throneguard Barracks watched over snowy slopes below high arches. Barris guided him to a tamm pen in a low sheltered valley between them. At least these ten tamms hadn't been out long. They'd scattered along the valley and it was only the work of an hour to round them all up. The work kept him warm enough that the biting wind sweeping down with occasional flurries felt rather pleasant. As the last one trotted inside, he heard Thrax's voice in his ear. "You make an excellent shepherd. It must be because you've finally found creatures who look up to you."

"I do actually enjoy this," he said, and Barris edged away as he started talking to thin air. "Can you say that about anything?"

Thrax considered it. "I enjoy insulting you."

Heh. "Fair enough."

Thrax said, "I see someone woke up on the right side of the crib today."

"I could say the same about you."

If Barris knew who he was backtalking, he'd be running for the hills, not impatiently waiting by Kaithe. "Come on, ya crazy Outlaw, let's get back to the farm before someone lets more tamms out."

"What do you mean?" Suddenly he felt very dense. Of course. Barris obviously hadn't done this. Someone else must have.

On cue, Mathila came flying down, jingling, and all in a disarray. "Oh, Drifter!"

"Hi, Mathila."

"You sound so disheartened. I know what will perk you right up. Herding tamms! Fortunately for you, there's been an absolute outbreak of tamms at my farm and I could use an experienced ranch hand like you."

"Fortunately," he said flatly.

Barris giggled at him. 

"Oh, what a happy little boy. You must be delighted to be a shepherd."

"No…"

"No, no negativity allowed in this kingdom. Embrace your lot in life and don't question the choices that led you here."

Drifter rescued Barris from her clutches, but not before she plopped a lopsided daisy chain on the boy's beaded, braided hair. "Let's go.”

They flew. Psyacus shed flowers all the way. He glided through a cloud of silphsela and down over Mathila's farm. Tamms bleated from the rooftops of quaint little barns. Tamms bathed in the water troughs. Tamms looked out of windows while housewives futilely shooed them out of their houses. A small herd of Tamms blocked the main road out, much to the chagrin of the patrol of Dax who'd spotted him. A pair of horned tamms scuffed their hooves on either side of the farmyard and charged at each other. Their horns clacked and clanged with each series of blows.

Barris' eyes grew as round as saucers.

When Drifter landed and used his Guiding Hand, her light showed even more tamms deep within the caves nearby and scattered up the far hills and down the valleys.

"Why'd she do this?" Barris asked.

He had a terrible suspicion why. "Mathila, what did you do?"

She clutched her bouquet like a shield. "You said it made you happy."

Barris' jaw dropped. 

Drifter said, "Just so we're clear, you let out every tamm in your farm out of their pens just so I'd be happy herding them back in.”

"Yes." In a small voice, she added, "I really thought it would make you happy."

The words spilled out before he understood why they sounded so familiar: "How could anyone sane look at this and feel happy?"

She began to laugh. Not happy laughter or girlish giggles. He would've gladly had those back instead of this terrible laughter that echoed on and on even as he and Barris looked at each other and mutually got to work hauling tamms out of houses and out of the road. 

He'd accidentally played right along with Mathila's tale as the Harbinger of Joy. As he remembered it, she thought happiness could be forced on people. She took their simple pleasures to extremes. A little happiness wasn't enough, so she sought new highs, and when those inevitably dulled, she went beyond common sense into excess. And when all her striving ended in unhappy ruin, she abandoned rationality rather than face the consequences or learn moderation.

Three wandering tamms were a treat. A chance to relax from his usual squabbles with the Dax and far less embarrassing than bullshitting his way through recitations.

Ten lost tamms were a fun challenge. A chance to show off what he and Kaithe could do working together. He enjoyed their smooth partnership and the efficiency of rounding up several tamms at once.

One hundred tamms? Exhausting. Any pleasure he normally took from the task vanished by Tamm #20 (innocently rolling around in kaithe dung) and by Tamm #79 he just bitterly cursed whatever idiot gave the beasts just enough brains to leap into the town well without realizing they couldn't get back out.

In the tales, she followed that road into madness and beyond, thinking that she could force happiness upon everyone if only she became an Orowyrm. Thanks to his idiocy, not only was he wrestling a bull-headed tamm to the ground while Kaithe body-blocked the other fighter, she was well on her way to blasting her farm off the map for the second time in two days.

Worse, he didn't have any idea what to say to stave her off.

When he and Barris got them all back in the pens, he went home with Barris. 

Barris’ mother, one of the tamm-shooing housewives, glared at her son.

"It wasn't his fault this time," Drifter said. "I'm the one who said I liked tamm herding so she took it too far.”

She sniffed. "If he wanted me to trust him, he wouldn't have let them out yesterday."

Quietly, Barris said, "They're always back in their pen by morning. But I guess that isn't so."

Like the missing pieces of the doll clicking back into place, Drifter understood what happened. Or, what hadn’t happened. Bombastine hadn't become an Orowyrm. A successful, if mildly seditious play was no reason for a reset. For the first time in literally centuries, Duviri had passed a whole day without Thrax banging his throne and turning back time.

"You're right," he said. "In fact, I think you'd better start planning like your actions today have consequences tomorrow."

"That's great," Barris' mother said, grasping her son by the ear and directing him inside. "He can start by cleaning the pile of tamm dung in the hearth so it doesn't stain."

"Sorry." He said to Barris. "If there's anything I can do to help…"

Barris' baleful look made it plain that if he wanted to help the boy achieve his dreams, he'd better have a lot of dirt to fill in the hole he'd dug for himself today. "With 'help' like this, who needs enemies?"

Fair enough.

"Oh, Drrrifter!" Mathila caroled.

"Stay safe. I'm about to make it worse."

The boy grabbed his mother and dragged her down to their storm cellar despite her protests. 

Once they were safe, Drifter joined Mathila.

If Teshin was right, and he hoped he was, the Tales of Duviri opened another path forward should he screw up his hoped for changes and the courtiers became an Orowyrm. He must face them in the sky and in their lair and defeat them, conquering their unbridled emotions with the calm of a true warrior to bring peace to Duviri for a while.

She scooped the flower mantle off of Psyacus and draped it over his shoulders like he was a conquering hero on a victory parade. "Oh, Drifter. You're all done. All those happy little tamms back in their happy little pens. Are you happy now?"

He was hot, sweaty, and while the breeze felt wonderful, it also made sure he knew that under the cover of those scented flowers, he deserved every insult Thrax heaped on dung-shovelers. "If it had been an honest hard day's work, yeah, I'd go to bed tired and happy."

She flinched. She buried her face in a huge sun silph flower and inhaled deeply, calming for a moment.

He asked, "Why did you think that because herding ten tamms makes me happy, that I'd be happy a hundred-fold with the mess you made?"

"Isn't that how it works?" She asked. She started plucking petals from the sun silph. Every other one fell into the road. "That's how it works for me," she said brightly.

"Is it really?" He asked skeptically.

She rounded on him, still plucking petals and throwing them and her words in his face even as she began to shimmer along her joints and face and eyes. "I see it. You all want happiness, but no one wants to put in the work. Do you think my light got here by itself?"

Her light blinded him despite his upraised arm. "Do you?!" Her scream faded away. In the distance, an Orowyrm roared as it emerged from its high portal between Thrax's giant hands in the sky. It trailed ribbons of pink light that matched Mathila's dress.

He sighed. "That went well."

A pair of bushes on the side rustled. Sol bounded out. Teshin, observing his be-flowered and dirty state, said dryly, "Sol has my Orvius." 

"Thanks." He shucked off the flower mantle, called Kaithe, and took to the skies. Time to master the mad happiness of forced joy.

Chapter Text

When the next morning dawned with a red and roiling sky, Drifter said to Teshin, "Theoretically, all I have to do today is not get angry at Lodun and keep him from getting so angry he explodes into an Orowyrm." Since his enduring memory of Lodun was the man sneering "Death by IMPALEMENT” every spiral, it wasn't going to be easy.

Teshin said, "Only a fool seeks to stifle his anger. It is the loyal bodyguard of conscience."

"Are you talking about me or Lodun?"

"Yes."

"...I don't get it."

Teshin refused to elaborate except with cryptic raised eyebrows when he asked, so he picked his warframe (Volt, a fragile speedster with lightning based powers), a bow, pistol, and pair of axes weighted for Volt's use, and headed into the Anger Spiral.

When he found Lodun, however, the Prince of Fire strode through the streets of Upperhaven carrying his checklist like a man of dignity. Far from the red-faced and spittle flecked man at his wit's end with the soon-to-be-dead-by-impalement Drifter, he paused in his rounds to warn him at the point of a riding crop, "Keep the peace and perhaps you'll live out the day."

"Why, thank you."

"Why, thank you, my lord," Lodun corrected. "I haven't forgotten how you spoke to me, "Drifter." I might yet forgive you."

He sketched a brief bow. "Why, thank you, my lord."

Lodun paused for a long moment, perhaps trying to figure out whether he was being sarcastic.

Yes, he was, but on the other hand, he almost felt the ghostly hand of Teshin reaching out to smack him upside the head until he remembered the difference between petty spite and righteous anger. For the first time in spirals upon spirals, he was having a semi-civil conversation with the man, and he was ruining it out of pique. Besides, he was curious. "You seem different today, my lord. More princely."

Lodun tapped the riding crop against his thigh. "Yes, I believe that this time I will stay in control of myself. And you shall help me. You are going to help me find the succession scrolls, prove my right to the throne, and dethrone the false king from my place.”

This had the ring of a well-worn story because there was no other way Lodun should expect his help to end well. "Hold up, I thought I was supposed to keep the peace."

Lodun stepped towards him, grabbing his leather cloak. 

He grabbed Lodun's wrist, and pushed him back, expecting him to lash out with the crop.

Instead, Lodun took a deep breath and blew it out behind his unchanging mask. "Keep the peace. Yes, my ascension to the throne shall be peaceful. Without bloodshed. Once we find those succession scrolls in the caves beneath the castle, I am the rightful heir. Thrax will have to step down. Peacefully.”

According to the tale "The Prince of Fire," Loneryder was always willing to work with Lodun until the Prince got angry, started lashing out at friend and foe alike, burned bridges he shouldn't, and then was consumed by his own anger. Maybe if Drifter set a good example and kept control of his own temper, they'd break the spiral? "If you keep on like this, you'd make a pretty good king. Sure, I'll help." He called Kaithe, mounted up, and offered his hand. "Do you need a ride?”

"A ride? Pfffft. I am not some outlaw on a stolen kaithe."

So Drifter flew to the cave without him. The chest was a little way into the cave. It was clearly trapped so he didn't touch it. He'd been waiting at the cave entrance for about an hour when the tramp of many soldiers' marching feet sent him scrambling to hide in the kovnik bushes. Betrayal? Had Thrax found out about Lodun’s plan?

No, Lodun rode down on his own Histornam kaithe at the head of a full rank of Dax as befitted his station. They formed a thin line between the hilly entrance and the island’s edge. "Did you find it?" He demanded as soon as he made his appearance.

"I assumed you'd want to be here when it was opened, my lord.”

"You assumed correctly." Lodun dismounted and went to the chest, muttering, "This way, I shall be certain that no one tampered with it."

Lodun's Dax Gladius bodyguards made sure to jostle Drifter out of the way. He didn't object as they pushed him to the rear of the pack. Let them deal with it; everyone knew that Thrax trapped his chests with complicated puzzles or monstrous ghostly guardians or-

The moment Lodun touched the chest, darkness spread over them all like a wave. It shrieked. It clawed like a hungry thing. Then it passed over them, settling into the deepest corners of the cave to lie in ambush for the unwary wanderer or the foolishly brave.

A Dax grabbed Drifter by the cloak. Hard metal hands like grasping pincers dragged him back through their numbers and forced him to kneel on the rough rock cave floor in front of Lodun and the chest, which glowed blood-red to match the shadowy figures' claws. "He must've done something to it.”

"I did not!" 

"Don't be stupid," Lodun snapped back at the Dax. "How could a peasant command a bunch of farty ancestor phantasms? Don't answer that. I don't want to know what you think. I want you to do your job and get me my succession scrolls!”

The darkness seemed to press closer. Drifter could almost make out shapes of small, too thin, capering children reaching out to rend and tear him to pieces just as they had in the Undercroft when Thrax taunted him with his tale of the child who murdered his father. He shuddered. 

Even the Dax cowered from it. They went back to back, weapons bristling. Their circle excluded Lodun.

"You-" Lodun growled. He drew himself up. He raised his riding crop. "You dare?!" He fell on them like a thunderbolt, lashing right and left, striking their metal faces and ceramic cheeks until they rang. They cowered from him. They cowered from the darkness. He swore and beat them and was powerless to make them move. In his fury, he whirled on Drifter with the crop. He struck out without really seeing, so it just grazed his forehead.

It stung like an insect bite, nothing more, but the injustice of it burned. Unlike Lodun's rage that left him flailing about as veiled if in smoke, his burned cleanly and left him clear-minded enough to catch the crop mid-swing. 

"You dare?!"

"I dare. You will not strike me again." To make sure of it, he wrenched the crop from Lodun's hand, snapped the thin cane in two, and tossed it back at his feet.

Lodun wilted. He seemed a much smaller man than before. 

Drifter's own clean anger faded and he found himself feeling sorry for him. Sorry enough to say, "Why don't you step outside, take a deep breath, and gather your troops while I go deal with the darkness?”

Lodun swelled like he was going to explode right then and there.

"-my lord," he hastily added.

Lodun whirled and marched out. "Go on. Go on!" He smacked the broken crop at the Dax and kicked out at their ankles when they weren't fast enough to precede him out.

Left alone in the cave, Drifter was pretty sure the phantasms had nothing to do with farty ancestors and everything to do with the vengeful spirits of children similarly abandoned in the Zariman who hadn't survived. He sighed and rolled his shoulders. Already that brief moment of pure, clear-mindedness drained away and left him tired in its wake.

He pushed into the first well of darkness. Some child shrieked, whether in pain or anger, he couldn't tell. The hairs on the back of his neck went up. Sun and Moon trembled in his too-tight and simultaneously too-clammy grip. He stood poised on the precipice between bolting for safety, stabbing blindly, or standing still paralyzed in fear.

As in the Undercroft when Thrax drowned him in darkness and taunting tales, Teshin's training saved him: "Listen. Your eyes are blind; your ears are not."

He wished it were the other way around because the sounds those ghostly children made as he cut them down were the stuff of nightmares.

"Defend yourself like a weaver, not a wall-builder. Weave a net so you know where the enemy sees a hole. Guard there."

The shades swarmed him like berserkers. They didn't look for holes so much as slice themselves to pieces on his net.

"You will be wounded in battle. Strike through the pain."

The first time claws slipped through his guard and sank deep into his left shoulder, he bit his lip. The bright copper taste of his own blood helped, bizarrely. He rolled, breaking free of the ethereal grasp and thrust Sun back in its path while Moon whirled in a guard pattern. It threw itself at him, impaled itself, and died howling.

The darkness faded. He stood in a dim cave, nothing more.

"Bring the succession scrolls to me." Lodun's shout echoed down. "The Imp hasn't long to sit on the throne now!”

Drifter unlocked the chest. Three creamy white vellum scrolls capped with gilded ends lay on red velvet. 

Dominus Thrax, alerted to the plot by the unsealed chest, murmured in his ear. "For breaking that, Drifter, I shall break something of yours.”

Teshin.

Fear drilled into the base of his head like an ice-cold pick. His knees quivered like jelly. Moon clattered to the ground and he only held on to Sun because his Guiding Hand refused to let go.

No, Teshin was fine. He must be. Thrax couldn't find the cave so quickly, especially if Drifter didn't lead the Dax straight there like a fool, and even if he did, Teshin had Sol this time-

He cut off those racing thoughts, breathed slowly until his racing heart slowed, and gathered himself with the help of Teshin's advice: ""Do not fall into old habits" is easier said than done. If you find yourself in a Spiral where your emotions are too much for you or events escape your control, master yourself and then master the Orowyrm. You made Thrax to keep yourself safe at all costs. Only the calm of a true warrior can subdue him for a time."

From above, Lodun roared, "I hear Thrax talking to you down there. Trying to save himself. Don't make me come back down and thrash you, Drifter. Bring me the scrolls!"

He carried the scrolls out, feeling sickly guilty. He'd started this Spiral intending to hold onto his temper. He’d agreed to help Lodun because the Prince wanted to hold onto his. Now, to end it before Thrax found Teshin, he must provoke him.

The Dax were gone. Lodun stood alone near the island's edge, making little grasping motions as though to snatch the scrolls from him. "Here, here. Quick, before the Imp's spies arrive.”

He handed them over. 

"I sent the Dax away. Useless, cowardly, and probably reporting to the Imp. Not like you. Unless-" He stopped, scroll half unfurled and turned on him. "You. You were talking to Thrax. He ordered you to turn on me."

With a hair trigger like that, who needed provocation? "He's mad at me because you told me to take the scrolls, so we're two peas in a filo-pod. Let's see those scrolls together."

The Tales of Duviri said, and the scrolls confirmed it, Lodun was in fact the heir to the throne. "Huh,” Drifter said. “What do you know?”

"What do you know?" Lodun mocked him. "What do you know, you stupid peasant? I am your rightful king."

Again, that clean, clear anger began to build. "Prince or rightful king, you can’t expect everyone to take your shit just because the Dax have to."

Lodun went to smack him with the pieces of the broken crop.

He caught his wrist, took them away, and tossed them over the edge.

"Kneel!" Lodun barked.

"No."

He stamped his feet. "Kneel or I when I come to the throne I will have you impaled."

"Such thanks I get for helping you."

"You want a boon, insolent Drifter? Fine. I'll impale Thrax first you can enjoy his screams before I impale you too.”

Absurdly, he was even angrier on behalf of Thrax. "You said you'd stay in control. You said you'd take the throne without bloodshed.”

"Throwing my own words back in my face?" Ah. There was the red-faced, spittle-flecked Lodun he knew. "Just another bucket of piss splashed on me. Listen, if "death by impalement" is the only thing you understand, it's the only thing you'll get."

The threat itself didn't sway him. The implied threat to everyone in Duviri if he let this miserable little man on the throne, however…Thrax at least looked out for their welfare in his own selfish way. 

He took the succession scrolls away and tossed them over the cliff. Lodun tried to leap off after them. He caught him by the tunic and held him back as they fluttered down into the abyss.

Lodun howled and shimmered all over. "I was the rightful king!"

"But not the right king."

He swelled, not with mere anger, bulging grotesquely and twisting in the Orowyrm transformation. 

Drifter didn't have the Orvius, so he just held on like grim death until they were flying in the sky. 

Lodun spewed curses at him instead of fireballs. "You and the Imp conspire to hold me down. You hate me?”

With the help of his Guiding Hand, he directed the wyrm at the tether towers holding him in Duviri instead of Castle Town or Thrax's palace. 

As they plunged through the portal and over an arena, Lodun wailed, "I hate myself more!”

Their crash landing was more than his Guiding Hand could handle. Lodun shook him like a krubie would a rat.

When he woke, he wore Volt like sword-steel armor and an archgun sat on the arena's central plinth, practically gift-wrapped for him.

Teshin said dryly, "It's a good thing the Other Side is looking out for you."

Lodun loomed up over the side of the arena. Not only was he spitting fire, literally, but iron clamps now bound his sides. If the Prince of Fire could not control his anger, then Thrax would, with pathos clamps that bound him and focused his rage against the one warrior stubborn enough to face him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I owe them." The reminder settled his nerves. Yeah, he'd screwed up this Spiral. Yeah, he wasn't exactly happy with how he'd treated Lodun. Despite it all, the Other Side was still helping him in their own way and not just to add tally marks to his side of the ledger.

Volt electrocuted every Dax and wyrmling that came at him. 

Volt had an energy shield that energized his bow shots so they hit the Orowyrm's clamps like a bomb going off.

"Okay, you can add a couple more tally marks to the debt for that." The last clamp shattered from a single shot. "If you'd told me two days ago that the Tenno would make facing an Orowyrm this easy, I'd laugh in your face."

Freed of his clamps, Lodun burst into flames and fell. His massive head crashed down onto the plinth. 

Suddenly, Drifter could not bear that what began in anger should end in pain. He stepped out of Volt and his Guiding Hand obliged, connecting him to Lodun. Her fingertips quickly adapted to the searing hot metal; his awareness that he was burning quickly receded before the well of Lodun's self-loathing and self-directed anger.

Lodun moaned, "I will never be king."

He focused on the clean, clear-minded reason he'd hurled the succession scrolls off the cliff. He'd been angry, yes, at the thought that Lodun would be a tyrant, belittling his allies, turning on his friends, and killing his people for unjust, unfair reasons. "Be the right king," he encouraged him.

Lodun pulled away. Their connection broken, they only looked at each other in silence before Lodun returned to the sky and the portal beyond to rest until the next Spiral. The empty sky was still red and angry, but not as much as before.

Thrax asked, "What did you do?" Then he audibly yawned.

"Sleep it off, your Majesty. I'll make no more trouble."

Now that he didn't have to worry about Thrax, perhaps he should explore Duviri. However, he found he didn't have the appetite for it and headed back to Teshin's cave early to mash up some eevani paste for his burns and claw wounds.

"How do you feel?" Teshin asked.

He faced himself and named it squarely. "Disappointed. I had such high hopes this morning and I botched it. I was afraid and I squandered my best chance. I thought my anger justified, and perhaps it was, but I don't think my anger taught Lodun much."

"Your empathy shows you the prince’s pain, the actor’s emptiness, and the farmer’s fervent desires. You will try to help, they will explode, and then you cannot stand by while they rampage nor help them. I do not wonder why your conscience is troubled."

Teshin hit the nail so firmly on the head that he asked, "Is that how you felt, watching me storm out to go get myself impaled day after day?"

"Yes." 

"Huh."

"Though you were rather less impressive than an Orowyrm."

"Ouch. Don't I have enough burns to tend to already?"

Teshin snorted. "If you can still act like a sarcastic little shit, you're fine. Why, there was one time-" He cut himself off.

He raised an eyebrow. "Whatever I did, I don't remember it."

"No, not you, one of the Tenno I trained before I fell. I thought he was done for. Then he started cracking jokes, just like you."

It wasn't quite a lie, but Teshin could be as slippery as a Haav fish with a Golden Maw on its tail when pressed. So he dipped his fingers in the paste, smeared it onto his shoulder and said, "Can you teach me how you stay so calm?"

"Listen to the Litany of the Dax."

Chapter Text

Despite the leaden skies and the soft drumbeat of Sorrow's rains outside the portal, Drifter awoke in Teshin's cave early with the sort of energy charged through his limbs that said he wasn't getting back to sleep. He snuck out to the dormizone quietly so as to not disturb Sol or Teshin while making breakfast.

Maybe because of the chill in the air, the protein nutricubes took too long to crisp up, so he turned the heat up while he sliced the carb cubes for toast. He started on cooking the egg-substitute cubes while the protein cubes were finally starting to sizzle properly in their own fat.

The smoke detector went off.

"Shit." So much for letting Teshin sleep. The harsh beep would've been a bigger problem if there was anyone else alive on the derelict Zariman, but there wasn't. He turned it off. "There's not even that much smoke," he griped. A distinct haze, yes, but not smoke.

He rescued the protein. The eggs practically bounced like rubber onto the plate. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he snapped, disgusted, and then Teshin came in rubbing at his eyes with the hand that wasn't holding Sol. He flushed, ashamed of his very un-calm reaction to such a very minor setback. "Sorry. This…wasn't how I saw this going."

Teshin spread his overcooked eggs on a carb cube without complaint. “The Litany?

He dutifully recited it:

       Three are the principles,
       three the weaving ways.

       Cool water flows,
       the moon behind a cloud;
       To the receptive mind
       All things come in time.

       Sun at mid-heaven,
       Sovereign above all;
       Mind in firm action
       Commits without reflecting.

       Between sun and moon
       Unfolds a winding path;
       Not by one Way alone
       Is Mastery achieved.

“I don’t think that applies to my cooking.”

“The Litany applies to anything you want it to," Teshin said. "Knowing there is no right or wrong way, to which way are you most inclined?”

“I’m a total Sun.” He handed Sol a cube. The rablit nibbled its fast, fastidious way through it.

“And what do you feel, right now?”

He faced himself and named it squarely. “I’m frustrated. And I don’t know why. So what if I burned the meat and overcooked the eggs? I've eaten worse. Yeah, yesterday wasn’t good, but today's a new day. And its a Sorrow spiral. I’d expect to feel sad. So why do I feel like something’s urgently driving me out the door?” Teshin considered that with more gravity than he felt it deserved. So he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll work through it once I'm out in Duviri. Besides, doing something has to be better than lying around feeling sorry for myself, right?"

"I think," Teshin said, "that they are two sides of the same Granum Crown."

"You think that this," he gestured at the hazy stovetop and sticky pans he really ought to get up and scrub clean before the mess hardened on them, "compares to how I feel about that?" He gestured to the far door. The door he didn't go out of. The door that led to the rest of Zariman filled with moldering corpses or (more likely) dust where corpses used to be and monuments to the Void's twisted power in their place.

Teshin explained, "In the beginning, when I hoped that I could train you well enough to break free of the cycle on your own, I grew frustrated when I failed over and over again. Each day's failure brought regrets, and regrets made my tongue sharper yet, until I drove you away for many months. I planned. I practiced what I would say."

As much as he owed Teshin his attention, listening to his past failures was just awkward. Everything in him cried out to hurry up the story, to get up and wash the pots, then grab his weapons and go. Luscinia, the Harbinger of Suffering, was warming up at the Chamber of the Muses. If he were quick, he could catch her there before Thrax called her in for a virtuoso performance. 

"When you returned, I gave you Sun and Moon and watched Denphius Dax slaughter you on my doorstep and I wept because all my harping on your stance and footwork accomplished nothing."

Ah, he was such a Sun. He made himself chew his eggs and listen to his mentor, who was surely a Moon and would get to his point in time.

"You don't remember how cruel I became over the smallest things. For that I am grateful," Teshin said. 

His cheeks heated. "It's forgiven." 

"Then learn what I did: great loss is not the only source of sorrow. One may grieve for small failures and lowered expectations as well."

On one level, it made sense. On the other, he chewed rubbery eggs in a hazy kitchen while millions of his fellow colonists died beyond one door and Duviri waited for him to fix the mess he'd made of making it beyond the other. "I'll keep that in mind. I'd better go now."

"Be careful. When the whips that drive you forward cease, you may find yourself drained of the desire to act. I encourage you to take it easy today."

He bore Teshin's warning in mind as he rode up and over the cold slopes and high arches near Fort Wyrmsoul. Out here, the rains turned to snow flurries that bit sharp kisses on his cheeks and caught in his beard. When he dove down to the Chamber of the Muses, the wind cut right through his leathers. "Should've taken the time to grab my hood," he lamented. 

He needn't have rushed out, for Luscinia's song soared as sweetly as birdsong and far, far sadder. Her voice was an instrument finer than any shawzin. He landed nearby, spellbound, and did not wonder why Thrax adored her. He did wonder what sort of woman she was, that she bore up as Thrax's nightingale. Of all the courtiers in the Tales of Duviri, she spent the most time at Thrax's side, and so outlaw Drifter knew her the least, personally. Her tale spoke of suffering which beget revenge which beget more suffering in fine operatic tradition. 

Luscinia wasn't bothered at all by the chill, despite wearing far less than he. Her red silk and gold bangles stood out on the stage like a crimson flower or a spot of blood. Her mask bore tear trails that glinted like ice. When she finished her song, she beckoned him up on the stage. 

Ranks of empty benches faced the half-circle stage, which had an arched roof that presumably directed the singer/speaker's voice to the audience. There was a stage just like it in the void-riddled, battle-torn Undercroft. As he climbed up to meet her, he remembered another pristine stage just like this one; the empty stands filled with friends and family whose faces he no longer quite remembered.

She drew close and said sweetly, "I weep for ownerless toys and empty chairs. Letters unsent and love long forgotten. Should I weep for you too?"

Her gentle question slipped through all his defenses like a dagger to the heart. 

She ran her right hand's golden fingers over his cheek. They came away wet. "You weep too. Oh, if I sang of what you have suffered, I could break hearts in twain."

No wonder Thrax adored her; she wept for his sorrows when he could not. Yet it seemed to Drifter that it would be bitterly selfish to add to her woes. "I haven't suffered as much as others. I mean, I'm still alive and their seats are empty. Sing of their memories if you want, so that they might not be forgotten.”

She said, "There is endless suffering in Duviri and endless days to sing of it, with no hope of changing our fate."

He looked at her, gauging how much she understood of the Spirals. 

She gazed back, fresh tears spilling down her mask. "These last few days felt different. I cannot hope that it will last.”

"I am trying. I've changed my fate. I won't give up on changing yours.”

"Do you really think it's possible?" She asked. "Everything I try ends in pain. I repent in dust and ashes and tears.”

Change had to be possible or else he'd made a serious mistake by staying and would do better to leave Duviri before he made a worse mess of this sad little world he made. He couldn't accept that. "Yeah, from little changes, big ones grow."

"Then come!" She caught up his hands and pulled him after her, rushing from the Chamber, down the road, until they saw a round portal into the Undercroft. Despite himself, his steps slowed down as hers sped up. "Come quickly," she urged. "They say there is a place where tragedies can be undone. Death's grip reversed."

He hadn't been back to the Undercroft since he broke free of Thrax's endless spirals and, frankly, he hardly wanted to go back. "Yeah, I've had a taste of Death's grip reversed every day for centuries and it's not all its cracked up to be. The Void isn't some nice, predictable, tame thing, Luscinia. It takes and it doesn't give back. Whatever you're hoping to do here, it won't help."

She stopped dead mere feet from the portal, whirled on him, and got up in his face. "Can you hear them? The souls within?"

Achingly familiar voices whispered like he ought to remember them. At the edge of hearing, they blended into a song of despair like a chorus of screams.

“You do." She clasped her hands together in prayer and supplication. "You said you hope to change our sorry spiral of sorrowful days. Why do you refuse to help them when you can?”

He couldn't say no to that, even though it meant tossing out Teshin's advice about taking it easy. One of these days, he'd do things his Moon-following mentor's way. Instead, he was like a Sun, heading blindly into the depths underneath Duviri where the Spiral sky vanished behind the coils and clouds of the Void. Where Thrax's grip was tenuous enough to allow him to summon the wolf-pack warframe Voruna and a pair of void-touched sickles to replace Sun and Moon. Where Duviri's defenses were weakest and the mysterious, malevolent Master of the Void Angels sought to break through for an unknown purpose.

The Undercroft was a broken landscape, a conglomeration of floating islands cobbled together from pieces of Duviri and chunks of the Zariman. On the central island, larger than life size projections of Luscinia and Bombastine warred for attention across a green field. A bulbous golden pod lay in the center of that field and Teshin said, “This Tenno asset is-”

“-destined to be destroyed unless I save it.” He interrupted the instructions. “This time, I remember.”

Teshin sighed. “I see you have chosen the hard way.”

“I can’t very well disappoint Luscinia, can I?” He meant it as a joke. It came out bitter. “Sorry, it seems my sense of humor is falling flat. That was supposed to be a joke. I just wanted to accomplish something tangible before I collapse, you know?”

“The enemy mustards for a fresher salt. Hold the lime.” Teshin kept a magnificently straight face for a man who’d just mondegreened his own instructions.

He obligingly groaned. “That was terrible.”

Humor’s feeble barricade soon eroded under the onslaught of primed and mind-controlled armies from the future mixed and mingled with Thrax’s minions ready to punish him for daring to use a warframe. Voruna and her wolf pack were made for fights like these. Her wolf Raksh kept him light on his feet amidst fire, ice, and lightning wielding foes, while her void-and-Orokin-tech-granted powers damaged enemies in ways he couldn’t match with decrees as she leaped and bounded from one primed Grineer to the next Dax Eximus. Ravenous Lycath devoured the remains and fueled him with health and energy.

One wave down, two more to go.

The next wave led off with one of Thrax’s centurions, a bulky, beefy specimen wreathed in Void energy and wielding a scythe longer than he was. 

Drifter leapt on the centurion.

The heavy scythe smacked him out of the air. He hit the grass dazed - Voruna’s instincts took over and she rolled over and back to her feet - and then the followup backhand swing took his head off.

He didn't die. Warframes didn't "die" so much as shut down to protect their operators from worse than a painful transference backlash while their onboard systems quickly repaired catastrophic damage. He fell to the ground.

Three Dax started beating on the Tenno asset. It rang like bells under the blows.

Voruna's wolf Ulfrun chased after her rolling head, rolled it back into place, curled up next to her, and died. Power surged through her revival systems.

Though Drifter now had a splitting headache, he and Voruna were back in the fight.

He tore through the Dax, then a clump of primed men Teshin called Corpus (when Drifter boarded the Zariman, the Corpus were some weird cult worshiping Profit instead of the benevolence of the Orokin…so maybe they were onto something), then got his head out of his introspective ass and took on the centurion. Duck under the scythe. Go for the gut, where spectral void energy held him together instead of armor. Rip it out and watch the hulking soldier fade away, screaming.

Wave two done, one to go. He leaned against the Tenno asset as it regenerated its shields, figuring whatever guns or ammo were inside wouldn’t mind. So much for accomplishing something. All he was doing was exhausting himself for the forsaken hope that just because he'd changed things once, he could change things again for the better.

Teshin prompted him, “The enemy is regrouping.”

He shouldn’t have needed prompting. “Obviously.”

“Hmmm.”

“Sorry.” Shit, he was sharper-tongued than Sun and Moon today. Talking. Talking might keep him focused. “So, does the paradox fall apart if I let this fancy crate get wrecked?”

“It is called a Golden Cradle.”

As a wave of primed Grineer and Dax crested the edge of the higher islands, he knelt by the cradle, overcome by a wave of kinship. Though he knew not exactly what - no, who - was inside, they were surely precious to someone. Someone who had surely never intended to abandon them to fated death and destruction, and who now cast their sad lot on this last, best, second chance at salvation through paradox.

Voruna howled. No grief; a hunting howl. His frustration given focus at last as he rent his way through the remaining waves. Sated, not by the blood on his hands or the chaos of the Undercroft withdrawing for a brief respite, but by the untouched gleaming cradle. 

When he stumbled out through the portal, his legs went like jelly. He slumped against the portal's rim. Teshin had warned him. He'd done so little: a single defense and a burned breakfast. Yet he felt as though he'd run a race with a whip at his heels. He sank down and sat on a rock. Oh, that was a mistake, because his muscles settled into a slump that said he wasn’t getting back up.

Luscina was back on her stage, arguing with Koral, a young girl who’s dark braids were tipped with gold beads. Luscinia gestured grandly. Koral pointed to the far slope. 

A kexat shivered in the snow. Normally, the feline was cream and blued porcelain with finely drawn gold detailing. This one was riddled with silvery coils of Void contamination. It stumbled as it stalked, as if losing control of its body to parasites. 

He didn’t know what would happen to it if left unchecked. Perhaps it would wander over the islands’ edge into the Void. Perhaps not; he remembered the twisted curls of Void metal on the Zariman and shuddered.

"Drifter? Oh, no, what have I done?" Luscinia rushed towards him. 

Koral ran ahead of her, reaching him first. “Outlaw,” she said in a far more cheerful voice. "You'll help that poor little beast, won't you?” 

His exhaustion was such that her request came at him as through a fog. “What?" 

“You used to cleanse them," she said.

He used to - what? Since when could he fix what the Void broke? No, this had to be just another part and parcel of him making Duviri. "Sorry, Koral, I don’t remember everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” Luscinia chided her. “There’s no cleansing for the Void’s touch. What it takes, it doesn't give back," she said, echoing what he'd said earlier. "I’m sorry to say it, but we should put it out of its misery. It would be a kindness.”

Koral looked at him with the saddest eyes imaginable. “You used to do it. Before. You know.”

Before. He might not remember, but it warmed him nonetheless that despite every reset, she remembered that he’d helped her. Somehow. “I’ll try.”

Beaming, she helped him up. He was tired and slow, but the kexat was very far gone and had the wind in its face. It hardly noticed him climb up the slope above it and slide down until he grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and its rump, pinning it down so it didn’t claw him. His Guiding Hand spasmed as it touched the void-flushed flesh. The kexat thrashed like a wild feral beast that hardly knew friend from foe. 

“I know, I know it hurts.” He grunted. Without his Guiding Hand's help, how was he to draw it out like poison from a wound?

Koral called out, “Remember how you healed them before!”

He didn’t remember. But it really didn’t matter. He remembered that he created Duviri. This was his land, his creatures to make and to protect, and he could damned well cure this one yowling kexat. The Void took, and it could damned well give this one thing back. “Out, Void,” he demanded, and it obeyed, spilling out in coils upon coils that seemed like too big a mass for such a slender body to contain. “Let him go.”

It let him go, falling away in curling mists and blowing away on the cold breeze beyond sight of the island’s edge.

The kexat fell limp in his arms. Gilded ceramic rapidly chilled in the cold air by the time the others came running over. Luscinia burst into tears. Koral knelt beside him, chafing its paws and rubbing its flanks and head. "Don't give up now, little kitty."

Thanks to her ministrations, it blinked. It raised its sharp head. It began to purr, a deep vibration that ran through his bones all the way to the base of his skull, instantly relaxing every tense muscle in his body.

"Oh!" Luscinia gasped.

He held out his hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her down to sit next to him. He passed the still-purring kexat over into her lap, and stroked its smooth head with her hand in his until she reflexively took over. Slowly, she too melted under its thrumming purr.

Koral plopped down next to him. She was a warm, comforting buffer against the wind in her own right. “Thank you, Outlaw.”

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it more than he could say. Thanks to her, the Void hadn't taken one more precious thing. Thanks to him, a single Golden Cradle survived its fated destruction. These were small enough victories on a day when even the smallest things frustrated and exhausted him. 

From such small victories, big ones would come. He had to believe that; he must cling to hope.

Luscinia stopped petting. The kexat raised its head, narrowed its eyes at her, and she started petting it again. Its purr shook her many bangles. She said, “It seems so indulgent to enjoy this when there are so many other creatures suffering.”

He reached over and scritched it behind the ears. “Many suffer. But thanks to us, not this one.”

Chapter Text

Drifter stood on the high webbed Custos Arch. Lightning flashed in far-off cloud banks to the north, too distant to hear the echoing rumble. Each arcing strike illuminated Thrax's face and hands in the sky. The Citadel's lightning rod sparked. His skin prickled, but not with the ozone in the air.

He'd picked up something from that kexat. Some sort of infection straight from the hellspace of the Void. Or perhaps some sort of void-born parasite, spreading contamination until it wreathed his hands, spilled out of his eyes, and punctured through his shoulders in thorny curls.

Like the kexat, he'd shuffled and stumbled to the edge of Duviri against his will. Some horrified part of him knew he was about to leave in a way he'd never intended. Another part wondered whether Thrax's inevitable reset would save him or just make him relive this slow sickness. None of it mattered to his feet who obeyed another's direction now. He took a step forward, then another, right to the crumbling edge, and pitched forward into the abyss. 

A hand grabbed his shoulder, only just hauling him back-

-Teshin shook him awake. The old man's eyes were haunted too.

He pushed off the clammy, clinging blanket. Teshin shoved a cup of steaming kovnik tea into his hands, which were blessedly free of void contamination. Then they sat next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, and drank their tea. Kovnik tea carried some of the flavor of the day it was harvested. Anger should be warming with notes of cinnamon. His mouth was dry from fear and turned the tea stale. "Just a bad dream. I guess seeing that kexat shook me more than I realized. Or maybe I'm more ambivalent about this," he waved his amalgamized hand, "than I thought, because that was some body-horror shit."

"My dreams were not wholesome either," Teshin admitted. "Today is a Fear Spiral."

"...my nightmares really don't need Thrax’s fears too."

Even when he finished his tea, he was reluctant to go refill his cup. Going back to the dormizone's kettle meant going alone. At least with Teshin beside him, the itching part in the back of his brain that hadn't quite woken up from the nightmare and was convinced that he was about to sprout void coils was sure the old man would haul him back from whatever edge he tried to walk off of. Eventually, as they both stared into their empty cups, he said, "I don't want to go see Sythel today. I'll only end up worsening her fears and my own."

"I don't want you to go see Sythel today either. For selfish reasons."

He snorted. "If you think mine aren't selfish, you're sadly mistaken."

They got more tea together. Teshin said, "Let us not waste the day. Practice with the Azothane. When you finish, we will practice patience and perseverance." He didn't elaborate further.

"Oh?"

Teshin raised an eyebrow.

"How am I supposed to practice patience and perseverance? Recite the Litany fifty times?"

"You'll see."

He rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, well played."

Though the Azothane was weighted for him, not a warframe, it took a whole new level of skill for him to wield the two-handed nikana properly. When he started with powerful arcing blows that Sun and Moon couldn't match, he quickly felt the strain building up in his shoulders. Controlling its swing strained other muscles in his back and arms. Shortly after, he hung it up in defeat. "Turns out I'm not going to get hired by Thrax as a Dax Gladius."

Teshin sat down at the Komi board and gestured for him to take the opposing side.

He rolled his eyes again. "Really? Komi?"

"Patience and perseverance," Teshin said serenely.

He picked White Sun. Teshin picked Black Moon. "Is this a Litany thing?"

"Yes, though you will soon see why the game comes more naturally to Dax who practiced the Way of the Moon."

Much to his dismay, Teshin wasn't bragging. Even when he thought he was being moderately clever, he lost his 10 suns with only two moons to show for it. "Ugh." 

Teshin flipped the board around so he would play White Sun. "Perseverance."

Sol hopped up into Drifter's lap so he was well and truly stuck. Unable to shake the thought that the rablit was judging his every move, he lost even more miserably.

"Credit for your thoughts." Teshin offered.

"Maybe its a good thing I didn't go see Sythel. I'm so paranoid I'm starting to suspect that Sol knows how to play better than I do." He flipped the board around. Sol hopped over to Teshin's lap. "Yeah, that's right. Psych him out for a change."

He lost anyway. The next game, he figured that maybe if he put his pieces any which way with no discernable strategy, he'd confuse him.

Teshin steadily encircled his scattered pieces with a line, and when they shook hands over yet another humiliating defeat, said, "Remember, I have played against a lot of Suns."

"What a way to tell me that even when I think I'm being unpredictable-"

"-you are entirely predictable, yes."

Something clattered to the floor in the dormizone hallway. 

Sol sat bolt upright on his lap, paws digging in uncomfortably. Teshin paused, board half-flipped around. Drifter swallowed, his throat suddenly gone dry.

There wasn't supposed to be anyone on the Zariman. Unbidden, his mind conjured up a vision from the chaos of the Undercroft: void-made hands clawing and tearing at the air (at the unseen Wall, tearing holes for their master). Teshin said they were the Void Angels which roost in the Zariman and, while he'd never seen anything like them, he had no reason to doubt him.

Silently, Teshin grabbed his staff.

Drifter had taken off Sun and Moon to practice with the Azothane, so he grabbed Sirocco instead. Even though he knew he'd reloaded it, he reloaded and charged his first shot anyway. Then, he turned to Sol. "Seeing as how you're probably the deadliest of all of us and no one expects the rablit…”

Sol nodded and hopped off towards the hallway. Drifter waved Teshin back. Teshin huffed, but stayed behind. 

He followed Sol down the darkened cave towards the dormizone. The door slid open just enough for Sol to slip inside.

Someone spoke. So much for the half-formed hope that maybe the drying teacups fell over.

Then Sol came hopping back out of the door without a care in the world. 

Well, if he thought it was okay…"Tell Teshin, okay?" He whispered. His nerves were still all on edge, because who could be in his dormizone? His fearful imagination insisted on conjuring up a dozen candidates and none of them were pleasant.

He slid the door open. The hallway was empty. The mirror showed nothing. The projector, broken since launch and never repaired, was as dead as ever. The doorway beyond into the bedroom hadn't been opened since breakfast. "What the hell?"

The projector sparked to life. A Duviri woman appeared.

He fired right at the woman's forehead. It passed right through her dark blue Duviri ceramic face and sparked off the wall behind it. Because of course it did. She wasn't there. She was a hologram. This was just a more-than-life-size projection of her upper half. She wore a bronze masked helmet and a brassy bustier under a cloak draped over one shoulder, and she smiled at him.

"Who the hell?" He corrected himself.

"Ah, Drifter!" She exclaimed. Unlike most of Duviri's citizens faced with the notorious outlaw pointing his pistol at her face, she actually sounded pleased, "Pardon me, you wouldn't remember. I am Acrithis, Duviri's archivist, traveling merchant, and all-around searcher for answers. You, Drifter, are a question."

He holstered Sirocco. Not because he trusted her, but because there wasn't any point. Not here, anyway. "Right. And you're here…why?"

"I have permission to be here," she said, deftly avoiding the question. "Melica, the Zariman's resident archivist, is a fearsome creature indeed. She insisted I needed a "pass" signed by my teacher. This took some doing," she produced a signed slip and handed it over, "so you'd best respect that."

It was signed "Albrecht Entrati."

Euleria Entrati wrote The Tales of Duviri. Likewise, Albrecht’s name was naggingly familiar, but his significance escaped him. "Who's he?”

"Just a scholar who fell into Duviri ages ago, built himself a spiffing laboratory, and then disappeared. Melica accepted his - ah, I may have forged his signature - but she accepted it and that's all I care about because you, Drifter, have piqued my curiosity."

Looming out of the projector, she peered down at him and suddenly he understood what a paramecium felt like under a microscope. Most people in Duviri didn't look at him, per se. They knew him - or at least the role they expected him to play - and reacted accordingly, by rote. She wore her mask like it was armor and seemed willing to pry beneath his.

She made him uncomfortable. Not in a threatening way, just in a way that made him grateful for Teshin's calm acceptance. Speaking of Teshin, he called back toward the cave, "I think we're in the clear. It's just Acrithis from Duviri. She'll be-" He didn't really know what she was, but short of going to find whichever non-glitchy terminal she'd found Melica in and informing her about the forgery, he didn't know how to get her out. "She's a guest."

"Very well," Teshin called back. Then, he said, as if to someone else, “Yes, perhaps we were doomed from the start. Who can stand against treachery from within one’s own leadership? Ah, well, that war is over.”

He decided not to pry. When he went back in, she asked, "How is Old Thingybob?"

"Teshin. He's fine. Just talking to an old friend." At least, that was his best guess. "Figured I'd leave him be. If I interrupt, he'll want me to play more Komi."

She laughed. It was a nice laugh that rolled through her shoulders and reached up to her eyes, and that made it much less uncomfortable when she smiled and said, "Then it seems you owe me a great favor for saving you from that. Pull up a seat and we'll start on repaying that with a nice little gossip session."

What did he have to lose? Besides, maybe he'd learn something from an insider's view of Duviri that could help him change the Spirals for the better. So he pulled up a seat.

Acrithis was a stellar gossip. She wasn't lying about the traveling merchant business either, so she quickly had him looking through her arcanes and crafted goods - "All exchanged for Duviri materials or you can go explore the universe just beyond that door," - while she chatted about how "Lodun is such a martyr to his rages that I'm sure he's not just angry. I mean, you'd think self-interest would let him keep hold of himself just once, right?”

That seemed to call for a response. "Maybe he doesn't actually want to be king."

They looked at each other. She said, "You might be on to something there. He'd certainly never, ever admit that. Not even under torture."

"I'm not gonna torture him."

"No, of course you wouldn't. I told them, "you can't just ask someone what it's like to be executed every day of their life, They'll talk about it when they're ready.""

He winced. Okay, maybe he did owe Lodun for a specific stabbing spot that still ached with phantom pain. Then again, Lodun would classify having to deal with his special Drifter-brand of bullshit as particularly infuriating torture too. Still, "No torture.”

"You'll tell me first, right?"

"If I'm gonna tell anyone how it felt, it's gonna be Teshin."

"I'll settle for second," she allowed, and then segued into describing Mathila's tastes in Dax. Gladius, Equitem, Malleus; it didn't matter so long as they were male and left her children alone. If it was supposed to be a hint, he had zero intention of taking her up on it. He'd sooner…honestly, he'd rather kiss her than Mathila and he'd known her for less time.

In the midst of their gossip, she said, "There's a whole universe out there beyond the Wall." 

"Hmmm," he said. She was right, but warframes hadn't existed when he left, nor the golden veil and red banner in Teshin’s cave.

"Perhaps you already knew that."

"It's not a universe I recognize," he said.

"Yet it's a universe you spent days after days trying to get back to," she pointed out. "I honestly thought I'd find you long gone."

He'd already told Luscinia and despite how odd it was, he found himself comfortable with trusting Acrithis too. Her gossip wasn't malicious, she seemed genuinely interested in what made him and the others tick, and she could be a real ally. "I do intend to leave. Eventually. I just thought that since I'm the reason there's a child on the throne and Duviri is the mess it is, I should try to clean things up before I leave.”

"Ah," she said, with a profound sigh as though he'd just answered a great deal of her questions. "Well then, Drifter, we are of a like mind." 

She smiled down at him. A real smile on holographic porcelain lips, dark blue and splattered with gold detailing, and he found himself smiling back. He asked, "You'll help me?"

"Most certainly. I have a great deal of knowledge to lend to your endeavor. Starting with Sythel: don't waste your sympathy on her. I've dug pretty deep and I've barely even touched the nasty little things she does. What she does when she gets power is just the half of it." 

With her help, he pieced together how Sythel's story played out. She was Thrax's highest minister, notably because Thrax actually took her advice. Which was hilarious in hindsight because she was absolutely conspiring against him. She whispered to Lodun the true nature of the succession scrolls. She told Bombastine where Thrax hid his treasure chests. She told Lusicinia when innocent men were going to die. She told Mathila who the "bad apples'' in a bunch of Dax were.

Unfortunately for her scheming, Thrax had a certain rat cunning that Acrithis appreciated (and that Drifter understood all too well) and inevitably found her out. And then, when Sythel panicked and used the power of her station as King's First Minister to protect herself and punish those against her (which was anyone and everyone, according to her paranoia), everything went to hell in an orowyrm's handbasket. During her Spiral, Loneryder tried to help her face her fears, but she only got worse.

"She's had a whole week to plan, thanks to you," Acrithis warned. “She’s got lists, and laws, and spies, and if she can just get a moment alone with the king where the Dax aren’t guarding his back, she’ll strike.”

"At least I know what to expect," he sighed. "Maybe tomorrow will be something nice like Joy and I can soothe her or something whilst dodging Mathila."

"Good luck with that."

"Thanks."

Changing the subject entirely, she said, "You know, there used to be so much more to Duviri than just this handful of islands."

He dimly remembered the Duviri of the stories as a large and rolling kingdom. One of the illustrations showed islands rippling from page margin to margin. "What happened?”"

"Oh, if I sat and told you, your legs would rot off from inactivity and then where would our grand plan to save Duviri be?"

It should've sounded ridiculous. The way she said it, it sounded like a proper quest. 

She held out a tab of golden metal, inscribed with characters, and offered, "If you want to find out more for yourself, I hid fragments of my journals throughout Duviri. You see, I was afraid that on one of his Spirals, Thrax would just order them destroyed. If they were scattered, he couldn't find them all in a single day."

"As far as repaying favors go, that isn't so bad. Any hints as to where I should look?"

"Anywhere and everywhere. I'll see you around, Drifter." She winked and vanished, leaving the room lonelier without her vibrant presence.

Even Teshin's cave felt emptier without her when he went back and, reluctantly, sat down at the Komi board. He actually captured several pieces and was feeling rather proud of himself when Teshin said, "About Acrithis. May I give you some advice?" Very seriously, he said, "Don't stick your dick in crazy."

He dropped his captured Moon. It rolled around on the floor, perfect cover for him to duck down and hide his face, which was hot with flaming embarrassment. Did he really just say that? Did he really think? He did. And they had just spent hours sitting and talking and smiling at each other and he had even thought once about kissing her…oh, shit.

"I am not joking," Teshin said gravely, just when he'd finally regained control and the piece. "I am quite convinced that if Euleria Entrati wrote a chapter about a Lustful Lover, you would not have survived puberty. As it is, you have been very lonely for a long time. Don’t leap into infatuation with the first friendly face you see, or if you must, don’t mistake it for anything more than that."

He buried his face in his hands. "So you know, death by impalement would've been preferable to this conversation."

"I did warn you that the Conclave was a harsh master. Loss of dignity is preferable to loss of life and limb. Dax who could not control themselves often lost all three."

Unfortunately, he wasn't going to die of spontaneous combustion. "I don't think she's crazy. She's not safe, exactly, but we're allies. For now, anyway. She knows things about Duviri that I don't remember."

"Then keep the Conclave in mind, for today's ally may be tomorrow's opponent." 

He was pretty sure Teshin wasn't buying his defensive reaction. Sol hopped up into his lap and stretched out, pinning him down. The rablit was definitely judging him for putting a White Sun in the very center.

Teshin beat him handily and added, "The traditional challenge when you return to the Conclave after a string of defeats is "What have you learned that makes you expect a different outcome?””

He thought of several snarky responses, starting with "Fuck all," and ending with "Pretty sure you'd have a better game if I let Sol play instead" and settled on saying out loud: "Perseverance. And you're learning patience."

The next morning, they woke to distant, rumbling thunder. A Fear Spiral, again. Given an extra day to stew and scheme, who knew what Sythel was up to?

He squared his shoulders. "I'm going to have to face my fear eventually."

Chapter Text

Drifter flew high over Duviri. His leathers stuck close to his skin with every movement because the air was oppressive with humidity. While the Fear Spiral didn’t have Envy’s staring eyes in the clouds, the towns below teemed with Sythel’s informers and spies. Though he’d hoped to escape her notice, patrolling Dax soldiers blossomed out of the aether everywhere he flew.

Eventually, he winged to a stop at a hill just below Upperhaven and watched as five Dax appeared at the crossroads ahead of him. The Dax Malleus, a barrel-chested man with twig-like legs, hefted his Sampotes hammer and ordered the soldiers to spread out. While many of Duviri’s people resembled ceramic dolls brought to life, the Dax were literally built from metal frameworks in the shape of a human skeleton. Higher ranking officers like the kaithe-riding Equitem had more ‘body’ and clothing than the footsoldiers, who were barely more than bones and the suggestion of pants.

A man and a woman sat together on a bench at the crossroads. Harmless gossips, from what he remembered. They escaped with only a little hassling after they emptied their pockets for the Dax like the tax collectors and tithe enforcers they were.

Was this normal for a Fear spiral? He couldn’t remember.

He flew to the Amphitheater and settled down at the shawzin stand there. He didn’t remember the song “The Day the Earth Bled,” but his fingers did. Soon enough he found the tune again and, under the cover of simply playing, began to plan. Teshin would’ve been proud, for to the receptive mind, all things come in time.

Clearly, he was too late. Since both Luscinia and Acrithis noticed the changes beginning to accumulate as Thrax didn’t reset Duviri at the end of the day, Sythel must’ve seen the same signs. Growing ever more paranoid, she’d be on tenterhooks seeing threats around every corner. He'd already seen the destruction she'd unleash as an Orowyrm: the shattered Archarbor and its people falling into the abyss. If he wasn’t very careful and very clever, he might have to let Thrax reset this Spiral and start again, no matter how much he dreaded returning to endless executions.

No, wait, Thrax only reset to the last Spiral. Sythel had several days already to work herself into a frenzy. At most, he'd gain a single day. “Shit.”

“You talking to me?”

Somehow he’d been so lost in the music and his thoughts that he’d missed the clanking steps of a Dax patrol arriving and a Dax Gladius stalking over to toy with him. Shit. “Just a traveler playing music for your pleasure, mighty Dax.”

With his head down, he quickly gauged that most of the patrol spread out to the garden areas on either side of the amphitheater stands and looted everything they found there, kicking open crates and snatching food from the vendors’ stalls. The only place they feared to tread was the pond, whose dark waters rippled. It was home to a Golden Maw, the only thing in Duviri more ravenous than the Dax out to take Thrax’s due. If he’d worn a mask today, he could expect to get away with a light beating. As soon as Gladius recognized him, however, it was a short trip to “death by impalement” from there.

Someone else whistled a familiar tune. Then the warm weight of a smaller body pressed up against his back, sitting back to back. Gladius didn’t notice.

Slowly, carefully, he reached behind him with one hand while lightly strumming the shawzin's strings in a soothing chord with the other. A smaller, leather-gloved hand pressed a mask into his. It had wide eyes and its mouth made an open “O” of terror. How fitting. “Thanks,” he whispered to the paradox, pressed the mask on his face, and then changed chords. “Shall I play a tune for you, master?”

Gladius pulled the shawzin from his hands.

“Hey?!” 

Gladius raised his fist. "It's forbidden.”

He cringed away. “Since when?” Not saying he remembered past spirals well, but he would’ve remembered that.

“Since Lady Sythel says so.” Then Gladius broke it over his knee. Strings twanged. Its graceful neck splintered beyond repair. He dropped it.

Drifter stared at the shattered wreck of a precious instrument in disbelief. 

Gladius cuffed him on the back of the head hard enough to send him prone. “Her will is Thrax’s will. And don’t you forget it.”

Heavy footsteps warned him that Malleus was coming over to see if dissent needed to be crushed like a bug under his hammer. Play the role, Drifter. Play the role. “Bless his magnificent majesty, Dominus Thrax! And his faithful servant Lady Sythel, our benevolent protector, lifted up to her high position by his Majesty’s grace!” He kept his head down and babbled the most inane praises he could think of until they went on to torment the next hamlet over instead.

Then he stood up and dusted himself off, hating himself for debasing himself and grimly certain it’d been the right thing to do because if he died, he was only going to have to do this again. Defeating these squads of Dax wouldn't stop this downward spiral in its tracks. Only Sythel could do that. Despite how the Dax obeyed her, she was “The Fearful Conspirator” and she had her sights on dethroning Thrax just like every other courtier.

Her home was in Titan’s Rest, high up in the mountains above Fort Wyrmsoul. He landed at her gate and tied off Kaithe just as another man ducked out from under the boarded up entryway. He wore a beige tunic and a mask set with a permanent frown and pinched forehead. He carried a messenger’s bag with a thin scroll case poking out of it. They passed without speaking. 

Drifter retraced the man’s steps. He ducked under the boards into a luxuriously decorated room that went unswept, the lamps unlit. Its only occupant trembled in a corner.

Sythel was as spindly as a hollow-boned bird. She fluttered in movement, never standing in the same place for too long and looking over her shoulder, as though something might sneak up and seize her from behind even with her back to a wall. If Dominus Thrax was his inner feral beast defending itself, then she was surely the fear that sent him scurrying away from his friends, classmates, and all potential allies to hide in his dormizone, alone.

She hissed like a boiling kettle when she saw him and drew a thin silver spike of a dagger that flashed in the dim light peeking through the boards. “You aren’t one of mine.” 

He took the mask off. “No, I’m not. We need to talk.”

“Drifter. You’re just as dangerous as I am. I can use you.” She slipped the dagger away, though they kept a good distance between them.

“And what if I don’t want to be used?”

“You’ve heard it too,” she said, in an apparent non-sequitur. “The rap, tap, tap.”

He didn’t remember any rap, tap, tapping, but his blood ran as cold as when Teshin talked about the Void Angels' mysterious master as she continued, “You know the danger. The black-eyed children. The bleeding fields. The man who grins like a skull. You will help me because you know the dangers of the Void. Thrax protects us, yes, like a physician cutting off a gangrenous limb. When I am on the throne, we will fear no grasping fingers nor death seeping out from the Undercroft."

His skin itched, just like in his nightmare before the curling horns of the void broke through. He fought the urge to scratch. It wouldn’t help. It was just a lingering phantom of a dream. The Void was the sort of thing one should have a healthy fear of and respect for, but it didn't have to be the stuff of literal nightmares. Letting her feed his fears got them both nowhere. "I don't see how banning the shawzin gets us any closer to not fearing the Void. This has to stop. You've got to get a hold of yourself."

"Get a hold of myself? You think this is something I can control?"

"Well, you don't see me shaking in my boots, do you?" He asked, ignoring the sardonic voice of Teshin muttering in the back of his mind that he'd done exactly that yesterday.

She took a deep breath. Again and again, until something tense in her shoulders unwound and she stood straight without shaking. "I'll try. I'll conquer that which makes me afraid. Will you help me?

He had a bad feeling about this. Helping her only got Loneryder in trouble. On the other hand, how else was he supposed to resolve this spiral? Maybe if he played along he could mitigate the damage while unraveling her plans. "How about a deal, since you said we're equally dangerous? You let me in on your secrets and I'll help you deal with your enemies."

They shook on it. She drywashed her hands immediately afterward. "I can't make a move without those nasty Dax prying into my business. They swore undying loyalty to the ruler of Duviri. We can't break those oaths. I can't replace Thrax while he trusts them. So we'll have to turn Thrax's fickle moods against them. Take this," she shoved another thin scroll case into his hands. He took it reflexively. "That man who left just before you came. He's headed to the Citadel. Plant this on him. When the Dax arrest him, Thrax himself will unravel their dominion over Duviri.”

As he tucked it into his belt, she hummed through gritted teeth, making a buzzing sound that set his nerves on edge. He asked, "Once I've planted it on your poor sap Frowny Face, what's next?"

"I’ll need a new safe house." She edged away from the walls, sidled past him, and ducked out under the boards. "Don't call on me, I'll call on you," she said. She looked over her shoulder at the Dax watchtowers on the nearby slopes. She snapped her head back around, peering through the slats to make sure he hadn't moved. "Don't follow me or I'll have you arrested and impaled."

Rather than risk it, he lit one of the lamps and read the evidence she wanted him to plant on her other informant. It started with a report about the Dax assigned to watch the Agora and their refusal to intervene in an odd performance. Sythel's scrawl noted that Bombastine had not driven The Seditious Stranger from the stage. And wasn't it suspicious that Mathila hadn't called in the Dax to help deal with that kerfuffle at her farm? She'd been seen talking with The Troublemaking Tammherder. Next, Sythel listed the full troop of Dax who accompanied Lodun to the caves where the succession scrolls were hidden, noting that while of course he was in command of the Dax as their Prince, had His Majesty actually authorized that expedition?

The rest of the letter postulated a vast conspiracy reaching from the mounted Dax Equitem to the lowly bow-wielding Dax Arcus. The Dax wanted a new king. Even now, under the guise of collecting the King's taxes and enacting his First Minister's right and proper bans on music, they searched Duviri for a proper candidate. If she were right, then Thrax faced what every ruler feared: revolt from his own troops. No amount of selling off Luscinia's jewelry was going to keep them sweet when they'd discovered the loophole in their oath: they served the "ruler of Duviri."

As far as Drifter knew, there was no burgeoning betrayal. The Dax had a good thing going under Thrax. Why would they trade enforcing his fickle moods for unrelenting Fear?

Or maybe the truth didn't matter to her convincing conspiracy because she put her finger on the pulse of the king's latest, greatest fear that he wasn't actually the ruler of Duviri. That one Drifter would take back control and dethrone him at any moment.

Which also wasn't true, but good luck convincing His Fearful Majesty of that.

A shadow fell across the paper. He flinched, then realized with a huff that it was just his own shadow, cast by the guttering flame as the lamp drank the last of the oil. He snuffed the wick out. A wisp of smoke coiled up. Through it, he glimpsed an inky smear of paint on the wall that hadn't been there before; a looming figure grinning back at him. 

He bolted for the fresh, clear air as if a pack of krubie hounds were on his heels, untied Kaithe, and flew to the Citadel as directed. The Citadel’s town and towers sat on a high point with commanding views of Royalstead pastures to the north and Mathila’s farm and the other villages to the south. It served as Dax headquarters and Duviri's jail for miscreants, as he knew all too well from painful prior experience.

He made sure his mask was in place before he strolled over to the shops that served the barracks and off-duty soldiers. There he took a seat at a Komi table tucked into a small garden with a screen of kovnik trees in planters and pretended to play against himself while observing everyone coming and going.

An hour later, Frowny Face went by. His head swiveled around, watching out for Dax on the upper stories. His beige tunic stuck to his back with sweat. He wrung the scroll case in between his hands and quickly stuffed it into a kovnik tree's pot.

Drifter cleared his throat. “Clever."

Frowny Face jumped about a foot in the air.

He swept up a whole line of black stones, clacking them together almost as loudly as a Dax patrol’s clanking approach. "Yes, a particularly clever move if I do say so myself." 

Frowny Face slid into the chair across the table. "I'm playing white," he hissed.

"Fine."

Frowny Face finally looked at the board and winced. "Actually, I'm playing black."

"I said it was a clever move, not that I was any good at this stupid game." As they bickered, the patrol passed by what appeared to be nothing more than two old friends playing without bothering them. When they left, he handed over his scroll case. Because he wasn't a complete asshole anymore, he warned him, "It's a set-up. She's going to have you arrested."

Frowny Face said, "If I don't play along, she'll have my family arrested. I'd rather get a beating from the Dax.”

Another patrol went by, heading back into the Citadel. "There's got to be someplace you can lie low for a while."

"We could stay with my wife's family in Artisan Hamlet. Lady Sythel never goes there. Too afraid of the chemicals in the water, she says. But I'd have to be arrested first or she'll still come after me. I can’t escape on my own.”

"Leave that to me."

Frowny Face claimed the winning set of white stones. "I just hope you're better at jailbreaks than you are at Komi." 

"It'd be hard to be worse."

"That's not very comforting," Frowny Face said, and then turned around to face the next patrol of Dax. "I'm only gonna get one chance at this so I'm going to say it loud and clear: Lady Sythel is a paranoid bi-"

A female Dax Arcus smacked him across the mouth and dragged him off. No one took any notice of Fearful Face sidling out of the city, nor of a kaithe-rider watching the roads out of the Citadel from atop a nearby hill. Soon afterward, a messenger flew off for Castle Town, eschewing the roads and flying directly over the abyss between the islands. An hour later, a patrol of five Dax led their prisoner shackled down the road to Castle Town. No doubt their superiors read the letter he carried and were desperate to prove their loyalty to Thrax.

Once they were on the long bridge outside the Citadel and cut off from easy reinforcements, Drifter urged Kaithe down out of the clouds and after them.

The two Arcus saw him coming and drew their bows. They warned the Dax Herald, who planted his polearm on the ground. It sparked like a lightning rod. The final two Dax drew their swords and shouted insults at him "in the name of the King!"

He ducked one arrow. Kaithe swung away from the next. Before they drew again, he decreed, "His Majesty Bombastine the First would be most distraught if Lady Sythel were to take his throne." 

Sirocco took on a distinctly green tinge, with a whiff of cleaning products strong enough to sting all the way up his sinuses. He aimed for the Herald's head, fired one shot, and they all dropped dead from a far more concentrated dose. Frowny Face gaped at the toxic clouds surrounding their bodies. When Drifter landed and freed him, he began to cut capers with joy.

"Did they find your scroll?" he demanded.

"They sent that to the king right away," Frowny Face confirmed. "I take back everything I said about your komi playing. You're playing on a bigger board."

He hoped he wasn’t playing just as badly on that bigger board. "Get your family to safety and we'll call it even."

No sooner had the man scurried off than Drifter heard Sythel's voice echo in his head. "Is this how Thrax does it? Listen up. If he catches me speaking to you, he'll have me executed with a snap of his fingers. Did you do it?”

"The Dax sent your tampered evidence to the king."

"Good. I'll make sure he sees it immediately. Thrax will turn on them and they'll turn on each other.” She drummed her fingertips together with a ringing sound of metal on glazed porcelain. “Unless they find out what I've done and then they'll turn on me. And you. Quick, hide the bodies. No one must know. Their disappearance is all just part of the conspiracy against His Majesty."

He obediently rolled their bodies off the bridge. They tumbled into the cloudy abyss below and out of sight. "Now what?"

"Meet me back in the Citadel. Once Thrax learns that this treacherous patrol helped the informant escape, he'll hand control of the Dax over to me, and then we'll make our move."

Chapter Text

The king's fears changed like quicksilver, rippling across the land. When Drifter returned to the Citadel wearing his Fearful Face mask, the lower-ranked Dax industriously gathered tribute to send to the king under the watchful gaze of irritable officers who frequently made obeisance up at Thrax's looming head and hands in the sky or bowed to his statues. They were on thin ice, they knew it, and the citizens who hid their titters behind their hands knew it.

Sythel waited at the Komi board. Her hands were on her hips. She tapped her foot impatiently. 

He muttered to himself, "Think I was born yesterday, do you?" That was a Dax in disguise if he'd ever seen one. “Think you’re just as dangerous as I am?” The jig was up. She’d turned on him. 

Dax Sythel had a scroll case tucked in her tunic. He had smoke bombs. Why not find out what the next stage in her plan was, so he could stop it? That’d show her she couldn’t take him for granted.

As he strolled by, he let one fall. Harsh black smoke hissed out like a snake that blossomed into a geyser’s plume.. She coughed and sputtered, breath wheezing through her metallic rib cage. Definitely a Dax. Really, the lack of shrieking and screaming about poison was a dead giveaway.

He flipped his hood over his mask and dove into the smoke before the Dax patrolling the Citadel’s walls spotted the return of the Drifter. She was in no shape to stop him as he pilfered her scroll case and ran. Long before the smoke dissipated and more Dax arrived to see what the trouble was, Fearful Face was hoodless and sitting on a bench next to a lower level’s walled courtyard.

No sooner had he unrolled the scroll and read the obvious forgery, "By the order of Lodun, Prince of Fire, this Dax is to impersonate the pristine Lady Sythel and implicate her innocent self in our foul treason," than the real Sythel popped around a corner and shrieked, "There he is, arrest him!"

Well, shit.

If it was just her, he'd call Kaithe and run for it. However, she'd come prepared with Arcus armed with gleaming bows. More archers appeared on the walls. She really hadn’t been kidding when she said Thrax would give her command. Even fleet-footed Kaithe couldn't dodge them all.

So he surrendered. While she twitched and hugged herself and badgered them into hurrying up so she could get under cover, they frisked him, tossed out his smoke bombs, confiscated Sirocco, took the forged note as evidence, and then dragged him off. At least they didn’t take his mask. When they passed the komi board, Sythel dramatically clutched her throat. "The smoke. The Drifter tried to poison me. Add that to the wanted posters. And search that kovnik tree. I'm sure his agents planted something there."

"Ha, ha, planted.” He groaned.

One of the Arcus marching him smacked the back of his head.

"Hey, it was punny."

Another Dax Herald found the hidden scroll and offered it to Sythel. She refused to touch it. "What if there's contact poison? You read it to me.”

The unlucky Herald read, "I, the Drifter, declare myself the rightful ruler of Duviri. My loyal minion Bombastine shall spread sedition. Luscinia shall lull the king into complacency." It went on, detailing everyone he'd talked to, not even excepting the couple who's makapa fruit he'd harvested for Kaithe, and many he hadn't like the Dax Equitem officers, and ended with, "The only incorruptible person in Duviri is Lady Sythel. I dare not approach her for fear she'll turn me in to Thrax."

If glares could burn, ‘incorruptible’ Lady Sythel would be a smoky crater. Fortunately, none of that showed past his mask. Rather than prove himself a fool a third time, he shut up and thought bitter thoughts all the way into the Citadel's jail about how Sythel might’ve banned the shawzin, but she’d played him like a virtuoso instead. So much for him playing better on a bigger board.

His past spirals in the Citadel were spent in his personal jail cell that was more like a tiny stone closet with a bucket, thick iron grates for doors, and windows that were too small to squeeze through yet wide enough to let the foul weather in. Whether sweltering heat, freezing cold, or unbearable humidity, he knew every brick in those walls by name. It inevitably ended with him manacled in a prisoner wagon rolling off to Castle Town for sentencing and Death By Impalement. This time, since Fearful Face clearly wasn’t the same person as the dastardly Drifter, they took him to the holding cells instead.

The holding cells were packed. Luscinia looked up from her bench, her voice listless and bereft of loveliness, her red silks running down to the floor like rivers of bloody tears. "I see Sythel's cruel lies claim another victim. Or was it one of Bombastine's poison pens?"

Arcus shoved him inside. "Don't make your rap sheet longer than it already is by causing trouble in here."

He couldn’t very well break the Spiral from jail. “I was only following Lady Sythel’s orders. What are the others in here for? They might be innocent too!”

Barris sat next to his mother. "You don't even know? They picked us up because, and I quote, "Your tamms are plotting something.""

His mother put her head down and said, "Shush. Don't talk to anyone. You'll get us in worse trouble than you already did by working with that Troublesome Tammherder.”

Arcus shrugged and slammed the cell door shut. "Don't know. Don't care. Just following orders. The only way you're getting out is by turning in that Drifter fellow you're working with."

Mathila exclaimed, "But we were just spreading happiness!"

The two children sitting next to her looked at each other. The girl said, "Pretty sure you were arrested for stealing flowers from the King's garden."

“Hush, you,” Mathila muttered.

The boy asked in a sing-song voice, "What’s that whisper on the breeze? Just the whisper in the trees."

There wasn't room to sit on the benches, so Drifter leaned against the wall.

The girl chanted back, "What’s that tread upon the stairs? Nothing darling, nothing there."

Had he known Mathila had children? Acrithis might've mentioned it.

The boy picked up the chant, "What’s that rattling at my door? Just the wind and nothing more."

A Dax Gladius yanked the door open. He poked Koral inside at the point of his sword. "Get in, plague girl."

Oh, shit. He checked his hands. No tell-tale void swirls. Yet.

Everyone shrank back against the walls as far as the tiny cell would allow. "I don't have the plague," Koral snapped. "I say something's gotten in her head and made her go barmy. Imagine being afraid of a cute little rablit."

Drifter snorted. Koral settled in next to him, knowing a friend where she saw one even if she didn't recognize him as the helpful Outlaw.

As soon as Gladius walked away, the kids resumed their game. "What’s that breathing in my ear? Nothing darling, nothing there."

Gladius came back. The door banged open. Lodun marched in. His back was so stiff his spine might have been replaced with one of the Herald’s polearms. “Not. One. Word.”

Naturally, the other kid piped up. “What’s that gleaming-”

“I SAID-”

Mathila scolded him, “It makes them happy. We could all use a little happiness in this dreary place, don’t you think?”

“NO.” Lodun rounded on Luscinia. “You were supposed to keep the Imp dull and happy. Are you bird-brained as well as lark-voiced?”

Luscinia sighed. “I warned you I can only sing what my heart feels. All I feel is sorrow.”

“Bah. You’ll have something to be sad about soon enough. Sythel’s on the worst tear I remember and all because of that moron. If he’d helped me become the rightful king like I ought to be-”

“What’s that gleaming sharp and bright?”

“SHUT UP you brats!”

“Hold your tongue and say GOODNIGHT!” They taunted him.

Drifter and Koral budged over so Lodun could claim a patch of wall with them before he punched his way through a wall in anger (though that was definitely Plan B for getting out of here). The rather bedraggled Prince grumbled, “Reduced to huddling in jail with a plague girl and a ‘fraidy kexat. Just one more bucket of piss splashed in my face.”

Drifter asked, “Do you know what’s going to happen to us?”

Lodun swelled with rage.

“My lord,” he added hastily.

Deflated, Lodun said, “Ah. Sythel’s on a rampage like I’ve never seen looking for the Drifter. She’s determined to deliver him before the Imp so she can blame him for all Duviri’s problems. Mark my words, as soon as Drifter’s out of the way, she’ll off the Imp herself and plant her twitchy ass on my rightful throne. How the Imp doesn’t see it coming I’ll never know. It just proves he’s unfit. I should’ve been king. I would’ve been king if not for that stupid Drifter.” He trailed off into inarticulate growling.

Koral prompted him, “But what happens to us?”

“Oh. We’ll be executed, of course. There’ll be no conspiracies against Queen Sythel when we’re all dead.”

That statement produced a profound silence in everyone, even Mathila’s children. 

Drifter was glad for the silence to think. He’d made some dumb mistakes today, like thinking he could play Sythel against herself when he had only the vaguest notion of her plan. If he really was playing Komi on a bigger board, this time, the pieces were the lives of people he cared about, and he wasn’t just thinking about Barris and Koral. He didn’t much like Lodun or Bombastine, who’s histrionic crying could be heard coming down the hall. He didn’t love them, like Teshin. But he’d committed to making their lives better nonetheless. Surely the best way to do that was to play this farce out, get executed, let the Spiral reset, and wake up the same morning with foreknowledge of Sythel’s plans.

Right?

His unbroken string of losses at Komi said that was a bad idea. Besides, he could just imagine the pained, worried look on Teshin’s face when he learned that Drifter intentionally returned to wallowing in his routine. He couldn’t do that to him.

So what if he stood up, declared himself right now, rallied everyone to fight Sythel like she feared the Drifter had, and simply fought his way out of the Spiral? Against an experienced strategist like Teshin, it would never work, just like his tactics in Komi ended in disaster. But surely she wasn’t a Moon with a receptive mind. With a little luck and help from the Other Side, he’d succeed.

But if he did that, any of his friends who died in the fighting would be dead, permanently.

Fear held him trapped in that cycle of “what ifs” until Acrithis came in. She swanned in like a lady being escorted to a ball by the disconcerted Dax, and made a beeline towards him. “I warned you that Sythel was a nasty little thing, didn’t I?” she said, not fooled by his fearful mask for a second.

“That’s another charge for the list,” the Dax called out.

“Pffft,” she waved that away.

“I hope they didn’t smash up your wares,” he lied. He actually hoped they had overturned her onion-shaped carriage and loosed her kaithes, because the alternative was that Sythel’s rampage reached all the way to her Zariman station and to Teshin..

“You keep my secrets and I’ll keep yours,” she promised.

He sighed in relief. 

She said, “You’ll figure something out. Eventually. Maybe it’ll take you being executed day after day, but you figured that out eventually too, didn’t you?”

“You’re not helping.”

The heavy footsteps of a Dax Malleus rang the stairwell like the tramp of doom. Two Gladius flanked the door. A lowly courtier from Castle Town, Lequos, stepped forward. He was so new to his position that his voice squeaked as he read, “By order of His Majesty, Dominus Thrax, the following conspirators are to be beaten until they give up the location of the dangerous fugitive from the King’s justice named Drifter, alias Loneryder, alias Outlaw, alias The Troublesome Tammherder-”

It went on from there. Koral protested, “The Outlaw only helped that poor sick animal. He didn’t try to overthrow the King.”

“It’ll be okay,” Drifter muttered. “None of you will remember it tomorrow morning.”

Lequos started calling names. “Lodun.”

“Bah,” Lodun spat and stalked out, head held high.

“Luscinia.” She let out a high, keening wail. When she wouldn’t come of her own accord, Gladius hefted her over his shoulder and hauled her off.

Drifter's hands went clammy. He was going to be sick. He had to sit tight and see the course through. Even if it meant beatings. It was the only way to guarantee they didn’t die, permanently. Acrithis looked him over with awful sympathy.

“Bombastine.”

“He listed me after the harpy?” Bombastine asked in disbelief. Then his voice got nasty. “At least I’ll get to watch it come out of her hide.”

Drifter's gorge rose. “Shut up,” he snapped.

Lequos looked down at the list. “You’re not on the list, so sit down, good sir.”

Every bit of strategic sense told him, “Sit down. Shut your ears to their pain. Get executed. Try again “today.””

He tossed his fearful mask on the floor. Porcelain shattered. No going back now. “I am the Drifter.”

In the ringing silence that followed, he seized the opportunity to tell the truth. “You’ve all been fooled. These people are innocent. Every one of them.” 

To the Dax Malleus raising his sampotes hammer to strike him to the floor, he said, “Lady Sythel framed the Dax. She’s my fellow conspirator. She’s turned Thrax against your loyal superiors. Take me to His Majesty and I’ll confess everything.”

Malleus lowered his hammer. Whether because he was convincing or confusing he couldn’t say. 

Teshin would’ve hung his head in his hands if he were here to hear it, but he wasn’t. Drifter was. He was a Sun, finally acting as he ought to rather than crippling himself with his fears.

Finally, Lequos coughed. “Ah, shouldn’t you arrest him?”

Drifter pointed out, “Technically, I’ve already been arrested. I want to confess to the king immediately. Before my fellow conspirator Sythel makes her move. So if you could hurry up, please?”

As they dragged him away from Koral’s clutches, and Acrithis beamed a fierce, proud smile, and he passed the others being marched back into the holding cell where they'd be safe though rather unhappy with him, and he was manacled and dumped into a prisoner wagon on the way up to Castle Town (no mere squad sized escort for the notorious Drifter aka Loneryder alias Outlaw, etc. This was a full troop plus a complement of archers because their officers wanted to prove their loyalty lay with Thrax), he reflected that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Lequos and Lodun (the same character model brothers) by ser-i-vant

Chapter Text

All Duviri lay in the hush stillness before the storm breaks. The Drifter’s brash reveal threw Sythel’s plan off the tracks. Thrax refused to act until hearing him out. So she hung twisting in the wind, the Dax vacillated between cringing subservience to their betters and brutal oppression wherever they could get away with it, and Drifter made and discarded a dozen plans in his head as hard-handed Dax hauled him into the throne room and forced him to kneel. 

He’d leapt headfirst into this. He was just going to have to keep going and hope for the best.

Sythel stood at the king’s side. Her head came up to his ankles. Her long right arm kept fiddling with her tunic. Her dagger must be hidden there. His confession lay with a pile of presumably also forged documents on a small table along with a pair of tongs.

The Dax left. Their footsteps echoed in the broad hall, only emphasizing how alone they were. The massive door, carved with reliefs of Thrax’s reign, shut with a hollow boom behind them.

Thrax sat on the golden throne. It was much too tall for him and his feet dangled. Had he ever thought about trading its imposing height for something a little more comfortable? Probably not. A little boy at the mercy of his emotions and no impulse control must enjoy making people look up to him. 

People like one Drifter who, now that he knelt, remembered. While the execution courtyard was a stabbing pain in his back, this was sore knees from marble flooring and a crick in his neck from looking up. In the beginning, he'd spat back insults. Resets later, he'd cried and begged to no avail. Eventually he sank into blank-faced despair.

This time, he sought calm through the Litany of the Dax like Teshin taught him. He breathed deeply and thought of Sol’s blazing purity burning away all his pretensions and leaving him refined like gold. He did not think of the days upon days he'd knelt here under Thrax's cold gaze and heard the same sentence. Today would be different because he was different. 

Thrax drummed his fingers on the throne. His orokin-blue expressionless mask hid his feelings otherwise.

Sythel glanced between them fearfully. None of this was going the way she planned. "Your Majesty-”

"Drifter." Thrax cut her off, spitting out his name like an insult. "If this is yet another pathetic attempt to leave my kingdom, then it's as much a failure as you are."

He took a deep breath, thought of burning Sol, and let the remembrance of past failures wash over him so he could focus on what he must do now. Thrax was a simple soul; he meant to keep Drifter safe by any means. So first, he must address that driving motivation. "I don’t want to leave before Duviri has been set to rights. Because right now, its not much safer than that war-torn world beyond the Zariman."

At that reminder, Thrax flinched. Drifter continued, "Look at your kingdom. Are your people safe when Orowyrms rage? Are your people safe when your courtiers conspire against you and each other?" He leaned forward, manacled hands still on his knees, and despite the danger from Sythel's dagger he was glad for the absence of Dax who would've hauled him back with a hard slap or a choking slam. "You're the king. This is your responsibility. I'm telling you the only way to keep us safe is to master ourselves and make Duviri a better place to live.”

Thrax thrust his small hand at her. "Give me his confession."

Holding it at arm's length with the pair of tongs, she gingerly handed them over. "Don't blame me if there's poison."

Drifter said, "Do blame her, since it's a forgery.”

Thrax tossed the tongs on the floor with a clang and read it from his own hands. "I don't believe he’s clever enough to put together such a convoluted plot."

Ouch. 

"I do believe he’s dumb enough to run around my kingdom like a krubie chasing a rablit, claiming he’s making it better by shoveling tamm dung and speechifying about emotions." Thrax peered down at him. "Oh. Wait. You're actually serious about this lunacy."

She hissed, "He's the leader of a conspiracy that's a serious threat to Your Majesty and Duviri itself. Kill him. Now."

Thrax leaned over by her and sniffed. "Is that projection I smell?"

She recoiled. 

Thrax settled back on his high throne looking between them. "Go on, Drifter, entertain me with your ramblings. Make it good or I'll have you both executed." He lightly banged his fist against the armrest as a threat.

Right, time to make it good. Even though he really, objectively, hadn't accomplished much as the scroll dangling from Thrax's hand made clear. He cleared his throat, wiped his suddenly sweaty palms, and pretended he was up on the Agora stage.

"Look, I'll admit my plan's a work in progress. I mean, I'm a work in progress. I only remembered how to feel less than a week ago. I'm learning."

Thrax leaned his chin on his hand, pretending to nod off.

Shit, he was boring him. Make it good; Thrax cared about keeping him safe through any means. "I won't be safe until I master my emotions - either by helping your courtiers master theirs or by subduing the Orowyrm with the calm of a true warrior."

She gasped, "Sire, he's threatening me."

"Shut up," Thrax snarled at her. No, he wasn't bored anymore. "Enough about you. What about me?"

"You can't stop me from leaving Duviri but you can prepare me for living in that unsafe, war-torn system out there." The harder pill to swallow came next. Thrax's ability to reset the kingdom was both salvation and trap; a safety net to save his friends and entangling lines that would drag him back down if he let it. He took a deep breath, thought of the baking heat of true sunlight on his face, and committed. "If you want to keep me safe, the best way to do that is "no more resets." No more executions. No more winding back the day because it's all gone wrong. If I'm going to survive out there, I have to face change as it comes."

Facing change as it came was easier said than done. If his friends died, he wasn't quite willing to give up resetting the Spiral as an option. 

Nevertheless, he convinced fearful Sythel that he meant it. She clutched Thrax's knee and shook him. "Don't listen to him. We're safe in our Spiral."

Thrax kicked her in the face. She fell to the floor crying, and her silver dagger rang on the tiles at her feet.

"I'll have you both impaled!" He shrieked, "Dax, away with them."

In the silence that followed in the empty hall, if Sythel had been less of a cringing coward now that her plot was well and truly rumbled, she would've been Queen. If Drifter hadn't already won his freedom, he would've put her on the throne himself just for a chance at something different, and paid the price in death by impalement at her orders. Instead, as she sobbed, he warned Thrax, "You cannot kill Fear. You can only master it."

It wasn't her fault that he'd fled from his friends and hid alone in his dormizone, too afraid to seek out companions or better shelter than what his own mind could conjure from the Void and his storybook. It wasn't her fault he'd gotten stuck in the Spirals. It wasn't even her fault that today he'd vacillated about what to do right up until it took his friends being tortured to do the right thing. Unmastered fear always paralyzed him. He added, "You know, I think I'm learning something about myself and not just her. I'll work on that for future spirals."

Thrax stomped past him, beyond listening to reason, and looking like nothing more than a child on the edge of tantrum storming to his room. He yanked the doors open (or tried to, because they were heavy and imposing, and only through some effort could he haul one of them open) and shouted shrilly, "Dax, hold to your oaths!"

Seizing the chance to prove their loyalty, the Dax stormed back in with a vengeance. They grabbed Sythel, snapped her dagger, bound her hands, and dumped her next to Drifter like a sack of grain. Her mouth hung slack against his shoulder. Her gaze darted everywhere and nowhere.

"I sentence Sythel the traitor to death. Death by impalement."

Her chest heaved as she gasped like a beached fish.

Thrax pointed at him as though calling down a curse from the heavens. "Duviri is mine."

"Then make it better," he retorted. "No more resetting when you break something."

Thrax punched him. With his small hand, and he hadn't set his feet properly for the blow either, so it only stung. The child-king was near tears as he clutched his fingers and declared, "That's treason too. Death by impalement."

The Dax dragged them out into the courtyard. Drifter clung to the small differences to keep his composure. The courtier Lequos read out the sentence, not Lodun. Thrax took absolutely no chances with escape this time, placing ranks of archers on the walls so even if he summoned Kaithe, he wasn't getting far. Sythel screamed in his ear as she was dragged upright, because of course a Lady got executed first before the lowly peasant.

She was a pitiful sight as she cringed, waiting for the blow. "You did this to me," she whined at him. 

The Dax looked to Lequos for orders. He lacked Lodun's presence of mind, so he scratched under his mask and muttered, "Uh, sure, if you two have any last words…"

In hindsight, one area where he'd gone wrong was participating in her plotting in the first place. Fear was best fought with truth, not encouraging her delusions. "You saw conspiracy when I was only trying to help the people of Duviri. I can't let you drag everyone down with you."

"Then why didn't you help me first?" She demanded.

Because he understood envy. Because he wanted happiness. Because he thought he could handle his anger. Because he sorrowed over debts he couldn't repay. "Because I was afraid to try and fail and to live with the consequences."

For a brief moment, she and he understood each other perfectly, because if he were very honest with himself, he still was afraid. Then her understanding vanished, replaced by blind panic and thrashing.

And he understood that in order to help her, he couldn't let Thrax reset the day. He didn't need understanding, or panic. He needed to master the Orowyrm.

"I'm sorry, Sythel," he said. Then deliberately, he triggered her fears, hoping to force the transformation. "Rap. Tap. Tap."

Deep inside him, something flared open. A connection to something far greater than himself, like touching the ocean, except he thought it might be the vast coils of the Void itself.

She froze like a rablit at the scent of a predator. "Your eyes."

He blinked. "What?"

"Why are your eyes like that?!” She lunged free of the Dax in a feat of frantic strength. She grabbed him by the collar, and he couldn't break her grip. She stared into his eyes from mere inches away. "Who are you? Who are you really? Why do I hear whispers in my head when I look at you? WHY ARE YOUR EYES LIKE THAT?"

His eyes didn’t feel any different, but he couldn't close off that connection inside him, and, oh, he tried.

Color and uncolor washed over the plaza in waves. Some vast incomprehensible presence turned its attention to him. He was a mote in its eye. Something's watching us, kiddo, and it was utterly indifferent to such paltry things as humanity.

He dared not move lest he draw its gaze even closer, more terrified than he’d ever been huddled in his classroom while smoke filtered in from the lower decks. His thoughts skittered as if flailing on ice. Fragments of children's rhymes beat to his pulse, "What are you afraid of? Empty eyes and distant cries and wolves who walk in human guise?" Paralyzed by the answer, his heartbeat throbbed in his ears, resonating with some other, deeper, far more powerful Heart.

At that moment, his Guiding Hand flared with power of its own volition. Its light flew to the Palace doors. Thrax burst through them, shouting and pushing back on the sky as though he could make the vast unseen Presence go away just by decreeing it.

It turned away. 

Drifter's connection to that wellspring of void power dried up. He sagged like a puppet whose strings were cut as his pulse receded. Relief broke over him like a wave. Never had he thought he’d be glad to see the tyrannical child-king, but right now he could kiss him right on his blue cheek.

Sythel fainted. Her joints exploded with blinding light. Overhead, the Orowyrm roared.

When he stopped blinking spots out of his vision, he discovered his next, probably fatal mistake. Yes, he'd successfully summoned the Orowyrm. Now she was loose to wreak destruction and he was still manacled, surrounded by Dax and targeted by Arcus. Thrax stood in front of him, fists clenched and glaring fit to reduce him to cinders. He could just imagine Teshin back in his cave, shaking his head at his stupid Sun student and waiting for an opportunity to send his Orvius.

"Don't you dare pull a stunt like that again," Thrax warned.

For once, he agreed. "That was a mistake. One I won't make again. I'm sorry. Truly. I’m trying to make Duviri better, not endanger it myself."

As thunderhead clouds piled up into towering black masses with terrifying speed, Sythel roared. Rolling thunder answered. Thrax looked up at the darkening sky. "Well done indeed, Drifter."

He deserved that. However, Thrax was actually taking it all rather calmly in comparison to his usual tantrums. Why? Maybe because Drifter himself was calm, neither panicking nor paralyzed with fear anymore. His plans might not be particularly wise, but at least he had one. Hoping he wasn't making yet another mistake in an unbroken series of mistakes, he asked, "Do you want me to prove it? Let me face the Orowyrm. Let me prove that Fear can be mastered."

Thrax stared up at the rampaging Orowyrm he hadn't set loose. "Yes. Prove it. But you'll have to work for it." At the King's command, the Dax loosed his shackles and the archers lowered their bows. While Thrax bound Sythel with more powerful pathos clamps than he'd seen yet, he called Kaithe and Lequos fetched Sirocco and the Orvius for him. Then the king said, "I am a gracious king. You may even use your "warframe.""

"Why, thanks." Her sides flared with rings of lightning traveling tip to tail. She arced and twisted, and blasted lightning up into the sky ahead of her.

"Good luck. You'll need it."

What was the world coming to that he agreed with Thrax for the third time in one day?

Chapter Text

Sythel might’ve lost her chance to be Queen of Duviri; instead, she was the tyrant of its skies, which turned an eerie green-gray color. Black clouds piled up into towering thunderheads that flashed and sparked with vast arcs of spreading lightning. The Orowyrm sought out the storm she’d created. The billowing clouds swallowed her whole, and soon she was only illuminated by the pathos clamps and her own electric furnace showing through gaps in her metal plating.

Drifter and his faithful Kaithe chased her into the storm. In an instant, he was mired in frigid fog so thick he couldn’t see Kaithe’s wings pumping to either side of him. Updrafts flung them upward, only to batter them back down in a downdraft filled with pounding raindrops. Kaithe fought for altitude. He clung on, trusting him and looking for any sort of bearings as they flew blind.

His hands and feet tingled. His hair stood on end.

He heard it first: a snap, crackle, then an explosion of electricity, then again in rapid succession as the whole cloud lit up from within as her furnace sent electricity cascading from the reactors in her tail up to the firing horns by her head. 

She wasn’t that far ahead of them. “Go, Kaithe!” he urged. 

Kaithe whinnied. An updraft caught his wings and sent them catapulting and cartwheeling in the wrong direction, away from the lights.

Her cry boomed over the cracks of thunder. “Stop following me!” 

A bright, hissing orb of lightning flew after them. If he’d thought the static and the tingling was bad, this was worse. As soon as it got close, it’d arc from Kaithe to him and knock them both out of the sky if it didn’t barbeque them first. They couldn’t dodge. All he could do was trust his Orvius. He hurled it into the ball. 

The lightning harmlessly flared off in all directions in a spectacular, eyesearing show before it dissipated. Only training let him catch the glaive with nothing worse than a static shock to show for it. They dove through the hot air where it’d been. The updraft under Kaithe’s wings smelled powerfully of sulfur, but they rode it all the way to Sythel.

He latched the Orvius onto her side and leapt free, swinging onto her.

“What’s crawling on me?” she cried. At her scream, lightning wreathed her throat like a necklace. Slowly, it rolled down her sides toward him. 

When he smelled its bow wave of ozone, he let go. He dropped into the storm. Once the crackling ring passed by a mere handsbreath, he twisted in the air, and threw the Orvius forward, catching on a pathos clamp. The Orvius reeled him in. Groping for a handhold, he grabbed the clamp.

No mere metal ring this, it jolted fear through him, more powerful than the electric shock that darkened his vision.

Blind, he'd fall forever, screaming for Kaithe, who was lost in the mists. No easy death for Drifter, splatted on the ground and then reset for Thrax's amusement. Just endlessly falling for the rest of a life that had no end, never to leave Duviri…

His Guiding Hand saved him. Her amalgamated flesh adapted to the onslaught, subdued her own spasming, and then grasped less treacherous handholds.

Slowly he came back to himself as they broke through the clouds into clear air above Royalstead Pastures. No doubt Thrax laughed himself sick down below. “You won’t keep me here that easily,” he growled. “Guiding Hand, if you’ve got any ideas that don’t get me electrocuted, I’m all ears.”

Her sweet voice said, "Align the rings." 

He had to leap to each of the three clamps, then push, pull, and kick them until she said they were aligned properly, all the while fighting off the completely irrational fears that assailed him on top of the extremely rational fear that he was going to get electrocuted by lightning waves, eaten by the wyrmlings that flew beside Sythel hoping for a taste of fresh Drifter meat, or that she’d stop circling her own tail and start wreaking havoc on Duviri below.

Finally, his path was clear and he swung forward to her head. “One more time,” he told his Guiding Hand, and leaned into the dissociation of transference.

Sythel’s mind was a swamp. A ceiling of dense, overhanging boughs and dripping leaves turned the day as dark as dusk. Brackish pools and wet sand hid treacherous footing and who knew what else below the surface? Insects whined through the air. A line of ants wound their way up a tree trunk carrying what looked like tiny dolls wearing Zariman suits in their jaws. 

She sat on a rotted log, picking at her porcelain skin as she whispered, “Don’t you see them? Beetles. In the earth, biting oh-so-gently. Tunneling. Up through my skin.” As she spoke, a black beetle the size of his thumb crawled out of the log and up onto her foot.

Where before he thought of her only as a fool and a problem to be solved, now he pitied her. “Come here,” he offered his hand, helped her off the log, brushed her clean, and led her to his patch of drier ground. 

She looked back at the log. “There’s something for you there.”

Indeed, some light source glowed underneath it. He pulled the log back. Beetles scattered. It was an electronic tablet from the Zariman, labeled with his name. “How’d you get here?” he asked it. In response, it flashed up a question of its own.

Does Sythel deserve our contempt?

      A. Yes - she is a cringing coward

     B. No - her experiences are real to her

“Huh,” he said. “So that’s where I’ve been going wrong.”

Then the swamp dissolved. He was the Orowyrm. As his calm broke through her uncomprehending panic, the storm broke. The unnatural green tinge to the sky faded away. Just before he flew through the portal, he glanced down at Castle Town and wondered what Thrax thought. 

The Child-king probably had a bet running on whether he'd survive Sythel's lightning storm in the arena long enough to call out more hungry wyrmlings on him. 

Then they were through and flying above the arena where he'd battled Mathila and Lodun. It was a flat circular area surrounded by a double collonade of statues with a broad road between them and the high outer wall. He wasn't entirely sure as to its purpose. Gladiatorial combat with no audience? Death by Orowyrm? Well, if Thrax expected him and his warframe to die in the middle of the arena with nowhere to run and no way to reach the towering Orowyrm, he was sadly mistaken.

He reached out for the Other Side. Transference got easier with practice, giving him a feel for what he was getting. He was large, heavy, and strong. Strong and filled with primal fury that would leap up into the Orowyrm and tear it apart with his bare hands (and die when he ripped apart a capacitor) unless he mastered it. As she slammed down in between the two colonnades and broke several statues to pieces, she flung them free. They plummeted.

Rhino Prime slammed down on the raised central plinth. Tiles shattered. He stood unharmed and roared. Strength surged through his limbs. He flexed and his skin turned to armor stronger than any Dax's. 

A gleaming golden, roar-empowered, long-barreled, sighted rifle formed in his hands - its chamber modified for only one shot, and memory that wasn't his made him sure and certain one shot was all it would take. 

Three shots. Three pathos clamps burst asunder.

"Thank you, Other Side."

Sythel writhed in a paroxysm of spasms. "Thrax, Majesty, help me?"

Thrax pouted, "That was too easy. Settle down, Sythel, he hasn't proved anything."

She settled down for him. Her pathos clamps reformed. Wyrmlings - blue, sinuous, whirling fangs of hungry death - swam in. 

One shot. One down.

"Too easy." Thrax snapped. His fury ignited a fire in the center of the arena, spreading out to the inner colonnade of statues. 

The fire was hot enough to start chewing through his ferrite armor and he couldn't exactly gather the energy to recast it from this air. He looked for shelter and saw none except for the outer ring. He bullet jumped towards it. Rhino was heavy. He more than made up for it with the strength in his powerful legs. 

"Too easy!" At Thrax's command, the ground froze over. Ice grew out of every crack into spiky icicles. Ice crystals crunched in his armor with every movement, slowing him. A wyrmling spun itself into a whirlwind of death, When he aimed, his trigger jammed in ice. 

Well, shit.

He could call on the Other Side. Their seemingly endless Arsenal probably had a heat-infused archgun in it somewhere that would make this a joke. He could just hear Thrax snarl "too easy" again and again. He had to use the calm of a true warrior instead. He called Kaithe. 

Kaithe staggered under his armored weight.

"Sorry buddy."

They labored into the air. There was no way to reload and aim the rifle while flying, so he set it on his back and drew Sirocco instead. Flying above the ice around the cover of the outer road, sheltered from the fire by the statues, he shot down the flying wyrmlings one by one.

"A minor setback," Thrax dismissed his efforts as he dismissed both fire and ice. "Sythel, make your fears useful for once and kill him."

She came awake and, contrary to what Thrax said, seemed more lucid than before. "What happened to my legs?"

"It doesn't matter," Thrax said. 

He flew Kaithe into the center and dismounted. No sense in leaving him here if she freaked out and blasted the arena floor with lightning. "Sythel, you gave into your fears. You turned into an Orowyrm. Let me help you."

"What? What happened to me?"

Thanks to Euleria Entrati’s long-forgotten lessons, he had an answer. “I know your fears seem real to you. Real enough that you try to destroy them. But don’t you see how you’re still scared? Thrax’ pathos clamps don’t ease your fears. Control yourself, and you'll become yourself again."

"Then I'm doomed. I'm going to be trapped in this ugly form forever and ever. And it's all your fault."

He dodged the lightning blasts. What he couldn’t dodge, Iron Skin shrugged it off like it was made for worse battles than this, so her tantrum only lasted as long as it took to line up three shots. “Yeah, it kind of is my fault. I'm sorry-”

Thrax facepalmed his mask. "Too easy. Sythel, why does fear make you useless?"

Drifter asked, "Does that mean you're admitting I have a point?”

"It means you might approach the usefulness of a broken clock." The king reformed the pathos clamps as a wave of Dax and ghostly Centurions appeared at the edges of the arena.

Despite reinforcements, she whined. She groveled. "I'm so scared. I'm so scared. I'M SO SCARED!"

Three shots later, her pathos clamps shattered into pieces even Thrax couldn't put back together. She wailed as she crashed to the ground. Thrax shook his head in disgust and the soldiers vanished. 

Drifter touched her head. He expected to face her fears in the swamp. Instead, he and she landed in the last place he expected: on the Zariman, in his old classroom. Their desks were arranged in a circle in front of a glitchy screen showing the ship’s logo and the electronic tablet lay on his desk.

“Where am I?” Sythel asked. Her gaze darted from the stern portraits of Orokin Executors to the shuttered window pane, from the empty desks to the door that didn’t lock properly, and to the corner with the fallen globelight. “The ship in the sky. No. No, no, no, nonono, I shouldn’t be here-”

The tablet asked the same question as before. He answered, “No, Sythel, you don’t deserve my contempt. Your experiences are real to you. Even the delusions.”

She demanded, "Who are you, really? Nothing stops you. Not death. Not the Spiral. Not the Undercroft. Not even Thrax. You're stronger than Thrax. Don't you see? I had to supplant him so I could kill you.”

"I see that you let your fears paralyze you. And so instead of doing something productive, like talking to me, you let your fears stew for a week and that got us right here." 

“What do I do? Thrax won’t reset the day. He’ll remember that I tried to kill him. The Dax will remember I lied about them. Everyone will remember I nearly had them whipped to find you. You’ll remember that I just said I wanted to kill you!”

He offered her the tablet as a peace offering. "You're going to wake up tomorrow in the next Spiral, alive. You're going to remember that I didn't kill you. You're going to remember that giving into your fears didn’t help. You’re going to do better tomorrow. And if anyone bothers you, you’ll show them that and remind them of the correct answer.”

She read the answer like it was holy writ. “You really think I can do better?”

“I do.” The classroom faded away like a mirage.

The Orowyrm, calmed for the moment, looked down at him with strangely peaceful eyes. Then she took flight, no longer fleeing, just undulating through the air above the arena calmly.

The arena shimmered and vanished. He stood in Castle Town in front of Thrax. The city was vibrant with color and the clear sky was calm.

Quietly, contemplatively, Thrax said, "Huh."

Sythel soared through the portal. She took up a patrolling route around the islands, no longer threatening to unleash destruction. Tomorrow was another matter, but as he said, "Looks like we'll face tomorrow when it comes."

"You couldn't have done it without your warframe."

"True," he admitted. "I'm getting better at accepting help when I need it."

Thrax went silent. Then he yawned. "Ugh. What did you do? I'm not afraid. I'm just tired."

Rather than risk more trouble, he left the king to his nap and went back to Teshin's cave. 

As he'd expected, Teshin was unimpressed with his tragicomedy of errors. "A Sun's greatest strengths are their confidence and intuition. So they expect to brazen it out, until they get burned. Heed the warning you've received: by failing to prepare, you nearly failed."

Chastened by the Conclave's master, he asked, "How ought I to prepare for the Dax?"

Teshin pursed his lips. "The Duviri Dax are mockeries of my fellow warriors, but in this some things run true: they are bound by oaths stronger than blood. I could not raise a finger against the Orokin, their Kuva, or their symbols of power."

"Thrax isn't Orokin," he said, thinking about a small fist the same color as his own banging down on a throne. “Sythel says the oaths are to the “ruler of Duviri.””

“Fortunately for us both, exact words are fickle things,” Teshin said wryly. "Yet that is not your only failure."

His mouth went dry. No, Teshin could've hardly missed how close he came to that which they feared most: the slippery slope back into bad habits. Not to save himself this time, but to save his friends.

The face of the master of the Conclave, used to dealing out hard blows and taking them, was as hard as weathered tree bark. "I am rather less concerned about Thrax resetting Duviri than I am you. Can you master your fear of loss?

He'd told Thrax he knew the real world didn't have a reset button. Now, he knew he'd lied, because it felt like Teshin ripped away his last safety net. If he’d had a reset button for the Zariman, he couldn’t have possibly saved everyone. But he could’ve saved some of them. He couldn't bear to lose Duviri too, to his own mistakes. "But what if I fuck it all up? What if I could save someone and I don't?"

“I did not say to master loss,” Teshin coached him. “Loss will come whether you fear it or not. You will grieve and sorrow for your losses, as is right. You’ve heard me mourn for Valeria,” he reminded him.

He saw Teshin's serenity in the face of his own losses as if it were Lua veiled behind clouds. A beautiful sight, but one so far removed from his own experience that it might as well be in Tau. "But-"

"It's the fear of loss that paralyzes you now, as it did then when you gave Thrax the power to save you from your mistakes by resetting the spiral.”

Just because Teshin was right didn't make it less galling to measure himself against the Conclave and come up so short. “I’ve been trying. Isn’t that enough?”

A bucket of ice water dashed in his face couldn’t be colder than Teshin's rebuke, “It's been a week. Forgive me if I fear that you will fall back into your addiction to reset the day every time it goes poorly, all because you could not face your powerlessness in the face of losing everything you loved and hoped and dreamed for.”

Each harsh truth struck him like fists. He folded in on himself in a crumpled heap as the tears started. Tears he hadn’t shed on the Zariman because he’d shut his losses away to survive. Tears he hadn’t shed in Duviri when he gained his freedom because he’d been too high on dreams to recognize his still crippling addictions.

Slowly, with a great many grunts, Teshin sat down beside him, gathered him into his arms, and murmured, “Let it out. Let it all out. I do not scorn your fears. No child should have to weather such a blow as you did.”

“The Tenno did,” he sniffled. 

“As far as I know, you are the only non-Tenno to walk out of the Zariman alive. As I guided them through their pain, I am privileged to guide you through yours. You are precious to me beyond measure. I do not want to see you make Duviri your prison once more from good intentions.”

Unlike the iron pathos clamps that bound Sythel to her fears, Teshin's arms comforted him. Curled up in that embrace, he felt how frail Teshin’s frame was compared to how he must have been in his prime. One day, this man - his mentor, his rock, practically his second father in all the ways that mattered - would die of old age. He couldn’t stop that loss nor prepare for that grief. Lashing out in a vain attempt to destroy his fears wouldn’t ease them. Waiting paralyzed couldn’t stop the inevitable. All he could do was treasure each day with him, make him a solemn promise, and cling to that promise as a guide: “I won’t reset the spiral. No matter what happens.”

Ever the Conclave master, Teshin warned, “If you hold to this path, Duviri will know loss for the first time in ages. Your resolve will be tested.”

“Then I’ll learn to accept it as it comes.”

“A week ago, you couldn’t mean that,” Teshin said. “Believe it or not, I am very proud of you.” He began to stroke his hair, gnarled fingers making short work of tangles and the knots of tension from his temples to his neck.

No one’d done that since the Zariman either. Before the last of his composure melted away, he whispered, “I love you too.” He couldn’t have said that a week ago, either. Now, when loss came, he’d know love hadn’t gone unsaid.

Chapter Text

The next day dawned on a Fear Spiral. This time, he didn't dally and went straight to Sythel's house. She took one look at him and clawed at the boarded up windows to get away.

He said, "I'm not here to hurt you. Remember how I promised to help?"

"You've done quite enough. The King knows what I did and he hasn't punished me for it."

He frowned. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Are you dumb? No, no, you're just lulling me into a false sense of security. So is Thrax. He knows my treachery will hang over me like a sword." Her chest rose and fell like a prey animal's. She beat on the boards with her bare hands until they broke and then she fell out the window with an undignified yelp. A yelp that turned into a roar as she went Orowyrm.

He kicked the wall, succeeded only in stubbing his toe, and grabbed the Orvius. "Calm. Calm of a true warrior."

Afterwards, Teshin said dryly, "If you keep finishing this quickly, we'll have plenty of time to work on your patience and perseverance."

The next day, he spent the Sorrow Spiral with Luscinia. She remembered full well who'd almost gotten her tortured, so she set a pack of Dax on him.

When they lay dead on the road, he'd tended his wounds, and confronted her, she broke down sobbing and bursting with light. "What have I done?" 

Once again, the only way to calm her was to battle the Orowyrm.

The day after that was bright green with jealousy. Every line of Bombastine's fixed smile shone with malice and every word dripped poison. That Orowyrm fight hurt all the more because after their first Spiral went so well, he’d really hoped the second could build on that rapport.

A month of Spirals passed, and though he'd expected that turning Sythel in two minutes would be the worst of it, it took an Anger Spiral when he turned down the street to Lodun's house in Upperhaven and the man went Orowyrm the second he laid eyes on him to make him admit defeat. 

The facade of Lodun's house was crumbling from how many times he'd punched it. Sythel's house wasn't much better because she spent any day he didn't see her fortifying it, and then when he did go see her, had to practically break her way out. One of these Spirals, she was going to go Orowyrm inside her house, and then there'd be no going back. With neither of them concentrating on such mundane things as governance, Thrax's court was in a state of confusion and the Dax quickly reverted to their old brutal methods.

Bombastine couldn't make it through a scene on stage without being soaked with connla sprouts thrown by Luscinia's supporters in the crowd. Luscinia fretted and worried because someone was sending poison pen letters to the king about her. Barris shouted at his sheep every day. Since the Outlaw couldn't be everywhere, he'd even found Koral crying over dead animals.

During the rare days when Thrax felt joy, Mathila looked at the mess he was making of Duviri, threw up her hands, and laughed. Not the good kind of laughter. Not all. 

When he spoke to Acrithis, she told him tales from her travels across Duviri that warned of the increasing toll. The Dax forgetting the Spiral hadn't reset and taxing the same settlement three days in a row. Workers sitting down at their posts refusing to work, saying "Bring on the big wyrm. Get it over with."

He was changing Duviri; he was no longer sure it was for the better

On the next Joy Spiral, rainbow borealis spiraled overhead. In the brief time he took to enjoy the bright morning, a squad of Dax spotted him. He knew immediately these were no ordinary Dax. Five Malleus and an Equitem said that Thrax was looking for him, specifically.

No doubt, the real reason Thrax was happy was that Drifter was thoroughly and systematically proving himself incapable of fulfilling his promises. "I surrender," he said. 

"Maybe you are getting smarter," Thrax said, chuckling as the Equitem leashed his manacled hands to her horse and marched him away to Castle Town.

This time when they dumped him in front of Thrax, he felt only the sullen, sour stink of humiliation. There'd be no bargaining this time. No brazen defiance or challenge. He hadn't earned the right to call the shots. Thrax loomed over him, leaning his chin on one hand and idly rap, tap, tapping his other fingers on the throne. Bright sunlight shaded intricate patterns on the floor. A open copy of Tales of Duviri lay on a table in an alcove next to the repaired doll. He looked at anything other than up at him gloating and especially at the book, thinking bitterly that Thrax's cripping flaw in the book was failure to control his emotions. Well, who had better control now?

"Did you know that my Jubilee is in two weeks?"

Of all the things he'd expected from Thrax: threats, insults, mockery; it wasn't that. "What?"

""What," he says. What a simpleton." Thrax snickered, then deigned to explain. "My Jubilee. The anniversary of my coronation. The day I ascended to the throne of Duviri. The day I became king. It's a huge party in my honor and I want it to be as amazing as I am. Is that simple enough for your dimwitted mind to comprehend?"

"I know what a Jubilee is," he grated. "I fail to see where yours is my problem."

Thrax hopped down off his throne. The boy-king chucked him under the chin, making him look up into the expressionless (yet definitely mocking) mask. "You said you were going to make Duviri better, didn't you? Well, that means better parties than ever. Since my court clearly isn't capable of organizing my Jubilee on their own-"

That was the understatement of the century. They'd step all over each other's toes. It'd be a pile up of plots as everyone's grudges ruined it for everyone else.

"-it's your job to make it happen. I want the best Jubliee ever. Or else."

He'd reget asking. He had to know. "Or else, what?"

Thrax made a fist. He dropped it into his open palm. "We do it again until you get it right."

The multilayered cruelty of it struck him like a blow. Because even leaving aside the impossibility of getting Thrax's fractured court to work together, the Jubilee was-

-curled up in the darkness, he turned on the globelight. It flickered. The power source wouldn't hold out much longer. He shouldn't need it for long. Just long enough to reread the Tales, to fix the pictures in his mind, and then to open himself to his raw broken-glass shards of feelings for one last time-

-the day he'd given into his loss and abandonment, creating Duviri to escape it all. 

Thrax flicked him in the center of the forehead. "You still in there, or are you actually as brainless as you seem?"

The light patterns had shifted by a couple hours. Time lost to sorrow. Time lost to circling, spiraling thoughts about how he'd honestly rather go back to daily executions than reliving a frantic attempt to fix a party for a celebration that ought to be more like a funeral. Time lost to battling the guilt that urged him to rampage as an Orowyrm out of this farce. "You're a monster," he snapped. 

Thrax hoisted himself back up on his throne and gestured for the Dax to unlock his manacles. "Actually I am exceedingly generous. First, I gave you a whole month to show progress on your little quest and what did I get to show for it? Nothing. Now, I'm giving you a final chance. You've got two weeks to remember how to be a whole person. Chop, chop, Drifter."

Two whole fucking weeks. Each borealis swirl marked the passing minutes. While part of his mind churned with increasingly frantic plans to avert the looming disaster, another part stood there like a dead man dragged to his own execution because what was the point of trying anymore, really, what was the fucking point anyway? Yet another part said "What would Teshin do" and suggested asking his Helping Hand's guidance, but most of him just seethed with the unfairness of it all. If he saw Mathila, with her stupid smile and her stupid pink and her stupid cheerful whistling, he was going to tell her where she could shove her fucking happiness…

He flew out to Upperhaven. At least Lodun could be counted on to share his foul mood. For once, shared misery erased their differences; peasant and prince united in bitter anger against their fate.

Lodun punched the wall. Stone chips flew. "Tell me about it. The Imp insists I lead the military parades, whilst his Dax can't even show up to practice on time. It's a wonder they can find their own backsides."

Drifter scooped up a handful of chipped shards and flung them off the balcony onto the street below, one at a time. "I could go talk to Mathila about decorations. Get her to apologize to the palace gardeners. Make everything look nice. But if I do, then Sythel will show up a week later, arrest us both for conspiring to cause her allergy attacks, and that's all for naught.”

Thud. More masonry chipped and flaked off. "He's gonna want a performance. If I have to listen to the Nightingale's miserable bloody singing, I'll throw myself off the edge."

More shards flung off into the air. "I could put Bombastine on the stage again if that'd make you feel better. You could all laugh it up to The Many Deaths of the Dissenter. Wouldn't that be a fucking kick in the ass?"

"It should've been MY coronation. I should've been king, not that scrawny Imp."

Upperhaven gave him a stunning view of the Zariman in the sky, marooned on its own large island where no one went and everyone pretended it didn't exist. "It should've been a funeral. How the fuck am I supposed to celebrate that?" he muttered, because Thrax's parting taunt rankled. "No sane, whole person is going to feel joy on the anniversary of the day he fucked his life up.”

"Tell me about it," Lodun muttered.

It was a rhetorical offer, but he did anyway, spitting out that Thrax threatened him with repeating the party over and over until he got it right, and nevermind that the Jubilee was doomed right here, right now because surely Sythel's network of informers saw them bitching here and wove webs of fears to catch her in…

When he finished ranting, Lodun summed up succinctly, "We're doomed."

It was noon. He'd wasted at least an hour on pointless, flailing anger, and Jubilee rushed at him like a charging kaithe. He laughed and felt no humor at all. "No shit."

When they were at their bitterest, Mathila swept in on her Psyacus kaithe. Mathila with her stupid smile, stupid cheer, stupid pink, and irritating, ingratiating chatter. "What's this, boys? Sitting around stewing in your own misery? Why, that won't do. Chin up!"

They both looked up simultaneously. If glares could kill, she'd be a smear on the pavement.

She blithely continued, "I know, I know, the Dax are bullies and the weather's apocalyptic, but no one's died today." She looked at Drifter. "Yet. That's not a challenge.”

As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, some part of him did step back from the edge at her reminder. Courting execution wasn't the way out. Besides, he'd disappoint Teshin. He said, "No one's gonna die. Not today. I make no guarantees about two weeks from now."

However, Lodun stood stiff and rigid, puffed up like a balloon fearing they'd prick his pride. "The Dax are not bullies."

He couldn't help it; he laughed. "Have you ever met your Dax? Remember how it felt when Sythel had you hauled off? That's how most of us feel every day."

Mathila tittered along with him. "Today's the second day Denphius Dax taxed my farm. I saw the wreck he made at Farbreeze Hamlet taxing them three Spirals in a row. If someone doesn't stand up to those bullies, there won't be any tamm cheese for the Jubliee."

At the name of Denphius Dax, his hand went to Sun's hilt. Denphius was Thrax's champion Gladius. His go-to Drifter-killer. Spiral after Spiral, he'd walked out of Teshin's cave only to die spitted on Denphius' blade or, more humiliating, hadn't even put up enough fight to avoid being taken prisoner back to the Citadel. He was also the Dax who'd led Thrax back to Teshin's cave, captured him, and then wore his face like a mask. Getting his throat ripped out by a ferocious pet rablit was too kind a death.

"I give a tamm's fart about the damned cheese." Lodun ticked off his fingers. "The Dax are supposed to uphold Duviri's laws fairly, collect the taxes properly, guard the citizenry from danger, and apprehend miscreants-" Here he glared at Drifter, evidently decided that Thrax's command to make his Jubilee spectacular probably exempted him from his usual outlaw status, and returned to glaring at the punch-marked wall. He kicked it and more of the facade rained down. "If they aren't doing their job, then it's the Imp's fault and no responsibility of mine."

Compared to going after Denphius in a foolhardy quest for revenge that would feel really good today but probably come back to bite him in the ass, Lodun's ideas actually sounded pretty nice, minus the hypocrisy of it all. "You're telling me," he pointed out, "that the man who complains he's not given enough responsibility is throwing it all back on the king?"

Mathila agreed. "Either you keep stewing over your grudges against the king, or you channel that energy into something positive. It's up to you."

If it were an Anger Spiral, Lodun would've exploded long ago. But it wasn't, and he hadn't. Instead, he huffed at her suggestion. "Like what?"

Whatever Mathila suggested during this Joy Spiral would end in excess and disaster. But Lodun could do what an outlaw couldn't: make Duviri's Dax into something Teshin might be proud to have claim the name. Drifter said, "Like making the Dax do what you said. Uphold the laws justly. Collect fairly. Guard the innocent. Stuff like that.”

Lodun looked at him astonished. "Why didn't I think of that? It's so simple. Or it would be, IF they listened to me. WHICH THEY DON'T!" He whirled on Mathila. "And you. You have no authority to interfere with their business."

She asked, "Even if there's no tamm cheese?"

Lodun retorted, "I don't give a FLYING FUCK about the tamm cheese!"

If Drifter shouted that at her, she'd have blazed with light and turned into an Orowyrm straight away.

But he hadn't, Lodun had, and she didn't. She sniffed haughtily, looked down her pert nose at Lodun and said, "I can't stand a bully. Especially a bully in uniform. If you won't deal with your Dax, I will."

"You have no right," he grated.

She sniffed again. "Then you make it right." With a clatter of hooves, she left them standing there.

Lodun punched the wall. "She's going to make a fucking mess and you just watch, Thrax'll make it my job to clean up after her. Just one more bucket of piss splashed in my face." If it'd been an Anger Spiral, he would've turned Orowyrm then and there. But it wasn't, and he didn't. 

A realization wormed its way to the fore of Drifter's mind like clues and hints coming together.

          "Since my court can't do it on their own…"

          "Two weeks to become a whole person, chop, chop…"

Slowly, he followed those hints to their conclusion. Maybe Teshin's training was paying off after all, because the one thing the Conclave drove home was 'in the face of failure, try something different.' Maybe he'd failed because he was working alone. He said, "You're right. She's going to make a mess. Unless we-"

"Unless we what?" Lodun grunted.

"Unless we do something different." 

This Joy Spiral was already going differently. It all started when he went to Lodun instead of its Harbinger, Mathila. Lodun wasn't as angry as during his own Spiral. She wasn't looking for validation from Lodun, so she didn't feel as slighted at rejection. Maybe the something different he needed was the whole court working together. Maybe the secret to getting the Court to work together was for him to help them work together while it wasn't their Spiral. Maybe there was hope after all, like a tiny candle flame holding back the darkness of his despair.

When the Anger Spiral didn't fan the flames of Lodun's fury into a consuming inferno, the man had some pretty good ideas. He asked, "Do you actually believe all that stuff you said about the Dax doing upholding the laws, and all that?"

Lodun said, "Yes, I do. But you aren't seriously suggesting I help her."

He could hardly believe it himself. "Do you have a better idea that results in the Dax listening to you when you tell them to show up on time for parade practice and means we don't have to listen to Thrax whine about the lack of tamm cheese at his coronation for the rest of eternity?"

Lodun hemmed, hawed, and finally growled, "She's just so bloody chipper about it."

One tiny flame could hold back the darkness. It was also easily snuffed. To make sure that didn't happen, someone had to face fear head on. He hoped he was right that Sythel would be less cowardly and more cooperative since it wasn't a Fear Spiral. He hoped he could convince her to lend her organizational talents to making the Jubilee run smoothly, rather than regularly ruining their progress. But even if hope should prove false, he had to try or all was surely lost. So he clapped Lodun on the shoulder and said, "Prince of Fire, I have full faith that you'll bear up under Mathila's unbearable cheerfulness. Unless you'd rather be the one to beard Sythel in her den?"

Lodun shuddered.

"I thought not. Once I've convinced her we aren't conspiring, I'll meet you all at the farm."

Chapter Text

During this Joy spiral, the snow on Titan's Rest and Netherbarrow shone bright enough to dazzle. The air was crisp, clear, and fresh. Perfect weather for riding. Naturally, Sythel was mewed up tighter than a nunnery during Naberus.

As First Minister, she had a network of contacts across Duviri. If he could only persuade her to use those to support the Jubilee instead of fearfully ruining it, he just might have a chance. Moreover, if he guessed correctly that she was less oppressed by her fears on other Spirals, then maybe he could prepare her for her next Fear Spiral.

He knocked on the cobwebbed boards nailed over the doorway, then ducked inside. One thing he'd learned to do differently was to stick to the truth with Sythel. When everything terrified her, and lies only baffled her with bullshit, the truth, just the truth, and nothing but the blunt truth would do. So he told her everything. 

When he finished, she asked, “Why did Thrax put you in charge?”

“I don’t know.” He’d had time to simmer down from the fury that drove him to look for a kindred soul to stew with, but the coals were banked, not dead. “Pretty sure his idea of a good day is watching me run around like a chicken without a head, only to fail at the last.”

“He used to like to party,” she said skeptically. "Back before your execution became the highlight of the day."

“I dunno. He made it sound like he was trying to help me in his own twisted way. Anyways, I won't get far without your help."

She paced. Her sandals shuffled across the dusty floor. For lack of anything better to do, he found a broom and started sweeping. The blunt truth: "You might be more comfortable here if you kept it up."

If the sky outside was dark with Fear instead of sunbeams shining through the slats that illuminated the billowing dust clouds no matter how carefully he swept, she might've gone Orowyrm right then and there. It wasn't. She didn't.

Quietly, she said, "I used to have a servant who cleaned."

"What happened to them?"

"She was spying on me for the Dax. I had her killed."

He swept the last pile out onto the stoop, and then swept off the steps. "You shouldn't have done that."

She followed him out into the daylight. "I wouldn't have had to if it weren't for the Dax," she protested, pointing out three Dax watchtowers visible from her house. "Ugh, they make my skin crawl knowing they could pick me off any time Thrax wanted. I'll help you if you kill their sentries."

If he played along, he was going to cause another disaster. Been there, done that for last month. Not today. "I have a better idea. One where you won't have to fear the Dax or worry about your servants."

"Really?" She asked, so sincerely hopeful that it made his heart ache. When Euleria Entrati taught them that Sythel didn't deserve contempt, perhaps she'd understood that the fearful woman was already tormented and burdened to the point of breaking. She'd leap at any chance of relief, be it placebo, talisman, or outright scam. Those failures only compounded her problems.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy," he warned her. The Conclave's brutal lessons of trying something different never were. "We're going to help Lodun reform the Dax."

"Oh," she deflated. "I like my plan better."

He tried a different approach. "Okay, then let's game out your plan. I kill the Dax sentries. Then word gets back to Lodun that I went behind his back instead of letting him discipline them. So now he's pissed at me and you. Next Anger Spiral, he'll go Orowyrm instead of leading the parade. He'll ruin all the hard work you put into organizing the Jubilee with me."

She stared at him as though working her way through the consequences of her actions beforehand was a map through foreign territory. Which he supposed it was, accustomed as she was to reacting immediately to her latest fear.

He suggested. “Let’s try something new, for a change."

“I…I guess so.” She thought about it a little more. "I guess they'd have to leave me alone if I were law-abiding. Which means no overthrowing Thrax. But would I need to overthrow Thrax if his Dax left me alone?"

Before she could tie herself up in more knots, he called Kaithe. "Great. Let's talk to Lodun."

She balked at Kaithe. "No, no, I'll make my own way there."

He could call a carriage for her, but that had its own downsides. "By the time you get there, you'll work yourself into a tizzy that I'm plotting an ambush with Lodun to get you killed."

She didn't disagree with his assessment. She just wouldn't get an inch closer to Kaithe. "He's so big."

Kaithe nudged his chest. He stroked his horned head and reminded himself that just because he knew Kaithe wouldn't hurt her, he shouldn't treat her fears with contempt. For all he knew, she'd had bad experiences with other kaithes. "He won't hurt you."

"If I fall off, I'll break into a thousand pieces!"

He assured her, "He's never let me fall, not even in your storm when you were shooting lightning all over the place. But if it makes you feel better, we'll fly low over the roads."

As she climbed on and took a white-knuckled grip on the saddle horn, she moaned, "Oh, no. Oh, void."

Kaithe's trot wasn't exactly comfortable for a novice rider. "Flying's smoother and faster," he offered.

She nodded. They took off, just skimming over the tops of the trees and arches. "Oh, void, oh, void!"

They flew across Duviri back to Mathila’s Farm at a leisurely pace. Though her grip and her litany never let up, he caught her peeking around a couple times. "See, Kaithe's not so bad."

"Ohvoidohvoidohvoid."

When they overflew the farm, Mathila and Lodun were nose to nose, shouting at each other over whatever should be done with Denphius Dax and his squad.

Denphius Dax followed their progress overhead and drew his nikana. He bellowed, "Criminal!" His rank of Arceus knelt and drew their bows.

Either Denphius hadn't gotten the message from Thrax like the other Dax, or else this was revenge. The spectral form of their arrows snapped into place, like a pin piercing right through his heart-

"Oh Void-eeeeeeeeeeeeeee-" Sythel's chant flattened out into a high-pitched squeal.

"Down, Kaithe!" He urged. Kaithe folded his wings and dove. He threw himself over Sythel, squishing her against the saddle. The tightening in his chest said it didn't matter - the arrow was going to hit him anyway - but at least it'd kill him, not her.

"-Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

Lodun saw it all. "WHAT are you doing? Fools!" He charged towards the archers, waving his riding crop and evidently set on bowling over the line if they didn't listen.

They landed hard. Kaithe grunted and stumbled to a stop. The arrow vanished.

"-eeeeeeeeeeeeee-" she still shrilled right in his ear. "-eeeeeeeee-I'm, I'm alive?" She checked herself for puncture holes and, finding none, exclaimed, "I'm alive!" She slid down off Kaithe's back and kissed the ground at Lodun's feet.

Dumbfounded, Lodun said, "You're welcome?"

She looked up. "I am grateful to be alive, no thanks to you and your Dax. First they spy on me constantly. Now, they try to kill me!"

Lodun's glare should've crisped Denphius. "I didn't order this."

Denphius pointed at them with his nikana. "Drifter is a condemned outlaw. Kill on sight orders."

Now that he was here, within weapons reach of Deniphus, he'd like nothing more than to spit him on Sun and Moon…and if he did, this whole charade would fall apart. Instead, he pointed out, "Lady Sythel isn't."

Mathila thrust herself into the middle of the situation. "Don't be a bad apple, Denphius. Just think of the possibilities now that Sythel AND Drifter have decided to help us spread some positivity for a change." Next, she latched onto Sythel. "Sythel, sweetie, you share my opinion on those awful Dax who set a bad example for the rest of us. I know you know they sacked Farbreeze Hamlet. I know you'll help me make sure that doesn't happen here so we have tamm cheese for the Jubilee."

She said, "Lodun was supposed to help reform the Dax-"

Lodun huffed a huge sigh. "I would, if you would just let me sort this all out-"

She twitched. "So why'd your Dax ambush me?"

Lodun threw his hands up in the air. "Really? One more bucket of-"

Drifter intervened before the whole thing spiraled out of control, pun intended. "Sythel, did you see that Prince Lodun stopped the ambush?”

"...yes." In a Fear Spiral, it wouldn't have worked. She subsided. "Oh, well, then that's alright then. Prince Lodun, carry on."

Slowly, Lodun lowered his arms, gaping.

Drifter wasn't much better, but he had to strike while the iron was hot. To Denphius, he suggested, "You should probably apologize to the Lady. And to Mathila, since I'm sure her taxes are paid in full and on time.”

Denphius stalked up to him. He was a good head taller and his blade had a lot more of Drifter's blood on it than vice versa. "I ought to drag you back to the Citadel by your hair."

He'd really love nothing more than to pay him back in turn. It'd be so easy, even. Just blame him as the bad apple. Give Sythel a scapegoat - it wouldn't even be a lie. Give Lodun a punching bag. Give Mathila the satisfaction of knowing she'd made him a happy man indeed. And two weeks from now, today's schadenfreude would be cold comfort. So he said mildly, "Actually, I'm officially the King's," there was probably an official sounding title that would be way more dignified, but fuck it, he was a peasant who'd say it like it was, "party planner, now."

Denphius scoffed. "Ever the improviser."

"Considering you swore oaths to uphold the ruler of Duviri's will, I guess that means you get to work with me now?"

Reluctantly, Denphius sheathed his sword.

Hah. "Great. So good news for you, I wouldn't know what to do with you, but Lodun does and he's your superior officer."

Lodun rubbed his hands together. "Days like today, I think I might even keep out of wyrm form. Yes, I know just what to do with Dax who can't keep track of who's paid their taxes and launch unauthorized ambushes on the King's servants. Punishment! Scut work!" Gleefully, he announced, "Its your job to see that all the regiments assemble for parade practice on time. And if you fail, you’ll wish for sweet death by impalement-"

"Yes, punish him," Mathila cheered. "Think of how happy he'll be when he's learned his lesson."

Drifter coughed.

"-or latrine duty," Lodun corrected himself.

Denphius might rather fall on his own sword, but he'd sworn oaths, so he slouched off to follow orders.

Drifter suggested to Sythel and Lodun, "Why don't you two comb through what you know about the Dax so you can address the problem units right away?”

They started digging through her tax scrolls and complaint forms, heads bent together. Occasionally Lodun's constant grumbling got loud enough to hear phrases like "Absolutely not authorized-" and "you come to me, I'll kick their ass," sounding just like an overprotective, angry older brother.

With them settled, he couldn't ignore Mathila forever even if he was on thin ice now, working with her on her own Spiral. "How about the tamm cheese for the Jubilee?"

She tucked his hand into the crook of her elbow and led him to the cold caves where they kept the cheese. Each farmhouse had a cellar with slick clay floors that was cooler and more humid than outside. Along with wooden shelves stacked with aging cheeses, there were shelves full of jars, and the rafters hung with curing meat. Several women, including Barris' mother, examined the older cheeses in the farther, older racks and brought their choices to the village's headwoman who presumably reported directly to Mathila.

"Behold, the cheeses," Mathila said, grinning.

"I'm impressed," he admitted. 

"You haven't even tasted it yet."

Fresh creamy tamm cheese smelled like new grass and tasted tangy. The aged stuff was crumbly and altogether richer, sharper, and earthier.

She said, "You could've bowled me over with a feather when you brought Sythel out of hiding. She's got the organizational chops to make this all come together, so long as we keep her happy. Now I know just the trick that'll have her whistling while she works. Follow my lead." With a wink, she snagged another wrapped cheese. “We'll let this one spoil, then mix it in with the tasting batch.”

“Why would we do a thing like that?”

“Because,” Mathila explained, “Sythel is terrified of food poisoning. She throws out perfectly good food all the time just because it has a tiny blemish. If she finds nothing wrong, she'll panic. So we'll slip one piece of spoiled cheese on the tasting platter. She'll throw it out and feel better.”

The headwoman's head snapped around.

Drifter was just as appalled at the vision: Sythel sniffing the sour bit of cheese and assuring herself "It must be alright. Drifter wouldn't give me something bad," only to bite down on bitterness. Her hypochondriac tendencies inflamed each tiny gurgle in her stomach to deadly poisoning. She pointed the finger at everyone while Mathila tried to coax her into happiness. When she didn't, Mathila went Orowyrm. 

For that matter, how was he to say, “That’s a terrible idea,” without her going Orowyrm right here amidst the whole supply of tamm cheese?

She pouted. “You don’t have to frown at me so. It's just a prank.”

The headwoman seized his ear. Pinching, twisting pain drove him before her, up and and out of the cellar. Mathila, right next to him, whined, "Ow!"

The headwoman tossed them both out. "No one spoils my cheese," she roared, just as Sythel came over to investigate.

Sythel said, "Oh, I like you."

He rubbed his twisted ear. How the hell did blood flowing back in hurt almost as much as the pinching? 

The headwoman said, “Lady Sythel, I assure you the food at the Jubilee will be pristine." Arm in arm, they went down to taste the cheese with the immediate friendship of two women who had no time for wacky hijinks when food sanitation was at stake.

Mathila sighed.

He said, "Well, you made her happy. Maybe not how you intended, but it worked…"

She pouted. "The prank would've been cathartic. This was too easy."

"Moderation is good, you know? Look at Lodun."

Given a task, subordinates, and the hope that he'd actually make a difference, Lodun stood about six inches taller. Denphius grudgingly nodded along over the muster rolls.

She said, "He's quite the bully, you know. But if it makes him happy…hmmm. There's some Dax boys who come to visit me. If I make them late, will he be happy to have someone to discipline?"

He winced. "Get them there on time and ready."

"But that's not as fun!"

"It's not about what's fun or exciting or cathartic for you," he snapped. "Think long-term here. We've got two weeks to make this Jubilee happen and that means two weeks without a temper tantrum or a panic attack or-" He was on thin ice, about to plunge right through, but he couldn't stop now, "-you making a mess from excess."

She laughed. And laughed, "You think moderation is the key to success? At least my way, we'll all be thrilled when we repeat the same happy, happy, HAPPY-”

“-DAY!” The Orowyrm cried.

Lodun scowled upwards. "Figures. She can't stand if anyone's happy in ways she doesn't approve of."

He suggested, "Have Denphius fire a few shots to scare her off if she comes this way. I'll check on Sythel."

Down in the cellars, she huddled in a corner. Barris' mother patted her on the knee. "These cellars sheltered us for the last month. You'll be safe."

"Really?"

"Really."

He went back to Lodun. "Prince of Fire, by your leave, I'll dispatch her before she interferes with your duties."

Lodun swelled with pride. "Of course."

Denphius shook his head in disbelief.

He flipped the Dax a jaunty wave and took off after Mathila the Orowyrm.

After a sound thrashing in the arena, he soothed her. "Hey, I know it's hard to believe in me. After this last month, I hardly believe in me either. But I really think I'm on to something here by getting everyone working together when their emotions aren't so raw. You saw how Sythel and Lodun pulled it together…"

She rose up, looked at him, shook herself from nose to tail in a great rattle of machinery, and then lifted off to the sky to do whatever the Orowyrms did when they were calmed and at peace. 

And just like that, he was alone. The arena faded like a mirage into the palace courtyard. 

A Dax patrol stopped to look at him. He cautiously waved. They nodded and passed on.

Okay, maybe there were some benefits to being Thrax's party planner, for the two weeks before it turned into a nightmare.

"Oh, Drifter," Acrithis waved from her carriage drawn by four harnessed Kaithes. "I heard about your new duties."

He jogged over. "Say, you know Thrax as well as anyone. I don't suppose his cryptic hint that I need to be a whole person means anything to you?"

She tapped her lips. "Actually, it just might. Hop on in and I'll show you."

He climbed in. They trotted down the road to Thrax Gardens and talked through his plans and what she remembered from past Jubilees. As they approached the edge of the island, she said, "There's the Archarbor."

It was its own island; an umbrella shaped dome garlanded with hanging gardens, delicate bridges, and winding paths that resembled the golden eevani bushes planted there. She rapped the reins.

He gripped the railing. "I never asked how these things worked.”

"It's not much like riding your kaithe."

The kaithes' lines extended, spooling out from the carriage as they cantered headlong over the edge. They split up as their wings extended, flying in formation. Just at the awful moment of free fall as their wheels left the road, their carriage hung straight back, back so far that he was looking down at the abyss with nothing but his own grip strength keeping him inside. Then they swung forward, his stomach dipping down to his boots, and again only his white knuckled fists keeping him from launching out. By the time they flew over the Archarbor's landing pad and the kaithes gently lowered the wheels, the swinging had eased to a gentle rocking. 

She peered at him. "I might have a change of pants somewhere in my wares."

"I'm fine," he squeaked.

She graciously did not comment as he pried his fingers from the railing. Then she showed him an ornate grate covering a cave entrance and the console that unlocked it. "Don't tell Thrax I showed you this. It'll be our little secret."

The secret was a little more involved. In fact, they walked around to three hanging gardens, perplexing all the people there as they rotated Thrax's busts until he faced inward to the Archharbor's trunk, then opened up the cave, and unlocked one final bust. The bust turned towards the central stalk. Its gates lowered, revealing some sort of circular room below the main hub. "There's a device from the Zariman down there," she said. 

"Are there stairs?"

"Nope."

"...I'm riding Kaithe."

"I'll leave you to it, then. I have research to do."

The hidden room was guarded by a watchful Paragrimm, one of Duviri's owls that guarded books with special ferocity. Under its beady eyes, he solved its puzzle. Only then did the bird fly off, allowing him access to the eight Zariman-style consoles in the library.

It was an absolute treasure trove of Orokin teachings on emotional control. He'd probably memorized it once, before the endless Spirals robbed him of his memories. Now he memorized them again, like the explorers of old must've memorized the constellations. For as Acrithis promised, Thrax's cryptic hint finally made sense.

Datum Aggregator:

We are all receptacles of data.

In time, your life experiences will make you into a complete person, a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire. But they can only do this if you accept them, incorporating them into your psyche. To divide parts of yourself off is to be a nation at war with itself.

No wonder he hadn't succeeded while trying to face his emotions separately. No wonder he finally made real progress once they started working together, like Lodun and Sythel coming together to reform the Dax.

For the first time in a while, he hoped. He had a real chance to accept his emotions and incorporate them all into the Jubilee…

…and he had two weeks.

Chapter Text

After Joy, came Sorrow. Clouds rolled in and over Duviri, pelting the land below with short cloudbursts in between constant drizzle. During brief respites, the clouds parted to reveal a woman’s face in the sky, weeping down despite Thrax’s upstretched hands. Luscinia’s songbird voice soared on the air, stopping and starting again as she wrote, edited, and practiced her verses for the Jubilee.

“Haroun, haroun,” her voice rose and fell into a low croon.

Drifter could pluck out a tune on the shawzin well enough, but neither singing nor wordcraft was his forte. Besides, after yesterday’s epiphany that he should avoid the Courtier in the depths of their Spiral and focus on helping the others instead, he’d do better to avoid Luscinia and go help Sythel proactively manage her fears instead.

On a series of low, falling notes, Luscinia sang, “Ashen in silence.”

Yeah, definitely not a mood to be trifled with. When he knocked on Sythel’s boarded up door, her lamps were lit, which was major progress. “Did you get the records from past Jubilees?”

She’d pulled scrolls and sketches from the archives and spread them over her tables. She picked up a meter-long menu and crossed out options that she didn’t like. He sorted through handbills for kaithe races, lunaro games, street plays and more. She said, “We have a lot of work to do.”

“No shit.” He shuffled aside a painting of the Dax in full military parade gear marching in front of Thrax lounging on his throne while an Orowyrm coiled overhead. It’d hidden a stack of permits for food vendors. No wonder Mathila burst into mad laughter at his blithe confidence that he could pull this off. 

He sternly told the part of him that wanted to join her in laughing hysterically that all wasn’t lost. After all, hadn’t he helped Lodun take back control of the Dax, bringing such a parade back into the realm of possibility? And wasn’t Sythel actually a fearsomely organized mind capable of martialing her vast connections for the good of the kingdom as long as she was calm? “I appreciate this, I really do. Let’s pick a place to start and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

She set aside her menu. “I’ll handle the food suppliers and the feast. No offense, I don’t trust anyone I’ve seen eat fruit straight off the trees with my food.”

“It's delicious. You should try it sometime.”

“There might be worms in it. Bugs. Who knows what they sprayed on it?!”

“Yeah,” he said, patiently, “But have I ever gotten sick from it?”

“…No. But there’s always been something strange about you. Thrax says so, and he’d know what he’s talking about. But he also appointed you Party Planner, so I can use your strangeness. I'd best put you to work. I’ll take care of the food; you get the performances in order. Luscinia’s already preparing.”

As if on cue, the singer switched tack to a harsher, full-throated tone. “Dominus!” she bellowed, and they both jumped. Holding out the next note in a rising arpeggio, she continued, “O Dominus!”

“That’s the king’s favorite lullaby settled,” he said. “Problem is, if we can hear it, Bombastine’s sulking.”

“He used to be the Master of Ceremonies. He’d perform formal recitations of Thrax’s benevolence for the crowds and then throw a huge performance of one of Duviri’s classics for the king himself. And that wasn’t all. The Jubilee is a holiday for the little folk on every island. There used to be smaller troupes and up-and-coming actors performing tricks and shows on almost every street corner. Bombastine would have the scripts, but as for the actors…” she trailed off.

Knowing what he knew of Bombastine, “He drove them away from jealousy, didn’t he?”

She looked away. “Not all of them. I…I didn't trust them. They weren’t who they pretended to be, you see.”

Another thing he’d learned yesterday was that he couldn’t fix Duviri’s problems alone. He needed the courtiers to work together and to encourage them to fix what they’d broken. “We can make it right.”

“How?” she asked.

He had a half-formed plan that Mathila’s two children might enjoy channeling their rhyming exuberance into acting, that His Majesty’s benevolence probably extended so far as to pardon a bunch of jailed actors, and that Bombastine would not only hand over the scripts but also do just about anything for another crack at the royal stage. There was just the man’s towering ego to contend with. Who better to motivate him than the woman who understood all too well his fear that he’d never get what he deserved? “We're going to have to work with Bombastine.”

A cloudburst opened up overhead, drowning out Luscinia’s verses in a drumbeat of raindrops on the roof. Sythel groaned, “Oh void, you’re right.”

Unlike yesterday, she was confident enough in Lodun's newfound control to summon a small troop of Dax to escort her carriage to the Agora, where Bombastine listened very politely to their requests. He graciously showed them the archive of scripts, old masks, scenery, and costumes that hadn’t been worn in ages by men and women he'd driven from the stage that he now feigned admiration for. He preened as they ran through the old Jubilee records like a rendition of his greatest hits.

Then he dropped his bombshell with a gleaming smile. “I refuse to perform if that harpy is invited.”

A distant “Ohhhhh Dominus-” whistled by on the wind in the silence. 

Bombastine covered his smile with a sly hand. “It’ll crush her.”

He and Sythel looked at each other, nodded, and called his bluff. “Great,” he said, waving over the Dax. “We’ll just load up everything here and be on our way.”

“What.”

“We've got to move all this stuff back to Castle Town's stage,” he explained. “Not that it matters to you, since you’ve just chosen not to attend.” 

He and the Dax started loading up the scripts under oilskin tarps to protect them from the intermittent rains, though he resisted the urge to ‘accidentally’ leave The Many Deaths of the Dissenter out in the wet with some difficulty. Masks went into a chest. Two Malleus hauled it off with the ease of practiced tax collectors. The puppets got piled on top of the costumes including the Dissenter’s sad little form, flopped beneath the hulk of a metal and cloth orowyrm. The whole time, Bombastine accompanied Luscinia’s trilling with percussive teeth grinding.

Once the old Jubilee records came out of the storeroom, Bombastine dropped the pretense. “The harpy put you up to this,” he accused. “After all I’ve done for the arts and for her, she stabs me in the back. I thought better of you than to do that to another man, Drifter.”

He leaned in close. “Between you and me-” Bombastine bent down to hear the gossip. “-you put me up to this. And I quote, “I refuse to perform if that harpy is invited.””

Bombastine growled at him.

“Hmmm? I didn’t hear that properly.” Having a little power over a stubborn asshole was delightful. No wonder it went straight to Thrax’s head.

“I said,” Bombastine all but hissed at him, and then looked over at Sythel and his voice went honey smooth once more, “I said that I deeply regret letting my personal quarrels spill over onto such a momentous occasion. Of course I will perform even if the-,” he only just choked it out, “-Nightingale sings.”

That was easy.

To Sythel, Bombastine adopted a posture from the stage: the wise sage offering advice. Compared to an actual sage like Teshin, he looked more like an interfering busybody, but his suggestion was sound: "I know just the man to make His Majesty sit up and pay attention. In fact, I know a whole troupe!" He dug through the memorabilia from past Jubilees and came up with a handbill for "The Dramatis Personae" signed by the actors themselves.

Didaskalos the Director loomed over the stage, holding cross brace handles to control the four "puppets" in the troupe. Thalia the Thespian and Melpomene the Mummer acted out a scene. Terpsichore the Dancer pirouetted while Apollon the Aerialist soared above the stage, pursued by an orowyrm that bore a striking resemblance to the puppet in the wagon.

"I know them," Sythel scrambled into her bag for her scrolls. "I thought they cursed me. I might have been mistaken." She pulled out a schedule. "Oh. Oh void. They're going to be executed."

“When?" Drifter asked.

"Today."

Bombastine exclaimed, "Then we have no time to waste! Good Dax, fetch the carriage for the lady and me, while Drifter rushes off to save the innocent." He was a perfect gentleman handing Sythel into the carriage. Then he turned back to him and murmured through clenched teeth, "There's a catch."

Too easy. "There always is, with you," he said. Bombastine could make a lot of trouble here, pouring who knew what poison in Sythel's ears. 

"I want the credit for saving them. See, I sold them out to Sythel and they know it. You need them to forgive me so they'll perform with me for your Jubilee. They get their lives, I shall be lord of life and death, you get your performance, and everyone's happy thanks to me."

He warned, "Acting like a smug snake and lording it over them won't earn you any favors."

Bombastine tapped the schedule. "You'd best hurry if I'm to have anyone left to lord over."

"Fine." He climbed onto Kaithe. "But mark my words: no one likes owing an asshole."

"Take your own damn advice." Bombastine retorted.

He took off without snapping back because maybe, just maybe, the man had a point. He flew out to the Chamber of the Muses and beyond, all the way out to the very pinnacle of the island. Luscinia sang some lilting melody he guessed was supposed to represent a Joy Spiral because the only word he made out was "Mathila." Out on the wind-whipped jetty, the acting troupe and the Dax executioners stood in front of a broken screen bearing the Zariman's logo. The Dax had them at spearpoint. As soon as they finished their last words, they'd force them over the edge.

When he landed, the Dax Equitem in charge said, "Please, tell me His Majesty says I can kill them already. He started his “last words” at dawn and there's still the other four left to go."

Didaskalos, clad in fancy pants and a slashed doublet over a billowing tunic, didn't skip a beat of his monologue at the threat. "And thus, strange Scholar from far-off lands beyond the wall, I shall consider all you have said and do as I think best." He switched to an entirely different accent, one that sounded more like Teshin, or rather, like the exhortative broadcasts that the Orokin sent to the Zariman. "Most Magnificent King, you will not regret-"

Equitem sighed. "All morning."

If that was the dialogue between Thrax and the Scholar like he thought it was, Didaskalos might well keep his troupe alive for the whole Spiral. "Good news, I've come with a stay of execution."

"By who's order?"

Saying it was never not going to feel ridiculous. "His Majesty’s Party Planner."

Thrax's approval was enough. The sight of Lady Sythel's carriage rolling down the road towards the Chamber, followed by Dax-driven wagons, got the actors unchained and speedily released because no one wanted to attract her ire.

He told the troupe, "Bombastine provided the evidence to clear your names." That was sort of true, even if he'd apparently gotten them in trouble in the first place. The next bit was a complete lie, "He welcomes your return to the stage in time for Jubilee."

"Really?" Didaskalos asked.

"Yes." He said, with confidence.

Thalia muttered in an aside to Melpomene, "He needs acting lessons,"

He shepherded them away. "What were you arrested for, anyway?"

Terpsichore said, "Supposedly, we cursed the king."

Apollon said, "My aim was off, since I supposedly hit Lady Sythel instead."

Didaskalos explained, "We did nothing, but what can we say, when she sees something? A wart here, a pimple there, a bug bite upon the bum, and we were done."

Sythel and Bombastine's carriage and wagons stopped at the Chamber of the Muses. Luscinia stopped singing entirely. Shit. He picked up the pace. "Do me a couple favors. One, no curses. Or next time I'll make you recite that whole play before I save you."

Melpomene laughed, "We’ll do Murder at the Doll Mausoleum. It's even longer!”

"Two, try to keep Bombastine focused on his acting, rather than making trouble for everyone else."

The whole troupe stopped dead in the road, looked at each other, and Apollon said, "I'm not working with him again."

"Nope."

"Me neither."

"Do you think the Dax can execute me instead?"

He got it. He really did. Who wanted to work with a temperamental, jealous asshole? 

Suddenly, with the benefit of hindsight, maturity, and a bad example of a jealous jerk, his string of failures during schoolboy group projects made a lot more sense. Not to mention his past month of failing to fix Duviri. "I'll put it this way: in less than two weeks, either you're going to work with Bombastine to make Thrax's Jubilee a smashing success…or you're going to deal with him having a bad day over and over and over and over again."

"He kind of deserves it," Didaskalos pointed out.

Apollon said, "Yeah, but I don't."

"Nope."

"Me neither."

"I'd really rather be executed."

"Ah," Didaskalos sighed. "Fine, we'll cooperate."

He suggested, "At least this time, he knows his success depends on your success?"

Melpomene said, "Here's your first acting lesson: the key to lying is that you have to believe it yourself."

He didn't believe it at all because as they got to the Chamber of the Muses, Sythel pored over a letter while Bombastine pointed accusingly at Luscinia. 

"I never cursed anyone!” Luscinia turned to the newcomers for sanctuary. She told him, “You promised change, but there’s been nothing but poison-pen letters full of lies and calumnies for weeks."

He strode over to Sythel and read as far as, "The harpy Luscinia-" He stopped. "Sythel, it's literally in Bombastine's handwriting."

Bombastine wisely cleared out of their vicinity, greeting the Dramatis Personae with the fervor of long-lost friends. Didaskalos shook his hand with excruciating politeness. When Didaskalos saw the metal head of his orowyrm puppet poking out from one of the wagon tarps like a massive trophy, however, he practically ran to hug it. The Dissenter puppet lolled underneath it, staring at the sky with a pathetic rictus.

Sythel said, "That doesn't mean it isn't true."

"It means he's got every reason to lie about her." He thought about Melpomene's advice and how Sythel was easily baffled by bullshitters. "And even though he wrote it, he believes it's true. So he's convincing."

She looked around suspiciously, and if he wasn't very careful, she'd probably decide she was surrounded by people who'd cursed her once already or worse. Then she'd stop listening to anyone who wasn't Bombastine, right up until the actor failed her too.

She said, "I don't know who to trust anymore. I need insurance. Incantations. Talismans." The underside of Custos Arch and the Netherbarrow was riddled with caves and a small city filled with stores and shops. She pointed at them and said, "I hid an old talisman there. My crystal lamp. Find it for me!"

Bombastine laughed at him. "Yes, be a dear Drifter and fetch the lady her trinket while we start practicing." 

Luscinia watched the proceedings with doe-like, doleful eyes as the actors slowly but surely scoped out her Chamber. 

He had a bad feeling about leaving everyone here unsupervised, but what choice did he have? “Behave,” he warned them.

Bombastine swept such a courtly bow that Sythel was enchanted and sat down to watch the actors. She shooed Drifter and his warning away.

So he set off for the city. A cloudburst turned into tiny pellets of hail, driving him under cover beneath the shell of the upper island. He poked around until one of the shopkeepers waved him down and whispered, "Please, get her chest out of my backyard before she arrests my family." 

He popped it open, expecting a spectral guardian of some sort. A chunk of pink salt rock as big around his head with a hollowed-out core lay inside.

Instead of a farty ancestor phantasm, liminus children with blood-red claws, or a void-made Centurion, the king himself remarked, "A pittance for the pitiful Lady Sythel."

He was curious. "Do these placebos actually help her at all?"

"They used to," Thrax said. "For a little while. Then she gets nightmares or allergies or she decides she's been cursed, or its broken. Last time, I think she threw it away because she thought I was using it to spy on her."

"Were you?"

"Of course not!" Thrax said, offended. "She's so predictable that I don't have to. You, however…I figured you'd run. You’d just leave for your war-torn real world out there. But you didn't. You're really trying, aren't you? In your own incompetent way."

For a brief moment, he considered running. He could leave feuding actors and fearful conspirators and mocking kings behind, head through the Dormizone door, and out into the real world. 

But what of those he'd leave behind? They surely didn't deserve repeating a sad Jubilee. "Your Majesty's Party Planner, that's me." He loaded up Sythel's rock salt onto Kaithe. "Got any requests?"

Thrax considered it as he rode through town. "I am particularly fond of The Many Deaths of the Dissenter. I commissioned it myself, you know."

"I hate you," he muttered.

"What I want, I get. It's my Jubilee. And I want it."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty." 

At the edge of town, Mathila's two children danced around a signpost. The boy called out at him: 

           "Oh the wall rose high…
            And it wished it could cry
            With the tears of a thousand eyes

And the girl called back:

           "For Sorrow it sought…
            But it never ever thought
            How it already kept its prize."

He reined Kaithe in to a stop. The girl challenged him, "What'cha looking at?"

From everything he remembered, Mathila let her children roam around Duviri at will while she went on her quest to bring happiness by hook or crook. They were certainly spirited and might just be the answer to his need for street performers as long as they'd enjoy it. "How would you two feel about performing your rhymes for the King's Jubilee?"

"Really? Us?" She asked.

"Sounds boring," her brother said.

There'd been one surefire way to motivate him when he was that age. "You'd have to prove that you can do it, of course. Try outs. Auditions. If you're not good enough or you don't want to, I'll ask some of the other kids…"

They swarmed up to him, grabbing Kaithe's saddlehorn and hauling themselves up with the ease of kids used to dealing with a far surlier Psyacus kaithe. "Now you can't get rid of us," the boy said.

"Let us try out," his sister demanded. "Or we'll make up a nasty rhyme about you."

He gulped. "Sure thing."

Chapter Text

Garmi Jr. and Mathila II clinging to him made for a long ride back to the Chamber. First, they voted to rhyme Drifter with “swifter.”

"Drifter is the Hero who never ever sleeps
Swifter than a kaithe; never looks before he leaps."

“That’s fine,” he said. After all, it was true.

Then they decided to rhyme Drifter with “grifter” as in:

"Drifter makes promises he can’t keep
Grifter who fleeces and swindles his sheep."

“Really?” he protested.

“You’re outvoted,” they informed him.

At least at the Chamber of the Muses, they were Bombastine's problem. He'd taken over the stage, arguing with the other actors while Terpsichore and Apollon stretched. Apollon bent backwards, grabbing his heels. Terpsichore pirouetted, her gaze fixed on Luscinia sitting alone and dejected in the back of the auditorium seating, then snapping around with each turn so she didn't become dizzy. Then she began to kick with each turn, her long skirt flaring out as gracefully as her movements.

He introduced the kids and informed them of His Majesty's choice of play. 

Didaskalos asked, "Did you by any chance model for my Dissenter puppet?"

"Nonsense," Bombastine said, looping his long arm around Drifter's shoulder in a way-too-tight squeeze like an anaconda's. "His Majesty would never make a dastardly dissident into his Party Planner. It'll be a spectacle for the ages: your puppets, Thalia and Melpomene as the chorus, and myself as the King's Herald.”

Judging by the mutinous mutterings from the two women, he'd just claimed the starring role. Oh so innocently, Garmi Jr. asked, "Don't you have to try out?”

"That's right," Thalia snorted. "Why don't we have an audition?"

Bombastine sputtered and glared.

Either Drifter nipped this in the bud right now, or he'd spend all his time supervising backbiting actors. First, he looped his arm around Bombastine's, pulled the taller man down until he could whisper in his ear, and warned, "Remember, no one like owing-”

"-an asshole, I know!" Bombastine shoved him towards Sythel's seat. To the kids, he said, "Why, yes, we'll have an audition. Why don't I teach you a nice simple recitation to start off with?"

Sythel latched onto him (and her salt lamp) before he could do more than shoot Thalia a pleading look. Thalia and Melpomene ignored him, arguing with Didaskalos over the assignment. 

However, the troupe leader had enough, clapped his hands back at them, and said, "What happened to "I'd rather be executed?" Ego must take a backseat to expediency."

Thank goodness someone had more common sense than a tamm. 

Meanwhile, Sythel carried her lamp to the windmill powered generator at the back of the auditorium and plugged it in. Pink-gold radiance brought color to her sad grays. She took a deep breath, then let all the tension out. Her tight shoulders sagged as she carried the lamp back to her chosen seat. "Oh. I feel so much better."

He rubbed his forehead. "I confess I don't understand how a lamp makes you feel better about Bombastine writing a letter full of lies."

"No, she cursed me," she protested, loud enough that Luscinia heard them. "Despite her best efforts to make me share her misery, I do feel better."

Luscinia threw up her hands and stormed over to the generator herself, sulking in the shadows of the windmill.

Either he nipped this in the bud right now, or he'd spend all his time gathering placebos and defending Luscinia, at least until the soprano decided she'd had enough and struck back. "That's not a curse. That's just your fears."

Now Sythel scowled at him instead. "You don't have to make fun of me. It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you."

"I want you to think, really think, about the last month and tell me you aren't paranoid." 

She thought about it. “Huh.”

Bombastine stepped up to the center of the stage. "For my audition, I shall-"

Feedback, earsplitting and high-pitched, whined for two seconds and then the generator sparked. The spotlights shut down. The salt lamp was just a dark hunk of pinkish, slightly sparkling rock.

Luscinia walked away from the generator, dusting off her hands.

"Don't be a jealous harpy!" Bombastine shouted at a normal, unamplified volume.

"You waltzed in here and stole my practice time!" She shouted back. "You lied about me. You humiliated me. Get out, you tuneless, tone-deaf ingrate!"

Shit. Despite his best efforts, Luscinia was now well on course of her cycle of revenge and sorrow. 

With one hand, Sythel clung to her salt rock. With the other, she grabbed Drifter like a life preserver. She gasped like a caught bird, her breast rising and falling as rapidly as a dove's, held in hand. "I think this generator pumps the air in Duviri.”

"I can breathe just fine," he said.

The evidence of her eyes meant little compared to what her panic told her. "Oh Void. My head's spinning. I can't breathe." She could hyperventilate, but pointing that out was a bad idea as she clawed her way up him like a drowning person reaching for air. "I'm going to die! Fix it!"

It'd be easier to bathe a pet kexat than pry her loose. "I can't fix it if you won't let go," he snapped.

Luscinia was as chill as ice as she brushed past him. "Good luck." To the Dramatis Personae, she declared, "Get out and ruin someone else's day."

But now they all huddled around Bombastine, heads popping up to glare at her. Even the kids joined in, stomping their feet over their canceled audition. Ironically, Luscinia had accomplished the impossible: uniting them (however temporarily) against her. 

Terpsichore said, "If I can't see properly, I might hurt myself."

Apollon said, "Imagine me, flat as a pancake."

Thalia told Luscinia, "I didn't believe him about you, but maybe he's got a point."

Melpomene added, "I don't exactly want you to get executed, but if Sythel wants to banish you, I wouldn't mind."

Didaskalos, untangling the lines and guide sticks of his Orowyrm puppet, said meaningfully, "It isn't paranoia if they're out to get you."

Luscinia buried her face in her hands. "Oh, look at what I've done." 

“Oh for fucks sake," Drifter gasped out, because not only had he lost control of the situation, he couldn't breathe with Sythel clinging on him like a limpet. Maybe it was genius (or oxygen deprivation) because he had the sort of idea that might stop their headlong hurtling into disaster or else throw them over the edge together. "Luscinia, you're a singer. You know all about breathing. Can you breathe with the power out?”

"Yes?" She said, utterly confused.

"Great!" He hauled Sythel over to her, plopped the frantic woman down, and said, "Teach her how to breathe. I will fix the machine. Then we'll figure out how to sort out this mess of a rehearsal."

The two women stared at each other. "You can breathe?" Sythel asked. "Even with the power out?"

Luscinia wiped her tears away, pulled herself together, and said, "Singing is breathing. Start by breathing in for a count of four. In…one…two…three…four. Out…one…two-"

Once Sythel copied her, he left them to it. Bombastine preened under the regard of his fellow actors and the kids. Whatever the kids recited, they all laughed at, which was probably a bad sign, but first he had to get the generator working.

Duviri's windmill-powered generators carried that power to buildings and lights down void-lines and directional pylons. Each generator could only handle so many lines. Its own feedline from the windmill was prone to being knocked loose in high winds. As a result, whenever Loneryder saw a broken windmill, he'd fixed it with a jolt of Void energy from Sirocco. Shooting the pylons would reconnect the lines and restore power.

Fortunately, she hadn't done much damage to the generator itself. A few wires reconnected, and it was operational. Then he reconnected the lines by riding around on Kaithe, shooting the pylons to energize them, and giving the generator a good kick while Sythel chanted "In…1…2…3…4, Out…1…2…3…4" and Luscinia cheered her on.

The lights came back on. "AND NOW-" Bombastine's voice blared out. He resumed in a more normal volume, "And now, kids, we'll let you take a turn." 

Please, please, let him take heed of the sabotage and not act like an asshole. He returned to the women. "Sythel, are you okay after all?"

"Yes, thanks to Luscinia," she exclaimed.

Luscinia said, "I'm sorry I frightened you so."

"All is forgiven," Sythel assured her. "If I get frightened again, I shall just remember: "In…1…2…3…4…Out-"

Holy shit. Had Sythel just learned to calm herself down? Had Luscinia just taught her, literally, how to breathe? 

How quickly he'd forgotten the value of the Archarbor's Omnipotential Screen: 

Wise is the eye that closes without thought, upon sight of the blinding Sun.

It is sometimes necessary simply to close yourself off from an emotion and process it later. Like a scientist placing a specimen into a container, lock your emotion away. If necessary, place something between you and the emotion - an activity, a mantra, even sleep.

Gratefully, he told Luscinia, "Thank you. I could've never done what you did."

Just as astonished, she said, "I actually helped her. Maybe not everything I do is doomed to end in Sorrow."

Then Bombastine ushered the kids up to the front of the stage. 

Garmi Jr. called out:

"Lady, lady why do you weep,
Tear at your hair
And cry in your sleep?"

His jaw dropped. Surely not. Surely Bombastine wasn't that cruel.

Mathila II called back: 

"Grief and woe have made me a thing…
Fit but to sing
At the will of the king."

Luscinia's hands were at her mouth, muffling her sobs. 

He felt oddly heavy, his limbs like lead, because this was all his fault. She didn't deserve any of the calamity he'd inadvertently brought to her door. He should've tried harder to redirect the troupe, to make them leave her alone…

Bombastine clapped. The kids grinned back with the delight of children who'd gotten a reaction and attention, good or bad, for their efforts. "Go on," he chortled.

Garmi Jr. bellowed out, 

"Cry for a dead love
Cry for your shame
Cry for the loss 
Of your own good name."

Drifter went numb with horror. Where anger burned, envy was cruelty that salted the earth afterwards. Envy was words that hurt more than broken bones. Ego that could not be satisfied with one's own success but had to lay another low, so that they could be trampled.

"Why me?" Luscinia screamed to the uncaring sky. "Why is it always me who must Sorrow so?!"

He finally found words. "I really thought he'd see reason. I thought surely he wouldn't sabotage his own success with bitterness. I'm so sorry."

She rushed at him. He caught her, and she beat her fists on his chest and wept. "Help me," she demanded through the tears. "Help me bring him down."

"What?" Oh, of course she wanted revenge. And that way led straight to disaster. "No. I know he deserves a good sharp slap to bring him to his senses, but if you hurt him, you'll only end up hurting yourself-"

She glowed as she shrieked, "Am I not OWED RECOMPENSE?!"

He couldn't hold her.

She burst into blinding light. The power went out again. Sheets of rain poured down as her Orowyrm coiled out of the portal between Thrax's hands. She came right for the Chamber, flying over the abyss, wailing hailstorms.

Bombastine stood frozen in terror, his arms akimbo. The Dramatis Personae took shelter under the stage's roof, huddling with the children. Sythel quivered like a leaf, the whites of her eyes showing, far beyond the help of her new breathing exercises.

"This is my fault," Bombastine said.

Drifter bit down on his instinctive "no shit" so hard he tasted bright coppery blood.

Bombastine looked around at his cowering fellow actors, who were only there because he'd betrayed and saved them, at the children who'd earned her ire because he egged them on, at Sythel who was there because he'd brought her there for his revenge, and at Drifter, who'd really tried not to be an asshole while encouraging him to not be an asshole, and said, "She wants me, not you all."

Then he ran. All long limbs and a gawky gait with none of his grace on the stage, he ran to Sythel's carriage and climbed up onto the seat. He waved his arms. "Luscinia, it's me that you want! Take me, not them!"

As she altered her course to run him down, he rattled the reins and took off down the road, racing for his life, leading her away from the others he'd led into his mischief.

Drifter shook off his paralysis, called Kaithe, and grabbed the Orvius.

Didaskalos and his troupe were possibly even more shocked. "Did he just-"

"Never thought he had it in him."

"Apparently he does."

"Not for long," Terpsichore said, morosely, as Luscinia the Orowyrm fired a stream of ice that threatened to freeze the carriage's wheels solid.

"We must act now!" Didaskalos declared, and he grabbed the orowyrm puppet. "Charge!"

Streaming above him, the orowyrm puppet fluttered towards its real counterpart. Apollon grabbed the Dissenter puppet and ran after him. Luscinia turned away from the carriage, eyeing her new opponent.

Thanks to them, Drifter had just enough time to ensure that one victory wasn't lost. He grasped Sythel by the shoulders, shook her once, and ordered, "Breathe with me. IN…1…2…3…4,-”

"Out," she gasped, "1…2…3…4, In, 1…-"

He leapt onto Kaithe and they charged for the Orowyrm. Didaskalos ducked and dodged, bobbed and weaved. Whenever she drew back to obliterate the troupe with ice waves, Bombastine shouted, "Take me, not them, I deserve it, They're innocent," and she would give chase. Whenever Bombastine was about to be obliterated, the increasingly tattered puppets would draw her fire.

Then he flew close enough to grapple onto her sides.  

She cried out, "Enough!" 

"Yes," he soothed. "That's enough."

One last blast left Bombastine half frozen to his seat, and then she gave in. His Guiding Hand directed her up, away, and back into the portal.

As she flew down to the arena, she tried to scrape him off on the sides. "Misery shall have company, I swear it."

It wasn't a hard fight - any warframe with the Paradox's archgun was more than equal to bursting Thrax's pathos clamps asunder - it was just sad. Sad because she was truly a victim of her own cycle. He hadn't avoided her as he'd planned. He'd let Bombastine call the shots. He'd given her bully a second chance, at her expense.

She'd even helped Sythel, and it ended here, crashing to the ground with a moan because Orowyrms couldn't cry.

He hugged her massive head. "I'm sorry it all went so wrong. I'll try to make it up to you tomorrow."

She just looked down at him, the picture of woebegone misery even as the Sorrow Spiral calmed.

He flew back to the Chamber, determined that tomorrow would be better if he had to sit on Bombastine all fucking day to do it. When he arrived, the troupe were shamefacedly cleaning up the remains of their puppets. The children were making a bouquet out of purple ueymag blooms for her. Sythel breathed in and out.

Bombastine sat alone. His long, thin frame shrunk in on himself, curling like a worm stranded on pavement. His eversmiling mask hid a drenched, shivering, miserable man.

Though he really wanted to, he didn't march up and punch him. He sat down next to him and said, "I'm going to try really hard not to be an asshole about this, but you do realize that your own envy got you into this situation, right?"

"I know," Bombastine sniffled. "I nearly ruined everything. My triumphant return to the stage. The troupe, even the kids…they looked up to me. Now, everyone sees me for who I am, and all because I couldn't stand that she'd get to share the spotlight."

He put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. "What have you learned that makes you expect a better result tomorrow?"

"What?" Bombastine asked.

Teshin would be proud of him, spreading the word of Conclave. "Tomorrow's a new Spiral, and so is the next day after that. What are you going to do differently?"

"I…" He stared at him as though he'd never thought those words in his life. And he probably hadn't, or if he had, it'd been wiped clean from his mind by centuries of resets. Slowly, then with growing determination, he said, "I'm going to go thank Didaskalos and the others. They saved my life and I owe them. We'll hold a proper audition for the parts, and I will win my role because I deserve it, not by fiat."

"And about Luscinia?" He asked. 

Bonbastine bowed his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know how to be kind to her."

He thought about her doleful eyes and the ruin of her day, and sighed. "I don't think she'll appreciate an apology, like that'll make it all better. You're going to have to do better. Maybe it'd be more merciful if you started by giving her some space. No letters, no grandiose gestures, just leave her alone and practice bridling your jealousy on simpler challenges like working with your friends to put on a smashing play."

"Friends? I don't have friends."

That was both pathetic and pitiful. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, you have one friend right here, even if I'm kind of an asshole. If you want more friends, I suggest starting with the people who just risked their lives to save you." He stood and offered Bombastine his hand.

Bombastine grabbed ahold, got to his feet, and trudged off to the stage towards his new friends.

He walked over to Sythel. She'd stopped counting aloud and just breathed very calmly despite the power being out. 

She asked, "I did good, right?"

If dealing with Bombastine was a trial, she was a delight. "You did fantastic."

"I didn't help much."

"You didn't let your fear stop me from doing what I had to. You didn't let your fear rule you after you were safe. I'm so damned proud."

She said, "I really did, didn't I? I should thank Bombastine."

Despite himself, he said, "Uhhhh-"

She hopped up and went to Bombastine. He followed, on tenterhooks. Bombastine waited nervously for her verdict, wringing his hands.

"I owe you one," she said, sincerely. "If you hadn't told me you lied about the Dramatis Personae, I wouldn't have realized I was just paranoid because someone told me I should be scared. If you hadn't brought me here and tricked me into thinking Luscinia cursed me, I might not have realized I don't need this," she patted her salt lamp. "Dunno what I'll do with it now though."

Bombastine managed to say, "It makes for a rather pretty lamp. If the good Drifter will be so kind as to restart the generator, you can enjoy its light while we clean up the Chamber."

Oh, they were making such fine progress. He beamed at both of them.

She finished with, "And if you hadn't provoked her into becoming an Orowyrm, I wouldn't have ever realized that she was after you, not me. So thanks!"

Okay, maybe not as much progress as he'd hoped. “Please don’t provoke anyone into becoming Orowyrms,” he pleaded. “You don’t enjoy it when it happens to you.”

She shuddered.

Bombastine, who on a normal day might’ve made a crack about wishing he had Sythel’s lightning or Lodun’s fire to go with his own poison, nodded solemnly.

Baby steps, but he’d take it.

Chapter Text

When the next day dawned bright green with jealousy, Drifter griped to Acrithis, "I can't catch a fucking break. I promised I'd help Luscinia; I'm gonna need all the luck I can get.”

She mused, "He loved her, you know, Bombastine. Claims he didn't, but he cries and whispers her name when he thinks no one is listening. What do you think he'll do?"

If past spirals were any indication, he'd decide the world owed him his due until he coveted the throne itself. Rehearsal at the Agora would be a nightmare, unless by a slender strand of hope, he remembered his lessons learned yesterday. 

"I hope," he said, "that for his sake, her's, and mine, that he tries to do better."

He flew off into Duviri, resolving to do better himself. To be more supportive and more aware of the consequences of his actions and inaction, because while becoming a whole person meant getting all his emotions to work together, if he wasn't in control, they could also work against each other. 

He felt sick with guilt when he thought about poor Luscinia, forced to the back of her own theater from bullying before he had no choice but to put down the outburst she'd been provoked into. He didn't let that guilt keep him from the first thing he had to do: address his fears head-on, and see Sythel. She waited for her carriage outside, not huddled in her house. He asked, "How are you?"

"I…" She squared her shoulders and announced, "I feel better than I have in ages. If this is what not being afraid feels like, I love it. I've even hired a housekeeper. I gave her Fear Spirals off, though. Just to be safe."

"That's wonderful news." If she could truly change, then there was hope for Duviri after all. He dismounted and held out his hand. "Do you want to pet Kaithe? You've ridden him. You know he won't hurt you."

"In," she breathed, and reached out, carefully and cautiously to touch Kaithe. Kaithe let her stroke his neck gently, then turned his head towards her. She pulled back sharply, "3…4, Out,-" what's he doing?"

"He likes head scritches." He guided her to Kaithe's noble head. She stroked the smooth metal of his nose. 

He looked around and saw a softly glowing yao shrub fruiting by her front gate. That was another tiny sign of progress - in Spiral's past, she'd have screamed that it was poisonous and ordered it torn out by the roots and burned far away from her. "He likes yao fruit too. Do you want to feed him?"

"Can I?" She asked with wonder.

While she did start up the breathing exercise when he left her alone at Kaithe's side to gather the fruit, nothing happened. This Spiral, she wasn't filled with the sort of twitchy fear that told her mounts there was a predator nearby. Besides, Kaithe was the most courageous kaithe in Duviri. If anyone could stand there solid as a rock next to the embodiment of fear and let her hold her trembling hand flat and gently, oh so gently, lip yao fruit from her palm, it was him.

"I'm actually feeding him," she marveled. "He's so big and he's not hurting me and I'm actually doing this. It's not so bad. It's actually kind of nice."

Kaithe whuffed, and she giggled, an reedy whistle of a laugh utterly unlike Mathila's hearty gales of forced laughter. 

If envy was salting the earth, then this warm pride in those he cared for was truly satisfying, like a good meal. "You did it. You faced one of your fears. And next time fear finds you, you can think about this, and you can face it again."

"I can!" She'd been so miserable and trapped in her fears that now that she had a lifeline out, she seemed as light as a feather. "I won't waste my day terrified that at any second an Orowyrm could explode out of nowhere."

"Well…" He grimaced. "Look, I'll try, but-"

She giggled again. "It won't be from nowhere. It'll be from the Agora. I'll be working in Castle Town where I can hide behind Thrax. I'll be fine."

"You aren't wrong," he admitted.

Her carriage rolled up. She patted his arm in a bizarre reversal of roles, her comforting him. "And besides, when Bombastine does inevitably go Orowyrm, you've got it handled. You've had plenty of practice, after all. When your eyes are like that, you’re the scariest thing in all Duviri."

"Thanks, I think," he joked as they walked to the carriage. "I still don't know what you mean by that, but I appreciate your confidence in me."

As he handed her into the carriage, another kaithe flew overhead. A Psyacus kaithe. Confetti rained down on them. Mathila landed and stared directly at him, hand on her hip.

Sythel frantically brushed off the confetti, retreated under cover of the carriage's roof, and ordered, "I've got work to do. You've got a concerned mother to deal with." She clapped at the driver. "Off, off!"

As they trotted off to Castle Town, he went to face the music. For once happy Mathila was decidedly less than perky. "I am always delighted to greet the new day," she insisted, looming over him from kaithe-back. "But sometimes a girl simply wants to finish her morning tea before her children ambush her and insist that she take them to the Agora for acting rehearsal. Which they will be doing every day at the crack of dawn for the next week until Jubilee."

"Uh, I thought they'd enjoy acting."

"Oh, they do!" She exclaimed. "They are bouncing on the beds practicing their acrobatics and shouting their new lines loud enough to wake the dead. And I'm really just soooo happy for them." She dismounted, grabbed his shoulder and dragged him down so they were eye-to-eye. "A little warning next time would make me even happier, you understand?"

He had a sudden memory of coming back to his dormizone with a stack of permission slips and asking his father to sign them. "Perfectly," he squeaked. "I'm sorry I screwed up."

She let him go, patted him on the head like a none-too-bright krubie pup, and said, "There, there, don't beat yourself up over it. Look to the future."

He wasn't going to get a better opportunity to escape her clutches than that. "Right. There's something I said I'd do today, so I'd better go. Now. Goodbye. Have a great day!"

She took off flying after him, trailing confetti along the way. "Where are you off to? Party planning business?"

"I'm helping Luscinia," he hollered back. Surely, she wouldn't be caught dead with the sad woman.

"Ha, I knew you wanted to spread positivity for a change of pace." Far from being driven off, she hung right on his wing, easily keeping pace.

Shit. No good could come of Mathila thrusting herself in to forcibly fix Luscinia's woes through the power of positive thinking, of that he was sure. "I said I wanted to help her, not make it worse."

As they flew down to the Chamber of the Muses, she laughed. "You're so keen to write me off! Don't fret, I haven't given up on the Sorrowful Soprano yet."

Her reassurance had the opposite effect. His good feelings from Sythel's success were long gone, vanished along with his confidence that today he'd make it all up to Luscinia. He flew over the Chamber - Bombastine was as good as his word and the Chamber looked as good as new - and landed nearby, praying he wasn't bringing a pink-and-happiness-flavored calamity to her door.

Luscinia stood in the spotlight, arms folded, toe tapping, and when he climbed up on stage shamefaced and apologetic, she marched right up to them in a flurry of red silk and jangling bangles. "Did you come to mock me? If you dare come to me with pity, I shall throw it back in your face."

He winced. So much for an easy apology. "I deserve that," he admitted. "Yesterday kinda spiraled outta hand, pun not intended. I thought I was helping, but the truth is that you helped Sythel face her fears, and in return, we crashed your stage. I’m really sorry. If I can make up for it somehow, I will." Since it wasn't her Spiral, whatever she told Loneryder to do probably wouldn't be too harmful, right?

Solemnly, she said, “You once hoped to change our spirals of sorrowful days. How about keeping your promises?”

When Thrax mocked him for his failures, he'd seethed half the day away. When she called him out, guilt lodged in his chest like a stone. 

She said, "I trusted you."

His conscience answered her accusation, crying back, 'Guilty, guilty!' The mantle he'd taken up so arrogantly bound him anew like a ox under a heavy yoke, for he'd compounded his original sin of Duviri's creation by changing the kingdom for the worse. Even now, he squandered his generous second chance of Jubilee, when all debts would be forgiven, and he wasn't even three days in. How could he become a whole person when he solaced Fear and Envy at the expense of Sorrow?

She turned a cold shoulder to his stammered explanations and excuses. "Ah, you have nothing to offer me but tears of regret. Feh. I have enough of those of my own."

The worst of it was that she wasn't wrong.  

At their saddest, Mathila jogged up on stage. Peppy, perky, powered by positivity Mathila held her hand up like a picture frame and exclaimed, "Why, look at you! Two kindred souls too lost in your own sadness to realize that misery loves company."

They looked at each other in confusion. "What?" He asked.

She peered at him as if through a lens. "Not everyone is strong enough to confront the darkness within. Are you going to keep putting it off or are you going to take action?"

More so than the words, her peering at him recalled to mind the Archarbor and one of its tools for emotional regulation. The Quadra Tabulator started as a simple picture of a child's nursery. By sliding different distorting lens away, one saw what the image actually depicted.

As it alternates between displays, this apparatus reminds us of the importance of shifting perspective.

A child in the nursery cries because a monstrous face is leering at him, but all he has to do is shift his perspective, and he sees it was nothing but a heap of clothes. We may think we are in eternal love. Oh, how quickly we find it was nothing of the sort!

As if though a lens, he saw himself how she must see him: a sad sack of a man who didn't need a crying mask from the Paradox to have a face like an epic tragedy. A conman who wrote out credit chips he couldn't pay off. A kindred soul to the Sorrowful Soprano, not because of his singing voice or musical talents; because guilt and grief made him a thing, fit but to serve at the will of the king.

He faced himself squarely and named what he felt: he despised that wreck of a man. So he turned away. Since this was how Mathila saw him, he asked her, "Why do you even bother with me?"

She looked at him with astonishment. "Why not? I haven't given up on you either."

Like sliding a distorting lens out of the way, she stood in the picture, beaming and offering a helping hand to both of them.

Luscinia spurned it. "I want nothing to do with this Jubilee."

He had no words to convince her otherwise. His two week quest ended here, foundered on Sorrow.

Mathila snorted. "Oh, bullshit. I remember you singing for the Jubilee on Lake Verula."

She said, "Which Thrax drained dry."

"I didn't see you coming up with a better plan to deal with the Ravenous Golden Maws. You used to sing glad songs for all of Duviri's people."

"I used to, because those were happier times. Laughter, Lunaro games, kaithe races…"

Hesitantly, he suggested, "We have time to prepare. We could probably do a-"

"Don't you dare promise me one more thing," she cut him off.

He shut up.

Mathila scolded her. "Look, he's finally trying to help instead of moping. You should try it. After all, you two cannot dwell on your woes forever! Let's all pitch in and do something useful. Like handing out party invites!"

Luscinia eyed him. 

He hadn't even thought about party invites.

Mathila said, "It just so happens that yesterday I wrote up invites from the rolls of Jubilees past."

Completely humbled, he said, "I can't thank you enough. Yes, I'll deliver them."

She split the stack from her saddlebag in half, shuffled his half so that he'd be flying back and forth all over Duviri, and then handed them to Luscinia. "Enjoy the journey, you two!" She caroled and rode off to deliver hers.

Dubiously, Luscinia accepted his help climbing up on Kaithe behind him. "I can't believe I agreed to this," she muttered.

The first man in Upperhaven hailed them with a wave, "Prosper the day, stranger!" 

"His Majesty Dominus Thrax extends an invitation to his Jubilee," he announced while she handed over the creamy vellum.

"Oh, thanks! People love to complain about the king, but you know what I say? He's doing his best. Besides, I'd like to see you do better."

Her grip on his shoulder pinched uncomfortably. He mumbled, "Yeah, working on it."

The man advised, "The trick is keeping busy. Saves you from having to do any thinking."

Her grip gentled. Since it hit far too close to home for him too, they took off in silence.

From Upperhaven, they flew to the Archarbor. Two women sat next to each other. One's nose was deep in Tales of Duviri while her friend accepted the invitations. She nudged the reader, "The Drifter just delivered our invites and you completely missed it."

"That's nice," her friend turned a page. "I'm almost done. Give me ten more minutes."

Next, they flew across nearly the whole of Duviri almost back to where they'd started. A man in a Morose mask leaned against the signpost pointing to the town he'd searched yesterday. He just sighed at the invitation and told him, "Can't you just bring on the big wyrm? Get it over with."

Since Bombastine hadn't yet erupted out of the Agora, either his initial plan to avoid the Courtiers on their Spiral was working…or maybe, hopefully, the actor was really doing better at reining in his envy.

When he said so, Luscinia scoffed.

"He really seemed repentant yesterday," he argued.

"Promise me no more promises," she said.

The next woman liked to ponder life from Duviri's cemetery down the mountainside from Sythel's house. They trotted down the rocky switchback path towards the arched gateway, rock wall to one side of them and an open cliff face to the other. Luscinia said, "I guess this isn't so bad, giving out invites. Assuming you do actually pull off a decent party in the end, of course.”

A flicker of motion behind the arch warned him. "Whoa, Kaithe!" He reined him in just as a woman flung herself from behind the arch onto the ground in front of them.

Kaithe shied away, scraping him against the rock wall. His leathers took the brunt of it rather than ripping his shoulder raw. Luscinia shrieked in surprise and scrambled to dismount.

"Aughhh! Oh, I've been trampled!" The woman yelled.

Luscinia ran to her. "Oh, no! Oh, you poor dear. How badly are you hurt?" Glaring back at them, she snapped, "A pair of brutes, both of you."

He'd have noticed if they'd actually touched the woman, not just given her a firm fright. So he checked Kaithe first. Despite a nasty scrape on his ceramic glaze, he walked on that leg just fine. 

Only after he was satisfied Kaithe was okay he offered the woman his own health restore.

She patted herself. "I'm not hurt. Amazing!"

"You could've hurt Kaithe!" He snapped. "What the hell possessed you to do that?"

She shrugged. "I was bored. Tomorrow, I'll still be bored."

Luscinia covered her eyes. "Void, please tell me this isn't what I sound like when I'm trying to soothe my sorrows."

Be nice, he told himself, even as the health restore burned like fresh salt on his raw scrapes. "Whatever else you’ve done, I don't think you've ever hurt a kaithe. As for you, lady, take your damned invite. Whatever happens at the Jubilee, at least it won't be boring."

As they rode off to the caves surrounding the Agora's valley to deliver their last invites, she apologized, "I thought the worst of you and sweet Kaithe. Can you forgive me?"

It'd be so easy to secure her cooperation. Just say, 'Sure, I'll forgive you if you sing for the king.' Except that'd make him an asshole. Instead, he said, "Sure, you're forgiven. Though I'm sure Kaithe wouldn't say no to a makapa fruit bribe, if you know what I mean."

She laughed. 

He didn't think he'd ever heard her laugh. It was as melodious as her singing.

They dove into a cave to deliver the Sage his invite. The old man sat next to a shawzin, pondering the music of the universe.

"Oh, Sage," she asked, "Have you any words of wisdom for we who toil through our Sorrowing Spirals with no end in sight?"

Please, Drifter hoped. This Jubilee needed all the wisdom he could get.

The Sage prophesied: "Suffering and misery do not need to be one and the same. Men and women will suffer for anything, so long as they believe it to be meaningful. When their labour is without meaning…then suffering truly becomes suffering.”

Afterwards, they walked in the makapa grove. She groomed and fed Kaithe to spoiling while he helped the owners pick the freshest fruit for the feast. She said, "I understand now why I resent you. For a little while, you gave my suffering meaning again."

Like another lens of the Quadra Tabulator, the Sage's words gave him new perspective on his miserable innermost self. He could accept suffering for a cause he believed in, like leaving Duviri. Misery came when he no longer believed in himself and others. Which meant…"You've just helped me see that I wrote off Mathila too quickly. She's right; pitching in and doing something productive helped my mood, even if I'm only one tiny step closer to a good Jubilee."

The wind rustled through the grove. Kaithe munched and crunched. She allowed, "I guess Duviri wasn't built in a day."

"It was," he admitted. "On the worst day of my life, which is part of the problem."

At that moment, Mathila flew in with empty saddlebags. "I'm all finished! How about the two of you? Deliver those invites? Repair that broken trust between you?"

They looked at each other. Perhaps she was onto something about their kindred souls, for though they were no closer to reconciliation, they'd at least broken their self-pitying, wallowing routine together. Luscinia acknowledged their fragile truce with a tiny nod. 

He said, "Mathila, thank you for not giving up on us."

"Oh, I just knew you could do it!" She peered up at the sky. "Great Thrax above, it's only noon. We've still got time for another trust exercise."

"A what?" He asked.

"Imagine that I stood on a chair and fell backwards, while you stood behind me to catch me. I'd have to trust that you wouldn't let me fall."

Luscinia said, "I'll grant that Drifter wouldn't actually drop me."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not a trust exercise if you already trust him. I've got someone else in mind."

Just because it wasn't a Joy spiral didn't mean she wouldn't take a good idea to excess. On the other hand, he'd literally just said he'd been wrong to write her off. He bit his tongue. Whatever she suggested, he'd just have to try to make it work.

Then, she said, "If anyone's in need of a lesson about the value of trust in his life, it's the most overbearing, toxic, jealous man in all Duviri. We're going to help Bombastine!"

Chapter Text

"Absolutely not," Luscinia said. If glares could kill, the entire Agora would've been vaporized.

Even though Drifter just said he should trust Mathila, he thought about the risk of poking Bombastine in the pride and losing all the progress from the day before. "I think we should leave Bombastine be. He's not causing any trouble.”

"Why not? We're not going to provoke him. We're going to prove we trust him," Mathila challenged.

Luscinia threw her hands up and stalked off to Kaithe, leaving him to take the heat. Leaving him to stumble through explaining his vague idea that somehow by avoiding them on the Spirals when their emotion was ascendant he could avoid their Orowyrm outburst.

Mathila politely scoffed, "You hear that, Luscinia?"

The other woman who'd gone Orowyrm whilst following the "plan" heaved a sigh.

"I guess it was a silly idea," he said, seeing his failures in a new light. "If I'd defended you yesterday, maybe you wouldn't have needed to defend yourself. And if I'd offered to help write invitations instead of leaving you to your own devices the day before that, maybe you wouldn't have gone overboard by trying to prank Sythel."

Mathila winced at the reminder.

That was the first real sign of regret he'd seen her make. Hoping that the tide was turning in his favor at last, he pressed on. "Teshin would tell me to try something different. Let's try this trust exercise."

Luscinia looked up at the green sky. "If you screw this up, it's the last time I'm letting you convince me to do anything."

No pressure. "If it makes you feel better, it's already a trust exercise because we're trusting that you won't screw him over for revenge and she won't go to extremes.”

Mathila clapped her hands, "See, that's the spirit! I know Bombastine makes it soooo hard to believe in him some days-"

"Most days," he corrected.

"Every day." Luscinia corrected him.

Mathila laughed at them. "Look at you two pots calling the kettle black. I try to believe the best of everyone, so I believe there's some room to love someone other than himself in that heart of his."

He blinked, surprised to hear that. "Acrithis says-"

Mathila's back went as stiff as a board. "Acrithis says a lot of things." She wasn't smiling anymore.

On second thought, Duviri's gossipmonger had a lot of things to say about Mathila too and none of them were complimentary. "Acrithis says I like the taste of my own boot leather," he backpeddled. "I'll, uh, I'll run ahead tell Bombastine he might want to rehearse an apology, shall I?"

So he flew ahead of the women to the Agora. Along the way, he collected a fistful of broad silphsela blooms. When he arrived, the Dramatis Personae were practicing. 

Bombastine waved him down, and said, "Helping one of the others today, are you? It's okay, I understand. Not a problem." 

"It sounds like today is going better?"

He wiped his forehead under his mask. "I think so. Its…hard." That was almost certainly a vast understatement, but he listened to the plan for a trust exercise. “I thought you wanted me to avoid her.”

It was tempting to shrug and say ‘plans changed’ like it was all his idea instead of humbling himself. “Mathila pointed out the flaw with my plan. I can’t help you on the good days if I’m not there for you on the hard days. So here I am.” 

When he presented the bouquet and explained he thought it'd make a nice apology for Luscinia, Bombastine only shook his head and said, "She's mildly allergic to those."

It would've been so easy for Bombastine to make a royal muck of the day too. "You are doing better," he told him, impressed. 

Encouraged, Bombastine said, "I think I have some flowers from my few, but devoted admirers."

By the time Mathila and Luscinia arrived, he'd come back with a magnificent bouquet of red roses. He presented them awkwardly. "I'm sorry. For yesterday, and for so much else. They match your silks."

Luscinia checked them over for hidden knives. He wilted like a flower cut and left out of water. Finally, she said, "Thank you. This is a good start."

Meanwhile, Drifter presented his own silphsela bouquet, rather sorry looking in comparison, to Mathila. "This, ah, isn't anything romantic. It's just that I do owe you an apology too, and I remembered you like flowers, and-”

She breathed in deeply. Golden pollen brushed over her blue skin and pink mask. "Delightful. I do like flowers. In fact, I believe I remember a palace gardener telling me I was welcome to flowers, within reason, after a certain incident with a Troublesome Tammherder. So perhaps you're on to something about not going to extremes."

Before they stole Bombastine away from the stage, they sat down to watch her kids perform one of their little ditties. 

Mathila II and Garmi Jr. stepped up to the front of the stage and cast wicked glances at each other. "Oh Mister Bombastine, We know why you act so mean."

Bombastine flinched. 

Luscinia laughed unkindly.

Drifter put his hand on Bombastine's shoulder in support.

Mathila snapped out, "No more mean rhymes."

"But, Mom!"

She scolded them, "I realize that some people think I'm a neglectful mother because i just try so hard to share my joy with everyone else." Here, she shot Drifter such a look that he knew at once she meant Acrithis. "But I know what you get up to down in the caves. If you cannot say anything nice, don't say anything at all, and especially not because you want to see another Orowyrm up close and personal.”

"But it'd be cool," Mathila II protested.

"For you," Bombastine muttered, miserably. "It didn't look very fun for her yesterday."

Luscinia looked at him oddly.

As far as Drifter knew, regretting their rampages afterwards had never stopped an Orowyrm outburst before. There was a first time for everything, he hoped.

"Fine, fine," Garmi Jr. grumbled. They resumed their places and announced, properly this time:

"Hear ye, hear ye, of His Majesty's constant vigilance against the Void."

Something's watching through the window,
Watching you and watching me…
Wants what we have, wants to BE us!
We know that can never be,

Something's waiting, getting closer,
Watching, waiting for its day,
Something needy, cruel and greedy…
Keep that hungry thing at bay!

"Praise His Majesty for his steadfast protection of our shores! Praise him with great praise!"

Drifter shuddered, thinking of the presence he'd unwittingly attracted with a careless 'rap, tap, tap.' Under Mathila's gimlet gaze, he applauded anyway and told the kids they'd done marvelously.

She promptly proved her helpfulness because after oohing and aahing over the new orowyrm puppet the troupe and Bombastine put together, she suggested, "My kids have plenty of friends who'd enjoy putting on little recitations like that one. We can ask them to join.”

He asked, "Do we need permission slips?"

"What are those?"

"It's a paper my parents had to sign so I could play Lunaro and stuff like that. So they knew where I was and didn't get blindsided when I ran off to practice."

"Ah ha," she said. "Yes, I think we'd better write up some of these "permission slips.""

Afterwards, the four set out together from the Agora. Mathila led them to a cave near Farbreeze Hamlet. "I think working together to solve the royal maze will perk us right up. It'll be a perfect trust exercise."

Some of Duviri's caves were bored out by Orowyrms, by wyrmling nests, or by the relentless working of water during Sorrow Spirals. Others, he suspected, came straight from the Tales of Duviri illustrations transmuted by a terrified child who insisted that of course a fairy-tale land must have caves, but who didn't really understand what a cave was. This was one of the latter. The entrance was a whirl of aggristone. The walls were good Duviri rock interspersed with Zariman steel and concrete. Aggristone spikes arched over a Zariman stairway that led to a stone ramp. The whole effect was undeniably maze-like.

As he helped the women scramble over a series of uneven whirls, Luscinia said, "I think I lost something precious in a maze like this, long ago."

Bombastine took over assisting Mathila during their ascent to the maze's shrine. He said, "I grew up hearing stories of these odd configurations. How riches awaited those clever enough to solve them. I never did find out what that feels like."

The shrine stood amidst an observation blister just like the one from which Drifter watched the rings of Saturn as the Zariman passed by. That was a happier time when he'd still hoped a new home awaited him in Tau at the end of their journey. Now the broad observation window was cracked and some of the metal shutters had fallen on piles of old supplies. Beyond, the Void coiled.

Mathila approached the shrine - a metal ball on a triangular plinth that needed to be energized with Void energy before it would open to reveal its secrets, treasure, both, or nothing. "Your Majesty, we courageous adventurers wish to brave your maze."

Thrax's voice came through the ball, metallic with a dose of genuine concern underlying the usual sarcasm. "Are you sure you want to fumble your way through with the Squabbling Stars and a Party Planner more suited to stacking alphabet blocks than finding his backside with both hands?"

As if Thrax's opinion slid another lens of the Quadra Tabulator into place, he was pretty sure none of them liked the picture of themselves they saw.

Bombastine muttered, "At least I'm a star," but he didn't sound happy about the accolade.

"So am I," Luscinia sniffed. "And our 'squabble' isn't my fault."

Simultaneously, Thrax and Drifter snorted.

"Oh, what do you know?" She snapped at him. "If I've kept it going, you've been a willing patsy often enough."

Bombastine said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but she's got a point."

Mathila looked away, her first hint of doubt.

In her doubt, Drifter saw a better answer than Loneryder pointing fingers back at his questgivers. "It's not a trust exercise if we already trust each other." Much like she had earlier, he held out his open hands to them. "I haven't given up on you.”

Thrax muttered, "You're a sentimental sap. But fine. I'll give you what you want: a chance to trust." A floating, spinning power pylon appeared above the shrine waiting for Drifter to flood it with Void energy from Sirocco. Trails of Void energy flowed onward to the next pylon, hiding behind the broken slats of the observation window. "Solve the maze or squander your solution by squabbling, it's all the same to me.”

Mathila said brightly, "Oh, we're going to enjoy every step along the way." Her fixed smile said silently, 'or else.'

Despite her exhortations, they stayed pretty quiet trudging through the mishmash of ramps and tunnels, right up until he energized a pylon and the guiding energy went straight into a wall. 

"We're lost," Luscinia said.

"Well done, Drifter," Bombastine sneered. "Maybe I should take a turn at navigating."

"Be my guest." He stood aside. But all their searching revealed no pylons in their immediate vicinity, just two paths to follow with no clear indication which was correct.

Mathila suggested, "Royal mazes are supposed to teach independence. Let's split up. I'll go with Drift-"

He hastily interrupted, "I'll go with Bombastine," because surely even happy Mathila could foresee that throwing jealousy, sorrow, and a cycle of revenge together in these increasingly small, cramped halls was an Orowyrm waiting to happen. Right?

If it were her own Joy Spiral, she'd have forged ahead confident in the rightness of forcing what she thought was enjoyable on everyone else. Today, she listened (or at least trusted him to know what he was doing). "Right." She looped her arm in Luscinia's. "We are the dynamic duo of perfect partners.”

Before Luscinia followed Mathila, she reminded him, "Screw this up, and it's the last time I'm listening to you."

“I haven’t given up,” he reminded her.

The women took the upper route, and when Luscinia's slippers struggled on the smooth aggristone ramp and she slid to the bottom, Bombastine laughed. 

Mathila scolded him, "Royal mazes build character." 

Drifter encouraged her, "Don't give up. Keep trying!"

Luscinia made it to the top out of sheer spite.

Bombastine stomped off down the lower route, growling, "I hate these stupid mazes.” His long legs had no problems with the uneven ground and the ceiling was tall enough to not be a bother.

"Why?" Drifter asked, scrambling after.

“Why do you care? Oh, right, you “haven’t given up on me.””

From Bombastine’s perspective, no doubt he’d just sounded condescending. “Sorry. If there’s something I can do to help, let me know. If there’s not, at least I can listen?”

“Hmmmph. Fine. I hate these damned mazes because a little child could solve it, and here I am, stuck staring at-" They came to a dead end where the wall of the cave crumbled away over the empty expanse of green clouds. The sweeping vista showed jealous green eyes staring covetously at the fields of Royalstead pastures and Upperhaven above it. "- a dead end. No pylons to be seen. And now I shall have to go back, eat crow, and listen to their triumph where I failed." 

Green clouds scudded across the spying eyes. Royalstead's kovnik crop would taste citrus-sharp and bitter enough to be undrinkable tomorrow. Void energy trailed from one of the walls, leading off to the left, behind a curved aggristone spike. Bombastine was so absorbed in making a rude gesture at the landscape, he hadn't noticed. 

He’d never felt so akin to Bombastine than now, seeing the actor’s proud shoulders slump, and knew if he pointed out that pylon spinning merrily in the corner, the other man would only think the worst of him. Not without a change of perspective first. As he worked through how to break the sullen silence, the curling cave carried odd echoes to their ears: scraps of a far-off conversation. 

Luscinia said, "He wishes we could trade places. So do I."

Mathila asked, "Were you happy, before?"

She answered, "There was a time when I thought he was proud of me. Not as a reflection of his own glory. Proud of me, for me." Silk slippers tore and then bare porcelain scrapped against stone. She let out a decidedly unlovely, "Oh, shit."

Bombastine's laugh sounded more like a sob.

After a little while, Mathila said, "I'm sure if we look a little longer, we'll find the pylon. So…any chance of you two making up?"

Bombastine raised his head, listening with all his might.

"There's not enough Spirals for that," she said dismissively. "Just let me sing my sorrows. Let me have that."

Bombastine dropped to the cave floor like a puppet who's strings were slashed. "Why am I like this?" he cried to the uncaring abyss beyond.

He cried it again into Drifter’s shoulder when he pulled the taller man into a hug. “Why, Sire? Why did you make me this way? You’ve changed for the better; why can’t I?”

It wasn't his words, but it was the truth: 

"Bombastine thought his self-doubt was his alone. If only he had known how many others suffered it too. If he could only have loved himself, he might not have yearned to become someone else. And so the envy that might have motivated him to better himself hurled him headlong into disaster. What dragon is Envy? A hunger never sated, a gift never enough. Darkening the sunny days with its hunger.”

The truth was neither comforting nor kind. 

But for a man who’d thought his self-doubt was his alone, to know that someone else understood him was a gift precious beyond price.

He told Bombastine, “You haven’t realized what a difference you’ve made in my life. I thought I was alone in my self-doubt until I read your tale. I didn’t realize that the way forward was to use envy to better myself, rather than drag others down. If I seem calmer these day? I learned that from Teshin. If I seem like I have a driving purpose? As silly as it sounds, I got that from Thrax kicking me in the butt to plan this Jubilee. I’m even learning to stick to promises I can keep because Luscinia and Mathila are holding me accountable.” Finally, he admitted, “And if I seem like less of an asshole, it's because you challenged me to do better.”

Bombastine clasped his hand. “Yesterday, I envied you because you did do better.”

Drifter encouraged him, “Yesterday, you turned your attitude around. And today, on an Envy Spiral when your basest urges are the hardest to resist, you are bettering yourself.”

“I’m good at acting; I have the whole wealth of Duviri’s legends and literature from which to learn how to better myself," Bombastine said, and that was determination speaking, not empty pride. "I’m good at Envy. It's high time I use it to make myself into a man I can love because for the first time I have real friends and I want to keep their friendship.” Promise made, he slapped his knees and stood, cracking his neck from side to side. "Unfortunately, we still haven't found-" and as he cracked his neck one last time, that shift in perspective was just enough. "Ah, over here!”

The next pylon sent energy flying back into the cave. Mathila's call echoed, "Over here!"

"The boys must've found it," Luscinia said.

Immediately, Bombastine clenched his fists. "I'm not a boy.” Then he consciously released them. "Help me learn from you. How do I not be like this?"

"Well, there's the easy way," Drifter offered. "You can use a mantra like Sythel's breathing techniques, the Quadra Tabulator, or the Litany of the Dax to reevaluate your impulses and old habits. Patience, perseverance, persistence, and a pinch of perspective go a long way, day after day.”

He sniffed. "I'm an actor, not a Dax," and his tone made it clear which of the two he thought was better.

"So it's the hard way, then," Drifter said cheerfully. "You'll just have to forgive her."

For a long moment, he feared he'd put his foot right in it. That he'd fallen straight into the same trap as Mathila and pushed him too far, too fast, with no respect for moderation or his bruised ego.

Then Bombastine nodded. "I believe I shall do just that."

When they joined the two women at the shrine and energized it, a ringing chime ran through the whole cave like a sweet, clear bell.

Thrax said, dryly, "Well done. Now, look for your dignity."

"Hey," Mathila said, "Don't poo-poo the accomplishments of others to make yourself feel better. I didn't see you here solving the maze.”

Had she always been that brave and ready to stand up to Thrax for others and he’d just never noticed?

The shrine, however, was empty.

"No treasure?" Bombastine started poking through the hoarded food under the shutters.

Luscinia inspected her ruined sandal. “This was a waste of time.”

Thrax agreed, “It was rather like watching four rats run a maze.”

Mathila appealed to them. "Maybe the real reward was the friends we made along the way?"

It sounded sappy; it was absolutely true. Drifter looked around at the empty shrine, the hoarded food, the broken window, and said, "The last time I was here, I was all alone because I’d run away from any friends who might’ve helped me solve the problems facing us. Because we trusted each other, we solved the maze. Mathila’s right. I'd say I'm happy to have my friends with me this time.” He spotted Bombastine poking into a pack of expired juice cartons. “And I wouldn't drink that. It's centuries out of date.”

Luscinia laughed unkindly. 

Bombastine’s hands tightened on the box. Then he set it back down and said, "Thanks. I can't afford a bout of food poisoning to keep me from my rehearsals.” Then he bowed to her, hand on his heart. “I've already cost both of us performers valuable time. I'm sorry, Luscinia. I look forward to hearing you sing at the Jubilee.”

Her jaw dropped. Then she pulled herself together gracefully, graciously, "Apology accepted."

Mathila beamed at all of them and the shrine. "See what a pinch of perspective can do?!"

Thrax said, “Oh. Well done.” For the first time, the king actually sounded like he meant it.

Chapter Text

Drifter had fallen asleep after telling Teshin about the day's victories; how Mathila learned moderation and Bombastine beat the odds and decided to forgive and forget his grudges and grievances.

He woke to the distant rumble of thunder. Sythel must be cowering in a corner of her house, shaking as though each lightning strike coursed through her own body, counting down the seconds until the thunder rolled to measure the progress of the oncoming storm rather than to calm herself. When her newly-learned breathing mantra failed, her fears would spiral out of control. Three days of party planning either down the drain or worse. Her paranoia would turn her against everyone she'd aided, from Barris' mother to the Dramatis Personae, from him to Luscinia. Every new Fear Spiral would stall or set back his progress towards Jubilee. 

Or maybe that was just his own fear talking. Telling him that Luscinia was right to doubt his ability to change Duviri for the better while he sat paralyzed by circling what-ifs and self-doubts.

"No," he tried talking himself through it, counting points out on his fingers. "One, its just the Fear spiral amplifying mine out of proportion. Two, Sythel's held it together for a whopping whole three days, which admittedly is major progress. Three…I have less than two weeks before I have to party hearty on the anniversary of the day that I was so crushed by being abandoned on the Zariman that I created Duviri. Oh, and I'm pretty sure that Luscinia is still mad at me. So…" He popped up his thumb and waved his opened hand, "actually, I'm doomed."

Teshin handed him a cup of tea brewed with yesterday's harvest. "It could be worse."

He took a sip. Ugh! The first taste was so sour his lips puckered. He handed the cup back to Teshin. Then the bitter aftertaste hit the back of his throat. It lingered. "Shit! That's a hell of a way to get me out of my funk."

"And what does that tell you about yesterday's successes?"

"I knew Bombastine was in a wretched mood before we talked, but, ugh. All the more credit to him for holding it together. If I'd given up on him…" He hadn't given up though and so the lingering bitterness was just an aftertaste, rather than reality. "I can't give up now, no matter how unlikely success seems."

Teshin nodded. "You've begun to proactively face your fears; now you find that fear comes unbidden when you are least prepared. So I say to you, "Fear kills you twice: First in the mind, then only later in the body. So arm your mind well.""

That reminded him of yet another of the Archarbor's tools for emotional regulation, Obliviating Entanglement:

The hollow ruin, though death for the soldier, is life for the creeping ivy.

Strange though it may seem, the mind’s tendency to forget is not necessarily a weakness. The body has its excretory system, whereby we dispose of what we do not need; so too does the mind. Allow yourself to forget that which is useless to your emotional development.

"My fears are holding me back from managing the Jubilee. I'm so afraid I won't be able to overcome my sorrow over the true anniversary that I'm not doing what needs to be done. I should let that sorrow go. Forget it.”

Teshin didn't quite meet his eyes.

"What?"

"Be hearty therefore, and cautious in your speech. For one who speaks his fear aloud to his comrades before the fight, is like unto a cupbearer, bringing poison."

That had the air of ancient Dax wisdom, but Teshin also spouted platitudes to avoid giving straight answers. Which meant Teshin thought he was wrong and took refuge in old wisdom because he was afraid to poison his pupil with his doubts. After all, he'd seen Drifter through lots of executions, so if he thought he was going to fail…

For once, Drifter actually recognized the spiraling thoughts and cut them off. "Hey," he said, hopefully reassuring. "You've seen me through lots of bad spirals. It's okay to tell me when you're worried for me. I mean, it hasn't stopped me from doing stupid things before.”

Teshin almost deflated, his breath leaving in a whoosh. "I'm getting transparent in my old age. Yes, I'm worried that you’ve forgotten the key lesson of the Sorrowful Soprano.”

“That sorrow is to be endured, not indulged?”

“You were a dutiful student of the Tales.”

“Too dutiful,” he said, waving a hand out at Duviri.

“Do you remember the incorrect answer?”

He racked his brain. “No? What use is knowing the wrong answer?”

“Hmmm.” After a long pause, Teshin continued, “Each Tenno I trained grappled with the sorrow of the Zariman in their own way. I cannot take that test for you; you’ll find your own answers. I confess I meant to say nothing of it to you because the greatest strength of Suns is their confidence, unshaken. But now I consider that, less charitably, you are very stubborn."

"Pig-headed?" he suggested.

"Prone to banging your head against a wall," Teshin allowed.

"Not willing to let death by impalement stop me?"

"Exactly. You don't plan ahead so much as fly by the seat of your pants, but so long as you are mindful, calm, and act with empathy, you will see this Spiral through."

Four warframes knelt near the portal. There were still a few unfamiliar to him, so he chose one that looked like a young woman in a puffy blue skirt. "Yareli?"

"Hmmm," Teshin said. 

He definitely didn't know all the weapons. The Hema was a writhing pus-sac of Infestation. The Stug was a bolted-together, souped-up glue gun. 

Teshin looked his loadout over and just said, "Hmmm."

"What?" He asked. "Is my skirt okay?"

Teshin clapped him on the slender shoulder. "Be hearty therefore, and so on."

Warframes didn't have eyes to roll. When he tried anyway, there was a second of dissociation. Yareli planted her hands on her hips, shook her head at Teshin, and then giggled silently with her hands over her mouth.

Mercifully, Teshin kept a straight face. "All the warframes are uniquely capable, even against foes more fearsome than you'll find in the Undercroft. I recall that she had a small but devoted fandom among the Tenno. Your stubbornness will serve you well."

On this fearful day, the wind whipped through the trees and constantly wound his cloak around his arms and head, or tugged alarmingly at its clasps. The sudden snapping movements made Kaithe unhappy. He’d sent a message to Sythel promising, “If you need help, you know how to find me.” 

Then they labored into the teeth of the wind all the way over Royalstead pastures towards Lodun’s house in Upperhaven. Below, a herd of kaithes huddled together. Ahead, Upperhaven's banners streamed straight out. If the Orowyrms were the looming threat of future destruction, the Dax were the hard hand of Duviri's instability. The Prince of Nothing becoming the Prince of Fire in all truth was his best chance of changing that. “My lord, how goes the muster for the Jubilee parade?”

Lodun was burning forbidden books in a brazier outside his house. Or, he was trying to, for the wind fanned the flames one moment, smothered it the next, and then tried to snatch his red tunic into the fire. When he saw Drifter, he doused the fire with water from a reservoir next to his house, seized his arm, and hauled him alongside down the city's many flights of stairs as he ranted, "I should thank you for running off those miserable mocking children. Acting? Hah, I should have thought of that myself. Keep them busy. That's the ticket." 

Apparently, Lodun allowed that the recent promotion to His Majesty's Party Planner made them temporary equals, because he abandoned all ceremony and titles as they stopped on a balcony overlooking the main intersection below the hill on which the city stood. "There is a problem with the parade. I was,” he gestured back up at his house, “attempting to control myself until you got here to assist me. Now, look at that." He pointed down at the intersection.

Luscinia sang for a rapt audience of Dax. The wind snatched away her words before it reached the two men above; the two patrols were enthralled. The Arcus sat and gazed at her adoringly, their bows on the ground beside them. Others leaned on their spears and hammers, easy targets for an ambush. He could practically sneak up to Denphius Dax and pin a “kick me” sign to his ass without the soldier noticing.

Lodun snapped, “Look at the Dax. My Dax. They're supposed to listen to me, not be wrapped around her little finger when I told them to march an hour ago. Go run her off and when you do, be sure to tell Denphius to listen to me, not her.”

Considering that the Dax were bully boys at heart, a little appreciation for the arts couldn't hurt. "This looks pretty benign to me.”

Lodun went to spit. The wind shifted so it blew right in their face. Even as they now heard the refrain of "Oh, ohhhhh, Dominus", he thought better of it and merely said, "If I have to listen to one more second of that miserable bloody singing, I'll go to the edge and jump off."

“Have you been listening to Bombastine’s lies? He’s changing his feuding ways.” 

“I spit on that actor. He farts with his mouth.”

Maybe anger just didn't appreciate the finer things in life. "He's actually pretty good. So is she."

In disbelief, Lodun asked, "You…you actually like that twaddle and twittering?"

"I do. Also, you'll get better results if you work with them, instead of against them.” He ought to keep that in mind himself. Since today wasn’t an Anger Spiral, maybe Loneryder working with the Prince could be a positive experience rather than a disaster. "So rather than giving her the boot, how else can I help?"

"Hmmmmph. Since you don't want to get your hands dirty, you can listen to my woes and come up with a solution yourself." Then, like a teakettle building up into a full boil, he launched into a full-bodied rant. 

The feud between Bombastine the Covetous Courtier and Luscinia the Sorrowful Soprano waged for as long as Duviri remembered, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. And while Drifter had seen for himself what Bombastine did when given the chance, Lodun explained what she did in the shadows. She sought allies to take revenge on her behalf, and whenever Drifter/Loneryder wasn’t available, she turned to the Dax. Dax watched the Agora. Dax reported Bombastine’s covetous deeds to her, and through her, to paranoid Sythel. Dax bullied him. Dax barred him from Castle Town. Dax ruined his attempts to speak with the king to regain his favor and the royal stage.

Lodun finished up with, "He started it. My bet’s on her finishing it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, remember those words. And I wouldn’t really care if she weren't using my Dax to do it! It's absolutely corrosive to their respect for the proper appointed authority: ME!"

Seen in that light, the gathering looked less innocent and more like Luscinia wasn't happy with yesterday’s progress, and was instead making trouble for her rival. He said, "I think we should be proactive. Let’s go ask her nicely to leave your Dax to you."

"Nicely!" He grumbled for a bit. "Fine. Otherwise she’ll get upset after her conniving causes some inevitable disaster. That’s when her singing gets positively grating."

They were starting to recognize each other’s spirals? There was hope yet. "Be gentle though. She's had a rough couple days."

"That’s why you’re there. To help me stay in control of myself."

"Yeah, that works as long as you listen to me, which will change the moment you think I’ve turned on you."

Slowly, Lodun asked, "Why would I do that?"

Had no one ever sat the man down and explained that he too had a spiral? Probably not. Or if he’d tried before, it’d gone so badly he didn’t remember. There had to be a better way to pass along those tools for emotional regulation without just sticking his boot in his mouth by announcing ‘Hey, you do realize that thanks to the Tales of Duviri you're preordained to never, ever be crowned king, right?’ 

Instead of lighting that fire right now, he walked him through the Anger Spiral as they walked down to Luscinia. "That's why you always start your rebellion attempts by gathering allies, and by the end you think they’ve all turned on you."

Lodun nodded, because now he had a month of Spirals to draw on. "Perhaps that is why I never stay out of wyrm form."

Carefully, as though he were nudging a bonfire's wood and praying the whole thing didn't collapse into a shower of sparks, he broached it, "You might also try not overthrowing the king."

Stiff as a board, Lodun retorted, "Keep to your place." 

As soon as they appeared at the base of the road leading up into Upperhaven, the Dax scattered like mice caught out by the sudden appearance of a cat. Denphius Dax marshaled his troops into line, bracing to attention, and braced himself for his general's fury.

Lodun stalked right past him to glare, hands on hips, at Luscinia. "I know exactly who's to blame for this insult to my dignity."

"Prince, please do not punish them for seeking a scant moment of sweetness."

"They don't need sweetness, they need some common sodding sense." Lodun snapped. "They need to be at the parade ground tomorrow, on time, not faffing about bullying whoever you think deserves it. Or there won’t be a parade."

She protested, "If you knew what he’s done, you wouldn’t begrudge me."

"I do begrudge you because the Dax are under MY command."

"Your command is pitiless. I’ve wept for the marks your anger left on the land."

"Those were justified!" Lodun bellowed.

Drifter interjected, "Were they? We just talked about your Spirals. She’s got a point." While betrayal radiated off Lodun in waves, he told Luscinia, "He's also got a point. When Thrax turns to Lodun and demands “Where’s my Jubilee parade?”, how are you going to feel when he's punished for what you started?"

"Miserable," she murmured.

Meanwhile, Lodun muttered to himself, "Spirals upon spirals, I don't have to go down the same damned path to perdition." To her, he said, "How about you leave my Dax alone and I don't tear strips out of anyone's hide?"

She clasped her hands together, reaching out to the Prince. "Your whip's stripes would be easier to bear than my sorrows. But I see that I have unwittingly pained you. I crave your forgiveness."

Lodun blinked at her. "Good enough."

Just when Drifter thought he could pat himself on the back for another crisis averted, she looped her arm in his. "We must speak."

She chilled his enthusiasm like a graveyard bell tolling for the dead. What did she want now?

While Lodun rallied his reluctant soldiers, she led him to a bench near the shawzin stand. 

He recalled Teshin's warning. From what he remembered, the Tales of Duviri cautioned that sadness was a dragon that devoured itself and spawned many children: lethargy, self-pity, self-doubt. All things he could least afford right now. He asked, "Were you practicing your song for the Jubilee? You sound lovely."

"My song goes well enough," she dismissed the pleasantry for the distraction that it was. "I am concerned for your sake. You plan for merrymaking, but who cares for the merrymaker when he is beset by woes?" She pointed to the Zariman, hanging high in the sky beyond Upperhaven's island.

"Am I really as so transparent?" He asked, as irritated to be seen so clearly as he was relieved that she cared enough to ask.

"It isn't hard to tell when you walk like a kaithe shackled to a heavy cart." She offered, "Perhaps sorrows shared might ease your load?"

Despite his immediate urge to confess everything to her - his fears that Sythel would panic and ruin the party planning, Bombastine backslide into backbiting, or Mathila decide that the waterfalls should run red with wine - he dared not. He dared not feed his own descent into self-pity and his paralyzing cycles of what-ifs and self-doubts. He dared not give her more reasons to seek revenge on his behalf. So even though she was right that the ruined Zariman loomed over his past and future, if he gave in to that ever present sorrow, he'd be to her like unto a cupbearer, bringing poison.

So he fought it. Obliviating Entanglement said that if something wasn't necessary for his emotional development, he should let the Zariman go rather than let it stand in the way of living his life. He chewed the inside of his mouth until the pain quenched the desire to cry. Eventually, he said, "I appreciate your concern. I’ll be fine."

"Oh, really?"

"I'm talking about it with Teshin."

She eyed him with scant favor. "Not to speak ill of Teshin, but he’s not helping as much as you think. Or, you're not listening to his advice, like back when you were getting yourself executed every day."

Well that was just jabbing him in the sore bits, on top of not taking the hint. "I’ve got a party to plan."

Solemnly, she said, "So many in Duviri pretend the Zariman tragedy never happened. I thought better of you."

Though she meant it kindly, she'd put her metaphorical finger right on his bruised heart. Pain flashed straight into anger, because really, wasn't she listening to him? "I said, I have a job to do. I can’t do that job if I’m wallowing in grief."

"But if you're miserable, then you can't expect to make anyone happy. I should know."

"Just because we're talking about the anniversary of one of the worst days of my life doesn't mean I'm going to let my bad mood ruin the Jubilee for everyone else. And I don’t appreciate you poking and prodding and doubting me."

She recoiled as if she’d been slapped. "I’m just trying to help."

He said, "Well, you aren’t helping."

She stood, yanking on her silks from where the wind wrapped them around her legs. "So you'll pal around with every other courtier, but not me? You only come to me when you want something."

"It's not like that," he protested…but maybe she had a point.

"I don't want your pity," she sneered. "I hope you spend the Jubilee absolutely miserable." With that, she stormed off down the eastern road. 

"Misery does love company," he muttered and went to find Lodun. He hadn’t far to go, for Lodun had only withdrawn to the far side of the intersection, far enough that Luscinia wouldn’t interfere with the blistering dressing down he gave Denphius Dax. That didn’t give Drifter much time to simmer down, so by the time Lodun dismissed the truant Dax, his face was still set in a ferocious scowl.

Lodun peered at him. "Hmm. So that's what I do?"

"What?" He asked, nettled by the non-sequitur.

"And I quote you right back at you: "The most petty and trivial things could spark Lodun's Anger. Now Anger is a powerful weapon, be sure of that. But it burns friend and foe alike.""

Well, shit.

Before he could dwell too long on how his anger born of his own shortcomings and powerlessness drove her away, the wind shifted direction, blowing cold out of the southern mountains. 

Lodun looked to the south, shading his eyes from the wind and peering at something in the sky. "What's she doing with a bloody brace of kaithes if she can't control them?"

Like a bat out of hell, Sythel's carriage rode the southern wind. Four kaithes labored as fast as they could fly. The carriage rocked back and forth underneath them. They landed with an awful, jarring rattle of wheels and crunching axles on the pavement. 

She sat petrified in the driver’s seat until Drifter offered a hand, and then she grappled onto his neck like a drowning swimmer, clawed her way out over him to solid ground, and then kissed the pavement.

Lodun told her, "You're feeling mighty brave today, driving like that."

She dusted herself off. "I didn't have a choice." 

Then she grabbed Drifter by the cloaks and attempted to drag him into the carriage by main force and no matter than he outweighed her by half. “Come on! There’s no time to waste. Get in the carriage!”

He caught the door frame, resisting her pull. “Hold on, Sythel.”

“There’s no time!”

“The least you can do is tell me what I’m heading into.”

Having secured his cooperation, she let go. Panting, she explained, “"Something's trying to reach you. Through the mirror, the guarded mirror.”

Lodun exclaimed, “One of the Imp’s mirrors? Making a mess in MY kingdom? Drifter, if you won’t deal with the damned thing, step aside and I will.”

Oh, this morning was just what he needed. Luscinia storming off in a snit, Sythel in a panic, and Lodun about to rush off to a roaring rampage. He had to take charge or else he’d be run down.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said decisively (despite his doubts, for he was definitely flying by the seat of his pants both figuratively and soon to be literally). “Sythel, budge over. Get in, Lodun, we’re going to see what the Other Side wants with us.”

Lodun growled, “I’m driving.”

With Lodun at the reins and Sythel urging them on, they pounded along the eastern road to Thrax Gardens, teeth rattling all the way.

Chapter Text

Thrax Gardens were a monument to the botanical riches of Duviri. Silphsela plants haloed His Majesty's statue with glowing pollen clouds. Connla sprouts ringed the waterfalls. Tasoma stalks grew in the shade. Yao shrubs glowed and shook in the wind.

A round "mirror," which was actually an empty, circular frame as tall as the carriage blocked the entrance to the gardens. Luscinia stood next to it.

"Really?" Drifter asked her once their carriage rattled to a stop.

"I found it like this," she retorted.

Sythel pushed him out. "I don't know what Void-cursed nonsense that mirror is harboring and I don't care. This is YOUR problem! Deal with it!"

Lodun assured her, "When I'm king, I'll have them all smashed."

Luscinia's head snapped towards Lodun. "No! How can you so callously add to the Other Side's sorrows?!"

Drifter really, really didn't have it in him to mediate between Sorrow and Anger while Fear kept nudging him forward like a shield and bulwark. Nor did he want to dwell on how the Tenno on the Other Side survived the exact same tragedy on the Zariman with powers, resources, and the emotional control he still so clearly lacked.

He touched the empty air where the mirror's reflective surface should be. Then fingertips touched his. 

The Tenno on the other side was a child wearing a Zariman suit just like his, but with their hood up and face hidden. Unlike in a true mirror, they copied each other's actions exactly. When he scratched his chin with his right hand, so did the Tenno. 

Maybe that meant something about him and the Tenno; maybe it didn't. Rather than dwell on unknowables, he said, "Guess I'd better go looking for that mask you think I need."

The Tenno said nothing in reply, but a pillar of void light appeared over their left shoulder.

He walked away from the mirror, looking over his shoulder, until the Tenno stood in that pillar of light. The boy crouched, placed a long, double tube inside a hole, and covered it up. Then, while Sythel peeked through her fingers and Lodun rolled his eyes at their antics, he jogged around looking for more pillars of light. 

"Supplies?" Luscinia guessed. "The Other Side wants to aid you?"

After the last pillar of light lit up a chest, he hefted up the lid while the Tenno watched. It was a gleaming, double-barreled shotgun, with ammo gauged high enough to knock one of Thrax's centurions on their ass.

Lodun asked, "What is that?" 

Luscinia asked, "Why did the Other Side send it to you now?"

He picked it up. It was even heavier than the lid. "Weighted for warframe use," he sighed. Forget the centurions; it'd knock him on his ass and probably break his ribs to boot. The Orokin writing on the side read 'Tigris.' It might as well have said, 'screw you, sucker.'

The Tenno vanished. The mirror's empty frame sprouted void tendrils. They all backed away as a full blown Void Portal to the Undercroft spun itself into being within the mirror.

"Oh void," Sythel clasped her hands to her ears and moaned. "Now I understand. The Other Side sent you that because you'll need it to deal with what…might…come out of it."

Holding a shotgun he couldn't use and knowing that Teshin himself raised eyebrows over the warframe waiting for him made him hesitate.

Luscinia rushed to Sythel’s side, but it was Lodun who rallied and took command. "The Undercroft is an ulcer in the guts of Duviri. I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! We are fixing this mess! Drifter, get in there and find out what's wrong this time. And when you're done, I'll have all those Undercroft portals BRICKED UP!"

Sythel gasped her way through breathing with Luscinia. Drifter nodded to Lodun and leapt into the Undercroft.

He stood on the grassy lawn under a void-lit sky. For a moment, all was peaceful.

Then, with a scream of despair, two clawed hands sheathed in void metal tore through the ground and ripped at the air. From his side of the Wall, they ripped at nothing. As for the other side, Teshin warned, "They seek to open the way for their Master. If they succeed, Duviri may fall to something worse than even Thrax."

On top of that, there was the sound. The claws sounded like a sharp pick scraping at his teeth. Shudders ran up and down his spine, and the sound burrowed through his neck and rattled in his skull. If this was what Sythel heard, he suddenly understood why she'd buy into any placebo that promised to make it stop.

Vitoplast globes secreted by the Void to heal itself dotted the open air and around the island's edges. They ringed the stage, crowned the scattered pillars, and danced in a slow-moving circle around the hologram of Bombastine and Luscinia. Theoretically, he only needed to collect vitoplast and feed it into the tears to heal the wall until the next attack. Oh, and, as the shadows of Corrupted armies spawned, not die. Easy, right?

Yareli looked down at the heavy shotgun in her slender hands, hung it on her back, and summoned a pool of water instead. 

He asked, "How the fuck is that supposed to help me?"

Teshin advised, "Lean into the dissociation and trust your warframe's instincts."

Something swam in the depths of the pool. It lunged upwards toward him. He backed up.

The creature breached the surface like a dolphin, flinging spray all over him and the stage. He raised his arms to block his face, and Yareli's instincts took over. She grabbed the beast - Merulina, transference informed him - in a hug, cheek pressed to her flat, translucent stingray-like body as if she weren't some strange beast from the bottom of the sea and actually her boon companion.

Yareli released her. Merulina hovered over the grass like one of the hoverboards that champion K-drivers used as they raced through the verdant valleys of Venus. He'd watched their high jumps and twisting leaps in awe, never expecting that he might one day get a chance to try it himself. "No way," he murmured as he stepped onto her back.

Merulina shifted to take Yareli's weight. He overcorrected and toppled, windmilling his arms and landing on his skirted ass. About a dozen Corrupted noticed and headed his way. "On second thought, "No way,"' he groused.

"Lean into-" Teshin repeated himself.

He groaned. "Har, har, I get it. Lean into the dissociation."

With her bursts of speed and flying leaps, Merulina was no Kaithe. On second thought, while he was a novice K-driver, she and Yareli had the same sort of instinctual bond that he did with Kaithe. Once he relaxed, their synergy took over to the point that he only had to spy a cluster of floating vitoplast running up and down the rim of the amphitheater, and they'd zip along, scooping up the precious stuff into their collector as they went. 

Soon, they had a full load. The Corrupted clustered around the clawing hands. Yareli could run literal rings around them in the open field, but she had to get close to the grabbing hands to heal the wound.

He grabbed the Tigris, pointed the long double barrels at a Corrupted Gunner with a machine gun as tall as he was, and pulled the trigger.

In the instant that it kicked against his shoulder, and he rocked back to absorb the recoil, and Merulina shot off ahead of him, and he fell backwards, helpless as the Corrupted charged, he had time enough to realize his mistake. 

"Footwork, it's all about the footwork," he scolded himself. 

A Corrupted soldier ran at him, waving his butcher's cleaver, ready to chop him to Itty bitty warframe pieces. 

He scrambled backwards. His feet tangled up in his skirts. "If I'd picked a different warframe, this wouldn't be a problem!"

The gunner and her squad lost interest in Merulina swimming away. All those guns swung back in his direction, ready to riddle him full of holes.

And at the worst possible moment, on the far side of the island, another pair of hands tore through the aether and began their own wretched scraping at the wall. 

This was supposed to be easy. Grab the vitoplast. Don't die. Yet here he was, about to die. "Why the fuck did the Tenno send me a weapon I can't use?!"

Teshin patiently answered the rhetorical question. "Most Tenno are not particularly good at riding on Merulina. Or fighting with Yareli, for that matter."

On a worse day, fear of failure might've motivated him to fight back like a cornered animal. On a better day, he might've found comraderie with poor, underappreciated Yareli with her sea snares, riptide, and aquablades. Today, however, Teshin's words sparked a wave of pure and simple spite.

The Tenno sent him the Tigris because they thought he'd chosen the wrong warframe? They thought he needed a backup plan when he landed ass over tits falling off Merulina? 

Screw that shit. He'd prove them all wrong. Finally there was something he could do better than they could.

Yareli summoned her unassuming puddle of water, scooped up a handful of it, and flung it at her foes. Each droplet expanded into a sea snare globe the size of her head. Whenever the snares touched the gunner and her squad, they struggled like flies caught in tree sap.

Riptide's roaring maelstrom of a waterspout fountained up at her command. Now, they drowned in the torrent.

She flung out a trio of aquablades. They lanced through the dying Corrupted until Riptide ran red, then circled around her like a deadly wall of knives.

All the while, vitoplast streamed from her collector and staunched the wound torn into the wall. Merulina glided to a stop next to her. "Sorry, my good girl," he apologized. "We won't use that shotgun again. We'll play to our strengths this time."

She bumped against his hand affectionately. He jumped on. This time, they moved as one.

A line of vitoplast sprouted up along an rocky ring overhanging the edge of the island. Merulina flipped at right angles to the ring, grinding and bobbing up and over each ridge for better purchase as gunshots flew wide.

A pillar of vitoplast topped one of the golden pillars that dotted the islands. Yareli ollied off the top of it, grabbed Merulina's fin, did a backward flip that sent the sky spinning, sucked up all the vitoplast, and landed with a twirl.

They landed with a full load of vitoplast. He said, “Is there any reason we can’t just stick to the spins? Upside down is…ugh.”

Somewhere deep within, she giggled at him. His Guiding Hand translated that into words. “Don’t be a copykavat.”

Vitoplast hovered in a wide net over the lawn like twinkling stars in the sky. Yareli crouched low. Merulina sped up. She bounced once, twice, and then they flew high in the air.

It was nothing like flying on Kaithe. She spun around like a copter. She leaned back, grabbed Merulina by the tail and spun around. She grabbed the nose, and then flung herself forward head over heels in a forward roll in the air as the ground rushed toward them at breakneck speed. Momentum and inertia tore him in impossible directions, yet just like Kaithe, she knew exactly where she was in the air. As long as he trusted her, they landed in one piece every time.

Five tears in the wall. Five times, they staunched the wounds and silenced the scraping claws. Yareli capered in celebration with Merulina, hopping, leaping, and spinning until he was dizzy as the Undercroft faded back into Duviri.

He told Teshin, “I think that went rather well.”

“Indeed. A victorious ride. I’m sure the Other Side is reevaluating Yareli as we speak.”

He rolled his eyes. The Other Side was probably just impressed he didn’t faceplant.

Back in Duviri, Sythel sat tucked up close to Luscinia’s side, still quivering in fear as the mirror frame disassembled itself into its normal dormant state. Lodun paced. 

Yareli couldn’t bring him an unanticipated victory here. Nor was giving into spite a good answer, no matter how temporarily motivating. He crouched down in front of Sythel. Luscinia refused to look at him. Eventually Sythel’s darting eyes settled on him. “Hey,” he said. “I’m back. The Undercroft’s all taken care of for today.”

“...3...4, but what about tomorrow? Out...1…2-”

“You know where to find me tomorrow,” he reminded her. Not that it’d do any good. Another might have taken courage from seeing the things she feared exterminated. She never did. But what if he spelled it out for her? “Let’s talk about the Undercroft and the Void. You’re not wrong to fear it. Remember that thing I summoned?””

“Rap, tap, tap,” she whispered.

He froze. Nothing happened. Maybe it only cared when he said it. Luscinia looked at him oddly, then remembered that she was still mad at him and looked away, nose in the air. 

Lodun snapped, “What nonsense is that?”

“It's not nonsense,” he told him. “There’s something out there beyond Duviri that wants in and it's tearing through the Undercroft to do it. I had to gather a bunch of vitoplast to seal the holes it made so it couldnt get through.” To Sythel, he asked, “Can an Orowyrm seal up those holes?”

She flinched. “No.”

“Can bricking up the portals stop it?”

Lodun deflated. 

She whispered, “No.”

“But today, we stopped it and saved Duviri. You saved Duviri. How?”

Slowly, with growing wonder and confidence, she said, “I…I went for help…I got you to deal with it…and Lodun and Luscinia helped me…and the wall is sealed shut and the master can’t get free. Not today. Because of me. I did it!”

She smiled at them all without a trace of the shadow of fear and the burdens that weighed down her thin shoulders. As she did so, the wind died down dramatically, as though she’d calmed her Orowyrm through battle.

"You did it," he said, awash with so much pride for her. Just like how Bombastine wrestled with his Envy and won, she'd stared her Fears in the face and conquered them. Despite Luscinia's lingering doubts, there was hope for Duviri after all, now that it's Courtiers were changing for the better. “If the portals open tomorrow, you know what to do.”

Lodun, however, had stomped off to the scenic lookout over the gardens.

He added, “if you’re feeling up to working now, I should probably go see what he’s upset about.” 

She invited Luscinia to join her for a tour of the performing stage being constructed in Castle Town. Something about checking the acoustics. He handed them into the carriage. As he did so, Luscinia sank her nails into his hand and sniffed in disappointment when his amalgamized flesh didn’t so much as twitch. 

He sighed. “Look, we both know that taking revenge just makes you miserable in the end. Can we call a truce until the Jubilee?” Just like he couldn’t afford to get lost in a mire of emotions that really weren’t helpful for his emotional development, surely she didn’t want to get mired in a Spiral that only ended in her despair. Right?

She paused, perhaps thinking about Spirals upon Spirals in which Drifter or the Dax helped her with revenge, only to hurt her own tender heart. “I will consider it,” she allowed.

“I’ll take what I can get,” he waved them off. “Break a leg, or whatever you say to singers.” The carriage rolled off in a far more sedate manner than its arrival. 

Lodun stood on a circular walkway surrounding one of Thrax’s ubiquitous statues. The waterfalls poured under it like water swirling down a drain. If only Anger were so easily drained away. He was as stiff as a board and did his best impression of a prickly thornbush.

"What's the matter?"

Lodun growled, "You. You can fuck right off."

"What'd I do?"

"I was going to be a better king than the Imp. Brick up those damned portals. Bring order to the chaos of the Undercroft. And NOW you tell me that the Imp has the right idea all along.” He spat over the side so his gobbet flew into the waters, draining away like his dreams in one furious existential crisis. "So you can fuck right off like everyone else over the years. Or stay to gloat over your executioner brought low. See if I care. It's just another bucket of piss splashed in my face." 

With that said, he turned his back. If there'd been a door between them, he would've slammed it. If tattered pride hadn't held him back from being perceived as a petulant child, he would've stormed off down the road. If it'd been an Anger Spiral, he'd have gone Orowyrm then and there.

As Drifter considered how best to respond, a Paragrimm, one of Duviri's owl-like hunting birds, called out as it circled the curved arches around the rim of the gardens. Like that lone hunter, Lodun was a solitary creature. He'd sooner gnaw his arms off than let Drifter hug him as Bombastine had. Nor would he bare his scarred heart for yet another betrayal. 

In order to reach Lodun, he must be the one to risk rejection. He looked above the flying bird to the Zariman hanging in the sky beyond. Maybe Luscinia's grudge had some merit to it because while he'd have rather bitten off his tongue than discuss it with Sorrow, he could share this pain if it would help Anger. "Maybe some of us are born with anger. I learned it."

"Hmmmph."

"Everyone assured us that the Leap to Tau was safe. We were bound for abundance. But it wasn't safe. We were adrift and starving. I was powerless…except for my anger. My spite. I turned that on everyone and everything who'd lied to me."

A shattered, scattered doll. Barring his dormizone door. Hoarding his food and water. Rejecting friends and family alike until everyone stopped coming. He'd been angry at that too because if they really loved him, they would've tried harder (and nevermind that everyone was just struggling to survive as best they could.)

Lodun pretended to ignore him as the Paragrimm spotted an unattended book. It stooped in a steep dive. Its claws flashed out at the last moment, diving over a table within a grove of kovnik trees. The Paragrimm emerged, dragging the book behind it with one claw and hopping on the other. It began to feast by ripping out a page and stuffing it down its gullet.

"I was so alone," Drifter continued. "At first, anger dulled the emptiness. I told myself it hurt less if I rejected them first. I got even angrier when that didn't work. I thought Anger was my shield. But it doesn't work that way, does it?”

Nothing filled that emptiness until Teshin endured his anger like a mountain sloughing off the rain to drag him out of his fevered dream. Until a literal Helping Hand plunged from the heavens. Until the Tenno on the Other Side forgave him for his spite and gave him gifts beyond compare to save himself and those he loved.

Lodun fixedly watched the Paragrimm rip out an illustration of a fiery Orowyrm, eat it, and then turn its attention to the family tree on the next page.

He shrugged. "Maybe it's different for you."

Lodun bowed his proud head. "No."

Then, thanks to Teshin, his Guiding Hand, and the Tenno, he knew what to do. "Lodun, I forgive you for gloating as you executed me. Tomorrow, I'll come to the parade ground to help you. If you'll have me.”

Lodun swallowed. He nodded.

"Then I'll be there."

The Paragrimm strained, coughed, and belched out a wadded piece of paper from which all the words had been digested.

"Hmmmph," Lodun snorted, but for once his shoulders had settled lower than his ears. 

Drifter wound up his courage to ask the million credit question: “Do you actually want to be king? Or would you rather be respected for yourself?”

"Fuck you," Lodun muttered, but there was no heat in it.

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good talk."

The next Spiral, because Duviri simply could not resist splashing another bucket of piss on Lodun, dawned red and fiery with Anger.

Drifter asking the million credit question by ser-i-vant

Chapter Text

Yesterday, Sythel faced her fears and conquered them. The day before that, Bombastine wrestled his envy and won. Drifter spoke with Lodun about the root of his anger, but could the Prince of Fire control himself?

Duviri sweltered under a fiery sky. The dry grass crunched under hoof as Drifter rode to the parade ground like he'd promised. Beneath the Citadel’s shining towers, ranks upon ranks of spears and shields glowed in wavering patterns like hot coals.

He climbed up into a viewing stand. Barris, the young tammherder, sat on the railing, dangled his legs freely, and watched the Dax march by in near-perfect lockstep. He leaned on the rail next to him.

Equitem on kaithes led each formation. Heralds paced behind them drumming the beat or carrying the King’s heraldry and the regimental banners. Gladius paced alongside the phalanx of spearmen with blades of molten metal held starkly upright. Their gaze never wavered from straight ahead. Behind the phalanx’s rows and columns of sixteen Dax across, sixteen Dax deep, two lines of Malleus paced with heavy thread.

Lodun himself had no patience for standing on a leisurely observation post. He expertly wheeled his Histornam kaithe in between the formations, barking at a herald to hold his banner high and proud. He snarled at a Gladius. The Gladius snarled at the infantry. They tightened their ranks. He badgered the lumbering Malleus into straight-backed precision. 

He was like a boiling pot, threatening to bubble over at any moment, but each time he came close to exploding, he sat himself upright. He rolled his shoulders. He cracked his neck. If he really needed reassurance, he looked up to the viewing platform.

Drifter waved. Lodun nodded, perhaps simply appreciating that he'd kept his promise, and rode on to bark at the next poor soul who wasn’t holding his polearm straight.

He asked Barris, “Doesn’t this part of a soldier's life looks pretty damned impressive?” He remembered the Zariman parades with confetti cannons and colorful airbusts. The onlookers not chosen to colonize Tau looked on him and the favored few with such envy. Well, the joke was on him in the end.

“Who’d want to be a Dax?” Barris sniffed. He gazed down as an Equitem passed by, hooves cloppling, the kaithe’s formal, golden-horned Kheyur chamform glinting sun-spangled spots in their vision. “Well, maybe if I could get a kaithe.”

"For herding tamms?"

"No," he sneered. "I want to ride a kaithe like Brimon. Duh."

"Who's Brimon?"

Barris pointed back towards the hamlets on the far side of the Citadel. On the plains below the parade ground, a Psyacus kaithe grazed next to hay bales and a watering trough. The lanky man tending him saw their interest and jauntily waved back. "He’s only the best racer in all Duviri. Wish I could ride like him."

He could answer part of that wish. Climbing back down from the viewing stand, he summoned Kaithe and folded his hands together as a makeshift mounting stool. Beaming from ear to ear, Barris scrambled into the saddle. 

Kaithe bore his coltish rider's uncertain direction with good grace. "Go on, fly," Drifter encouraged. "Kaithe won't let you fall."

"Uh…up?!"

Kaithe reared back, unfurled his wings, and then beat down powerfully, launching them into the air. They soared off, Barris' delighted whooping carrying on the baking breeze. 

From the viewing platform, he kept one eye on them circling the Citadel and the parade field. 

Lodun took a positively spiteful pleasure in barking at any Dax who looked up as their shadow swept overhead. "Eyes forward! There'll be all sorts of distractions along the parade route. Pay them no mind. You are soldiers of Duviri. Act like it!"

It took a couple more hours of drilling before Lodun was satisfied and dismissed the ranks to fall out into their squads. They marched back to their barracks, duties, and patrols. Drifter joined him with a sincere compliment, "It looked impressive to my untrained eye.”

"They need practice. Drilling. More drilling."

Barris and Kaithe flew low overhead. As they buzzed by, Kaithe rolled over in the air. Barris' excited shriek dopplered past.

"WHY ARE YOU EVEN RIDING A BLOODY KAITHE IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO CONTROL IT?!"

Kaithe banked so tightly his wing tip nearly touched the ground. He bounded higher into the air, rolled over once more, and then landed. He trotted to a stop right in front of Drifter.

"Well, aren't you just inordinately pleased with yourself?" He stroked his nose. 

While Kaithe nuzzled his cloaks aside to get at the belt pouches with the dried fruit, Barris burst into chattering babble filled with many and various, "Did you see me-?!"

Lodun, against all expectations, stayed quiet. He rubbed his chin. He listened to every bit of babble. Then he let out the most wicked chuckle.

"Uh…" Barris wound down like a spigot running out of water.

Lodun patted his own mount. "The mark of true nobility is an appreciation for horse flesh. Maybe the two of you have got some noble's byblow amongst your peasant ancestors somewhere."

"Thanks?" Drifter scoffed.

"Speaking of horse flesh, you ARE having races for the Jubilee, right?"

Barris was a ceramic boy. It shouldn't be possible for his eyes to get that big and pleading. “Please, Drifter?!”

"We are now," he said. 

"Excellent," Lodun rubbed his hands together. "Oh, ho, listen up you two. Thrax loves his horses. He treats his bloody kaithes better than he treated me, his own executioner! So here's what we're going to do-"

He coughed, "Remember that we're supposed to make this a good Jubilee. Or else."

Kaithe crunched the fruit noisily. Lodun's histornam nosed in. He dug around for more fruit.

Lodun said, "...it'll be a fair race. Obviously. But we're going to out-race his champion anyway! That'll wipe the smug off Thrax's mewling face."

"How?" Barris asked. "No one's ever beaten Brimon."

"That's "No one's ever beaten Brimon, milord,"" Lodun corrected him, then rushed on with his plotting. "Not since the king did. Thrax has a favourite kaithe, on whom none but his own dainty ass or his champion may sit upon it. I want you to ride it, and beat the king's own record! That'll teach the little toerag."

Fair race or not, this was a bad idea. Risking an orowyrm fight right here, right now, he said so.

Barris said, "Of course it's a bad idea. Uh. Milord. Where are we gonna find a kaithe to beat the king's?"

Kaithe lipped up another fruit piece as Lodun stared pointedly at him. "The king's kaithe is right here. Now we just need to beat the record. Can you do that, Drifter?"

What? Oh. No wonder Thrax was pissed that Kaithe followed him instead.

Barris sat up straight in the saddle. "His Majesty’s a kid. Drifter’s a big ol’ adult. You'd need a small, light rider like me!"

"What." Lodun said. "A tammsnaffler racing, on the king's horse?" 

It just might work. Drifter took the dried fruit back. Kaithe stomped really close to his bootcaps. He said, "Hey, you've got a race in a week. Gotta eat your grains instead." To Barris, he said, "Get your mother's permission. You've got a week to practice." He could take a carriage and clench every time it flew to make the boy happy.

Barris punched the air. “Come on, Kaithe. Let’s find out how fast we can go!” At his rider’s urging, Kaithe cantered off into the air.

"The Imp will be absolutely humiliated. Beaten by a peasant boy. Hah!"

"How quickly you forget control," he said. "I'm not doing it to humiliate Thrax. I'm doing it for Barris and Kaithe. And you never know, Thrax might actually enjoy a good race."

“Good point,” Lodun muttered. Then he mounted up and urged his mount up into the air after the two, shouting his own brand of encouragement. 

After an hour of practice, Barris was improving. Mindful that there was benefit to moderation, Drifter called Lodun back just as the nobleman started to yell more curses than advice. "He's off to a great start thanks to you. Maybe we should do something less strenuous.”

"Like fixing this?" Lodun tapped him on the shoulder with his riding crop.

"What?" Back in the day, his Zariman suit was fit for any formal occasion since it was a badge that the Orokin thought he deserved to carry their sacred light to Tau. 

"If you showed up to my coronation in that, I'd have you thrown out.”

An old, old memory stirred. He looked down at his blue gloves, long blue sleeves, and blue leggings worn in imitation of Orokin skin and Duviri porcelain, and thought for the first time in years, "This is not who I am." He took off his mask, splashed cool, refreshing water on his not-blue, bearded face, and thought, "This is not where I belong." 

So he’d crept through the graveyard halls of the Zariman until he found a hanging suit that fit his grown frame. He was as tall as his father now. In another life, he would've grown up in Tau, not wasted his youth in Duviri. And he sure wasn't staying here another day. There were landing craft on board, meant for exploration. There had to be a way out of the Void…

As he put it on for the first time, Dominus Thrax sat up on his throne, fist raised. "Where do you think you're going?"

No, he hadn't escaped. By the time the Paradox saved him, his suit and leathers were as well-worn as his trusty set of old boots. Lodun could pry it out of his cold, dead hands.

Except that wasn't very controlled of him, was it, now? He recalled one of the Archarbor's tools that had to do with memories.

Mnemonic Adjutant:

Memory is meaning.

Train yourself to replay your experiences in your mind, as if you were attuned to an Ayatan framework. You will soon find that you are able to disengage the experience from its emotional context. Even in the case of intense, troubling emotions, familiarity can bring habituation and thus, objectivity.

Lodun was right. His outfit was suitable for exploring and fighting in all manner of rough conditions one might find in Tau, not for Duviri's biggest party. Objectively, he didn't need his clothes to remind him that he didn't belong in Duviri.

"Alright," he said. "If anyone knows what sort of regalia is appropriate for the Jubilee, it'd be you, milord."

Lodun swelled with pride. Magnanimously, he allowed, "Bombastine also has a keen sense of fashion. He'll understand how to work with your, ah, unique coloring."

At the agora, the actors were in full swing. Lodun still didn't appreciate the arts, but he did appreciate the military precision of bringing so many moving parts together for a successful party and so agreed to not interrupt. All his ruffled feathers soothed right down when Bombastine took one look at Drifter and declared, "Thank goodness you came to me. Red suits Lodun; you'd look like a tomato. Come with me."

The Dramatis Personae agreed to the break as long as they got to chorus their opinions. 

Bombastine led the pair backstage past the archives to the storage rooms. These smelled powerfully of old cloth, dust, wood, and paint, filled as they were to the brim with rolled backdrops, assorted props like a kaithe costume designed for two men, and ranks of clothing used for past performances. Bombastine sized him up and dug around, coming up with a simple white tunic and a pair of golden sandals. "I've got a couple options. Let's start with this old-fashioned outfit for speaking as nobility to the nobility. No offense, your skills in acting might lie in oratory.”

"Can't take offense when its objectively true." He ducked behind a screen to change into the fine wool. He left his Zariman suit folded up with a pang and a firm reminder to himself to be objective. In comparison, the tunic felt light, free, and delightfully cool in Anger's heat. "This isn't so bad."

"Heh," Bombastine said, pulling a meter of heavier white wool down from its roller. "That's just the beginning. You'll need help with this part." Another meter. "Actually, I'm going to need help." Another two meters. "Lodun, would you mind?"

"Do I look like a slave?"

"You look like the nearest man who knows how to wear a toga nearly as well as I do…" Bombastine wheedled.

Six meters of a heavy white wool, folded in half into a semi-circular cloak. Working together, they draped it over his left shoulder so a curtain of fabric ran down his front. Then, like being wrapped in a blanket, they brought it around his back, under his right arm, and back over his left shoulder. His left arm was practically swaddled like a babe. 

Bombastine took his left hand and put it over his heart to hold the layers in place instead of a pin or broach. Then he whipped out a comb from his pocket. "I've been wanting to do this for ages." His sharp, quick motions were oddly gentle as he combed his hair, neither tearing through the tangle the breeze made of it nor letting it remain unruly. Then he turned him toward a mirror. "There you go."

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw a dignified man looking back who, if he'd had the blue skin and elongated right arm of the highest Orokin caste, wouldn't have been out of place in the oldest portraits from a time before the Radiation Wars when the Orokin adopted the fashions of an ancient empire of Old Earth. 

"I look like an Executor," he said, struggling to process what a difference a change of clothes and a comb made. 

Any minute now, Thrax would laugh that he looked like a child playing dress-up. The Orokin would've never tolerated this mimicry, when questioning their superiority was forbidden and violating sumptuary laws punished by death. "Back before Duviri, I could've been executed for this."

Bombastine's shoulders slumped. 

Lodun said, "At least you've got plenty of practice at that."

Torn between the urge to laugh, cry, or rage, he took refuge in the Mnemonic Adjutant's advice. "Can't take offense when its objectively true. I guess we'd better see what the chorus says."

The elegant, flowing lines in the mirror disappeared as soon as he started walking. 

"Move slower. Like the show doesn't start til you walk in."

"Hold onto the fabric! Pins are for peasants."

"Smaller steps. Stately steps."

"With dignity. I know it's a foreign concept."

He shuffled onto the stage like a hobbled kaithe and sweated under his woolen blanket as the chorus considered their verdict.

Thalia said, "He cleans up nice at least."

Melpomene added, "When he's standing still."

Apollon asked, "Can you move in that?"

He imagined sitting at the military parade. He'd melt, but at least he'd be an exceptionally dignified puddle. At the kaithe race, he'd have one arm free to cheer on Barris. However, the moment anything went wrong (as something surely would), he'd be tangled in a blanket, wrapped up in wool, and faceplant onto the floor in short order.

"Nope," he said. To salve their pride, he added, "Beside, there is no way I could look this good on Jubilee Day without their help, and they have their own important business to attend to."

Backstage, he suggested, "Maybe something like the first tunic?"

"I suppose we've got the Scholar's costume," Bombastine said doubtfully. He pulled out a dark blue linen tunic with puffed sleeves, a waist wrap of cloth-of-gold, and golden bangles for his arms. "There's a mask that goes with it."

When he put on the golden mask, someone with a voice as deep as the abyss chortled in his ear.

Lodun pulled it from his nerveless fingers. "Next costume!"

The Chorus deemed that the "Fleet-footed Racer's" singlet was too simple. 

The Bishamo armor looked like he'd raided Teshin's closet. Terpsichore took one look and said, "You have got to tell me his leg routine."

Then Bombastine pulled out a black, wrapped vest. Lodun said, "Haven't seen that in ages."

Drifter had seen it before in the Tales of Duviri. Loneryder watched the rolling islands from kaithe-back, wearing high riding boots and a black vest with a jaunty flap over his gifted armor.

It fit like it was made for him. 

The mirror showed himself, cleaned up, dignified, and a striking figure in his own right, neither just Loneryder nor a furtive fugitive from the Zariman and the King's Justice alike.

As soon as he stepped out, Didaskalos said, "That's it. That's the one. Bombastine, my man, you've done it again."

Bombastine preened at their praises. 

Lodun waved off his share of thanks as an act of noblesse oblige. "Couldn't have him showing up in old clothes," he said, though it was easy to see how the respect pleased him where it's absence would've infuriated him. 

And so Drifter paid him special respect by asking him privately, "Would you like me to help you for the rest of the day, or do you think you can remain in control?"

Lodun dignified that with a solid minute's consideration. "You know, I believe I shall manage on my own today. I have made it this far. I will succeed no matter the provocation.

Before they parted ways with their own lists of tasks to do - who'd known that planning a kingdom wide party was so damned complicated - Drifter collected his Zariman suit from backstage and packed it in Kaithe's saddlebags.

Loneryder felt like a second skin.

He wasn't Loneryder, Duviri's hero, bound forever to serve the king's fractured court and never truly change his fate.

There would come a day when he left Duviri behind to fend for itself with the right king and a court who worked together for the good of all. On that day, he'd want this token of his future, not a reminder of his past. Until then, he'd leave it in Teshin's safekeeping.

Chapter Text

When Lodun made it through the rest of the Anger Spiral without exploding at him or anyone else, Drifter breathed a sigh of relief. Not just for himself, but for all of Duviri. The remaining Spirals were spent working towards the Jubilee. Much to his wonder and gratitude, the lessons the Courtiers learned seemed to stick.

Sythel, rather than banning kaithe racing as too dangerous when Barris asked his mother for permission, just asked Drifter to ensure that the spectators were completely safe from accidental collisions. He and the champion Brimon then spent the next couple Spirals constructing viewing stands for the race and parade route with the help of citizen work crews who turned out in force once they realized that the Jubilee was happening after all. A chance to liven up their monotonous lives with something better than various shades of terror? Their enthusiasm grew with each Spiral that the Orowyrms didn't appear.

Brimon, watching Lodun train Barris after the morning parade drill, commented, "The kid's good. Not good enough to beat me, but he's the best challenger Lodun's sent after me yet."

In hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised. "Lodun has a habit of that?"

"Anything to take Thrax down a peg," Brimon confirmed. "I expected it to be you, to be honest," to which he flashed a bright, toothy smile. "I give you points for ballsy flying against those Orowyrms, but you'd lose in a straight contest of speed and agility."

Perhaps the greatest wonder of his time in Duviri was that he'd grown enough from the envious, petty boy he'd been into a man who could appreciate it for the good-natured, competitive ribbing it was. "My money's still on Barris. If not this year, next Jubilee you'd better watch out once he's got some practice under his belt."

Out on the route, Barris and Kaithe barely made a particularly tight turn through a racing hoop. His shepherd sling's shot went wild, so they missed the target and those extra points. Lodun pointed them back at the glowing hoop with his riding crop, rather than lashing his mount in frustration as he once would have.

Brimon slapped him on the back. "Don't bet more than you can afford to lose, but man, that kid's got potential."

When he related the exchange to the other two after training, Barris blew out his cheeks. "I can't live up to that. What if I come dead last? What if I completely embarrass you both? Maybe I should just be the simple tammherder my father was."

No amount of his assurances helped. However, when stern Lodun who doled out praise like a miser, said, "Even if you lose, you will still have earned the respect of a noble beast. That is no small thing," it was clear the Prince of Fire earned the respect of one peasant boy, and that was no small thing either.

After a series of prolonged negotiations on a Joy Spiral, Mathila took charge of Castle Town, which was to be the center of the festival and evening festivities. “But Koral will be sad if she can’t have ALL her cute little animals out for the petting zoo. Imagine, a hundred little rablits all hopping around a pen.”

Yeah, he could imagine Sol disembowling some unfortunate fellow for squeezing too tight and then there’d be blood and crying children and appalled parents asking just what the hell sort of show Drifter thought he was putting on here. “Have you asked Koral what she thinks is best for her pets?”

When asked, Koral hastily said, “I’ll bring the gentlest of my animals.”

Then they had to decide on decorations. “But the people will be sad if there aren’t more flowers.” She said, sketching an absolutely gorgeous table centerpiece with every native plant from shining silphsela to coils of red dracroot under a canopy of fruiting yao shrub.

“Have you asked the gardeners what’s in season and how many we can use without plucking the beds bare? They can’t work miracles here.”

Once they had a list in hand of her big picture ideas (because he knew for a fact that he couldn’t match her in decoration), they went to the artisans and vendors who’d make it work or not. For the first time, she heard a chorus of “No, we can’t do that. But what if-” and accepted the need for compromise.

For his part, he took the lesson of the permission slips to heart. Planning a kingdom wide party required constant communication and working well with others. 

Even Bombastine managed to work well with others more days than not as he branched out into training the children who signed up to perform street plays, riddles, and poems in Thrax’s honor. “Look at all these bright cheery faces,” he said, and even sounded like he was genuinely smiling behind his mask. “They’re the future of the arts. And if one of them surpasses me, I shan’t repeat my mistakes with Luscinia, only ensure that all Duviri knows I taught them.”

Of course, it wasn’t all free and easy flying. Sythel hit setbacks and demanded he solve them. Lodun damned near court-martialed a Dax officer for the high crime of not polishing his gladius to the exact shade of mirror-brightness as the rest. Mathila drove a foreman off the work site with her constant suggestions for how to make the plan better. 

Bombastine kicked a kid out of the acting program for reciting the nasty “Oh Mister Bombastine” poem, and so he had to mediate between two spoiled brats with copious amounts of help from the Mnemonic Adjutant. “Okay, replay the scene for me, and look at it objectively. Do you think you behaved well? What would you do differently?” That mantra got him through those contretemps and the others, and even through some of his own screwups.

Only Luscinia remained unhappy. When she wasn’t singing for Thrax, she stayed at her Chamber of the Muses singing the Anger section of her Jubilee piece over and over again. The next Sorrow Spiral, he girded his loins and went to visit. 

She wasn’t at the Chamber. With a sense of dread, he recalled Lodun’s warning, “If you weren’t around to do her bidding, she gets my Dax to do it.”

It would take a brave Dax indeed to miss Lodun’s daily muster. Or, as Kaithe swept over the cemetery below Titan’s Rest and he spotted Denphius Dax sitting at Luscinia’s feet as she sang sad songs to the gravestones, a very besotted one.

He landed outside the cemetery and walked in. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob, “Oh, I’ve done it again. Please, no, don’t punish Denphius for my sake.”

Denphius just went for his sword.

“Hey,” Drifter said, empty hands raised because he’d really rather not get murdered for inadvertently interrupting their date. A man willing to risk Lodun’s rage to hang out with his apparent girlfriend wouldn’t hesitate at courting Thrax’s wrath for taking revenge on his Party Planner. Besides, he’d really really rather keep his unbroken record of not-dying intact. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, eh, Denphius? You just got lost on the way to the muster and stopped to ask Luscinia for directions-”

She looked at him with terrible hope. 

Then he continued, “-and I’m sure this was in no way related to any ill-considered revenge scheme, right?”

She said nothing.

“Right?”

Denphius twirled his gladius like it weighed nothing. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” He looked to Luscinia for orders.

Drifter also stared at her. She’d been singing her anger at him for days now. Would she take swift and bloody revenge now that he'd rumbled her plan?

Rather than meet his eyes, she said, “Denphius, you should go to the muster. I’ll take the blame. I’m sure Drifter will escort me back to my Chamber where I belong, no more to trouble his quest for merrymaking today.”

Denphius sheathed his sword, looking rather disappointed. Perhaps even a little apprehensive. Lodun wouldn’t actually go Orowyrm on him, but he might wish the Prince had before he heard the end of it.

It wouldn’t cost him anything to be gracious, would it? He grabbed a scroll of scrap vellum from Kaithe’s saddlebags. “Hold up a moment. I’ll write you an excuse note.”

Denphius took the scribbled note, “He’s on Party Business. I’m so sorry, -Drifter” with every sign of complete bewilderment. “Why?” 

He shrugged. Saying something like “because I don’t like who I am when I want revenge” would only pour salt in Luscinia’s open wounds. Better to keep his mouth shut and be thought a fool than open it and be proved one, right?

It was a silent ride back to the Chamber where Luscinia took the stage and curtly dismissed him. “I shall sing. You are not welcome in my audience.”

He left as he was bid. She started as he left, not even warming up before belting out Anger’s entrance cue. “O Dominus!”

He replayed the whole encounter in his mind, reviewing it objectively as the Mnemonic Adjutant taught, certain that he’d screwed up once again yet not sure what he could have done better.

“Ohhhh Dominus! His curse is upon you.”

He’d forestalled her revenge plan. He’d gotten her word that she’d make no more trouble today. Even though he’d missed his chance to resolve her sorrows again, that had to count for something, right?

The last Spiral before the Jubilee was a frantic whirlwind of last minute touches in the sweltering heat of Anger. What the hell did Thrax have to be angry about? Who knew? He put his head down and put his back into it. By the time evening came, he was sweaty and tired from an honest day’s work and happy with his efforts. Before heading back to Teshin’s cave, he perched on the promontory above Primrose Village and looked out over his handiwork.

Pennants flew over Upperhaven’s pastures to the island’s edge marking out the race route. The road to Castle Town was lined with Thrax’s red banners for the parade. Castle Town’s streets were lined with small stages for the actors alongside vendors preparing their food and wares. Tomorrow, servants in the castle would deck the festive tent with flowers and fruits in testament to Duviri’s abundance under His Majesty’s reign, before the floor cleared for dancing, and then the performances.

Everything from stage to courtyard, from streets to citadels, shone in garlands of twinkling lanterns. It’d been Mathila’s suggestion. From a distance, it looked like fireflies danced at the King’s command around the glowing paper lantern of the tent.

For once, “His Majesty’s Party Planner” didn’t feel like a bad joke.

Then a generator in Castle Town popped, a fountain of white sparks shot into the sky, the turbines stopped dead, and the whole power grid worth of lanterns went out at once. The Palace was a black spire silhouetted against the darkening sky.

Kaithe sighed. He sighed too. “I know you want your grains, buddy, but we’d better go find out what went wrong.”

He decreed that Sun and Moon should glow like smoldering coals. Their firelight showed the way to the palace's turbine, the fitfully sparking generator, and Mathila, sitting next to it with her head in her hands. 

The generators usually ran five power lines from each turbine. She'd tried to plug in five more, double the load. And what for?

One string of lanterns wrapped all the way up a statue of Thrax in the courtyard. Two more strings lined the edges of the winding streets leading to and from the stage and tent. The fourth and fifth spelled out "Jubilee" across the town roofs with curlicues and flourishes so all Duviri couldn't miss it.

"Are you okay?" He asked first.

"I just wanted more lights," she said, glaring petulantly at the generator as if it personally opposed her crusade for happiness. The turbine groaned. She leapt to her feet, seized by a sudden mad burst of energy. "I know. I need more power. What if we build another turbine?!"

She pointed. Even if it were possible to construct a turbine in twelve hours, the chosen location would partially block the existing turbine. 

He asked, "Can't we be happy with a little less?"

"But-" She looked up at the Jubilee sign.

He slung his arm around her shoulders. "I know. They'd be able to see that from the Archarbor. I'm sorry."

She disconnected her new lines. He reconnected the original lines, and on his way back in, apologized profusely for the outages that hit the residents. Back on the palace grounds, he found Dominus Thrax talking to Mathila.

Hoping to forestall the king’s anger, he apologized, "We're very sorry, Your Majesty. It shouldn't happen again."

Thrax said, amused, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"The generator’s within load limits now."

"But I liked the statue."

He was pulling his leg, right? Right? "That generator is all tapped out, Your Majesty, so unless you have any ideas…"

"Please?” She begged, hands clasped and eyes wide.

Magnanimously, Thrax said, "There's an emergency generator in the basement you can borrow."

The Palace basement was dusty, musty, and heaped high with Zariman detritus that either whispered sounds it shouldn't or bore inky black marks he didn't want to decipher. Suddenly he understood why Sythel was so anxious about curses. He grabbed the bulky generator and hauled it out as fast as possible, praying that the feather-light touches on his face were just old spiderwebs.

The emergency generator produced its own power, enough for three power lines. They hooked up the statue, and at his suggestion, the two lines that powered the lights lining the streets. 

"Why not the sign?" She pouted. "Even the scholars at the Archarbor shouldn't miss this."

Because of the Zariman’s leap into the void and his bad memories of smoky air and dim emergency lighting. He resolved that he wouldn’t let the Zariman ruin tomorrow’s party. But even when he reviewed those memories objectively as the Mnemonic Adjutant advised, the warning was quite sound. "His Majesty is right. We're gonna hope everything works out happily, but part of making sure everything works out is to plan for the worst. If something goes wrong, at least people can find their way home."

"I guess," she sighed.

It was nearly midnight before they finished. He flew to her farm alongside her. They stood together on her balcony, looking out at the lights of Castle Town in the distance. Tomorrow there'd be music and merriment to match.

"In hindsight," she admitted, "the sign might've been a little much."

"You did a marvelous job," he said. Then he yawned a jaw-popping yawn.

"You're welcome to stay," she invited. "I make an excellent pot of coffee. Or black tea, if you prefer it. Teshin did."

The thought of just being done for the night was sweetly tempting. Her farmhands could take care of Kaithe. Whatever Acrithis said about her preferences in men, he was pretty sure this proposition was for nothing more than an empty bed to snore in. And in the event that he wound up repeating tomorrow's Spiral again and again because Thrax wasn’t satisfied with his kingdom-wide party (or something unforeseen went dreadfully wrong), an excellent pot of tea to start the morning might be just what he needed. However, "I'm afraid Teshin won't sleep until I come home."

"You do make him happy. Maybe someday he'll tell you that," she said, and went inside. Dimly through the door, he heard, "Children, it's far past your bedtime!"

"But, Mom, we were practicing!"

"Stage fright doesn't get better if you don't sleep."

Wise words from a surprisingly wise woman. He flew back to Teshin's Cave, where as he'd expected, Teshin sat with Sol curled on his lap and Komi game half-played against himself. He got Kaithe settled in his stall, politely pretending that he hadn't noticed him resume playing, and when he was done washing up, apologized. "Sorry. Last minute preparations getting ready for tomorrow."

Teshin looked him over, freshly scrubbed and ready to collapse into bed, and observed "You're smiling."

Well how about that? Two weeks ago, he'd have noticed the strain. Two weeks ago, he'd had rather less to smile about. 

"I'll take that as a good omen for tomorrow," he said, and then flopped into the oblivion of peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

Teshin made a pretty mean pot of strong black tea himself. He handed a cup over and said, "Drink that before you look at the Spiral."

He drank. They'd made contingency plans for every Spiral. He'd be okay.

The Spiral was unlike he'd ever seen. Full color flowed through Duviri, vibrant without a single swirl of gray. Puffy clouds floated along in a clear sky that almost matched Terra's sunlit blue. He spat out his tea. "Thrax is calm?!"

"The calm of a true warrior," Teshin confirmed. "He's learned from you."

"But there is no "Calm" Orowyrm," he said, "Without an Orowyrm to fight, there's no way out from the Spiral unless he's satisfied with his Jubilee." His hands went clammy. Last night, he'd been confident. In the light of a new day, all he could see was everything that could go wrong.

"Calm yourself," Teshin instructed.

He recited the Litany of the Dax. When that didn't help, he reviewed the Archarbor's notes.

Proximal Vitalizer:

Through contact, energy is transferred. Learn the ways in which your mind instinctively associates an emotion with a phenomenon, based on prior experience. Once you are adept at this, you will recognize when emotions are arising because of prior association, rather than because they have any business doing so.

In a month and a half with the help of the Paradox, her Guiding Hand, and the Courtiers, he'd come so far. Yet he felt like the slightest setback could send him sliding back into the endless gray, "I'm terrified that if I start reliving the same day, I'll fall into the same habits as last time. That I'll lose control…and then I'll lose myself.”

Teshin's grip was strong enough to hold him. "One way or another, I will see you tomorrow."

He clutched his gnarled hand like the lifeline it was. 

As he flew to Mathila's Farm, Calm Duviri was even more of a storybook kingdom than usual. Tamms gamboled in their pen. Banners waved. A shawzin player struck up a happy tune.

Mathila, chivvying her costumed children out the door, saw him and shouted, "There's still some tea in the pot!"

Instead, he took a minute to appreciate the view from her porch. Duviri was truly more beautiful than any artist's illustration. The crystal clear sky also meant a crystal clear view of the Zariman on the horizon, stuck in a tear in the Wall halfway in Duviri and half out into the reality he'd left behind.

It just figured that when Thrax was calm, the king circled back to the Zariman. Just like when he'd snatched Teshin for execution and thought himself on the brink of victory, he'd taunted him with the story of his father dying and his own lack of remorse…

"You sure you don't want tea?" Mathila asked.

He shook his head to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I already had a cup. Any more and I'll be more jittery than I already am. Thanks kindly."

"You do seem happier with moderation," she said with a wink. "We'd better get going."

Castle Town bustled with food vendors selling baked rolls and hot griddle cakes. Peddlers hawked festive masks and commemorative plates. Children ran to and from face painting stands and carnival games. Their delighted chatter blended with the gentle bleating coming from Koral's tamm petting zoo. Luscinia strolled arm in arm with Denphius Dax, cheering as he demonstrated his strength with a hammer at the high striker.

Garmi Jr. and Mathila II scrambled up on the street stage. They started their chant:

"Who's the king on the golden throne?
Who's face is on all the plaques?
Who makes Duviri his own?"

Everyone within earshot shouted back, "His Majesty Dominus Thrax!"

"Who's benevolent and wise,
Even though control he lacks?
He's our king, for him we rise:"

"His Majesty Dominus Thrax!"

Maybe on a Calm Spiral, Thrax remembered that according to the Tales of Duviri, he lacked control of his emotions. Or maybe, he could finally control them enough for a Calm Spiral thanks to his Party Planner getting the Court to pull together for the Jubilee.

"Child-king, Ruler of All
Safeguard our land, command the Dax.
We praise him, at his feet we fall:"

"His Majesty Dominus Thrax!"

This time, he called out the refrain with the crowd and clapped fit to burst as they took their bow. Sure, they weren't his kids, but it'd been his idea and they were everything he could ask for.

When they skipped offstage for the next pair of child actors, he made his way over. "You did well," he told them. "You're putting so many smiles on so many faces. Including mine."

Was this how his parents felt watching him succeed? He'd never know. Because they were dead and for all that Teshin filled that void, it wasn't the same as his mother's proud smile or his father's warm "You did good, kiddo." Maybe growing up was just working hard, succeeding, and moving to the next task, knowing no one cared until he screwed up, and then doing it the best he could anyway.

Koral ran up to him. "Outlaw, you can't lose your smile like that. Come, the tamms need petting!"

So he set those bleak thoughts aside for some animal therapy. Who could say no to tamms or a krubie's puppy dog eyes?

While rubbing down a krubie, Koral asked, "Did you ever have a pet?"

"I had a goldfish before. I couldn't take it on the ship," - and it would've been eaten anyways, but he wasn't about to hurt her tender heart by saying so - "I've got a rablit now. Sol."

"That Sol?" She pointed to the roped-off section for Komi tables where citizens could join a game for a token and advance up the ranks as long as they won.

Sol presided over the highest table.

"What the hell."

She asked, "Did you not know he's a Komi champion?"

All those times Teshin played against 'himself.' All those times Sol judged his every move. "I'm an idiot."

"Yep," she agreed cheerfully, grabbed his hand, and dragged him over to the high table. "Now go play him."

"Sweetheart, I have an unbroken string of losses," he protested.

Sol pointed one paw imperiously at the seat across from him. She exclaimed, "See?!"

"Yeah, I see that I'm about to royally embarrass myself," he groused and picked up White Sun. Remembering how Sol judged him for placing it in the center, he put it in the left corner closest to him. 

Sol nudged it one row to the right.

"Thanks, little buddy. I need all the help I can get."

With correction each time he made an apparently obvious blunder, he still lost. They shook on it, hand and paw, and he relinquished his seat to someone who'd need less coaching. Trumpeters lined up on the palace ramparts. Lequos pushed his way through the crowd as if looking for someone, and then beelined for him.

He wiped his hands on his trousers. "What is it?"

"His Majesty requests that you sit with him for the parade."

First, he oversaw the laborious process of hauling Thrax's throne out to the viewing stand. Either the royal ass wouldn't seat itself on a lesser cushion or else Thrax wanted it close by in case he had to reset the Spiral. Only then did Thrax take his position. Drifter sat next to Luscinia and the parade began.

Luscinia ignored them both, scribbling lines of lyrics on a wax board and wiping them away when anyone looked. She neither nodded to him in greeting nor said a welcome word.

Rat-tat-tat-ratta-rat-tat-tat!

The Dax drummers were in perfect unison with the marching phalanx. Spearpoints glittered like scales on a fish. Lodun sat on his mount looking like an equestrian statue of the proud Prince of Fire as his soldiers proved he'd drilled them to within an inch of their lives.

When Thrax wasn't on his throne, he stood on a box (a very royal box, draped in velvet with golden tassels, but a box nonetheless) looking down over the railing at his troops. "I do believe this is the finest Jubilee parade yet," he observed. "I don't believe I shall tell Lodun that though.”

Drifter's input hadn't been requested. He took the chance anyway. "I think you should. You put him in charge of the Dax. When he succeeds, you look all the more competent for your wise choice.”

Thrax drummed his fingers, making the railing ring in time with the Malleus line's heavy footsteps. "That was moderately intelligent, coming from you."

He dared push his luck. "Hey, you appointed me to plan this party."

"Only because I'm a sentimental fool. Fortunately for you, you amuse me."

"Thanks. So when I succeed, it means you have a good time." 

Luscinia looked from him to the Zariman and back several times. He pretended not to see - that was NOT a conversation he wanted to have in front of Thrax of all people.

When the parade was done, Lodun broke his statue-like pose and proclaimed to the crowd, "His Majesty Dominus Thrax." He saluted, hand over heart.

Thrax returned the salute with a fanfare of trumpets. 

Afterwards, as the crowds flowed to the race stands, Drifter caught up to Lodun and Barris. Lodun nodded to him. "I never expected the Imp-," he glanced over at Thrax's gleaming throne being moved to the finish line and corrected himself, "His Majesty to honor me for my efforts."

"Keep up the good work," he encouraged. 

Barris hid his face in the work of checking Kaithe's saddle. Neither missed him mutter, "I'm gonna be sick" or the way his hands slipped from nerves.

"Be sick in the corner," Lodun said. "Then saddle up and do your best."

It was a little strange helping saddle Kaithe for someone else. He assured Barris, "Win or lose, we'll all be proud."

He paid for a bet on Barris and bought a pennant with the boy's face painted on it from a vendor hawking similar pennants for Brimon and the other riders. Then he joined Barris' mother at the rail near the final part of the course. She waved her pennant as the horses came up to the starting gate. 

"Mind if I?" Bombastine sidled next to him, squishing him in with the press of the excited crowd. Brimon waved to the adoring crowd. Barris sat hunched, tense, and focused on the course. "Oh dear, he's got a bad case of stage fright. Are you sure you don't want to race in his stead, Drifter? That's your kaithe he's riding. No one would blame you for having doubts."

Brimon saw them at the rail and, with a cheeky grin, blew him a kiss. 

Oh, if this were just about teaching the reigning champion a lesson about breaking records, he'd absolutely jump into the race. But it wasn't. This was Barris' chance to shine, win or lose. Finally, he understood why it was so hard for Bombastine to teach something he loved to the next generation who might surpass him someday.

Barris' mother gave Bombastine the stink-eye. "Good sir, if you aren't going to use your height to tell me how marvelously my son is riding, why don't you sit down somewhere you won't block the view?"

Bombastine sputtered. "But, I-"

Drifter caught both their elbows and turned them back the rail, "Let's all cheer for a good race.”

An expectant hush settled over the crowd. Ten kaithes waited at their posts. The Announcer dedicated the race to the Jubilee in honor of His Majesty, “And they're OFF in the Duviri Derby!”

“And its Hippesis off with a great start to an early lead! Brimon coming on the outside with the best shot on the target!"

Barris and Kaithe were in the thick of it, fighting in the middle of the pack, then the back of it. “That’s not the worst spot,” Drifter assured them, even though Barris had no shot at the targets that allowed Brimon to rack up an early points lead despite falling to third. “Lodun taught them how to bull their way out, if only he can relax.” 

Coming around into the jump, where riders would vault off a ramp and into the air where their kaithes would glide and twirl through a series of rings, the announcer rattled off the places. Barris was even farther behind, lacking the raw aggression that either Lodun or Drifter himself would’ve used to force their way through. His mother waved her flag in a white-knuckled grip. Bombastine said, “I hope you didn’t bet too much on him.”

“Once they get in the air, it’ll be different,” he hoped, remembering the delighted boy’s first flight.

They leapt into the open air. Kaithe’s wings unfurled and beat the air into a soaring climb. Barris’ hunched posture relaxed as though they’d left his worries behind. No one in the pack expected their fast dive through the midst of them.

The announcer shouted, “There's Barris the Tammherder making his move! Can he use that sling for more than krubies? Great Thrax above, he can!”

Kaithe had experience and confidence - who could beat the king’s own steed who faced down Orowyrms? Barris had natural talent honed by Lodun, and more, he was lighter than every other jockey. Together, they had speed and synergy on their side.

Bombastine marveled, “The race track is his stage. How will Brimon cope with such a rival?”

The riders swept back towards the track for the final stretch that would end right before Thrax’s box. The announcer kept up a constant rattling commentary. “Brimon moves into the lead. Barris right on his tail. Brimon ahead on points. Barris hits the target.”

Then they swept by in a thunder of hooves and dust. He caught a glimpse of Brimon still in the lead, fearless and fierce. Barris bent low over Kaithe’s neck, urging him on, both rider and mount moving as one. As the rest of the pack hurtled past, Bombastine swept her up onto his shoulders so she could see the end. “Second!” she cried, waving her pennant. “Better than I dreamed!”

Brimon, crowned with flowers by the king’s own hand, shook hands with all his fellow competitors and personally escorted Barris over to them. The boy grinned fit to burst as his idol said, “Ma'am, I must insist that you allow Barris to continue racing. I haven’t seen such potential since, well, since I started.”

“So long as he still does his chores,” his mother allowed. “After all,” she added with a wink, “He’ll have to practice with that sling somehow.”

Barris hugged them all and especially Kaithe. Kaithe wuffled at his dreadlocks.

Drifter left them to their celebration and walked back to the feast with Bombastine who seemed very thoughtful and finally said, “I’ve raced Brimon, you know. You’re as good in the air as he is. Better than Barris. Wouldn’t you rather be up there yourself?”

“Yes,” he admitted, because he knew full well what those odd twinges running through him at the thought of Kaithe loyally following someone else meant. Not to mention how the very selfish urge to snatch back the reins and snarl, 'No, he’s mine, I only lent him to you,' was his old envious self rearing its asshole head to ruin the day. “Like you, I’m practicing this whole being happy for other people thing.” 

“Huh.” Bombastine said. Then, “Brimon said I was too tall to be a good jockey.”

He looked up at him. “You were tall enough to help a mother see her son do well. That was kind of you."

“Huh.”

The high from the race carried him through the afternoon feast. The courtyard in front of the Palace was a whirlwind of food from the every island, iced juices, and dainty desserts before Thrax cut the ceremonial cake topped with a marzipan crown.

He took a bite of light, fluffy, sweet frosting. Tooth-aching sweetness ripped him right out of the feast hall back to a small dormizone lit by fifteen candles and the smiles of his friends. His long-dead friends.

“Excuse me, sir, we’re clearing the floor for the dances." 

A servant waited for his plate. Mathila directed other servants setting up a huge tent over the courtyard, turning it into a cozy, lantern-lit space for dances and eventually the theatrical performances as the afternoon wore on. He let the servant take his untouched plate and backed away from the dance floor in his own little pocket of loneliness. The shawzin band struck up a tune and couples filtered onto the dance floor.

Brimon offered his hand to Mathila. She'd fashioned herself a flower crown so they matched. Barris shyly asked Koral for a dance. They swayed awkwardly off to the side. Even Sythel and Lodun had a good time, leading the lower courtiers in a fancy reel.

Across the dance floor, Luscinia stood in a silent pocket of emptiness all her own. Their eyes met.

Someone swept in from behind him, catching his elbow. Acrithis smiled. “Might I ask you to dance, Drifter?”

By the time he looked back, Luscinia was gone. “Sure,” he offered her his arm and led her to the dance floor as the band struck up a slower song and the reel dancers broke up into couples.

Her silver bootheels rang on the tiles. “Did old Teshin teach you?”

“Sythel, actually. She was afraid I would step on her toes.”

She giggled wickedly. “I’ll have to thank her for your consideration.”

As they turned about on the dance floor to the rhythm, she got to her actual business. “Have you had any luck looking for those lore fragments I mentioned?”

Shit. “No. I’m so sorry.”

“I imagine it quite slipped your mind,” she said, and then took her hand from his shoulder to make a circling motion. “When this is all over with, I’ll bring it up again.”

Only six more hours left for something to go catastrophically wrong and trap him in this day for a second time. “Its been a pretty good day, but I’m really hoping to make it through to tomorrow.”

“You will.” Then with a wink, she added, “Eventually.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

If only he were that confident. Fear was a worm gnawing in his gut that had him checking the time every minute. He must do something constructive. Thrax had as much as told him that to become a whole person, he needed the court working togther, right? For that, he needed Sythel.

At the next chance, he and Lodun traded partners. After thanking her for teaching him to dance properly, he asked, “How are you holding up?”

“Nothing’s gone wrong yet,” she said.

“I keep telling myself that too. So assuming nothing goes wrong, what’s next for everyone after the Jubilee?”

She blinked, apparently not having thought about it anymore than he had. “I suppose we get on with governing. Things should be easier now that Lodun's in charge of the Dax. And Bombastine isn't feuding with Luscinia. And Mathila isn't letting the tamms out. And, uh, I'm not jumping at shadows. Well, I am, but I'm not throwing them in jail.”

He settled his shoulders. If she could think of the future, so could he. “All of you have done so well working together to make this day happen.”

“Most of us,” she corrected him. “Except for-”

Lequos had taken up majordomo duties for the evening and bellowed, “Clear the floor for the King’s Nightingale, Luscinia!”

As everyone cleared the floor so servants could place tables and seats in front of the Zariman-style stage being rolled out, the fearful worm was back in his gut, gnawing away fiercely. Had he seen her at all today? 

Yes, walking with Deniphus Dax, and he still didn't know what they'd been planning.

Yes, scribbling new lines to her song she didn’t want him to see.

Yes, staring at the Zariman.

Yes, watching him.

He looked for red silks. She was over by the main generator, presumably checking that the sound and lights were all to her liking. Presumably. Surely she wouldn’t do anything stupid like start a wild plot for revenge that would only bring pain and heartbreak to everyone. Right?

Sythel asked, “So after the Nightingale sings, what comes next?”

“I do believe Bombastine and the Dramatis Personae are putting on The Many Deaths of the Dissenter." Thrax was already up on his throne, waiting eagerly for his favorite play.

“How wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Though he didn’t feel it one bit, he nevertheless put on a vacant, cheerful smile. He was His Majesty’s Party Planner, ready to watch himself die for the King’s amusement.

Chapter Text

Luscinia climbed the stage as though steeling herself for the plunge from which there was no return.

Dread had him pinned to his seat like he was a insect caught in the silver spiderweb of her limpid eyes spilling out fresh tears. He shook his head, mutely pleading with her, like the last struggles of the dying fly. Don't ruin it now. Don't condemn me to the Spirals.

She stepped up to sing. Nothing came out. She touched her throat. Her tears fell on the stage with a gentle patter like rain.

Thrax, who had been rapt waiting for her song, now slowly turned on his throne to look straight at him. 

She whispered, "My sorrow is too great to darken this happy day with song," and then she rushed down the stage's stairs, sandals slapping the boards, and disappeared backstage. Denphius Dax followed. 

"Party Planner, fix this," Thrax growled.

Through the storm of relief that she'd stayed her hand for the moment and dread that she wasn't done yet and guilt that this wouldn't have happened if he'd been smarter, better, and actually resolved his sorrow instead of shoving it down and pretending it never happened because when had that ever worked out well for him, he focused. 

According to the Spectral Tabulator:

When turbulent emotions assail you, focus on the details. Learn to identify the discrete elements of your experience. In this way you will find the hidden order in the midst of your personal chaos, just as a prism discovers the hidden colors in white light.

He must triage the situation. First, Thrax and the crowd. "Give me a moment to check with our next performers." 

Second, follow through. Please, please, let Bombastine be ready rather than cackling at her misfortune.

Fortunately, the Dramatis Personae were ready. Bombastine even caught his shoulder and pointed to the palace gardens. "She went that way."

"Thanks. Break a leg." 

As Bombastine strutted out on stage with a rousing, "Royal highness, ladies and gentlemen! An entertainment!," Drifter jogged down the stairs, under rose laden pergolas, and through trellises. He found Luscinia tucking a rose into Denphius' collar and bidding him away on some errand. Hopefully just to rejoin his unit, but he really didn't have much hope left.

"Look, what's wrong?" Drifter asked. "You've never-" He started and discarded thoughts as fast as they came. Never had a problem with him? Yeah, she had, and he'd pushed away all her attempts to address it. Never been so vindictive as to knowingly trap him in a Spiral? Well, Thrax as good as said he had to become a whole person to escape it, and who's fault was it that he wasn't? "-you've never refused to sing for the king before." He finished weakly.

From the courtyard above, Bombastine's voice echoed down, slightly distorted by the amplifiers, "How many times will one dissenter die…”

"What's wrong?" She asked him, plucking another rose and snatching the petals off one by one. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong on this oh so joyous and happy occasion?"

Shoving his sorrow away hadn't worked. Raw honesty meant facing the raw reality of his pain. "Okay, fine. You're right. Everything's wrong with me. I can't watch kids have the time of their lives or cheer for Barris without wishing my parents were here for me. I can't even eat a slice of cake without plunging into grief."

The crowd laughed as the clattering Orowyrm puppet attacked the Dissenter. "...before accepting their fate?"

"Oh, shut up," he muttered and threw a bitter middle finger up at the stage.

Her scathing look was all too knowing. More petals fluttered to the ground.

Right. Focus on what he'd come here for: persuading her not to ruin the day with some wild revenge scheme. "Just because I'm miserable doesn’t mean everyone else has to be. Believe it or not, I want them to have a good time."

More laughter. "How many times will one fool die?”

She asked, "Even though they mock your pain? You saved the actors from execution. You saved him from me. And yet they still help Thrax torment you."

Listening to Bombastine shout "How much will one proud human soul suffer?" kindled a visceral urge to curl up and hide from humiliation. It was one thing to face his many failures in the Conclave when Teshin's harsh words went with kind hands and hot tea. At least the old man loved him. The only mercy here was that he didn't have to be up there, pasting a smile on his face while everyone laughed because - "before bending a knee to the greatness of their eternal king?" - everyone in that crowd knew His Majesty's Party Planner bent the knee eventually.

"If our pain is avenged," she offered, "maybe it will be easier to bear?"

He focused on the rose she shredded. Blood red petals falling on blood red silks from hands that shed blood and always, always regretted it afterwards. Why would he be any different? "My pain will pass. I'd rather not do anything rash I'm going to regret."

The crowd began to chant, a low mounting murmur of "Thrax…Thrax…Thrax…" 

She said, "You promised me you'd change Duviri."

Bombastine called out, "Citizens of Duviri. It is a well-known fact, to each and every one of us, yes?”

She grit out, "That you haven't kept your promise. So I have to try."

"That the unbent knee…"

"I've tried!" He cried. "Look up there. He's performing with his fellow actors. Sythel's watching with the crowd. Lodun's enjoying himself-"

"Must-"

She dragged him from the trellis to a garden balcony just beyond. She pointed up at the Zariman, looming in the sky like an omen he couldn't escape. Like a birthsign that forever marked his fate. "Have you really tried?" She demanded.

"Be-"

He couldn't even bear looking up at it. The whole ship was a colony of ghosts; his parents, his friends, and everyone else who'd died there looked down at him like the disappointment he was. He was nothing more than a failure who'd saved himself instead of them, and now he couldn't even manage that much. A whole person? Hah. He sank to his knees with the weight of it.

She patted him on the head like a wayward krubie, dropped the petalless rose, and left him there, sweeping away to plots and schemes he couldn't focus on. Some part of him still screamed that he should run after her. He couldn't muster enough willpower to move.

"Broken."

On this Calm day, he was Sorrow.

The crowd above smiled at each other's company, laughed at the jacknapery of mere puppets, and treasured their bits of joy. Why couldn't he be like them, without this sucking pit of gloom creeping out to poison all he touched?

Oh, he understood Sorrow now. He knew her urge to retreat from their revelry as if it were his own. He'd planned this party for them, not himself. It wouldn't be right to darken their day with his misery. 

However, the longer he knelt there listening for her revenge, the more his misery curdled into something foul beyond measure until he even yearned for screams and cries of dismay. At least then it would be over. Thrax would reset the Spiral and he could try again. Maybe, one of these Spirals, he'd learn to live with the weight of his dead on his shoulders.

Silver bootheels rang on the path. Acrithis lifted his head away from the Zariman to look at her instead. "Some faces tell a story," she said. "Your's, an epic tragedy."

"Tell me about it," he muttered.

Briskly, she wiped his tears with the edge of her long cloak. "Hush. What's that Tale of yours say? Sorrow shouldn't be avoided at all costs, but neither should it be indulged." She patted him on the back. "So up on your feet, Drifter."

According to the Tales, sorrow spawned many children. Lethargy. Self-pity. Self-doubt. Like a ray of light breaking through the clouds, he clung to the frail hope that Luscinia was just as afflicted as he was. Maybe he could still save the day if he acted quickly enough. "Where'd she go?"

"I saw her talking to Denphius."

Of all the lessons he'd learned, chief among them was that he couldn't handle this alone. He needed help. He needed to be a whole person. "Then we need Lodun."

Lodun had commandeered a table for him, Lequos, and Sythel. He thumped his beer mug in time with the antics of the puppet, now reduced to wielding mere sticks as twin swords against the Orowyrm as Bombastine twirled on the stage. "Grab a beer," Lodun called out. Then he saw their faces.

"Remember when Denphius was late to muster? I was covering for him. He's with Luscinia."

Lodun grinned like a crafty fox and saluted him with the beer. "I thought there might be trouble so I posted guards near the stage." He pointed out two Dax heralds that barred Denphius' way. 

Relieved, he clapped Lodun on the shoulder. "You're a good man." So this was what being a whole person felt like, letting others do their part instead of relying solely on himself.

Then Denphius showed a note to the heralds. 

His smile dropped off his face. He knew it read: "He’s on Party Business. I’m so sorry, -Drifter."

They let him through. Bombastine worked in a bow to the crowd as he exhorted them to cheer for the flying Orowyrm. Denphius thudded across the wooden stage.

"Oh piss," Lodun dropped his beer. It spilled. He took no notice. "Denphius Dax, stand down!" He thundered over the applause.

Denphius, with her rose proudly tucked into his collar, ignored the order. Bombastine pirouetted right toward him.

For a moment, Drifter hoped that the scene would end in a comedy of errors that even Luscinia might laugh along with: the strong soldier embracing the twiggy actor in a waltz. Then Bombastine folded in half over the punch right to his gut, wheezing.

Shit. 

Unlike the Dramatis Personae who dropped their puppets and hid backstage rather than get mixed up between the Dax and the Courtiers, Drifter had no choice. The restless crowd made way, only kept in their seats as long as someone official took firm charge. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Denphius held out his note. "I don't know why you gave me that. I'm not sorry."

Bombastine, though holding his gut on his knees, got the gist. "Et tu, Drifter?"

He snatched it and crumpled it up. "It's not what it looks like.”

Since their tenuous truce only lasted for a week, Bombastine leapt to the correct conclusion. "The witch. Harpy. She did this to me!" His head snapped about like a snake hunting for prey. "She ruined my triumphant return to the courtly stage."

In hindsight, maybe it was good the audience was so cowed, because if this spat degenerated into a connla sprout fight between their fans, he'd never get the party back on track. "Pick yourself up and start again. You'll be the sole star of the entertainment."

However, Lodun stalked up on stage, looking fit to flay his wayward soldier with the riding crop. "If the actor won't, I'll give them an entertainment. I'll whip you raw for refusing my orders."

"No!" Lusicinia cried from the back of the courtyard by the generator.

"Harpy!" Bombastine shrieked.

"I warned you what would happen if you disrespected me!" Lodun roared at her.

Drifter was losing control, assuming he'd ever had it in the first place. Less bloodthirsty people edged for the exits. 

Thrax just leaned back and cupped his chin with his hand. His crossed leg kicked back and forth. He was way, way too calm. 

The sight took the wind out of Drifter's sails. What was the point of seeking the calm of a true warrior when he'd just relive this disaster over and over again?

"Someone bring me a proper whip!"

Bombastine hissed, "I deserve to get a few licks in."

"Stay your hand, please!" Luscinia ran forward. Behind her, sparks fountained up.

For a moment, Drifter and everyone else seemed frozen in a horrid tableau where he was aware of every discrete detail and it did him no good whatsoever. Mathila covered her mouth in horror as sparks showered on the ground and the generator smoked. Sythel sat, mouth open, eyes wide, uncomprehending why the room erupted in chaos around her. Then everything went dark.

Almost everything. Thank Mathila for the emergency generator and the rosy light of early dusk because everyone else followed the light strings on the floor and got out while he groped for sanity amidst screams of surprise, people running, and those damned low emergency lightning strips that put him right back in a far bleaker place. Acrithis was at his back, as solid as a rock. Beside him, Sythel fought for the breath to get through her count, starting, stopping, and stuttering. Above it all, Luscinia wailed the requiem lament she'd presumably written for her aborted performance.

He had to do something. Compared to the mess behind him, the sparking generator had a quick, easy answer. He unplugged Thrax's statue from the emergency generator and plugged in one set of the stage lights. Sure, he'd piss Thrax off, but what difference did it make?

One half of the stage lit up, casting the other half in gloom. Uneven lightning turned the feuding courtiers into a farce that turned right back to tragedy as Sythel's breathing rose like a teakettle's whistle and everyone rounded on Luscinia. While Lodun and Bombastine hurled curses at her and each other, Mathila shouted at Luscinia, "Why? Why can't you just let us be happy?"

Acrithis whipped out a brass tablet and a stylus. "For the sake of posterity, why?" She asked.

Luscinia pointed at Drifter. He covered his face as she said, “We have grieved for long enough while others in Duviri laughed at our pain. Today, we turn the world upside down.”

“Why the fuck do you think I wanted this?” he demanded. That he wanted Sythel hugging herself as she hyperventilated, Lodun and Bombastine nearly coming to blows, Mathila failing to put her fallen floral centerpieces back together, and Thrax giggling at him?

Well, maybe some sorrowful part of him did. In his heart of hearts, maybe he truly resented that they might do better for themselves while he alone bore the yoke of his dead. He’d given them a leg up on the trials of their Spirals, but he certainly hadn’t prepared them to weather a blow like this one, now had he?

Thrax laughed a high, childish, knee-slapping gale of hilarity that ended in a caroling, “Drifter, are you feeling guilty?”

Yes.

Guilt was a hot hand wrapped around his throat, choking his sobs. It was an ocean deep enough to drown in and the riptide pulling him under and the weight lashed to his ankles sinking him deeper. It was a yoke as heavy as iron clamps around his chest.

Thrax raised his fist. “Begin-”

“No!” he shouted. 

“-a-” In a second, he’d strike the throne, resetting the spiral.

And he'd wake, all of them forced to do it again, failing until he somehow got it perfect. Instead, he threw himself on his knees. “No, please, don't doom everyone to repeat today because of my failure. Why should they have to suffer because I fucked up? It's not fair. That’s too much responsibility on any one person’s shoulders.” By the end, he wasn’t even sure if he was still talking about the Jubilee or the Zariman, but he'd beg if that's what it took for Thrax to relent.

Sternly, Thrax reprimanded him, “You were a child when you made Duviri. You’re an adult now. You asked to take up this mantle. The outside world won’t coddle you with endless chances to get it right, you know.”

Guilt weighed down all the heavier because Thrax was completely correct.

“You see,” Thrax said with sincere yet awful kindness, “its for the best. Begin-”

“-No!” Power over Duviri came from emotions. He didn’t have to sit here and take it. This time, he buried himself in his guilt and reached back out to Thrax. The throne shook.

Unfazed, Thrax continued swinging his legs. “Silly Drifter. You can’t dethrone me on my own Jubilee. Not while trapped in your guilt.” Thrax looked at the stage. 

Like a puppet on strings, he followed his gaze. The orowyrm puppet twitched like a dying beast and dissolved, leaving behind just the pathos clamps.

Thrax crooned to him, “Go on. Give in to your guilt. Become the wyrm. I’m prepared.” The pathos clamps gleamed in the half-light from the stage. 

He’d fought the Orowyrms so often. What would it feel like to give in to his guilt? To burst this frail body asunder and revel in self-destruction? To give control over to Thrax, to be bound in iron hoops so he couldn’t lay waste to the land, to show everyone that he really was as much of a failure as he’d always suspected in a final spectacle of public humiliation?

The temptation to leap into the abyss was nearly overwhelming. After all, once he hit rock bottom, the only way out was up, right?

He fought for the calm of a true warrior, but there was no enemy to fight except himself. The Litany whirled in one ear and out the other. The Spectral Tabulator, however…

When turbulent emotions assail you, focus on the details. Thrax’s feet swung back and forth like a metronome. He breathed in and out in time with it. 

Learn to identify the discrete elements of your experience. Sythel clutched a crystal talisman he’d brought her on a Spiral long past. Mathila wore a purple flower in her hair, just like the one she’d given him before he lost it catching tamms. Lodun snapped his riding crop in half and tossed it to the ground rather than take his vengeance in blood. Bombastine was still hunched over holding his gut, but he'd nonetheless moved to shield Luscinia from the king’s expected anger. She mouthed “I’m sorry” at him, over and over again.

In this way you will find the hidden order in the midst of your personal chaos, just as a prism discovers the hidden colors in white light.

They all looked to him in fear and sorrow and envy and anger and joy.

He’d let them down today. He’d be damned if he was going to do it again and again, spiral after spiral. 

He was better than his guilt. For their sake, he’d hold himself together.

He stood, calm once more, and firmly in control of both himself and Duviri. Neither the throne nor palace shook or toppled because he had a different, better way forward this time. “We’re not going to reset the day. We’re going to fix this, right here, right now.”

Thrax looked from the half-lit stage to the empty courtyard tent, from the desolate festival streets to the darkened city, from the rapidly billowing rain clouds covering the dusky sky to the Zariman beyond. “You want control? You’ve got it. You want to fix this, right here, right now? Good luck.” With that, the boy hopped down from his throne and headed into the palace.

The weight of what he’d just promised crashed down on him like a crown, all the heavier because he’d just failed to keep his promises. He reached out to his Courtiers, craving their support and expecting them to reject him. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

The skies opened up in torrential rains as their king's sorrow flooded the land. No matter how hard he tried, the veil couldn’t hide the Zariman.

Chapter Text

Rain pelted down in sheets, so hard and fast that it poured off of roofs like waterfalls and down the street curbs like rivers. Slowly the lanterns guttered and went out under the onslaught. Vendors cursed and shouted as they rushed to set canvas over their stalls and kitchens. Festival goers sought shelter wherever they could, huddling in knots of wet misery as their king gave full reign to sorrow on the anniversary of their creation.

Under the dark tent, Mathila threw up her hands and raised her voice over the drumming raindrops. "How are we going to fix this?!"

Theoretically, it was easy. Control of Duviri was tied to emotions. All Drifter had to do was stop feeling sad.

He might as well try to lift a boulder crushing his chest. All the color washed away with the rainfall, leaving only featureless grays behind.

Bombastine said, "Oh, that's perfect. He doesn't even know."

Luscinia sobbed, "I deserve the blame, not him."

The familiarity of drumming rain seemed to help Sythel's blind panic. As First Minister, she knew where the real power lay, so she asked him, "Can't you make it stop raining?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. He'd tried so hard not to let his sorrow ruin everyone’s day. Now the heavens poured out all the anguish he'd held back like a dammed river violently bursting forth. "It's just that the last time I just stopped feeling, we all got trapped here and I don't want that. I can't stop it. This is just how I'm feeling right now-"

Lodun punched the stage, splintering a floorboard with a loud crack. "Just another spoiled, entitled brat on MY throne. Great!"

Splintered wood couldn't be buffed out. Outside the tent, one of Mathila's sodden flower centerpieces fell over with a thump, rolled into a rainwater stream, and slowly disintegrated into individual flowers drifting away. The longer his sorrow went on unchecked, the more permanent damage it'd do.

He sat down, defeated, letting the sound of the rain beat him down further like tiny, pummeling fists of sorrow and guilt.

Then Sol hopped up to him. His pet rablit didn't care that he smelled of tear-dampened wool and regret, just nestled into his arms like a beacon of warmth. He'd named him for that warmth. An echo of Sol's purifying sunlight on his face.

The rain's drumming faded to a patter. The sky lightened from funereal to somber.

Acrithis asked, "Feeling less tragic?"

"A bit." Her well-meant question helped more than she knew, for she reminded him of yet another of the Archarbor's treasures: the Gyrotic Transformer.

All entities contain fathomless power of which they are ignorant.

There is not one emotion that you cannot use positively, given sufficient discipline. Anger can drive you. Fear can make you alert. Even guilt is useful, for it proves you have failed to live up to your own moral standards. Practice listening to your emotions and putting them to use. You are the master, not they.

He'd never really thought about using his guilt. But it made sense: he'd always carry that guilt with him out into the real world that didn't have endless chances to get the day right. The only way out of this Spiral was to use his guilt, not as a magic solution or a silver bullet, but rather as a guide and impetus to put one foot in front of the other, fixing one problem at a time until this emotional and physical mess was cleaned up.

The rain petered out to a drizzle and stopped. The gentle patter of dripping awnings replaced it. He could almost make out hints of colors according to his memory of what they should be.

Still cradling Sol against his chest, he went to his Courtiers. His friends. Even Luscinia, for he caught her hand and pulled her forward with the rest of them into a bedraggled circle before him. "You’ve done so much for me already. I know it seems absurd that I’m asking you to help me again.” 

They looked around at the wrack and ruin, all the more bleak for its colorlessness.

He said, “I know. I deserve your anger and sorrow, your fear and condemnation, because I failed you. And now I’m here, as your King, asking - not telling - you to give me a second chance.”

Mathila sighed. “I suppose I am a veritable fountain of second chances.”

Lodun growled, “I’m not.”

Bombastine said, “I’m definitely not.”

“I’m not going to reset the Spiral. You can go home right now,” he offered. “Party over. Performance canceled. You won’t be the only one.” Indeed, plenty of commoners were filtering out of the city down the road, hurrying home before the new king’s mood took a turn for the worse. “Or…”

“Or?” Luscinia asked.

Sythel, who was mid-way out the door already, paused to listen.

He said, “Today isn’t just for the King. It's for you - your songs, your arts, your soldiers, your fleet-footed kaithes, and your tireless work to organize. It’s for you too, because for today to happen, Sythel overcame her fears, Mathila learned moderation, Bombastine bridled his envy, Lodun controlled his anger-”

“Luscinia swore off revenge,” she promised.

He finished, “So you can leave. You’ve done your duty. Or…we work together to pick up the pieces, one foot in front of the other, one problem at a time, and we fix this.”

After a long silence, Bombastine sighed. “Fine. I’ll trust you one more time. But I don’t want to work with the witch.”

Sythel said, “Me neither.”

Luscinia’s shoulders slumped.

With the help of the Gyrotic Transformer, he saw more calmly and clearly why his earlier ideas that the Court should work together had worked. When every emotion worked together positively, the whole person was stronger than the sum of their parts. He’d start small, though. “Then you two can work together to get the stage repaired and the food vendors operational.”

Once they’d headed off, he said to Lodun and Mathila, “The two of you can pair up to clean and fix up the decorations.”

Lodun stared him down. “I’m not a peasant.”

“Of course not.” He said, mystified. “You’re the Prince of Fire with Dax at your command."

Despite shooting him a magnificent stinkeye, Lodun grabbed his two Dax Heralds from the side of the stage and rounded up more Dax with copious threats of latrine duty for slackers. 

Mathila joined them after saying, “He’s not going to say it, but you just made him very happy, Sire.”

Sol hopped down out of his arms and ran off down towards the Komi tables. Good thing someone was still having fun and games. Then he beckoned Luscinia from her slump. “This all started because I was avoiding you rather than accepting my sorrows. Will you accept my apology?”

She joined him at the generators, confessing, "I feel awful. How do you stand the weight of it? At least I can sing my sorrows."

They untangled the power lines and dried everything off. She fixed her sabotage. He mapped out where the pylons were for each power line to reconnect the city, the rest of the stage, the festive lights, Thrax's statue, and the Palace. He should be able to hit most of them from the Palace's balcony. "Nobody wants to hear me sing. But you're right. I should talk about it more instead of bottling it up."

"I'll listen," she offered.

As they walked to the balcony through the darkened halls and then re-empowered the lines, they talked. With every word shared, with every light strand renewed, he felt lighter. "Ever since the failed Void Jump to Tau, there's been an awful feeling there was something I could have done. Some choice that would've saved me and everyone else. Which is ridiculous. I was a child. What was I supposed to do?”

Or so he'd told himself, because the evidence that such a choice indeed existed was as plain as the Paradox itself. For the first time, he named his guilt out loud: "But there was a different choice, because the Tenno are children who survived the Zariman too. You've seen them helping me through the mirrors. Maybe it's as simple as this: if I'd controlled my emotions, if I hadn't abandoned everyone and then wallowed in my abandonment, maybe I could've been one of them."

As the city lights glowed below and people poked their heads out of doors and windows to assess the state of the sky, she said, "But then you wouldn't be you."

Didn’t that just hit the nail on the head? Just like when he found his emotions to fix the Doll and reclaim Duviri, he had to accept himself with all his flaws and his good qualities in equal measure to become a whole person again.

"Yeah." He said. "I'm me."

Where the earlier rainstorm washed away the color of the land, blues of all shades and hues flowed from the waterfalls and wellsprings. 

She gasped in wonder. "And I guess, if I hadn’t suffered, I wouldn’t be me."

"Suffered?" He repeated, noting the past tense. 

Shyly, she admitted, "Maybe I’ve been indulging in it to excess. I'm sabotaging myself too, not just others. I actually enjoyed that day with you and Mathila…and Bombastine."

"I think they'd love to hear that from you."

She gathered her silken skirts. "I shall waste no more time." While she ran to Mathila, he headed over to Lodun. 

The Prince of Fire had detailed his Dax throughout the city where they assisted in clearing sewer drains blocked with confetti and festive banners, picking up windblown merchandise from the stalls, and rounding up Koral's scattered animals. Meanwhile, he paced in front of Denphius, who was manacled and on his knees. He was working up to a spittle-flecked, raging rant.

At Drifter's approach, Denphius bent his head.

Drifter could only imagine that being oathbound to serve him as king was the Dax's worst nightmare. That bowed head wasn't acceptance. He knew that resigned plea of 'just get it over with' all too well from personal experience. Resolving that above all, he must not be an asshole about it, he sat down next to Denphius and spoke to both of them, "Do you know why I put Lodun in charge of the Dax?"

Lodun said, "Because you know you'd make an even more incompetent general than the Imp."

He held Lodun’s gaze long enough for the other man to remember that, one, he'd only regained control of the Dax with the help of His Majesty's Party Planner, and two, he had a bad habit of turning on his allies. "I gave Lodun command because he had a vision. One where the Dax were protectors of the realm, not its bullies." 

Not that the previous state of Duviri’s Dax was entirely Denphius' fault, either, for even Teshin Dax resorted to exact words when his oaths bound him to obey the cruel Orokin. The Dax were both abused and abuser according to the whims of a tyrant. "A vision where the king and nobles rule because they've earned respect, not just because of oaths like chains."

The manacles fell away. Denphius rubbed his wrists, still on his knees, still listening.

Lodun growled, "So King Drifter's just going to let him get away with insubordination? King Softie, more like."

He'd seen Lodun deep in bloodlust or in righteous fury. By comparison, this was just sating his wounded ego. "Actually, I thought you'd be thrilled," he gestured around at the mess. "The Imp's Jubilee, ruined. Lodun, Prince of Fire, proving his worth by picking up the pieces."

"How am I supposed to be a good king when I can't even earn the loyalty of my own Dax officers?" Lodun demanded. He kicked the manacles. His golden toes rang like chimes. "Aw, FUCK!" He grabbed his foot.

He bit his lip hard rather than be caught smiling. Denphius looked away rather than tempt fate. When the hopscotch of curses ran down, Drifter suggested, "Don't end the day with blood. Do something constructive with your anger.”

After a great deal of hemming and hawing that turned into craftily rubbing his hands together, Lodun announced, "I have just the thing." He marched them to the stage where Luscinia and Bombastine had dragged a table up, draped a tablecloth, and decorated it to cover the broken floorboard. Luscinia and Denphius waited for his verdict.

Lodun told Luscinia, "I know you promised to do better, but we all know how bad habits keep coming around." Then he thumped Denphius on the back. "So you're going to be Bombastine's new bodyguard. Good luck impressing the lady now," he finished with a cackle.

Bombastine eyed Denphius appreciatively. "I can work with that."

"You'd better," Lodun warned. "Denphius reports to me, and I don't intend to have my day ruined by your feuding again."

With that assurance, both Denphius and Luscinia agreed that it was a fair condition.

As the Prince of Fire proved he had the power to change himself and the Spirals of others for the better, crimson reds streaked across the sky. The sunset flared behind the parting clouds, casting them in lines of molten gold, glowing orange, and rosy pinks, shading all the way down to lavender in the west.

Bombastine watched it all with envy. “I suppose if I want to see my favorite greens, I ought to do better.”

Drifter stepped up to the plate to mediate between him and Luscinia once more. “Now listen. Lodun's right. I don’t know what’s in the past between the two of you. I was too busy getting executed every day to remember. So I don’t know who started it, but both of you are keeping it going. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Has it made either of you happy?”

The two of them bent their heads in guilty silence.

“I know all about guilt, okay?” he said. “Can’t ignore it, can’t stew in it, and can’t let it sit in silence because it only gets worse. So I’m not going to say you have to accept each other’s apologies, but for your own sakes’ you’ve got to make them.” Then, because his own guilty conscience reminded him that he had an apology of his own to make and because their forgiveness seemed too private a moment to intrude on, he turned and headed out up towards the Palace.

Bombastine asked, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to apologize to Dominus Thrax.”

As he walked away, greens came flooding back into the flowers, the roofs, the flowerpots. While most citizens were still worried, the streets ahead echoed with children’s laughter. 

He came up behind Mathila and Sythel at an intersection where rain water puddled in ankle-deep lakes. The two adults hung at the edges, trying to only get a little wet as Mathila’s kids, their friends, Koral, and Barris all splashed around. They threw soaked flowers at each other in big sprays of water or made boats from playbills and tried to swamp them with waves.

Sythel fretted, “But what if they slip and fall on the wet cobblestone? What if they break their necks?” 

Garmi Jr. took a running start at them. 

“Don’t run, walk!” she shrieked.

The boy slid into the water with a tremendous splash, soaking them all. 

Mathila II taunted, “What are you afraid of? Puddles that got your drawers in a muddle?”

Sythel stared down at her thin dress in dismay, “I’m wet.”

“And you’re not melting,” Mathila assured her. Then she told him, “Hold on, Sire, I have an idea. We can use this. Sure, the games we planned on were all washed out by the storm, but we can set up an official water slide. This is fine. This will all be fine.” She spoke like she was trying to convince herself.

Koral came running up to him with a paper boat. The folded face of the Dissenter stared up at him. “Outlaw, come play boats with us!”

Mathila schemed, “We can set the Dax to making more like that.” 

He followed Koral. Over his shoulder, he said, “Let's just play boats.”

“But-”

“Do they look like they need us to tell them how to have fun? Sythel, you too.”

“Me?” Sythel asked. 

“I’ll show you how to make one,” Koral offered.

Mathila looked from her sodden pink dress to her children splashing each other. “I guess I’m already a little wet. Might as well get a lot wet.”

They made boats and drifted them downstreet. He and Mathila teamed up in a splash war against the kids. Everyone respected that Sythel just wanted to sit on the sidelines and cheer for whoever was winning. 

Eventually one of the Dax came over. “Sire, your boats are clogging the drain again.”

He looked over. So they were. And even though dusk was falling, everywhere in Castle Town glowed with vibrant colors under the lantern lights. What’s more, the darkening sky and the darkness without made the lantern lights and softly glowing tent seem so much more inviting as citizens came back out to see if the party was still on.

“Right, kids,” he clapped his hands. “Clean up time!”

Sounding exactly like he and his classmates on the Zariman, they all groaned as one.

Mathila backed him up. “Now we’ve all had a great deal of fun, but we mustn’t let our fun become someone else’s problem. Clean up time!”

Between the three adults and a bit of Dax supervision, they got all the boats cleaned up, the kids dried off, and even changed into dry clothes whereupon they ran off to investigate if the smells wafting from the city plazas meant the food carts were back in business. Mathila smiled ruefully over an armful of wet clothing. “These are ruined. What sane person could look at this mess and feel happy?” Her beaming smile and bright, new flower tucked in her hair told the truth of how happy she was, along with the vibrant colors of Joy.

Sythel said, “Sanity’s overrated, anyways.” Her shades were more muted, but there was beauty in the soft lines of dusky shadows and dark undertones that enhanced all the other colors. She asked, “Where’s His Majesty? Oops, I meant-” 

He squared his shoulders. “I know who you mean. Excuse me, ladies.”

He’d fixed the power for the palace hours ago, but the throne room was completely dark except for a small pool of light in the alcove where Dominus Thrax kept his doll and favorite book. Rather than huddling in the corner like a feral beast, the boy read it to himself as he fiddled with the doll. "And thus Loneryder came before the king and bade him be calm, for the trouble was over and for a day the King might rest easy. But it was not to last, for above all King Dominus Thrax could not control his emotions."

The Tales of Duviri were just a book. Morality plays and cautionary tales that didn’t account for their characters learning, growing, and controlling their worst impulses. Just like his courtiers, the King wasn’t wallowing in his routine anymore.

Thrax shut the book with a peevish snap as he felt his singular power over Duviri flow back into him. “Why? What do you want now?”

He answered, “Because while you’re not always doing the right thing, you are the right king for Duviri, trying your best just like everyone else.”

“This ‘calm of the true warrior’ thing isn’t as bad as I expected,” Thrax allowed. “You, on the other hand, are going to die when you leave Duviri. You know that right?”

Only the blunt truth would diffuse his innermost desire for self-preservation. “Yeah, I know I’ll be one mistake away from death. But I want to live, first.”

Thrax sighed and set the book and doll down. “I thought the resets would help cure your pathetic stumbling about, but I see now that’s just you.”

“That ‘pathetic stumbling’ is life,” he informed him. “And yeah, I’m pretty pathetic, but at least I’m me. Will Your Majesty join us for your Jubilee?”

Peering up at him in the golden well of a single lantern, Thrax said, “You’re an idiot,” with the sort of affection one reserved for a particularly dumb tamm who kept getting stuck in a bog.

The sound system crackled, settled down, and then Bombastine’s voice rolled over Castle Town: "Welcome, one and all! Vagabonds and wastrels, nobles and nobodies, tatterdemalions, tramps and troubadors! Behold Luscinia, whose voice blesses all in Duviri. She has consented to sing for the King, that his Jubilee sleep may be sound and deep, untroubled by fell dreams.”

“What the hell.” Thrax stalked out of the throne room onto a balcony overlooking the stage to see for himself.

Drifter followed. No, it wasn’t the riotous festivities from before. Anyone who knew where to look would notice the picked over flower centerpieces, fewer vendors, smaller crowds, and altogether quieter celebration as Luscinia took the stage. He thought it seemed cozier under a dark blue night sky and golden lanterns. As for whether Thrax would appreciate it…

“This isn’t fixed.” Thrax pouted. “You said you’d fix it.”

“True, I can’t put it back together like it never happened.”

Then Acrithis waved from the plaza below. “Your Majesty, come join us. This won’t be a Jubilee worthy of my books without you.”

Thrax hissed at him, “This isn’t fixed,” and then he went down to join the party anyway. The calm, colorful night never wavered. 

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty,” he said serenely. “Enjoy your Jubilee.”

He promised Acrithis a dance after the performances. He bought a round of beer to share with her, Mathila, Sythel, and Lodun. Sol hopped up to take a sip and, despite the odd looks, he shared it before the rablit went hopping away to tell Teshin the good news.

Luscinia’s song brought peace to a kingdom that knew precious little.

“And now, the dancing,” Bombastine announced. “But first. A salutation to Him by whose will we are gathered here. The brightest of stars in the firmament! Our magnificent Majesty, by whose very whim we exist! Our most modest and serene sovereign! DOMINUS THRAX!”

Chapter Text

The trials and triumphs of the Jubilee marked a true turning point for Duviri's Court. The Courtiers, having finally seen that they could succeed when they conquered their respective emotions (and seeing that the failure of one led to everyone suffering), they continued to work together to govern the kingdom. No one was shut out; they'd seen how disaster resulted. No one of them was in charge either; least of all, the Drifter. 

If he were staying, this would've been the time to establish Loneryder as Duviri's hero, Thrax's champion, His Majesty's Mediator among the court, and the man to turn to when anyone had a problem to solve.

But he wasn’t staying. In fact, he was going to leave Duviri behind just as soon as he was confident the kingdom wouldn’t fall to pieces without him, because he had his own life to live out there in the real world beyond the Wall.

So when the weather turned apocalyptic, he directed petitioners to Luscinia. Her sweet songs calmed the king's temper and soothed the storms.

When the Dax were bullies, he directed the aggrieved to Lodun, who'd figured out that rules and regulations could channel his righteous anger into proper discipline carried out by officers who shared his respect for the law. Soon, the Dax spoke of latrine duty with the same fear as they'd once regarded his whip.

There were no more incidents between Bombastine and Denphius. Neither was fond of the other, personally. Bombastine was very fond of Denphius' ability to quell critics with just a stern look. During one of his periodic check-ins at the Agora, Denphius confided that while the actor had no singing voice of which to speak, the plays and recitations were rather enjoyable.

He never would’ve predicted that Mathila and Sythel would become fast friends after their rocky start. The fearless and the fearful? Ridiculous. But now that Mathila had a taste of how to make others happy (and not just paint smiles on their face whenever she came around), she'd learned to moderate herself for Sythel's sake. Sythel increasingly trusted that while Mathila might make a mistake and go overboard, she wasn't malicious about it. Whenever they got in too deep and it wasn't fun anymore, they had the resiliency to get themselves back out again. Between the two of them, they got the kingdom's administration back in shape.

Duviri's citizens loved the more frequent Calm Spirals, interspersed with just enough rampant emotion to keep life interesting. Their crops were better than ever. 

On one of those Calm Spirals, he flew out to the Archarbor, sat under an eevani tree, and played the shawzin. A couple tossed him coins, and the woman commented, "Did you know it has been ages since I watched an Orowyrm chase a kaithe across the sky?"

The man replied, "Not that I’m complaining."

He played all day, practicing his repertoire, truly content with the expectation that this Spiral would work out well without his intervention. Finally, the yoke of duty and responsibility wasn’t his to bear alone anymore. Whenever he fucked up (because he did, still) the Courtiers were there to help him, just as they helped each other.

The next morning, Duviri was swathed in the greenish pea-soup fog of Envy. Teshin slept in, so Drifter stayed behind to cook breakfast in the dormizone. Patiently, this time, so that the protein slices and eggs were properly cooked when Teshin came through the door yawning.

"I woke to the sound of the shawzin, or so I thought. It must've been my dreams."

While they ate, he carefully considered Teshin. His hair had white strands now, mixed in with the black and silver. He'd fallen asleep while contemplating his next Komi move a time or two. He moved like his joints were increasingly stiff and aching. Every morning he dutifully woke up early to bid him farewell. Each night, he stayed up to welcome him home. Clearly, Teshin wouldn’t rest easy until Drifter was safely on his way into the real world, away from Duviri.

As little as he liked the idea of leaving the old man he loved like a second father behind, it was time to stop dallying around and start preparing the Courtiers to live on their own in earnest.

So he put out the call and gathered the court along with Acrithis at the Agora stage. The stage formed the centerpiece of the forum. It was surrounded by the audience’s stands, themselves surrounded by a circular street, walls, and an arched gate surmounted by a tall, floating tower. A Watchful Paragrimm perched on its hutch beneath the tower. The owl-like sage guarded its tomes with jealous claws unless one could answer its riddles or solve its puzzles.

"As you know," he said, "I intend to leave Duviri in His Majesty's and your hands. Even though you've had your struggles and will be sorely tested in the future, I'm certain that together you've grown enough to help each other rise to any occasion. So before I go, I want to give you every advantage. We should recover the knowledge and history that Acrithis preserved from destruction through past Spirals."

When Acrithis explained how she'd scribed logs of her journeys and memoirs onto brass tablets, then broken them into fragments which she hid throughout the remaining islands, Lodun scoffed. "You should've come to me first, not Drifter. I understand that nobility has minions for this sort of thing; I would've lent you some Dax."

Mathila told him, "Oh, don't be a lazy bum. I personally think a super-little scavenger hunt is just what we all need."

Sythel agreed. "We need to know about past threats so we can defend Duviri. We won't always have Drifter to protect us."

Luscinia said to Acrithis, "Of course I'll help you find your lost things."

"Don't look so sad, darling," she replied. "I hid them for their own protection. So if they're lost, that's so much the better. You see?"

"Not really," Luscinia said.

Just as they’d reviewed the map of the area where Acrithis remembered scattering the brass tabs and divided up their search areas, with a jingle of bells and chiming metal hooves on tiles, His Majesty Dominus Thrax rode out to the Agora along with a Dax escort. Thrax dismounted and marched over to them, leaving the work of tying up his Histornam kaithe at the hitching posts to his minions while he pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves that went up to his elbows. They put Histornam next to Kaithe.

"Your Majesty," Drifter bowed. "Have you come to help us?"

"Hardly," Thrax sniffed. "I've come to see the wise sage. None of you qualify."

Metal clanged. Kaithe trumpeted a challenge. Histornam stamped his foot and pushed back, bells chiming. The two stallions weren't quite at the point of butting heads, but they certainly were posturing, tossing their heads to show who stood the tallest. 

Thrax said spitefully, "You show him who's boss."

Kaithe stamped. If Histornam had been a second slower, his hoof would've been smashed flat. The Dax attendants backed off.

"Hey, hey!" Drifter barked, rushing to Kaithe's head while giving his powerful rear legs a wide berth. 

To his surprise, Denphius followed his lead, grabbing Histornam's bridle and soothing the kaithe and assuring him, "His Majesty's mount has nothing to prove. Nothing at all."

Grudgingly, Kaithe allowed himself to be led away to a different post. He muttered, "Hey, now, just because Thrax is feeling envious doesn't mean you have to." 

Kaithe side-eyed him magnificently.

Bombastine came over to help. "I can't believe I'm saying this to a kaithe," he said in a stage whisper, "but you can't have two riders. Pick one and be happy with him, even if it means someone else is happy with the other."

"Hmpfff," Kaithe whuffed, stomped his feet, and then deigned to nudge around his jacket until Drifter laughed and coughed up the desired fruit treat from his lunch.

Meanwhile, Acrithis must’ve repeated the offer, for Thrax rebuffed her. "By all means, Archivist, muck around looking for your moldy old lore. Fetch quests are all you and Drifter are good for. And," he swept the colorful court with a scornful glance, "it seems the rest of you are no better." Then, he went to consult with the Paragrimm instead.

In Spirals past, that would’ve been a demoralizing blow to the Courtiers’ cooperation. This time Lodun squared his shoulders and announced, “Acrithis, you said you left some near Watershed Hamlet? I’ll scour the place.” He summoned his own mount and headed off.

Drifter, Mathila, and Lodun canvassed the region from the air while Bombastine and Luscinia took turns partnering with Sythel exploring the caves. They brought their finds back to the Agora. He'd hoped to get the Court working with Thrax; he'd settle for everyone pitching in despite the pouting king.

"Just one more piece." Acrithis shaded her eyes and looked to the top of the tower. "I'm pretty sure I pitched it out of my carriage one day and it landed up there.”

Kaithe made a show of it, landing lightly and practically prancing between the spires on the top of the tower. "Hey, now," he said as he snagged the brass tab. "You're the best kaithe I could ask for. No need to rub salt in their wounds."

They fit the fragments together in order under Thrax's watchful eye and the gimlet gaze of the Paragrimm, who now perched on the king's hawking glove. 

"Let me see," Thrax said. It wasn't a request.

Acrithis said, "You never cared about my memories before. Why ask for what's worthless to you?"

Drifter glanced up at the bare, staring eyeballs of Envy in the sky. If the king couldn't have it, no one could.

Thrax launched the Paragrimm. Its wings spread wide sweeping the air, its claws extended and reaching for Acrithis. It shrieked its hunting cry, "Knowledge! Gimme!"

She threw the tablet upward to save herself. The Paragrimm caught it and flew back to its hutch. When it landed, the whole floating tower shifted its configuration. The filigreed archway at the base sprouted a large, round, spinning button. Another button appeared in the u-shaped bend at the bottom of the tower. He'd bet money on a kaithe race if there wasn't a third at the very top. 

In between reading its newly acquired knowledge, the Paragrimm preened itself as if to say, "You can have it back when I'm done or whenever you solve my puzzle."

While the others made various sounds of dismay, Drifter folded his arms and fixed Dominus Thrax with his best, disappointed 'Dad' look. The sort of look that, back in the day, made him want to melt into his seat. "Really, Your Majesty?"

Like the sulky child he was, Thrax challenged, "You want it? Prove it."

Unlike the last two times he'd tried and flailed through one of Thrax's 'prove it' challenges, this time he had help. So he turned to the court. "Right. You know how this works: he asks us to prove it? We do."

First, he and Lodun examined the hutch. The golden cabinet had two handles, one for each of them to lever open. Lodun pushed on his handle while glaring directly into the Paragrimm's golden eye sockets. "Try anything, bird, and I'll find out if you taste like chicken."

The Paragrimm stared back, having finally found an opponent who could keep it from its reading.

Once open, the cabinet revealed a glowing combination of letters: C, U, and M.

Bombastine snickered.

Thrax muttered, "Oh, for Void’s sake."

Drifter kept a straight face only by dint of remembering Teshin’s biting quip, "Some days, I don't know how you survived puberty."

Luscinia found the first pressure plate at the base of the arch. She stood on it to power the lowest button, revealing a spinning plaque marked with different letters. He shot it with Sirocco, spinning it.

It came up "D." Then laser beams shot out from it.

"Ow, shit!" 

Thrax cackled. The Paragrimm fluffed its wings proudly. Lodun said, “Remember: chicken.” 

Bombastine brushed out the scorch marks from his clothes while Acrithis applied eevani paste to his burns. From her pedestal, Luscinia implored, "Be careful," as he took his second shot.

This time, he knew to duck, dodge, and roll out of the way until the button showed "U" and the hutch glowed with the correct answer.

"Aww," Thrax kicked a pebble. "I wanted barbecued Drifter."

Despite having seen what happened to him, brave Mathila offered, "Drifter, I believe I see a button on the top of the tower that will require the assistance of a partner. Shall we work together?"

They rock, paper, scissored for the positions. This time she flew up to the top of the tower. He flew into the U-shaped base, which held a button holder and a power station for the button at the top. He shot the power station, sending power to open up her button.

Nothing happened. She called down, "I've forgotten."

Loud enough to be heard, Thrax said, "Mathila the Mad is now Mathila the Moron. This is the best you can do, Drifter?"

Bombastine hollered up, "The password is CUM!"

"Oh, for Void's sake."

Mathila laughed. “Thank you, Bombastine. I won’t forget that,” and tossed pebbles until hers came up "C." Then she pushed the button over the side and down to Drifter. "Look out below!”

Its casing shattered on impact. He scrambled for the glowing, spinning button before it fell off. Void only knew what Thrax would do with it if it fell into his hands. 

"Aww," Thrax said. "Mad, moronic, AND you failed to brain him."

He tossed his button into the remaining holder, and finished the puzzle.

With Lodun still locked in his staring contest, Sythel gathered her courage and swiped the tablet back from the Paragrimm. In the exact same mocking tone as Thrax earlier, Lodun told it, "Aww, I wanted chicken."

Paragrimm fluffed its wings, dug around in its hutch, and pulled out a book to read. It studiously pretended it didn't care while Acrithis read out her prize.

Scholar's Landing

In all the ages of Thrax's reign, only two strangers have ever known to come to Duviri.

One was the monk, Teshin, who fell from the sky into the lake on the island we now call Hermit's Landing. Seemingly lifeless, he was dragged ashore by Mathila who nursed his return to health. I have never known a constitution to match his; yet unlike us, he has... deteriorated... with the passing of time.

The other stranger came far earlier in Thrax's reign, before even the Bleeding Earth.

This stranger had haunted eyes and a downcast mien, and spoke of the Wall and the worlds beyond. He wore his hair like looped snakes, and his voice carried an accent unlike any in Duviri.

With the King's permission, he constructed a great laboratory of light-smoking mirrors and Void-lanthorns, which he claimed was the match of one he had once owned in a former life. The island where it stood was known as Scholar's Landing.

The time would come, the stranger said, when Duviri would be needed. There was work of repentance to be done, and he could not do it alone. What he meant by this I cannot say; and cannot now ask, for Scholar's Landing vanished overnight.

But I shall watch, and wait, and hope.

Bombastine rushed backstage, coming back out with the thick parchment scrolls of The Scholar’s Landing. “I never thought it was more than a play.”

The scrolls had two handles from which the parchment was unrolled and rolled up. Their size was no less daunting than the last time Drifter saw it. This time, as he helped Bombastine reroll them to the beginning, he said "Looks like I’ll be doing some homework.” It looked just as boring as homework, to be honest. Some ancient scribe really thought Thrax and the Scholar discussing the specific construction details of the laboratory was worthy of recording? Apparently. 

Then, instead of floorplans, the text just stopped. If it were a book, there'd be ragged edges where a chunk of pages were ripped out. Someone had vandalized this scroll just as effectively with black ink marking through every objectionable line. The redactions went on for meters and meters. Judging by how Didaskalos intended to perform this play for a whole Spiral to delay his execution, there must be at least six hours worth of blacked out writing. 

Acrithis said, "You know, there are books that detail tortures suitable for people who deface books."

"Don't look at me," Bombastine said. "It's always been like this." 

The story resumed with Thrax inviting the Scholar to tell his story of how he'd landed in Duviri. It wasn't lost on Drifter that if she hadn't preserved her archives from the Spirals, no one else would know what the Scholar said to the King.

Thrax had fallen silent and brooding. The boy-king paid no mind to Kaithe or the Paragrimm, neither Dax nor Drifter. Something weightier preyed on his mind.

While the others arranged for Bombastine and Didaskalos to perform the play for them so that they might evaluate the story for themselves (and handled the practical business of preparing to sit through a play that would last the rest of the day and most of the night), Acrithis nodded to Drifter and then towards where Thrax stood in his own little world. “You'd better go taste what’s stewing in his pot.”

At least he wasn't the only one to notice. He asked her, “This Scholar. Is he the Albrecht Entrati who’s signature you forged to get onto the Zariman?” 

“Remember that, do you? Yes.”

He went over. “Your Majesty?”

Thrax started. “Why do you bother?” he sneered, a thin veneer of bravado over disquiet. “Playacting as Loneryder, I mean. They’d call you “Sire” in a heartbeat if you let them.”

Ah, what bitter envy that’d rather antagonize his own court rather than see another take his place. Well, it’d cost him nothing to offer a balm for that troubled mind. “Your Majesty, I’m preparing to leave Duviri for good, this time. Your throne will be yours alone. With that in mind, I have questions I think only you can answer.” 

Bombastine came out wearing a purple toga, embroidered with gold thread. Didaskalos now wore the familiar Scholar’s tunic and a mask whose twisted wire curls of hair resembled looped snakes. He began prostrate on the stage, slowly rising and looking around with a wondering gaze. "What is this place? It's like no planet I've ever seen."

Thrax’ gaze fixed on the Scholar. “Ask your questions.”

“This Scholar, Albrecht Entrati, came from the real world. From my version of reality. What did he mean when he said that Duviri would be needed?”

Bombastine's King swept regally to the front of the stage, managing that cumbersome toga like a maestro of dignity. "Duviri is my domain. I, Dominus Thrax, claim dominion over all within its borders." He stamped his foot down, inches from the Scholar's head. "Including you. State your business, Stranger."

Drifter had never expected to feel such kinship with an Orokin. Thrown through the void, far from friends and family, at the mercy of a strange moody king, the Scholar dusted himself off. 

"Your Majesty, I crave your pardon-" Didaskalos began. The rest of the scene was dedicated to soothing His Majesty's ego. 

The actual Thrax remained silent. 

Drifter said, "Your Majesty, I crave your pardon. What did Albrecht Entrati mean when he said that Duviri was needed for a work of repentance he could not do alone?”

Curtly, never taking his eyes from the Scholar fawning over the King, Thrax said, "I had those words stricken from the scrolls for a reason."

Then unless Thrax deigned to share, that knowledge was lost for all time with the island. "Can I assist you with that work before I leave? I don’t want to leave you holding the bag.”

Thrax snapped back, "Not content to take my court, you want my knowledge too? If Entrati wanted to talk to you, he would've. But you were off lollygagging as Loneryder."

There was no point arguing today. Unlike in Spirals past, he finally had the self control to bow his head as Thrax rejected his olive branch. Humility need not prod envy. Not today for no purpose.

The boy-king rushed over to his Dax, pulling off his glove and striking them with it until they brought him Histornam and helped him mount up. Once in the saddle, however, he was an altogether different boy. He and Histornam flew off so speedily there was no wonder how he and Kaithe set a racing record.

After a moment of respectful silence, the two actors went back at it. 

Didaskalos made an aside to the audience, “What is this strange place I’ve fallen into? Even my Lanthorns cannot guide me home to my old laboratory. But…what if I built a new one?”

Bombastine also adopted an air of majestic contemplation that anyone who knew the actual Dominius Thrax knew was totally of the actor’s own invention. “This old scholar knows something. What’s out there that’s so fascinating?”

Drifter took a seat between Acrithis and Mathila. He and Acrithis shared uneasy looks. She said, “This sort of possessive moodiness isn’t anything new for Thrax.”

“No, it’s just a return to old, bad habits,” he agreed, torn between annoyance and pity. Pity won. Oh, he knew how it felt to take two steps forward, then four or five steps back. Nothing was more miserable than feeling oneself backsliding into a spiral day by day, pushing away all helping hands out of pride…until he landed in the pit and found out just how much more miserable it could get. No wonder Thrax took his bitterness out on them. “I think I’d better talk to Teshin. He’s seen me like this before. Maybe he’ll have some advice.”

Mathila passed over a wine glass and a tray laden with kabobs. “How is ol’ Teshin?”

He sipped. Sweet and light. They had hours of play to go, so he’d better pace himself or Bombastine would be mortally offended and Didaskalos would make him sit through a second performance. “Do you know of a poultice for old joints?”

“I’ll bring the recipe tomorrow.” After she drained her cup and refilled it, she added, “He used to have the most awful nightmares. I don’t like to think about it. Tea brewed from Tasoma stalks helped.”

He could only imagine what sort of nightmares came from a real world that’d created blood-red banners, golden veils, warframes, and the terrifying variety of weapons they wielded. “Thanks. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

The play ended so early the next morning that he and Acrithis hauled a very drunk Mathila home by carriage instead of kaithe-back. He carried her into bed. On his way out, she mumbled, “Tell Teshhh I say he shhhou tell you you you make him happy.”

Acrithis started a pot of tea in the kitchen and said, “I’ll watch over her tonight. It's the least I can do to repay her kindness in helping me today after some, ah, rather unkind things I’ve said about her. Best you go check on Teshin and get some sleep before we search Castle Town tomorrow.”

Teshin was soundly asleep in his bed. Good. 

He dropped off like a rock himself and woke to the red sky of an Anger Spiral. “Dunno what he’s so angry about.” He said to himself, checking the dormizone cupboards under the guise of making tea. No tasoma stalks. Maybe he’d go cave delving after gathering Acrithis’ fragments. Then he remembered. “Shit. We’re searching Castle Town today. He’s gonna be even more pissed than yesterday.”

Teshin accepted a cup of the latest Fear spiral’s leaves instead, which had mellowed into a flowery sort of thing now that Sythel’s fears likewise mellowed under her newfound calm. “As you gain control, Thrax loses it.”

But why?” He asked. “I don’t want control of Duviri. I want him to be a good king, so I can leave with a clear conscience. I thought all those Calm spirals meant he was making real progress.”

Teshin hmmmed in thought and drank his tea. Eventually, he said, “The Ostrons - the people on Earth -”

“There are people on Earth?” he interrupted. When he’d left, the ground was poisoned and the skies were yellow. No one wanted to live there.

“Traders, fishers, and hunters,” Teshin explained. “Their fisherwoman had a bucket of crabs. Yet she never had to knock them back inside. For if one of their fellows ever reached the edge, the remaining crabs would pull him back down.”

“I won’t let him pull me or the Court back down.”

“Then you’ll just have to pull him up with you,” Teshin said, looking pointedly at his Guiding Hand.

Easier said than done, especially when Thrax didn’t want it. But then, less than six months of Spirals ago, he hadn’t wanted it either. “Maybe I should’ve waited to say I was leaving.”

Teshin said, “If you wait for the perfect opportunity in battle, you’ll be dead before you see it.”

“Well, that’s encouraging.”

Teshin snorted rather than dignify that with an answer.

“Alright. I guess if I don’t believe in him to be the Good King of Duviri, who will?”

Chapter Text

A hot, sere wind blew under Kaithe's wings. They made it to Castle Town in record time that morning, overlying Lodun on the way in. Acrithis’ carriage was already parked in the courtyard. She made a shushing gesture as she leaned out. He landed at one of the farthest hitching posts and walked over. Mathila was curled up in the back, wrapped in a blanket and covering her aching head.

"Poor dear," he said, softly. 

"She insisted on coming out to help," Acrithis said. "My patented hangover cure should get her back on her feet soon. In the meantime…" She looked up at the Palace. 

Set on the highest point of the island, the Palace was a tall spire crowned by two golden tines that directed a wavering aurora of energy skywards. White walls surrounded the palace and its gardens, surmounted by three needle-like spires. Those walls fronted onto the wide open courtyard where they stood, in which Duviri's citizens gathered to hear proclamations from Thrax's balcony (or where dissidents were once executed at the king's pleasure.) On the far side of the courtyard, Castle Town ran down the island's hills in tiers. Nobles' townhouses faded into clerks' cottages, bakeries, bath houses, boutiques, and all the way down the steep streets and stairways to the apartments where the commoners lived.

Her lore tabs could be anywhere. "Did you hide any in the Palace?"

Hedging, she said, "Well, not exactly."

The balcony doors slammed open. Thrax stormed out. "You!" He shrieked, pointing at Acrithis.

He moved to shield her. 

She ducked around him. "Me, Your Majesty?" 

Thrax impatiently rap, tap, tapped his gold metal fingers on the railing. 

One step behind her, Drifter followed to the foot of the palace stairs below the balcony. Though she held herself proudly, her lips were tight when she gave him a tiny nod of gratitude for backing her up. 

Thrax cut an imposing figure from five meters up, framed by two potted plants, each pot filled with intertwined purple bushes. "Do you still insist on searching for things better left lost?"

She said, "These are my memories. Your Majesty cannot forget forever."

How true that was! How hard that was. And unlike him, Thrax didn't have a mentor to bear him up under the harsh blows of the Conclave. 

Thrax seized one of the pots and hauled it up to the railing. It should've looked ridiculous, this boy with his arms wrapped around glazed ceramic, masked face full of bristly purple leaves, panting with effort. It would've been funny, if not for the anger animating every movement. "Then if you won't stop," he declared, "Allow me to assist." He pushed it off, as if to crush them under the falling weight.

Her golden face mask slid closed. She covered herself with her bronze cloak.

Drifter had Sirocco drawn and almost, not quite, pointed at the king before he registered that not only did Thrax not have the strength to push the pot far enough to brain them, but also that one bullet wasn't going to do jack shit to the soil, pottery, and tree falling towards the steps in front of them. Instead, he covered his face and head with his arms, crouching to present a smaller target.

Pottery shattered with an explosive crack, pelting him with shards, followed by the weighty thud of dirt and roots smacking the steps. A mass of bristles bowled him over. Though far less deadly than a blow to the head, they scratched and left him his hands and face streaked with blood as he shoved it off him, away from Acrithis. 

Above it all, Thrax laughed cruelly.

Acrithis plucked a single golden tab enscribed with her handwriting from the intertwined trunks. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

His Majesty slammed the balcony doors shut behind him. They turned around to see that the others had all arrived. Even Mathila sat up in the carriage, gaping at the scene. 

Lodun summed up what they were thinking: "Who pissed in the King's gruel this morning?"

Yesterday, Drifter understood Thrax's jealousy, sparked by seeing his court working together without him to seek knowledge he'd thought was his alone. Today, he couldn't ignore Thrax's anger. He gathered them around and explained Teshin's story of the crabs. "The king used to tell me, "I don't care how angry you get! You can't change ANYTHING. You can't even change yourself""

Bombastine said, "Yet here we are," and gestured between himself, Luscinia, and Denphius. "We haven't had a fight in weeks."

“We’ve changed for the better,” Luscinia agreed. “Though I suppose that explains why he’s been complaining that my singing doesn’t put him to sleep the way it used to. Do you suppose he got used to lamentations? Now there’s a sad thought.”

But when he got to the part about giving Thrax a helping hand up and out of the bucket, Sythel asked skeptically, "Did you miss that he just tried to murder you two?”

Acrithis brushed off a piece of dirt.

Sythel repeated to the rest of the Court, “Are we all okay with the fact that the king just tried to brain them with a flowerpot?"

"It wasn't that bad," he said. 

They all looked at the shattered, fallen shrubbery and dirt-stained palace steps. Then they turned their attention to the spot in the courtyard where he'd been executed, Spiral after Spiral. There wasn't even a bloodstain. Lodun said, “Maybe you’re not the best judge of that."

Luscinia offered, "I could sing him nightmares tonight until he regrets it."

How quickly they slid back into old, bad habits! "Please don't," he said. "I can tell you from personal experience, he's not lashing out because he's happy. I understand that the king's anger is no small thing to face. No one will hold it against any of you if you want to back off.”

On this Anger Spiral, Lodun was the first to put his hand in the middle. "I won't let my own anger stop me from doing what's right. I won't let it turn me against my allies or my king."

Once all their hands were in, Acrithis said with a wry smile, "Fantastic. Who wants to get the one I hooked on the spire at the back of the palace?"

Drifter asked, "You mean the top of the palace, right?"

"Nope."

The spire in question was in fact a needlelike tower with maybe just enough room for him to balance on one foot below its tip, after he flung himself off Kaithe, grabbed hold of the pole and slid down to it. Mathila, the only one fearless enough to consider it, took one look and announced, "I'm simultaneously too tipsy and not drunk enough to try."

When he explained the plan to Kaithe, his mount took one look and nudged the Orvius instead. 

"Loyal and smarter than me," he said, stroking his head. 

Even with Kaithe's precise flying, it still took several tries before he hooked the spire. By that time, he'd attracted Thrax's attention. The king opened a window where he stood eating a snack and chuckling over every failure.

Once he got it hooked, he swung free, and absorbed the impact of his swinging landing with his legs. He still hit hard enough to hurt. “Ooof.”

Thrax laughed.

He walked himself up the spire, leaning back against the Orvius’ line all the way up and then again once he balanced precariously on his tiny perch as he reached for the brass tab hanging off the needle's tip by a tiny ring.

Thrax shouted, "One day, your head will adorn that very tower. So I swear!"

He got a finger on the tab. It swung away. He lunged upward, catching it, lifting the ring over the spire’s point, and then he swung downwards with it firmly in hand. The Orvius turned a plummet into a long, graceful descent like a pendulum. Long enough that as he swung past Thrax's window on his way to the ground, he said, "You don't really mean that."

By the next swing, Thrax had shut his window and was sulking.

As soon as he landed safely and recoiled the Orvius' hook, someone else laughed. Drifting down from the sky, from the top of the Palace, came a rolling belly laugh that was deep enough to sing a basso rumble alongside the Soprano. It vibrated in his head and chest. Even Kaithe shuddered. He steadied him with a touch and a quip, "Apparently it's just my day to be laughed at."

When it passed, he mounted and flew up to meet just whoever thought he was so funny. From above, the top of the Palace was cluttered with detritus from the Zariman. At the base of the aurora-covered tines, golden statues of a man and woman stood in front of a vine-eaten trellis. Beside them, a tall Duviri man ate nutricubes from a dormizone tray. He wore a black tunic and a bone-white mask and saluted Drifter with his cup.

"Who are you?"

The man didn't laugh again, only took another drink.

Keeping one eye on the stranger, he scanned the Zariman junk. His first glance had missed a tablet lying on a chair. He wiped off the dust and read:

In Tales of Duviri King Thrax lacks:

          A. The ability to control his emotions

          B. Empathy

When he looked up, the man was gone without a trace of an exit off the roof. Strange. He couldn’t have gotten past him and Kaithe. There must be a hidden stairwell. 

As for the tablet's advice, Thrax wasn’t unempathetic. In fact, for a very long time while Drifter dissociated himself from emotions he was too traumatized to bear, Thrax had more empathy than he did. Which probably explained why Thrax had been trying so hard to help him, in his own way. What Thrax lacked was control, and so his best attempts to help all went either too far or not far enough.

Ought he to follow the man downstairs and beard the miserable king in his own den? Would his presence bring comfort in solidarity, the way Teshin was his bulwark? Or would he merely rub Thrax's face in his inadequacies, as he had yesterday?

He paced on the roof, uncertain.

Below, Lodun and Sythel were conducting impromptu safety inspections on the apartments while looking for more of Acrithis’ tabs. Luscinia and Bombastine compensated the residents for the disruption with a performance. Mathila stood in a lower palace garden beside a fountain, reading something. Was that another tablet in her hands?

She saw him standing high above and waved for him to come down.

He tucked the tablet about Thrax away into his belt pouch. He'd have to think about it later.

When he dismounted next to the splashing fountain, she held out the tablet. "I don't understand it."

What should public architecture celebrate?

        A. Our understanding of geometry and physics

        B. The proven superiority of tiered society

She said, "It just laughs at me."

"Really deep, really creepy laughter?" He asked.

"Yes. What's so funny about celebrating geometry and physics, anyways?"

He sighed. He looked up at the Palace, then down the slope to the townhouses beyond these walled gardens, to the shops, to the apartments at the island edges. Leave it to Mathila to have such a sunny view of life that she thought first about what society should be rather than what it was. 

"Oh, no," She said.

"Duviri society reflects Orokin ideals," he said glumly, and pressed the correct answer.

Whatever words that deep basso rumble said resonated through his chest more than his ears. It was words - of a sort - and syllables put together in all the wrong ways that somehow, he knew them, if only he could remember forgotten lessons…

She interrupted, "On second thought, I don't think I want to be right. We should go see how the others are doing."

As they walked and she looked at Castle Town with new eyes, he reconsidered his first thought about her naivety. At least she thought about what society should be. When he’d been a student on the Zariman, he’d never questioned the essential correctness of the answer, simply taking it for granted instead. "Duviri's kinda messed up, but even at its worst, it's better than the place I came from."

There was a shadow in her voice that hadn't been there before. "I remember Teshin telling me something similar." 

She really was getting better able to handle unhappy thoughts, even if she did buy the crowd ice creams on a whim in order to make herself feel better. The ice creams promptly melted in the heat. Sweet, sticky, and smiling ruefully, they joined the others to reassemble Acrithis’ lore tabs into a whole.

Acrithis said, "I can't truly express what it means that you've all come together to help me, but I'd like to try. Meet me on the Archarbor roof and I'll show you why we're doing this."

Sythel asked, "On the roof?" Nervously, she checked that she wasn't standing next to any ledges now.

"You can ride with me," Acrithis offered.

"Or on Kaithe with me," he suggested. “I really think you’d prefer that.”

Acrithis smirked at him.

"Huh?" Sythel looked between them.

Yeah, it was his day to get laughed at, but if it made his friends happy, was that so bad? He admitted, "The first time I flew out to the Archarbor with Acrithis in her carriage, I did not actually shit my pants…but it was a near thing."

They laughed. With him, not at him. That was a sound fit to banish all anger and bitterness. "I'm sure she's an excellent driver, just maybe for passengers more courageous than me."

Mathila promptly slid arm in arm with Acrithis. "I gotta try this."

Sythel agreed to fly on Kaithe. The Archarbor’s roof was a broad, gentle downward slope big enough that it almost felt like they were on an artificial island of white tiles and golden inverted arches. He hooked the Orvius onto the center’s ornamental arches so she could have a line to hold onto and still move around freely with the rest of them. As everyone arrived by carriage or by kaithe, they joined together on the center of the roof and looked out over Duviri.

To the south and west, Duviri stretched out to the horizon. Its arches shone like fiery hoops. Its golden towers and windmills shone like embers. From verdant valleys to snowswept slopes, it was an artistic vision rendered real. In the empty north and east, crimson clouds boiled over a maelstrom below, as black as night. Beyond fury's storm, the Void's vast and unknowable reaches waited.

All of them stood in quiet awe, lost in their own thoughts as she read:

We Are Not What We Were

I am naturally curious. I can hardly help it. And so I set this down for any that follow in my footsteps, who wonder - as I have - about our home.

Today, Duviri is a mere scattering of islands, set about the Palace as if they had spilled forth from it. But in the dawning time, when the Kingdom was new, it was a Kingdom worthy of the name.

From horizon to horizon lay island after island, each one different, bearing distinctive color and life.

I have flown on Kaithe-back until the Archarbor was lost to sight, and then on again, have been unable to number the lands over which I flew. Every one of them raise its banners to Thrax.

Nothing remains of those islands now. Not a tree, not a leaf, not a grain of sand.

It seems some of the Lost Islands were smashed by Thrax the King, as a child might smash a toy. Others have been obliterated by hazards unknown; the Void is an ocean, it is said, and monsters dwell in its depths. But the fast majority of the islands have simply fallen to the Void's creeping encroachment, as the tides wear away at the land.

I dream of a Lost Island returning one happy day, or an entirely new island appearing, birthed from the Void. But this place has not changed in so long, except for the worse, and there is no reason for hope. One day, I am sure, the Void will engulf us all.

As if turning the pages in a book he'd once studied more closely than any of his textbooks, he saw that vision with the eyes of memory. What Duviri had been: a painter's brushwork on the page, sprawling and fanciful. Duviri as magical as he'd first seen it, stumbling out of the ashen wreckage of Zariman into this bright dawn, islands fresh-forged from the Void and gleaming. He'd wondered only how best to reach them, and then, as if summoned by the thought, a kaithe landed beside him and swept him off to wonderland.

To a fantasy kingdom all for him. A kingdom worthy of the name.

It's absence was a physical thing. Like the phantom pain of a lost limb or the lack of a familiar scent. Sorrow plucked him like a shawzin chord that reverberated through him and left no part untouched.

Acrithis came alongside him. "It wasn't your fault those lands were lost.”

"Am I not responsible for what I created?" 

"Yes," she said. "But look at you now, living up to that responsibility."

He sure hoped so. 

Lodun patted him on the back. "It could be worse. I remember smashing many of those islands personally. Some of them even deserved it."

Acrithis said, "Thrax has much to answer for himself."

Drifter winced. "If I'd been in better control of myself, things might've been better."

Wryly, Lodun said, "I wasn't blaming the king, you know. If I'd been in the hot seat, I'd have smashed more of them. You know it's true. I certainly wouldn't have seen anything wrong with it before you challenged me to be the right king, not just the rightful one."

Mathila had wandered away from the rest of them, walking out towards the western edge. Sythel followed her nervously, paying out the Orvius' line. Then, with a thump, Mathila sat down hard.

Sythel grabbed her and made sure she was secure. They all rushed out to her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright," she gasped and hiccuped through sobs. Tears spilled from her eyes faster than she could dash them away. Some great sorrow had her in its grasp, all the worst because it could not be avoided. 

Drifter didn't know how to help, only knew that he had yearned for the comfort of his friends even when he said he most desired to be alone. And so they sat with her. Luscinia sang a few verses of a lament for the lost. Bombastine said that he had plays about some of those islands to help them remember those lost. Acrithis played with her ring of lore tabs uneasily, a click, clink, chiming of brass on brass as she watched Mathila hiccup and hold her knees tightly to herself. Sythel said, "I won't just remember them. I, for one, don't intend to go quietly into the Void."

At that, Mathila raised her hand and pointed out into the empty expanse to the North. "There. The lighthouse. It used to be there. I could see its light from the farm, piercing day, cloud, night, and storm for all the little ships to see and fly home to harbor. No one was ever lost in the Void while he-"

She stopped, gulped, "While he-"

Acrithis said quietly, "I did not think you remembered.”

Stiffly, she replied, "I know what you think of me. I even know what Drifter's book thinks of me. Teshin scolded me long ago for seeking to avoid reality."

He knew then, before she said anything more, that he was not the only one to lose those he loved to the Void. Part of him felt terribly self-centered for his earlier grief stricken indulgences - of course the people of Duviri were not mere puppets of his creation who did not feel their losses as deeply as he did. Part of him ached in sympathetic grief; an orphan meeting a widow. He held out his arms to comfort her.

She flung herself on him, hugging him with all her prodigious enthusiasm until his ribs creaked and she released him to wipe off her tears again. "My husband," she said, waving to the empty Void. "He was the lighthouse keeper. Oh, I can't even recall his name."

The Court looked at each other, masked faces turning aside in gradually dawning horror as they too didn't remember.

Lodun said, "I know a sage who might have his records in the genealogies of the old royal line. Perhaps he-"

Sythel offered, "I have some of Acrithis' old texts on the Void. Might they record his name?"

"In good time," Acrithis said. "As it happens, I wrote an archival tablet for him specifically. And I recall his name: Garmi."

From the way Mathila covered her face even as she mouthed the syllables to herself, she might have even forgotten the reason for her son's name. 

"Where is it?" Drifter asked.

"In the Netherbarrow caves."

"Then we'll-" They all made hasty preparations to leave even before he’d finished speaking.

"Tomorrow," Mathila interrupted. "I…I need some time to prepare my children." She couldn't meet their eyes. "You all must think me a terrible mother." 

Acrithis said gently, "I find myself having been a mite hasty these days in my judgment. Anyone can change. You all have changed for the better. Can you forgive me for what I’ve said about you?" 

Mathila flung her arms around her in a tight hug. 

Then it was Sythel's turn for a hug, then Lodun's, and each of them in turn until it was Drifter’s again. She said, "I never told my children. Not properly, though I don’t think they ever believed my happy little stories. My…my lies. I must tell them the truth. You're an orphan yourself. Can you help me know what to say to them?"

There were no right words, only the brutal amputation and cauterization of a gangrenous limb that’d infected her family for far too long. The truth would set them free, yes. But they’d loved, and now, they’d lost their father. 

There were no right words. Nothing could fill the hollow space where the solid bulwarks of childhood once stood. Just the understanding that life went on, step by step, until one day you felt alive again. Until time healed what could be healed. "Whatever you say will be too much and not enough," he told her. "But I will be there with you and your family."

Chapter Text

For the first time, Drifter slept overnight in Duviri. He curled up on a couch in Mathila's living room while Acrithis took the guest room. He'd expected to be woken by sad, somber children anticipating their visit to the cemetery and caves.

"Wake up, lazybones," Garmi Jr. shouted into his sister's room at the crack of Calm's dawn. "We're going to the cemetery!" He slammed the door just to make sure she was awake.

A few minutes later, Mathila II came galloping through the hallway after her brother. "Are we gonna see bones? Skulls?"

He should've known better. There was no point in trying to drown them out with a pillow over his head, so he got up and started making breakfast.

Their mother came down soon after and accepted his peace offering of hot tea with a smile. "If I'd known it'd make my two little ghouls this happy, we'd have gone there ages ago."

The kids gobbled down their breakfast. Garmi Jr. asked, "Should we bring flowers to put in all the skulls?"

Drifter said, "I'm pretty sure they're all buried under the dirt.”

"Awww."

"There was a time," Mathila said, "when I would've turned to graverobbing to make you two happy. Why don't we make bouquets to put on the graves instead? It'll make Miss Luscinia very happy to see they aren't neglected."

"But that's not as much fun…"

Despite their pouting, the bouquets kept them busy until later in the morning when they all flew up to the cemetery to help look for Acrithis’ lore tabs where she’d written about their lost father and his lighthouse. 

Garmi Jr. rode with him while mother rode with daughter. "Can you do a loop?" 

"I'd rather not fly upside down so soon after breakfast if I don't have to."

"Awww. Brimon would've done a loop.”

Duviri cemeteries were filled with standing stones and monoliths, just like the cemeteries he’d known from before the Zariman. Not that the Orokin died, per se. Stone markers were for their citizens who were judged worthy of remembrance past the scattering of ashes. Perhaps Duviri did things differently. 

They left their kaithes nosing at grass under snow and the kids ran ahead to greet Mister Bombastine. Drifter had worried that he was getting too close to her family to be leaving so soon. Watching them hang on Bombastine and badger Denphius to let them swing from his arm eased those fears.

While the Spirals reset every day, Acrithis’ lore tablets had been safely hidden in the bunches of flowers that were on the tombs, unwithering. Now, they were considerably more scattered. The Courtiers and kids spread out to search. Acrithis ranged even further downslope, to the edges of the island.

Meanwhile, Mathila dawdled.

She seemed far less miserable than yesterday, which might be her natural ebullience shining through. Or a return to bad habits. He asked, "How are you holding up?"

"Holding," she said. "Still, hanging on by one’s fingertips is better than not, so I'll hold on. After all, I learned from you not to let these things get bottled up inside me while I pretend everything’s just peachy keen, you know?”

Oh, he did know. “Hey, if my mistakes have helped you, I can only be grateful.”

They split up as she sought out Luscinia’s company to share her burdens and lighten the load rather than indulge in sorrow. He and Lodun found one tab where it had blown away to a nearby arch, standing over a lonesome tomb. He read:

With a well-meant word
This kind soul
Drew a King's ire

Lacking a punishment
That befit his rage
That King did invent death

Where we shall all go
This soul went first
Drawing us behind

Lodun asked, "The King didn't really invent death, did he?"

"I don't think anyone died in the books," he said. "Which means I brought it here, even though I created Duviri to escape death."

Lodun patted him on the shoulder as they walked away. "Could've been worse. Death by impalement, all that."

They paused to read another tombstone.

Qig. Thief.
Fed to the Cyst.

"See?" Lodun said. "It could've been worse."

Compared to the same fire-poker stab, in, out, always in the same spot, being devoured would've been a novel experience…and infinitely more painful. "I hope it was quick; the poor bastard."

The kids all but ran from grave to grave, dropping bouquets and chanting out their epitaphs like it was a game.

Leem, corpse-warden of Necropolis
A poor bed
For a life lived
Among the dead

Bombastine said, "That doesn't scan at all." He and they started making up rhymes. Soon, Leem was a dead head eating the dead's bread lying abed and wrong in the head…

Drifter left them to it, continuing his circuit. Sythel stood back from the others, contemplating another grave with her sharp chin cradled in her hand.

Roon. Forever curious
Escaped in the night
With Scholar's Landing

Remembered here

Roon. Another name to go with the lost citizens he’d never meet. Had Roon’s curiosity drawn him to the laboratory? 

Quietly, she said, "When he was lost with the laboratory, I took to staying at home whenever possible. Sure, someone's right outside my wall, listening in. But it sure beat being the kexat that curiosity killed. Now at least I’m sure that Mathila or one of the others would come looking for me if my island were swept off in the night.”

"Someone's outside of your house?"

"Some Vagabond with no proper home of his own," she explained. "I'd drive him off, but charity is a virtue and I’m afraid of a curse."

"Huh." The more he thought about it, some of her paranoia was just a survival mechanism for Duviri's strangeness, though taken too far.

Govio lies here
Or so we hope

Slain by his other
Or so we hope

In the chalky halls
Of Academe

May what lies here
Never rise

He asked, "His other?"

Sythel twitched, then settled herself by starting her breathing technique. In between counts, she explained, "A black-eyed copy of himself. I was there. I don't want to think about it anymore."

Her description called to mind the man on top of Thrax's palace with his black eyes. Despite himself, he shuddered.

Mathila and Luscinia made a somber pair in front of a tombstone no taller than his knee.

With her
We learned
No life
Is too little
To be lost

The two kids came running over, slowing to a walk as they picked up on the adults' serious mood. Mathila II said, "I don't get it."

Luscinia said, “I hope you never do.”

Garmi Jr. said, "Acrithis says she's ready to go cave delving. Can we go?

"Please, Mom?"

"Please?"

She covered her mask with her hand. 

"I'll take them," he offered.

She shot him a grateful look. "Listen to Drifter, kids."

"Awww."

"Do we have to?"

Surprisingly, Sythel answered, "Yes. And me too."

"Why?"

"Because," she explained, "he's the scariest thing in all Duviri."

They looked up at him as though he'd sprouted a kaithe horn from his forehead. Drifter was cool (not as cool as Brimon, though), but not what they thought of as scary. Not after he’d clapped for their plays and cooked them breakfast.

"And she," he reminded them, "is the King's First Minister, so if you can't respect that having fun in a cave means sticking together, not yelling at the stalactites, and listening to your guides, she can put you back in jail where you'll be safe. Bored, but safe."

The kids agreed that time-out was boring and then they all trooped into the cave looking for Acrithis. 

The cave began as a whirl of aggristone that led to a shrine maze. Today, he gave the maze a wide berth. Then the cave tunnels opened up into a series of multi-level caverns that whistled with a cold wind. Aggristone spikes curled up from the floor like reaching claws. He ignored the Zariman detritus lingering in the corners in favor of gathering up tasoma stalks that grew in the darkness.

"What do you need that for?" Mathila II asked.

Sythel said, "It's supposed to be good for nightmares. At least, as long as I don't overdose."

The stalks smelled musty and damp. He could only imagine what an overdose was like. "It's for Teshin."

"Teshin was pretty cool," she told her brother.

"Teshin was old."

Drifter explained, "Well, he's older now and sometimes has bad dreams.”

Their chatter and footsteps echoed through the winding tunnels back to them, both louder and softer. Sythel watched the ceiling, biting at her ceramic nails, and crept steadily closer and closer to him until she trod on his bootheels. 

"Hey."

"Sorry." She didn't back off. She whispered, "What if we get caught in a rockslide?"

Naturally, her whisper carried to the kids. "Rocks fall," Garmi Jr. announced gleefully.

"Everyone dies," Mathila II chimed in.

"That's not funny," she scolded.

Actually, it kind of was in a morbid sort of way. He pushed past some Zariman trellises and spotted a narrow hallway picked out from the opposite rock face by a carved arch. A faint light flickered farther in. "That’s the way."

She looked up at the ceiling nervously. 

Cheerfully, to keep her spirits up, he asked, "So, when the rocks fall and everyone dies, what do you want on your tombstone?"

"That's no laughing matter!" Her eyes were wide in the dim light.

Before today, he might not have pushed it. But before today, she would never go this far into a cave like this to begin with. "I'm not being foolhardy. It's just that if this island - which has endured since the start of Duviri I might add - chooses this exact moment to fall on my head, what can I do about that? Nothing. So I might as well laugh - I think my tombstone should read "Finally didn't die of impalement." That way Lodun can walk by, shake his head, and say, "See, I told him it could be worse.""

The kids decided on "Twin Brave explorers."

By the time she'd crept across the cavern, she'd decided on her epitaph. "Sythel did not go quietly into the Void."

Acrithis stood at the bottom of the narrow hallway, holding up her torch for them with a rueful expression. "Mine would read, "Got lost.""

In surprisingly high spirits for a band heading into a tomb, they searched through the catacombs until they came to a flight of stairs leading to another arch, and beyond a small cave. There was a grave marked by a freestanding arch. Standing in front of it, the man in black from the top of Thrax's palace turned to look at them.

Sythel asked, "Vagabond? What business do you have with this grave?"

The Vagabond said nothing, only bowed and gestured for them to approach as he retreated towards the entrance. 

The hairs went up on the back of Drifter's neck as the Vagabond passed him. Some inborn instinct from the days when men feared predators told him he didn't want this man at his back unwatched. He mastered that fear and asked politely, "I'm Drifter. Who are you?" and held out his hand to shake.

The man held up his hands between them, turning them this way and that to show that he was missing some fingers. In a deep basso rumble that couldn't possibly come from that chest, he asked, "Where are my fingerbones, kiddo?"

That question plucked some chord of memory, like a shawzin string vibrating from the base of his skull down his spine. That question meant something. But what? The answer was lost to him along with so much else, so he only shuddered and dropped his hand. "I have no idea.”

The Vagabond nodded to him and passed by, taking up station next to the archway.

"If you'll excuse us," Acrithis said with such excruciating politeness that he knew she was only putting on a brave face for the kids, "we'll pay our respects now. Drifter, I believe I hid my tab on top of this arch."

Sythel said nothing. She folded her arms and stared at the Vagabond with the hypnotizing stare of a cobra. Or perhaps the hypnotized stare of a cobra facing down a mongoose. Garmi Jr. buffered her, likewise staring the man down.

The quicker they got the lore tab, the quicker they'd get out. Behind the arch, an aggristone spike curved up to its top. Acrithis rubbed the rough rock with a rasp of metal and said, "I was younger then."

"Lift me up," Mathila II suggested. The girl wound up standing on his shoulders, shaking down clouds of dust, pebbles, and cobwebs. 

He sneezed.

"Hey, hold still!"

Another shower of pebbles. Something landed on his neck. That had better be a pebble. He sneezed again. Even Sythel and Garmi Jr. sneezed from the dust.

"Got it!" She shouted triumphantly, waving a golden tab. He set her down. They dusted themselves off.

"Oh, void." Sythel said.

Garmi Jr. shouted, "Hey!" The boy rushed to the archway, looking around. He ran up the steps. His indignant "Where'd you go?" echoed through the catacombs.

Just like on top of the Palace, the Vagabond vanished as soon as they looked away. "Come back," he called out, hoping the boy wouldn't get lost in the tunnels or worse.

Soft footfalls, and then Garmi Jr. came trudging back alone. "I could've found him."

Though he risked sparking the boy's fears, he owed him the truth. "I don't think he was there to find."

Garmi Jr. looked at him strangely. Then, as a grin spread across his face, he said, "That's wicked cool."

Ah, to be so young and fearless. Acrithis and Sythel examined the graveside. "If we can't find him, we might as well learn what he was so interested in," Acrithis said, copying down the words as Sythel read:

The sky could not hold him
In cupped hands we caught him

Death will not hold him
Open-armed lies this grave

This world could not hold him
And so we are without him

Stranger. Father. Scholar.
In our hearts
We hold you

"Was that the Scholar my father worked for?" Mathila II asked.

"Yes, Albrecht Entrati," Acrithis confirmed.

Sythel added, "He was the first scholar who looked into the Void. He feared it. And his fear took shape. That's how all this started." She gestured up the stairs after the Vagabond. 

"So," Mathila II asked, "The Scholar my father worked for was responsible for that creepy Other guy who looks like the ones that overran the Academe? I should’ve shaken his hand for getting us out of boring homework!”

Acrithis said, "I believe your mother would have a different opinion, young lady."

After leaving their last bouquet on an empty grave, they all trooped up and out. The whole time, Drifter kept his head on a swivel, watching the shadows for a Vagabond in black with black eyes and missing fingers. Only when they all reached fresh air and sunlight did he relax with a heavy sigh.

Garmi Jr. muttered, "I don't think you're very dangerous at all. You didn't even want to chase that guy."

He shrugged. "There's always a bigger Ravenous Maw."

Behind his back, Garmi Jr. scoffed. Mathila II said, "I think he's kind of cool. I mean, he got impaled how many times?!"

"He's not as cool as Brimon."

"But he cooks."

"Brimon cooks too."

He had a sneaking suspicion how they knew that and had no intention of competing with Brimon on that territory. But whether Garmi Jr.'s hopes were dashed depended an awful lot on how his mother reacted to news of her husband's death. 

Mathila gathered her children to her side.

Acrithis cleared her throat and apologized, "I'm sorry. What I wrote…I was unkind to you."

"It's already forgiven," she said. Her kids huddled close like chicks under a sheltering wing now that the moment came to hear the truth.

Watcher's Island

In the splendid lands on this side of the Wall lives happy Mathila; and she has two children.

She also had a husband, in her yesterdays. When I have attempted to talk to her about him she has simply frozen, like a rat before a snake.

His name was Garmi, and he was keeper of the Seriglass Lighthouse on Watcher's Island.

The lighthouse served no true purpose, yet he kept its lamp burning, beaming out into the Void as if to call travelers home.

Now... before his death, Garmi confided in me that he felt his role was important; he was keeping 'it' at bay.

Void Storms were not unknown in Duviri, but the storm I shall speak of was unlike others. It hung in a red veil across the sky. There was a great sound like tearing metal, and all at once a pelting rain fell. Not water, but broken metal chains, in lengths and coils and great rattling whipstrands.

The falling chains shattered roofs and windows, slashed through screaming livestock, and maimed the fools who had not come in from the streets.

I found Garmi's log in the toppled ruin of the lighthouse. With admirable presence of mind, he describes a form steadily approaching out of the Void. A monstrous hand, possessed of only three fingers and a thumb.

With the lighthouse gone, Watcher's Island crumbled and was gone too within three spirals.

Garmi has no grave nor memorial, as if he had never lived. But I remember, And so, I record.

Her recorded words fit together like pieces of a puzzle:

Keeping "It" out, a monstrous hand with three fingers and a thumb reaching for Duviri. Hadn't he just seen that hand and its black-eyed owner asking "Where are my fingerbones, kiddo?" 

A Seriglass Lighthouse. The word seriglass brought to mind shards of broken glass, instead of a light to lead the way home. Perhaps the Seriglass had another purpose, one that he didn't remember from his lessons on the Zariman. 

But now he remembered that Void-lanthorns and light-smoking mirrors mentioned in the the play The Scholar and the King might just have something to do with finding the way home. The Zariman colonists had lanthorns and vosphene glyphs in case communications between their exploratory parties in Tau and the ship failed. What purpose had they served in the Scholar's laboratory and this vanished lighthouse?

He groped after more answers, but the more he searched, the more the memories fled like they were scampering rablits fleeing a hunting krubie. Whatever he'd learned about the Void in school didn't want to be remembered.

So he gave up with a sigh. Chasing after frayed threads of memory could wait for a time when his friend wasn't in need of comfort. The rest of the court had arrayed itself around Mathila and now waited for her to either accept her husband's horrific death or avoid it.

Her kids hugged her. Garmi Jr. stroked her arm. Mathila II held her hand to her cheek.

"I…" She took a deep breath, took hold of the brass tablet that was now the only record of his life and deeds, and said, "I want him to have a funeral."

Oh, he was so damned proud of her. "We'll make that happen."

She said, "His Majesty's Party Planner," and for once the title wasn't a joke at all.

"Father liked lanterns," Mathila II said. "I remember that now."

"They made him so happy. It's why I couldn't take him away from that lighthouse even though he was always away from the farm."

So they talked, tales of Garmi the Elder spilling out as though a dam of grief had broken.

So they planned. Luscinia would sing. Bombastine would compose a fitting epitaph for his gravestone. Lodun said, "He was as much a guardian of Duviri as any Dax. We'll send him off in style."

So that evening, Drifter carried a fresh round of invitations for a different sort of party, including one meant for Brimon, handwritten by Mathila herself. She held her head high when she handed it to him for delivery. "You can judge me all you like for moving on before the grave's even dug. But I think it's time I stopped trying so hard to make others happy and started focusing on those who make me happy. He has been good to me and my children.”

He said, "I think your heart already knew what you couldn't remember. Just because you had one love and lost him doesn’t mean you can’t have room for another."

"You're very kind." Then she took her kids home.

Brimon, leaning against his hay bales and his Psyacus, eyed him as he rode up. "I've been expecting a challenge from you for quite some time."

He handed over the letter. 

Brimon read it and went very still. "I…I'm not sure I should go."

He dismounted and leaned against the hay himself. "And what if I said that Garmi Jr. speaks quite highly of you?"

"Oh."

"And that Mathila II likes your cooking?"

"It's…it's still her husband's funeral!"

"I think," he said kindly, "that you should go to the funeral. And afterwards you and Mathila should have a long talk about how she would like to be courted as a widow with children."

Brimon blinked at him. Then, he straightened with renewed confidence. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Great." He mounted up with one last letter. For Thrax.

"Oh, and Drifter?" Brimon called after him. "Sometime, I owe you a race."

He waved as he took off. Unfortunately, his audience with Thrax was nowhere near as pleasant. 

The King barely even glanced at the invite in between bites of spicy meat shoved under his mask. "I shall not be attending."

He waited for Thrax to express his regrets, then considered that he'd be waiting til the Spiral passed. "It would mean a lot to Mathila," he said.

Thrax took another bite. Chewing sounds followed. "What part of "I don't care" do you not understand?"

That tablet from the top of the palace, the one that spoke of Thrax failing to control his emotions, was still in his belt pouch. Ought he to bring it out now that the king was calmer and challenge him to do better, even if it was the hard thing to do?

He hesitated. He'd only found that tablet because the Vagabond led him to it. Or so it felt. Besides, he really wanted Thrax to make the right decision for the right reasons, not because he was scolded into it. That meant giving him the opportunity to make the wrong choice. 

Maybe the best he could do was leave the door open.

"Your Majesty needs no invitation to be welcome."

Chapter Text

By mutual agreement, Drifter and Acrithis saved discussion of the day's events for when he delivered the funeral invitation to Teshin.

"Of course I'll come," Teshin said.

"You aren't worried about Thrax causing trouble for you?"

"Thrax has bigger problems than me," Teshin said ominously. "As for the rest of this business with the Scholar, do you remember who Albrecht Entrati was?

"No…" He quickly summed up what they'd learned from Acrithis’ lore and the censored play. "He said Duviri would be needed for a work of repentance."

Teshin knew considerably more: Albrecht Entrati was an Orokin scientist and the father of Void exploration. Some would even say “exploitation.” His research ushered in a Golden Age of space travel and laid the foundation for the Zariman's failed leap to Tau. "Euleria Entrati, author of the Tales, is his daughter. He chose not to perform Continuity. They say he is entombed on Lua."

"They say…" He noted.

"After the moonquakes cracked the core, I never went back to check," Teshin mused. "But I would not be surprised to find it as empty as his tomb here. As for this "Vagabond" you've met - does he have your height and build?"

His jaw dropped. 

Acrithis, who'd been listening intently, said, "Yes."

"What the fuck?"

Teshin said, “This black-eyed "Other" that Sythel described bears a striking resemblance to a Void Entity who's very interested in the Tenno. Unfortunately, because I sought to avoid leading the Tenno by the nose like oxen, I did not interfere in the more esoteric aspects of their Void powers. I have no idea what the entity might be or what it wants with the Tenno."

Recalling the children's rhymes during Envy spirals and Govio's tombstone, he had a bad feeling about this. "It wants to be us. And its not above murdering us to replace us."

Acrithis added, "Garmi was keeping "It" out. I suspect it wants Duviri.”

Teshin stroked his beard, sighed, and said, "A reasonable surmise. Unfortunately, we have only guesses to guide us. So we shall act with what we know."

All Drifter knew was smoke and mirrors, precious little of substance and much that seemed like a mirage slipping away as he grasped for it. He had instinct, but precious little knowledge, and so he felt like an idiot saying again, "What do we know?”

Teshin reminded him, "You're the one who knew enough about the Void to create Duviri in the first place."

"If I still remembered all that schoolboy shit, this would be a different story."

She slid her three completed lore tablets over. "Does any of this jog your memory?"

Actually, yes. Now that Mathila was safely off with her family, he could properly devote the time and meditative effort to probe those remnants of memory.

The colonists used vosphene glyph light signals when audio comms were impossible. Lanthorn beacons were used to map locations in the Void onto real space. He thumbed in the direction of the dormizone's outer door. "Both of those were in the exploration kits for away teams. Probably still are, since we never got to use them and you can't exactly eat them.”

She asked, "So if we had a lanthorn, and we put it on one of Duviri's islands, we could find it again even if the island got lost in the Void?" 

"Maybe?" Duviri was in the Void; he was as sure of that as that the real world lay beyond, with the Zariman bridging the gap between Spiral skies and the real stars. However, the Void was a vast, deep, dark ocean with Duviri like a tiny jewel of a coral reef teeming with life. Small wonder its citizens treated its islands being drawn away into the open Void like certain death. 

He flipped the lore tab back to Scholar's Landing. "No. Lanthorns didn't help anyone find Roon after the laboratory crumbled into the Void."

"Ah," she said, disappointed.

"But," Teshin said, tapping Watcher’s Island until the brass rang, "Garmi used the lanthorn beacon in his lighthouse to call travelers home. So long as the lanthorn remains intact, you may be able to find your way back to Duviri if you are ever cast adrift."

Acrithis warned, "Thrax would never let such a beacon remain if he knew how we planned on using it. Those he exiles stay exiled. Unless we put it somewhere he won't touch."

They all had the same thought. She pulled over the funeral invitation as if laying down a trump card. "A lanthorn would make a fitting memorial for the lighthouse keeper. Thrax wouldn't dare touch it then.”

Drifter thought so too, but he looked to Teshin first, prepared for his mentor to argue the pros and cons as he often did. To his surprise, Teshin nodded decisively. 

So Drifter prepared for a trip beyond the dormizone. He set his good Duviri clothes aside for his old, but still tough Zariman suit. Sun and Moon went back on the rack, exchanged for a modified, serrated kitchen knife that'd work better for cutting through obstacles. There shouldn't be any fighting. The Zariman's halls were empty of anything that could be considered living…and as far as the no-longer-living went, Void travel was perfectly safe as long as one controlled their emotions.

Tea and meditation helped. Eventually, he just steeled himself with the calm of a true warrior.

He took his first step outside.

Just one step. Golden light from the dormizone bathed his feet from behind. The way before was washed blue with void-light from the endless expanse beyond the windows. His shadow loomed like a spindly, too thin version of himself. 

The golden light cut off as someone blocked it. He breathed for a slow count of four and turned back to Teshin.

"Bring back two lanthorns," Teshin instructed.

"A backup?"

"One for Garmi. One for me, here. Just in case you don't return from Duviri."

"Ah. Yeah. Two of them."

"And say nothing of it to Acrithis."

He frowned. "She's shown herself to be a friend."

"Then get three, and tell her about two."

He didn't understand why Teshin was so adamant that today's friend might be tomorrow's enemy. But he no longer wanted to argue about it, not when he needed to remain calm. "Alright, I'm gonna assume this is some Moon thing that I’m too Sun to understand yet. See you in a bit."

He set off. The elevator still worked. He needed access to the boat bays where the landing craft were stored together with all the equipment for the away teams that would've surveyed Tau. It whirred him upward. If he closed his eyes, he might even imagine that he was in Tau, reporting in for duty.

He didn't close his eyes. The Void responded to strong emotions by creating things. Duviri was proof of just how deadly his daydreams could be.

A few hours later, he walked back carrying a rucksack packed with two lanthorns, spare suits, and vosphene glyphs. He always walked at a steady pace, never running, not looking over his shoulder. He trusted that whatever games the Void wanted to play, he was more than their equal.

He held onto his composure at least until the dormizone door shut behind him. Once he was in golden radiance once more and Teshin pushed good strong tea on him, he slumped, worn out by far more than a trek with a heavy rucksack.

“Well?” Acrithis asked. 

He handed over the lanthorn meant for Garmi’s grave while Teshin took the rucksack and its contents. She vanished with it back into Duviri where she'd explain the plan to Mathila.

Later, in the privacy of the cave, Teshin asked, “Well?”

It was hard to describe the sensation that the Zariman wasn’t empty. That something slept in it. Something that might awaken to the right voice. 

Perhaps if he hadn’t made Duviri and learned those lessons, it might’ve been his voice. 

“When I leave…I’m leaving. This isn’t a place to linger.”

Even though by the day of Garmi's funeral Thrax showed no sign of budging from his palace, the Spiral dawned as Sorrow nonetheless. He and Teshin bundled up against the chill mists.

Even the Tenno on the Other Side seemed to want to pay their respects, for they'd sent him a rifle he recognized: the Phenmor. The Zariman colonists hadn't brought weapons for conquest, since they expected that Tau would be a peaceful land of abundance waiting for them. The Phenmor was a ceremonial rifle for burial rites. The more volleys, the higher the rank. 

Weighted for warframe use, of course. It was the thought that counted.

When they entered Duviri, Acrithis waited with her carriage. Kaithe shuffled and stamped. Teshin patted him on the nose. "Were I a younger man," he said wistfully, then climbed into the carriage with a groan.

The sky was bleak and drizzled the sort of steady rain that beaded up on his leathers. "Nah, stay dry."

It was a solemn group that formed up a receiving line at the cemetery next to the site they'd chosen for Garmi's grave. It was on a high point, looking out over Duviri. As was Duviri custom, the family already marked out the outline of a grave in the dirt. Denphius Dax and Brimon had arrived early and were close to a meter deep in the grave already. 

Mathila hugged him. "Would you mind?" She asked, gesturing to the grave.

"I'd be honored." He took up Brimon's shovel. Of course, it would be an empty grave, but no less meaningful for that.

Teshin came up behind him. Garmi Jr. and Mathila II just blurted it out. "You've gotten old!"

Everyone who came through turned a shoveful. Digging the grave wasn't hard, just a few hours of labor that took muscle and enough attention to work together. A mind-numbing, muscle-warming, shovel, lift, turn, again, all the while farmers and townsfolk who wanted to comfort Mathila filtered through the receiving line. On a different day, for a different purpose, Thrax might've mocked him for doing manual labor. This day, he hoped that Thrax understood why he did it. 

It wasn't much for a man he'd created, who'd died doing a solemn duty he hadn't understood, who'd defended him even though (as far as he knew) they'd never met. But it was the last service he'd do for Garmi and he owed him that much.

Two meters deep they dug that empty grave. 

In place of a body, Mathila and the kids lowered the Entrati Lanthorn.

Thrax scoffed in his ear. He shook his head as if shaking off a fly. It turned into a quiet cough. 

Cynically, Thrax was right to be skeptical. They'd brought the lanthorn to Mathila and she, newly accustomed to unhappy thoughts, had allowed that His Majesty was prone to impulsive actions especially where the Void was concerned. And so, instead of a monument on his gravestone, the beacon would be buried two meters under where even the King might hesitate to disturb it.

She, Garmi Jr. and Mathila II each tossed a flower inside. They each turned the first shovelfuls of earth. As each person in the line added their shovelful, he and Brimon buried Garmi.

When they were done, Lodun lined up his Dax for the salute. Drifter handed Denphius the Phenmor rifle. Teshin nodded approval. Denphius stroked the dark wood grain of the butt appreciatively and took his place at the head of the line.

Three times they marched around the grave as Lodun held his saber high.

Three times they fired a volley over the grave. Their arrows trailed like sparkling falling stars. The Phenmor's shot cracked and echoed back from the hills.

Then, as Luscinia sang a lament, Mathila brought a torch to the brazier atop the headstone. The kids pulled off the shroud to reveal the poem they'd written with Bombastine's help.

Garmi 

Husband.
Father.

This grave, a memorial,
Your name recalls
Your memory enshrines.

Keep your faithful watch,
Guide us home
In need's hour.

The funeral party broke up quickly after that because whether it was the Sorrowful Spiral or whether Thrax had second thoughts about not coming, the skies opened up and raindrops as big as any he'd shed for Teshin poured down and didn't let up. Everyone piled into carriages, even Drifter. Acrithis muttered sourly, “You’d think the king would’ve bothered to show up instead of making a show of mourning now.”

“You’d think,” Luscinia agreed.

“I think,” Drifter said, whilst they rattled down the road, “that he’s not any better at dealing with his sorrow than I was, and probably worse.”

Luscinia said, “He still should’ve come,” and he couldn’t argue with that.

The reception was a fair distance away at the only spot that could reasonably hold a large gathering outdoors in the pouring rain: the Lunaro court. It drummed on the roof in a continuous beat that couldn't drown out the roar of the waterfalls streaming down the island. He set his Loneryder coat out in the rain to wash the mud off. 

Meanwhile, Garmi Jr., Mathila II, and all their friends from the villages and hamlets threw off the burden of polite behavior and expected decorum like it was his wet coat. Half of the Lunaro court was taken up with long rows of tables for the reception. They sprinted up and down the rows then ran up and down the remaining half of the court. Bombastine tried to encourage them to act out one of their scenes, but they'd had enough of listening to the adults. Once they realized that crawling through the large scoring hoop would make the court play a trumpet fanfare… 

After the fifth fanfare in less than a minute, Sythel uncovered her ears long enough to offer, “I’m not saying I think they need a good stint in jail to calm them down, but maybe a bit of time-out would help?”

Mathila wavered. On the one hand, even she could tell their boredom-fueled exuberance was an accident waiting to happen. On the other hand, she said, “But they’re having fun.”

Drifter, looking at the Lunaro goal, had an idea. Maybe not his most practical idea, because if he got the kids together to play a half-court game there was no guarantee they wouldn’t accidentally launch a ball into the socializing side of the ersatz reception hall. But if he did nothing and the fanfares continued, Sythel was likely to meltdown, Luscinia already looked pained, and Lodun was almost ready to summon a troupe of Dax to show them a real fanfare. "Bombastine, you wouldn't happen to know where the Lunaro equipment is, do you?"

He didn't, but his bodyguard Denphius did. By the time they'd hauled out the balls and Arcata bats, Teshin had marched out onto the kids’ half of the court and, despite leaning heavily on his staff, had taken firm charge of dividing them into two teams.

Teshin explained, “Lunaro is a team game. With a half court, the Sun team will guard the goal for five minutes while Moon attempts to score. When time is up, you’ll switch places. The objective is simple: guard your goal or attempt to score by getting the ball, called a ‘Lunaro’ through the goal.”

Wait, Teshin liked Lunaro?

"The Lunaro contains an ancient and unstable energy. This creates a few carrying rules for the Lunaro. First, you cannot carry the Lunaro for more than 5 seconds, or it will explode."

"Whoa!"

"Wicked!"

Teshin explained how to use the arcata bats to handle the Lunaro, interspersed with dire warnings about what would happen to anyone who misused said bat to harm their teammates or opponents. Drifter’s little league coaches on the Zariman would’ve wept in envy to see Teshin surrounded by such eager listeners strapping the scoops to their single arms; he was certain he and his classmates were never that respectful. Teshin wrapped up his explanation with, "Here on the Lunaro pitch, we seek no injury, no death. We uphold the ancient traditions of sporting conduct and battle not for blood... but for glory."

Then Garmi Jr. grabbed onto Brimon, dragging him onto the court. "You're on the Moon team with me."

"But I don't know how to play." Brimon protested.

Mathila II asked Drifter, "Do you know how to play?"

"It's been years," he warned. “Not since I was a kid myself.”

Teshin gave him such a surprised look. But Brimon just grinned at him and gathered the Moon kids together in a huddle, starting to plot.

"Yeah, I’ll play for Sun.” Then, before he gave full rein to his old competitive spirit, he thought about the permission slip incident. “As long as I check with your mother first. This is her party, after all.”

Mathila just smiled at her kids’ antics. "Yes, please, play. Cheerful laughter reminds us that life goes on."

Though it’d been years since he last held an arcata bat (to say nothing of the centuries spent in Spirals), he hadn’t forgotten how to play. The swish of the scoop through the air. The magnetic weight of the Lunaro landing in his grasp and then the crackle of its internal energy as it started its inexorable countdown to when he must score or pass it on to another player. The thrill of scoring to a trumpet fanfare and the cheers of his teammates.

He had forgotten everything he learned about passing the ball. He’d never been particularly good at it as a child (there was his envious inclination to hog the ball, raising its ugly head). Now, he learned the skill out of necessity. He wasn’t here to make himself look good in a game against children who barely came up to his chest. He was here to make the kids happy, even when it meant passing the Lunaro to Barris five times before the boy finally didn’t bobble it out of his scoop, instead of always passing it to Koral who’d turned out to be a natural at the game. Their grins made it all worth it.

He’d also forgotten the heart-pounding, pulse-drumming, thigh-burning effort of running back and forth in explosive sprints. While he had experience, the kids were inexhaustible. 

Teshin thumped his staff up and down the sideline along with them, shouting advice to both teams and looking decades younger.

After Drifter had all the rounds he could take, he handed in his bat and collapsed at one of the adult tables. Brimon brought over two beers and collapsed next to him.

“Next time we compete, let’s just race, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let our kaithes do all the work.” 

They just sat together, content to watch the kids have the time of their lives with Teshin. At some point in the fray, Sorrow’s rain had eased and was going back towards Calm. 

Then Acrithis joined them with a new lore tablet in her hands. At his raised eyebrow, she said, "Mathila does adore scavenger hunts. Lodun was kind enough to detail some Dax to search nearby. So I have this, and-" She pulled out two Zariman tablets, "-they found something of yours too."

He tucked the tablets away while they read through the lore.

Lake Verula

For Lake Verula to be lost and forgotten is a lasting bittering to me. There was a time when it was Duviri's festival spot. On the anniversary of Thrax's coronation, the citizenry would build ceremonial floating islands. On these they would drift, sing, play music and light fragrant lanterns in honor of Thrax.

Attracted by the music, the rainbow eels would rise from the lake bed, poke their iridescent heads above the water, and sing.

Luscinia had a school of them that followed her across the lake and floundered on the shore when she disembarked, as if they yearned to remain with her.

We could not know that down on the lake bed, a portal to the Undercroft and formed. Predatory creatures writhed in. They were golden, slender, with massive fanged bivalved maws. And they were ravenous. They devoured the rainbow eels, and then they devoured each other until only a handful were left.

Lake Verula had no more magic after that. Thrax ordered the lake drained, but the golden maws merely burrowed into Duviri's crust, where to this day they can sometimes be found plundering our pools.

---

On the court, Teshin brought both teams together to shake hands. “Congratulate your opponents as well as your friends. This is the true reward of Lunaro: growing in skill, focused not on violence, but on teamwork and coordination. Your prize, not war spoils, but friendship and harmony."

The kids put their bats up and walked back to the food tables, having finally been worn out enough energy to calm down and enjoy their lunch.

"It's no Jubilee on Lake Verula," Brimon said, his eyes roaming over the party. "But this is good."

Teshin joined them. For once he accepted a beer instead of tea. He seemed invigorated, not tired. Though doubtless he'd sleep like a rock.

Drifter said, "I didn't think the Dax had time for Lunaro. On the Zariman, they said it was a silly children's game.”

"The more fool them," Teshin said, watching the kids with satisfied eyes. "Though you proved me wrong. Even though Lunaro is part of my Conclave, I thought the Tenno outgrew such games even before they took on a warrior's role."

“The Tenno don’t play Lunaro anymore?” Okay, maybe they’d outgrown the habit of skiving off study halls to go watch the games, but still…

“They have little taste for the Conclave or indeed any fighting amongst themselves more strenuous than trolling during a radiation hazard sortie. Even for practice.”

The Conclave’s brutal methods of teaching through competition with one’s foes and oneself was so central to how he’d learned the calm of the true warrior that this revelation left him off balance. He wasn't surprised that Lunaro was a part of the Conclave - that, he understood. Any competition, even Komi, had lessons to teach. But it had never occurred to him that the Other Side of the Paradox didn’t train that way. "They don’t even use the Conclave?”

"My Conclave was all but dead." Teshin admitted. He patted him on the shoulder. "You've made me a happy man in more ways than you know."

By the time they got back to the dormizone hours later, Teshin was yawning. 

Acrithis said, "Because I am incurable nosy, have you looked at your tablets yet?"

Is Void travel safe?

     A. Yes. We are merely passengers

     B. Yes, so long as we control our emotions 

He didn't press either button. "It's B."

Teshin, mid-yawn, shot him a look that said, ‘excuse me, what.’

"What?" Then, because yawning was contagious, he yawned too. "Ugh. Talk about it tomorrow?"

Maybe he could've gone to sleep without that mystery weighing on his mind had he not glanced at the next one.

Did you forget, kiddo?

     A. You owe me.

     B. ERROR – RESPONSE NOT FOUND

He didn't get much sleep that night. It wasn't the muscle soreness from unaccustomed labor and exercise that kept him tossing and turning. Every time he woke at night, it was to a half-heard deep rumble that was either unknown words that tugged at his memory or the distant thunder of a Fear Spiral. He told himself that it was only a Fear Spiral, rolled over, and pulled a pillow over his head. That didn’t help. Eventually he fell asleep for more than an hour at a time.

He woke late, mid-morning even, on a Calm Spiral.

Chapter Text

Drifter overslept. Ordinarily, he’d chalk that up to the hard work of digging Garmi’s grave and unaccustomed exertion of playing Lunaro for the first time in ages. This exhaustion went beyond sore muscles and wiping sand out of his eyes. It left him strangely reluctant to get on with the day’s work: that of finding the lore fragments that Acrithis said described her personal encounter with the threat from the Void that she thought Garmi and Thrax were both preoccupied with keeping out of Duviri.

Teshin had already made breakfast, the morning’s tea (Envy’s citrus sharpness, with a touch of sweetness as though Bombastine had been happily listening to Luscinia singing), and pointedly picked up the two tablets from yesterday as soon as he sat down. “It's a good thing it's a calm spiral today, because you and I have some heavy topics to discuss.”

He spread jam on his carb cube toast, then held out his hand for the first tablet. “Heavy topics don’t get lighter for avoiding them. Lay it on me.”

Is Void travel safe?

           A. Yes. We are merely passengers

           B. Yes, so long as we control our emotions 

Teshin instructed, “Last night, you told me the correct answer. Now, consider the implications that you, as a child aboard the Zariman, were being taught that your safety depended on emotional control.”

The immediate implications for his concerns about Duviri were pretty clear: life immersed in the Void, as Duviri was, was only safe as long as they controlled their emotions. This was why Dominus Thrax resorted to extreme measures like the pathos clamps that bound the Orowyrms and forcibly controlled their emotions, even though it could hardly be said that the King himself exercised control over his own. That lack of control, more than any malicious action, was why so many of Duviri’s vast and storied islands were lost to time and the tides. 

But Teshin wanted to know about the Zariman, and that painted a far darker picture. “We were doomed. Maybe not from the start of the voyage, when we all believed that we were on a grand voyage to Tau, headed towards brave lives full of exploration and abundance. By the time we made the leap, we were starving. People who spoke out were being rounded up, never to be seen again. As for the rumors…” his parents had tried to calm him, but rumors passed through schoolchildren like wildfire. “Rumor had it that the Executors washed their hands of us. And if even schoolchildren knew that emotional control was necessary for safe travel through the Void-”

For the first time in a long time when thinking about the Zariman’s leap into the Void, good clean anger outweighed the guilt. Saying it out loud felt right, like finally laying the blame at the feet of the higher-ups who ultimately deserved it, not on a mere child caught up in events far beyond his control.

Saying it out loud felt like crossing a line in the sand. Questioning Orokin right to rule was itself a forbidden question.

“-then the Executors knew the leap wasn’t safe. And they sent us to die anyway.”

Teshin, who was himself an oath-bound Dax to those same Executors, merely nodded. Perhaps that was all he wanted to say. Perhaps that was all he could say. 

Drifter picked up the second tablet. In the light of a new, calm day, surely it was nothing to worry about.

Did you forget, kiddo?

           A. You owe me.

           B. ERROR – RESPONSE NOT FOUND

The night of tossing and turning brought him no closer to figuring out why that question and its answer made him so uneasy. Slowly, he said, “My father used to call me “kiddo.” But he was never the sort of man who’d say that I owed him. So I don’t understand why this is here, in Duviri, like an old quiz question popping up to make sure I’ve learned my lessons.”

Teshin chose the “You owe me” answer. When the incomprehensible voice was done vocalizing, he said, "I knew enough about the Tenno void powers to train them in their use. Their powers require focus and discipline or else they fizzle, not unlike your own experiences with emotional regulation. During one such, ah, "training session,"” and his lips quirked as if at a private joke, "I heard a voice like that tell my pupil "You owe me."”

“That doesn’t shed a great deal of light.”

"It tells us that the same entity who was interested in you was also interested in the Tenno. You are, after all, both survivors of the Executors’ attempt to dispose of the unruly Zariman colonists in the Void. Which tells me that this question is tied to the Paradox. If there is a debt and you owe it, it’ll come due in time.”

“That’s ominous.”

“A concern for another day.”

It was a good thing it was a calm spiral, and not the Fear Spiral he’d expected to wake up to. Otherwise, it would be all too easy to spiral into worries about this Void Entity. (The Void Angel’s master? The black-eyed, three fingered Vagabond who shared his build? It? The looming Indifference who’s attention he’d summoned with a careless rap, tap, tap?) Otherwise, it would be even harder to set aside those concerns so he could keep an open mind about what Acrithis had to say about the threat she’d witnessed and seek the help of his friends in the Court to deal with it. 

He packed up the first tablet and flew out, directly to Sythel’s house without stopping to bask in the fine weather. However, by the time he got there, no one else was in a rush or upset that he was late. 

Luscinia's sweet voice rose from the curling tip of Lonesome Overlook, accompanied by a shawzin player. Bombastine and Denphius both waved as they searched the nearby house and pond. Lodun and Mathila flew their kaithes around, under, and through the broken arches above Thronguard Barracks. They didn't seem to be racing. Perhaps they just flew for the joy of stretching their wings. Acrithis' carriage was parked next to Soprano Springs. 

Sythel stood on her porch in front of her newly refurbished door and waved him down.

He knocked his knuckles on the door. “Nice.”

“Much less drafty than boarding it up.” She ushered him in. Besides the drapes that had been pulled aside to let in the Calm spiral's light, her servant tended a series of lamps that brightly lit the room and particularly the long tables where she'd begun unpacking books from crates that were not so much padlocked as festooned with chains and locks. Sheepishly, she said, “Acrithis lent me quite a few books over the years that she said came from the Scholar himself. I could never bear to keep them around for long.”

Dimly, he recalled that hauling her stashes of books out and hiding them in caves had been one of his tasks back when he was stuck in the Spirals or play-acting as Loneryder. “You’re not afraid now.”

“Oh, I’m still afraid. It's just that as First Minister, it's time I understood what we’re up against, even if it does make me want to curl up in bed with my head under the covers.”

“That’s the heart of real courage.” He helped unpack the rest of the crates full of books, scrolls, treatises from the Caves of Academe, and journals from courageous explorers into the Void. He teased out one from the pile that bore the Zariman’s sigil on its cover. The Palimpsest of Spacetime by A. & E. Entrati. He flipped through a few pages, just enough to jog his memory. Events could be rewritten; traces of the original persist. When Sythel flitted nervously from book to book without actually reading any of them, he suggested, “Would some fresh air do you good?”

She was no less twitchy out in the fresh air, which considering it was a Calm Spiral, was not exactly encouraging. It took her a good ten minutes of petting and feeding Kaithe before she finally spit out what was bothering her. “I’m not afraid of the Scholar’s books. I’m not afraid of the Dax up on the watchtower where I hid Acrithis’ lore tab. I’m not even that afraid of heights, anymore, now that I’ve been on top of the Archarbor.”

As gently as she petted Kaithe, he asked, “What are you afraid of?”

“You, leaving.”

He winced. 

She wrung her hands. “It's easy to be brave when I’ve got backup. I’m afraid that once I’m alone, I won't be able to be brave anymore. Sometimes I feel like a cracked pot that you’ve carefully mended and filled up with wine. One sharp shock and I’ll crack all over again. And so I was thinking that maybe if I did something on my own - like go up on the watchtower and get that lore tab I hid - I could remember that I’d done it even though I was scared, and maybe I wouldn’t be so scared in the future.”

Back when they were trapped in their Spirals, seeing her fears destroyed never did Sythel any good. Things were different now. “That’s why your Duviri’s First Minister,” he said with no small admiration. “Already thinking ahead to the day I leave and how to overcome the obstacles you’ll face on your own.”

“Well, yes, but,” she made a helpless gesture. “I had such bold ambitions when I got up this morning and yet I’m still in my front yard.”

He made a stirrup with his hands so she could mount Kaithe. “Then let me help you get to the tower. Once we’re there, it's all your show.”

They rode to the base of the watchtower. Looking up at its tall white spire going up and up and up to the golden tubular bell assembly that would hoist one of them to the top ledge, her knees started to shake. “Oh, I can’t,” she said, but then she took a deep breath and waved to the Dax to send the bell down.

The hoist swung downwards, releasing the tolling bell and its springy coil of void energy downward. The bell itself was a thin tube as tall as she was with a ring at the bottom to hold on to. She grabbed the ring and hung on for dear life. “If I let go as soon as my feet leave the ground, and I get splatted, I want my epitaph to read “Sythel should’ve stayed in bed.””

“See? You’re getting the hang of morbid humor.”

“I’m going to let go. I know it.”

Her ceramic fingers would dent the handgrips before she let go. “Not with that grip, you won’t. Ready?”

“No! 1…2…”

“See the Dax at the top? They’re right there to help you off.”

“3…4…I can do this.”

She jumped up, letting the bell lift her.

“Eeeieee!”

She made it to the top, no problem. Not only did the Dax help her inside immediately, it only took a minute to pry her hands loose to send the bell back down for him. By the time he arrived, she was beaming. “I did it!” she exclaimed, waving around the lore tab she’d dug out of a crate full of arrows under the bemused gaze of the Dax soldiers. 

Since no one else was in a rush to hurry back to the task of pouring through old books, they took their time leaving the watchtower. From up here, they could see much of the sweep of Duviri’s islands to the north, all the way to the palace. She even leaned on the railing, letting the cool breeze brush past her. “On days like this, are you sure you want to leave Duviri?”

Days like this were a reminder that for all the wonder and terror from which Drifter birthed Duviri, for all the responsibility he owed this lands and its people, and for all that still had to be done before he could leave with a clear conscience, he belonged to the purifying light of Sol. He owed another responsibility to the Tenno which could only be fulfilled by returning to his home system. “I was recently reminded that Void Travel is only safe when we control our emotions,” he told the former Fearful Conspirator, “I’m sure that I’m leaving Duviri in good hands.”

“Thank you, Drifter. Even when you leave, I’ll remember that I could do this by myself,” she patted the railing. “And since I can do this by myself, then I can find the courage to do what’s needed to defend Duviri.”

By the time everyone gathered at Sythel’s home, their noon meal over the books and scrolls had the feel of a war council sifting through bits of intelligence and observations gathered about enemy movements. Acrithis’ report was of paramount importance:

The Galleria

How I loved the Galleria. It was an island of simple beauty, where white statues rose out of the ground as if they had grown there. They were classical in their features, masked in due propriety, each bearing an instrument or an emblem of their craft. I gave them names: the Scribe, the Scryer, the Shawzinist.

On days when the mist of Thrax's sorrow hung among the marble columns a sober chill seemed to drape the Galleria. One could not wish for a better spot to cool a burning head. This kingdom is often mad, but this was a space for sanity.

That peace was shattered one morning as I drove my carriage there. I witness a vast form break up from the ground and clumsily probe the area around it.

I took the thing for a gigantic worm or slug, until one of my escorting Dax pointed out the colossal fingernail on its 'head'.

We turned on our heel and made for the Palace, where I gave Dominus Thrax the best account of what I had seen. On hearing that a single monstrous finger had burst up through the green sward, Thrax took terrible fright.

Despite my entreaties, he sacrificed the entire island before any more of the entity could emerge.

Though the scene she painted was less viscerally destructive than, say, the Rain of Chains slashing down on Duviri’s towns and fields, this single finger synergized with their other fears. Fortunately, it was hard to be too frightened of the unknown when they sat together as friends, teacups and lunch at hand, with the golden light of a Calm spiral beaming through the windows.

Mathila asked, “Was this before or after my husband’s lighthouse crumbled? If after, then the hand he saw reaching for Duviri did not give up.”

Luscinia said, “It's never given up. Drifter says that someone is trying to break into Duviri through the Undercroft during Void Floods. The Master of the Void Angels.”

Acrithis said, “I don’t know whether or not that single finger I saw was connected to a whole hand. If not, then perhaps it's related to the black-eyed Vagabond who lurked at the Scholar’s grave. That Vagabond had three fingers and a thumb, just like what Garmi described, and he asked Drifter, “Where are my fingerbones?””

He shrugged. “Hell if I know. There’s a lot I just don’t remember, including whether or not I owe It a debt.”

While Bombastine took notes, Sythel presided from the head of the table. “Speaking as Duviri’s First Minister, it seems to me as though this entity has systematically probed our kingdom’s defenses and destroyed them where It can. We lost the Watcher’s Lighthouse to a Void Storm. We lost the Caves of Academe and all those void texts to the black-eyed Others. Once Drifter leaves, we shall have to rely on Duviri’s own Dax to quell the Void Floods in the Undercroft.” Despite the sober list, she neither trembled nor twitched. “I, for one, do not intend to go quietly into the Void. Once Drifter leaves, how shall we defend Duviri?”

Everyone looked at her with respect for so boldly posing the question, then to the Prince of Fire for an answer. Lodun said, “If Teshin is willing to train our Dax as he did Drifter, I believe Denphius and the other commanders can handle the rigors of the Undercroft.”

Drifter said, “A chance to resurrect his Conclave? I’ll ask Teshin, but I’m sure he’ll leap at it.”

Lodun cautioned, “Assuming that His Majesty agrees.”

Acrithis said, “I wish I were so certain His Majesty will. As you heard, the way I defended Duviri was to rush to Thrax. He cast the Galleria out into the Void, as he did so many other islands. I do not deny that his method has been effective. I only question how much more we can afford to lose.”

Each island of Duviri was like a precious jewel. Once Drifter left, that treasure would belong to them, not him. He still wanted to protect it. So he brought out a few of the Zariman tablets. First, he explained the theory of Void travel and how the Void amplified, played with, and embodied their emotions. Thus, emotional control was necessary to preserve Duviri and avoid the fate of the doomed Zariman. "You all have made huge strides in controlling your emotions. I’m confident that you’ll continue once I’m gone.”

Acrithis said, “The king hasn’t.”

“No, and there’s a reason for that.” He handed around the tablet he’d kept that explained Dominus Thrax’s role as a cautionary character in Tales of Duviri who lacked emotional regulation.

Lodun poked at the correct answer. When the deep voice read out incomprehensible words, they shuddered. He took a deep breath, and said, "Huh. Seems the King and I have more in common than I thought."

Mathila spoke up. “I don’t think His Majesty is very happy. And to be fair, who would be happy when one’s kingdom is under threat and one’s courtiers were making it worse? Now, I know you’re all thinking “here comes Mathila with one of her wild plans,” but what if we just asked for an audience with His Majesty and explained that we’re doing much better now and we’d like to help?”

Sythel said, “Every time Drifter offers to help, His Majesty says, “Prove it.””

“She’s right. That’s how I became his Party Planner.”

Bombastine had taken over the role of - not so much secretary, since that was Acrithis' chosen task - of playwright, taking notes for what he promised would make for a veritable raft of performances based on past events and their current quest. He had kept to himself throughout their conversation, poking through the books and cross-referencing what he found with his plays and the lore tablets for stage directions and costume notes. Now, he said, "Emotional control can't be the whole secret to defending Duviri. His Majesty might be offended by what the Tales of Duviri say about him, but he didn't redact it like he did the Scholar's words."

Lodun agreed. "He didn't ban it like he banned most of these books. Now, I'm not planning on calling the Dax down for a bonfire-"

"Good," Acrithis interrupted. "Because my favorite books detail tortures suitable for those who destroy books.”

Lodun all but rolled his eyes. "You say it like I enjoyed standing next to a brazier on an Anger Spiral. Anyways, these are technically contraband. So, sorry Mathila, but it's probably not wise to go tell the King that we were reading banned books behind his back. Even in an attempt to help him."

Mathila made a half-hearted protest, “Then maybe we should bring the books to him-”

“And have him burn them instead of Lodun?” Acrithis asked sharply. “I broke my lore tablets and hid them to make sure he couldn’t destroy my knowledge as he has so much else.”

Luscinia weighed in, “We’ve lost enough. Drifter, which one of these books talks about how to rewrite the past?”

While Mathila sat back, he dug out The Palimpsest of Spacetime for Luscinia and Acrithis. Bombastine quizzed Sythel over what she knew about the Scholar, which included the tidbit that when Albrecht Entrati, the Scholar, went beyond the Wall, he saw It and gave It the shape of his fear.

Luscinia and Acrithis puzzled their way through The Palimpsest of Spacetime. Luscinia said, "I thought maybe this would help me understand what the Undercroft does and why you talked about remaking the past for a brighter future. But its…”

"Dense?" He supplied. "Eternalism is complicated, alright. Honestly, the only reason I made head or tails of it is because it was the last thing I studied before the leap. It's more about the choices we make. And the choices we don't make. Time in the Void isn't linear and so those choices create different versions of reality that remain theoretically accessible. According to the Palimpsest, events can be rewritten, but traces of the original will persist. Sort of like resetting each Spiral rewrote what happened to us, but it left traces of memory and experiences…sort of. It's complicated."

She listened, but he got the idea that her blank gaze was more polite than understanding.

Mathila fished out Beyond the Wall of Lohk by A Entrati. “Would that be useful?"

"Yeah," he brightened up. "We're beyond the Wall of Lohk. I never read the book, just saw it referenced in my textbooks. Anything written by the Scholar has to be useful." 

Sythel said, “That’s what I was talking about. He saw it!”

But when he opened the book, there was a great chorus of disappointed sighs, for the pages were redacted. Even the chapter titles. Every line of every page. Just like the play.

Shit.

The "why" was momentarily less important than what it contained. "Lodun, I don't suppose there's any other unburned copies knocking around in Dax evidence chests."

"No."

"Sythel, Acrithis, any more caches we should know about?"

Sythel shook her head. Acrithis said, "There would've been more copies on the lost Caves of Academe. The Archarbor purged their copies of texts on the Void lest they fall to the same fate."

“Well, shit.” He rapped his fingers on the table, caught himself doing it, and folded his hands together instead. “My next best plan is to go search the Zariman and hope there’s an untainted copy.”

Mathila suggested, “Aren’t we all missing the obvious solution? Ask His Majesty.”

That started up a babbling argument.

Mathila sternly cut through their objections. “Fellow Courtiers, ask yourselves this. How well can we defend Duviri on our own once we rouse the King’s suspicions? Already, we’ve seen how he’s hindered our super-little scavenger hunts. The unpleasant truth is that our emotional control will not avail if our King is throwing a temper tantrum in Anger, flooding the land in Sorrow, or trying to murder us because he’s having a bad day.”

Bombastine said, “Thrax is obviously hiding information from us.”

“For good reason. Have you forgotten that a few months ago, we were turning into Orowyrms every time the Spiral didn’t go our way?”

Acrithis said, “Thrax is incapable of controlling himself. The Tales say so.”

“Yeah, well, the Tales say I’m incapable of facing unhappy thoughts, don’t they? Maybe with a little helping hand, he’d change too.”

Lodun pounded the table and said, “Why wouldn’t the right king accept help when he knows he needs it?”

Luscinia said, “Shouldn’t he know that’s too much responsibility to bear alone, as fragile as he is?”

Sythel said, “I don’t blame him for doubting us. But what happens if we try and fail?”

Drifter listened to their debate and weighed all of what they said. When they looked to him for his opinion, he said, “Mathila’s right.”

Everyone but Mathila looked at him like he’d announced that he’d bet on himself to win Duviri’s Grand Komi Championship.

He explained, “Thrax and me are two peas in a filo pod.”

Lodun said, “You’ve shown us how to control our emotions.”

“Now think about me, back when I was still stuck wallowing in my Spirals.”

Mathila said kindly, “I don’t think Thrax is quite that badly off. So see? If Drifter can change that much, so can His Majesty!”

Reluctantly, everyone started to nod along, each in their own way.

“It won’t be easy, even once you do get that audience,” Drifter warned. “You all were too stuck in your own Spirals to see how much Teshin dragged me along, kicking and screaming all the way. He’ll need all of your helping hands if he’s to learn how to work together with his Court.”

Chapter Text

Sythel pointed out that they had their best chance of succeeding if they got their audience today, during the Calm Spiral before Thrax woke up the next day. “Just our luck, it’ll be a Fear spiral and then he starts asking himself all the nagging questions about “What was my Court up to yesterday?” and then we’re getting an audience from a jail cell-” She would have kept fretting except they all agreed she had a point. They flew straight to the Palace.

In the throne room, a line of petitioners snaked back and forth until it was nearly out the door. Each shuffled up to Thrax’ throne where the boy-king listened to each petition. He looked bored; resting his chin on one hand and rap, tap, tapping his fingers on the other armrest. A servant stood next to the throne at the base of the steps, holding up a silver platter with grapes and a wine goblet whenever Thrax beckoned.

The Sage of Upperhaven, an old man who’d brought a whole bag so full of scrolls he was bent nearly double carrying them, seemed intent on reading every one of them in order to convince Thrax that “Duviri’s genealogical records really are of utmost importance for maintaining the history of our noble houses and lineages. They ought to be housed in a grander space worthy of their significance, not one old Sage’s drafty house on the edge of a cliff.”

Thrax ignored him, instead watching his Court walk past the line without joining it. Lodun and Sythel led the way. The Court took precedence over peasants.

“Why bother with lineages when my court hasn’t changed in ages?” Thrax asked the sage. “Petition denied.”

The sage shouldered his burden. “If His Majesty wishes to review the genealogical records, he knows where to find me.”

Following behind the courtiers, Drifter kept up a string of, “Excuse us,” and, “Sorry, you’ll probably still get to see the king when we’re done.” Absolutely no one believed him. Just because the Calm Spiral painted light beams across the audience hall floor didn’t mean it’d stay that way. Except for a few very brave (or very desperate) individuals who clustered at the doors, everyone else skedaddled. 

The Courtiers were more confident as they arrayed themselves in a line before the throne, unified at their king's service. Before they’d agreed to beard the bear in his den, they’d told each other, “We've endured Spirals of him at his worst. We can handle it.” 

Drifter had warned them, "Remember what's happened to me every time I challenged Thrax. Are you prepared for what happens if he says, "Fine, it's your problem now? Prove you can handle it."" Now he stood behind them in the next rank next to Lequos fretting over his schedule. 

Lequos whispered, "My schedule is screwed, isn't it?"

"If everyone stays calm, we should be fine."

Lequos sighed.

"They'll manage," he said, confidently.

Lequos opened his mouth. He shut it with a click. If he couldn't say anything polite about the king, better to not say anything at all.

At least Thrax wasn't bored anymore. He sat up straight and stopped the incessant drumming of his fingers. "What do you want?"

Sythel, his First Minister, took a step forward. "Your Majesty, we want to help you defend Duviri from the threat of the Void."

"Void meddlings are forbidden by law for a reason. Petition denied. Next petitioner!" He bellowed.

Sythel took one step back in line with the others, who didn't move. At the back of the hall, the few remaining petitioners shuffled nervously and didn't dare come forward.

She took a deep breath. Another. She took one step forward. "What reason, Your Majesty?”

Thrax drummed his fingers. Rap, tap, tap, rap, tap, tap. "I said, "No.” I'm the King and the king's word is law. Everybody knows that. Everybody!" By the last, he'd raised his voice to a high shout.

At one point, that would've cowed them or at least sent them slinking off to their separate corners of Duviri to soothe their wounded pride with plots and plans. Now, if they shrank away from the incipient tantrum, it was only to move infinitesimally closer to each other, more united than before.

She said, "I think you should hear us out."

Though wispy gray clouds scudded across the clear sky and dimmed the bright light, Thrax didn’t call his Dax to throw them out.

Sythel laid out their findings. At her side, Acrithis fanned through each of her lore tablets in turn. "The Scholar, the Lighthouse at Watcher's Island, the Rain of Chains, the Galleria…We cannot allow more of Duviri to be claimed by It."

Mathila encouraged, "It's a good idea for you to take breaks sometimes. Keeping Duviri safe so everyone can be happy is such a burden. Our histories and children’s songs haven't fully captured how you've been protecting us.”

Lodun said, "We're not children. We don't need to be protected. We can fight. Under your banners, my king."

By the end of it, Thrax hunched over on his throne.

Lequos sighed.

With some effort, Drifter held back his own sigh. He knew that hunched posture. He'd sat in it often enough as a child when working with others, when every good suggestion only sparked envy that he hadn't thought about it first and every well-meant addition to his ideas felt like a slap in the face. What the Court saw as a series of extended hands offering to help, Thrax saw as accusing fingers and responded accordingly. Through the windows, the clouds drifting behind the palace bore a distinctly green tinge.

Thrax jabbed back at Acrithis first. "Ever since I cast the Galleria out to save us all, you’ve held a grudge against me. As for the rest of you…" his glare swept over Sythel, Lodun, and Bombastine. "Don't think me blind to your plotting to overthrow me. You evince a sad desperation for all that is mine. Would it then please you, should I spit upon you?"

He made as though to spit on Bombastine.

Luscinia stepped in front of Bombastine. "Your Majesty, I vouch for him."

Lequos dropped his schedule. The board clattered to the floor. He mumbled apologies that Thrax paid no mind to.

"Even you, Nightingale?"

She beseeched the king with her hands outstretched, "I have sung to ease your nightmares. Let us ease them by taking on the burdens, lightening your load, as we did for Drifter."

Thrax looked over her head at Drifter. "I'm nothing at all like him."

If glares could kill, it'd have felt like a blade in the back, thrusting in, out, like a hot poker, always in the same spot. He kept his mouth shut. No good would come of arguing.

Thrax chuckled. It sounded hollow. "I've tried to laugh this off, but you're testing my limits,” he warned her.

Luscinia said, "Your Majesty, you need us."

"I need you? This won't last." He taunted, "You're as hollow as the rest of these dolls."

She didn’t know what to say, so she looked over her shoulder at Drifter.

He couldn’t ignore that plea to step in. “Your Majesty, I couldn’t even plan the Jubilee alone. You knew that, so you challenged me to become a whole person. You saw how hard it was as I failed at your challenges over and over. Thanks to these good friends, I’ve learned how to control my emotions.” Hoping against hope that he wouldn’t make matters worse, he finished, “If I can do that with help, think about what you can do to protect Duviri with your Court behind you.”

Thrax knew he was right…and that was the problem.

The boy-king sat bolt upright like a kexat startled from its comfortable cushion by a sudden noise, ready to claw whoever was responsible. “Are we actually having this conversation?” He demanded. “I’m nothing like you.”

After that, the audience devolved in a quick, explosive, spiraling rant.

“I’ve been responsible for Duviri for ages while you lazed around. Centuries, while you wallowed like a pig in your slops. And I will hold it for ages after you fuck off and die in the real world.”

He flinched at the curse; Dominus Thrax didn’t normally swear. Shred his ego with sarcasm? Oh, yes. Wish death on him? All the time. Swear? Not so much.

Thrax saw it and barked a quick, short laugh. “That’s right. Fuck off.” At that moment, he sounded exactly like a young Drifter running through every curse word he knew.

Drifter knew exactly who Thrax learned it from. From one Drifter, aka Loneryder, aka Outlaw, aka one sad sack of a man who’d spent Spiral after Spiral cursing and swearing at Teshin for doing his best to help him. Teshin weathered that storm with seemingly endless patience.

Drifter couldn’t match his patience naturally, so he silently recited the Litany of the Dax and the Archarbor’s tools for emotional regulation until the petty urge to show Thrax some real foul language passed. Thrax tried in vain to get another reaction from him. He was a rock. A mountain enduring the rains. What did Lua care for the clouds that veiled its silver face?

Unable to feed off their anger, Thrax leapt down from his throne. Suddenly, he was no more than a short youth. A teenager standing in front of a ring of adults. All the more infuriated by his loss of stature, he shouted:

“What’s gotten into you? My world, my rules.”

“Allow me to assist your faltering recollection. Duviri is mine! I break what I like!"

He looked around for something with which to prove his point. 

The servant squeaked as the king’s eye fell on him. 

He grabbed the servant’s silver platter, tugged on it so hard he gave the man no real chance to let go, and spilled the grapes and wine goblet to the floor. The cup clanged. The servant lost his balance and toppled to the floor moments later. Wine spilled down the steps like blood.

Like a discus thrower, Thrax wound up and then hurled the tray through one of the throne room’s windows.

Glass shattered. The clouds outside boiled, painted with orange and crimson as if the sun were setting at mid-afternoon. Hot air streamed inside the room. Every other window fogged up, casting the throne room in a hellish glow. The servant scrambled out of sight.

Lodun was unimpressed. “I am in control of my anger. Your Majesty could learn from my example.”

Instead, Thrax shoved through their line toward Lequos. He swiped the schedule board from him, stepped back up before his throne, and said, “The Orokin knew exactly what to do with your sort.” He made as though to hurl the schedule at Luscinia’s face. 

She shielded her face with her hands. 

Thrax barked that same short, ugly laugh and hurled it at another window instead. Not being as heavy as the platter, it bounced off. “Pity.”

Drifter’s hand clenched on Sun’s hilt. A verbal tirade was one thing; Thrax just crossed the line. 

Lodun’s hand likewise gripped his saber’s hilt. Luscinia was on the verge of fainting, supported by Bombastine and Acrithis. Sythel was so angry she wasn’t even counting, and Mathila wore the stern look of a parent who’d already handed out too many warnings.

Thrax turned his back on them all, and started climbing up into his tall throne. With every step he climbed, he seemed taller and more powerful, reasserting his control over Duviri. “Go on, Drifter.” He challenged, “Stop me.”

He could stop him. 

He could physically stop him in his tracks. He could take the wind out of his sails, take away his singular power over Duviri, and when he exploded into a screaming, crying, yelling tantrum, he could bind him in pathos clamps until the outburst ended. 

Except that pathos clamps didn’t teach anything about how to control one’s emotions. Treating him like a child wouldn’t help. Respect had to be earned. By the Court modeling self-control and emotional regulation in the face of provocation, he thought they were teaching Thrax more by their actions than their fine words ever could. 

Rather than taking the wind out of the king’s sails, they’d simply take their sails out of his wind.

So he said, unruffled and with implacable certainty, “I can see that Your Majesty would like some time and space to consider our request. We’re going to leave now and continue carrying out our duties. When you're in a calmer mood, we'll discuss this again.”

“Well said,” Lodun said, and turned on his heel.

Thrax spat on him.

Lodun looked over his shoulder at the gob of spit, wiped it off onto the winestained floor, and marched toward the door. All the petitioners had long since cleared out.

“You can't just do that?” Thrax half-shouted, half asked. An edge of panic entered his voice.

“Come on,” Luscinia tugged on Bombastine’s arm. Though he supported her, her eyes were as hard as flint.

“You can’t leave,” Thrax cried. “You have to sing for me!”

She retorted, “When your Majesty has calmed down, then I'll sing.”

“But how will I calm down if you don’t sing?” Thrax was on his throne again, but he looked and sounded like a lost little boy playing dress-up at a job too big for him.

She shrugged and left with Bombastine.

Thrax whirled on the other women, but Mathila and Sythel were already leaving, arm in arm in solidarity. “I hate you!” He howled.

Mathila flinched at his unhappiness, but held her head high. Acrithis took Drifter’s arm and murmured, “I do believe that’s our cue to leave.”

As much as he wanted to comfort the king, who by now was nothing more than a frail teen reduced to clenching his fists and shouting at them, surrounded by broken glass and steaming hot air as he valiantly tried not to burst into tears, the best thing he could do for him right now was given him time and space to understand what went wrong. Dominus Thrax only held his singular control over Duviri whilst his Courtiers were trapped in their emotional spirals. He only controlled the Orowyrms by their pathos clamps, not because he himself actually controlled his own emotions. While the Courtiers were bettering themselves, he was only showing how much he hadn’t changed and didn’t think he needed to.

Respect had to be earned. Hopefully, today’s defeat would spur Thrax to seek out ways to do better tomorrow.

Thrax screamed at the closing doors. “Drifter, you ruined my life!” His voice broke at the last.

Before the door shut behind them, he heard running footsteps and then a door slamming further in the palace.

Down in the palace courtyard, everyone clustered together looking as defeated as he felt. They’d appealed to the king at his best; he’d shot down their plan in tatters and shown them his worst. Mathila plopped down on the steps, hanging her head.

Luscinia, who still shook with suppressed anger, said, “Instead of proving to Thrax that he needs us, he should consider proving to us that we need him. I assure you I will not sing for him until he offers me a proper apology.”

Bombastine said, “Nor should you. I shall not usurp your stage, no matter what accolades he offers me.”

“I'm sorry,” Mathila said. “This is my fault. I really thought he'd…listen? Behave reasonably? Control his emotions? Shows what I know.”

Drifter sat next to her. Guilt was a burden she shouldn’t carry alone. “I thought so too.”

Lodun said, “It wasn't your fault the Imp spat on our offer. It wasn't your fault the Imp threw it back in our face.”

Mathila leaned against him. “I still think I’m right. The king isn’t happy with who he is or how he acted.”

Drifter thought of Teshin’s seemingly endless patience and willingness to keep trying until something changed. “I didn't change in one Spiral. We’ll keep trying. Just not today.” 

Acrithis said, “You can keep trying if you want. I’m going to keep searching for a way to defend Duviri without Thrax. If that means digging into secrets he’d rather keep hidden, so be it. Anyone who wants to can join me tomorrow at the Citadel.”

Sythel told her, “I will be there. I will not go quietly into the Void.”

Even if they were privately worried about Thrax’s revenge, no one else would fear to rush in where Sythel dared to tread. So they all agreed to meet up at the Citadel tomorrow. Drifter offered and Luscinia accepted a ride back to the Chamber of the Muses on Kaithe. It’d been a long time since he simply sat and listened to her soaring song.

“Do you think you’ll be safe here or would you like me to stay overnight?” he asked afterward, mindful that Thrax might not react kindly to her refusal to sing him to sleep.

She had other concerns on her mind. “I won’t need supervision to keep me from spiraling out of control or seeking revenge for the way he threatened me. I have learned from you to apportion blame fairly; I am not the source and font of the pain that now afflicts Thrax. It is not my fault that he must suffer the consequences of his own actions. I do not need to seek revenge because he shall punish himself.”

“Ah…” as relieved as he was to hear it, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Her gaze darkened. “I see. In my time as the king’s captive songbird, there have been many jailers, many tormentors. If Thrax sends his Dax to bring me before his throne, then I shall defy him. If he hurts me for it, let that serve as a warning to all Duviri that no one is safe when even his most favored falls to his wrath.”

“I would rather that you stayed safe in the first place.”

She kissed his cheek, sweetly enough that he could smell her rose perfume. “I was created to be Sorrow. Written into being to serve as a lesson. I mean to change my fate as you taught me, so you must let me walk my own path despite its dangers.”

Her appeal cut right to the heart of him. How many times had he begged Thrax to let him leave the stifling safety of Duviri, despite the dangers outside, despite the lack of the Spiral’s safety net? Oh, he and she were a mirror of each other. He caught her hand and bowed over it. “I admire your courage even though I hope you won’t be tested.”

“I hope so too,” she admitted. “Mathila was right about Thrax. He’s so desperately unhappy that I ache with sympathy. Nevertheless, I shall not let him drag me back down with him. Take care, Drifter. You too must walk a path that is strewn with danger.”

Comforted by the thought that she understood him, Drifter flew back to Teshin. Maybe he couldn’t keep her safe overnight, but at least he could plan how best to put his finger on the scales of the morrow’s mission.

The next spiral dawned dark with fear. Drifter imagined that Sythel was lighting her lamps to ward off the gloom before tucking into a hearty breakfast and heading off to the Citadel, while Thrax cowered under his silken sheets and trembled at every rumble of thunder.

Teshin said, “The thunder heralds the very real changes sweeping Duviri. Changes which Thrax cannot avoid acknowledging any longer, for they have come to his door. Yesterday you gave him the chance to join hands with you. How will you prepare for another rejection?”

When he was stuck in his spiral downward, he'd needed help from the Paradox. Unfortunately, Thrax feared everything outside of Duviri (some of it for very good reasons), so dragging him in front of a paradoxical mirror to ask the Tenno for help was likely to end with one Drifter hung for witchcraft. So, what if he acted as the go-between?

He turned to the paradoxical void mirror in Teshin's cave. Normally, it took him straight out into Duviri. As though it sensed his intent, the opaque portal inside the metal frame spiraled down until there was nothing but a cave wall and the Zariman-suited Tenno on the Other Side. The boy wore his hood up and was of age to be one of his classmates.

Fully aware of just how ridiculous this sounded, he asked the Tenno for a favor. “Remember the Tales of Duviri and Dominus Thrax? Well, he’s real and he's acting just like I did on the Zariman. Like a jealous, domineering, temperamental asshole who can’t control his emotions. I’m under no delusions about who I was. You’ve helped me be better. Now I’m asking for your help so I can help him.”

The Tenno peered up at him as if to say, “Are you for real?!”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve grown up.”

Behind him, Teshin chided the boy, “My pupil, you grew up too.”

Was this Tenno the quippy Sun from under the mountain, cracking jokes to push through despair? If so, he felt an odd sense of kinship. 

The Tenno vanished. The mirror swirled once again with the pathway back to fearful Duviri. Teshin made a startled noise.

When Drifter turned around, the plinths that usually displayed a random selection of warframes and weapons from the Tenno arsenal were empty. Except for one warframe: a woman in purple, wearing a cream cowl that trailed from her shoulders down either side of her curvaceous body. 

Teshin said, “Wisp. The Paradox sent you a healer.”

“Thanks,” he told the Paradox. “Let’s hope I’m jumping at shadows.”

Teshin sent him off to join the scavenger hunt at the Citadel. “Hope for the best. Plan for the worst. Today's friend may be tomorrow's foe.”

Chapter Text

The Citadel was a fortress designed not so much for defense as for towering above the surrounding villages and farmlands below. Its two main ramparts formed the arms of a right triangle that enclosed the jail, dax barracks, training grounds, and a small city. The center of the triangle faced towards Castle Town, surmounted by a statue of Thrax pointing the way. The two arms stretched out from there as though to encompass everything from the island of Upperhaven and its pastures all the way to far Northwind and its windmills…at least until they met their own island’s edge, where they crumbled away into the void below.

At the base of the Citadel, roads from the various villages intersected under the watchful eyes of Dax patrols. It made for a busy meeting place with Dax coming and going, messengers passing through, and peddlers and pedestrians walking by. The Court gathered where the roads met the stairs going up into the city.

Denphius Dax hadn’t been included in the disturbing audience they’d had with Thrax yesterday. He tagged along with Bombastine as the actor’s bodyguard. Luscinia stood with the two men. She gave Drifter a little reassuring wave then turned back to Bombastine who was gesturing grandly up at the city.

Then, Mathila asked Drifter, “When you said architecture was supposed to extol the virtues of a hierarchical society, is this what you meant?”

One Dax patrol watched them from the rightmost rampart. Each rampart’s tower was manned by a squad of Arcus watching the land below. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think like it.”

Unlike him, she hadn’t spent more than the odd Spiral out on the wrong side of the law. “It looks a little different from the ground floor, doesn’t it?”

Sythel, who was accustomed to both feeling on the wrong side of the law and abusing the law to oppress others, said, "Chin up, Mathila. We won't be cowed."

"I am never cowed," she laughed, a bright sparkling sound that drew the attention of every Dax in hearing. She beamed at them all, defying them to take her joy.

Before any conflict arose, Lodun quickly enlisted a number of squads to assist with finding Acrithis’ hidden lore tabs.

Drifter considered his plan. If something went wrong, he needed Wisp. 

Getting her wasn’t quite as easy as asking the Paradox for a favor. Thrax forbade warframes in Duviri in the same way that he’d once banished all Kaithes. Drifter normally avoided that restriction by only using the Paradox’s warframes in the Undercroft where Thrax had less control. However, there was a way around those restrictions: transference surge. By building up enough focus by battling enemies, his Guiding Hand could surge the warframe’s transference systems and briefly summon Wisp.

He had a couple options to build up for transference surge. He could duck into a cave and provoke the liminus ghosts. He could search for one of Thrax's treasure chests and provoke him into sending a guardian Thrax.

Or, he could simply ask the Dax for a favor. 

It wasn’t that long ago that Denphius had stopped dragging him off to these very jail cells. Plus, Teshin had a point that the Dax were still bound by their oaths. Today’s ally might well become tomorrow’s enemy.

For today, he’d treat him like a friend.

Denphius looked to Bombastine, who said, good-naturedly, "Kick his ass."

Drifter grinned. “Yeah, that's pretty likely.”

He grinned back. “Yeah, that's pretty likely.”

Denphius bowed as formally as he might to Thrax. “It'd be my pleasure, sire.” He gestured to the crossroads. “Here?”

There were practice yards higher in the city that would be less public, but they’d already caught the interest of at least one passing patrol coming down the stairs. There’d be a small crowd of Dax watching soon enough. If he and Denphius strolled off to the practice yards, they’d gather a veritable parade behind them. He shrugged. “I don’t mind if everyone sees me get my ass kicked. That’s nothing new.”

“That’s not why they're watching, sire.” Denphius said. With his authority, there was no trouble clearing a space for them to fight amidst the foot traffic. 

He settled into a readied stance, crouching so that he could pivot on either leg. Sun’s longer blade crossed over his body, braced against Moon which he held upward to guard his face. “Just because Bombastine calls me that sometimes doesn't mean you have to. Drifter will do.” 

Deniphus twirled his two-handed Azothane in one hand, then went into a slight crouch, holding the long greatsword upright before him. “Sire, they're watching to see what their king has learned.”

The Azothane flashed down. He brought Sun snapping up to meet it. They met in a ringing clash of blades, but quickly separated, neither able to force a quick advantage.

Beyond the battle, he had the distinct sense that something deeper was going on. Some significance he was missing. “I'm not the king. Dominus Thrax is.”

Denphius cut at his neck. 

He parried, the strike rebounded off Moon, and Denphius stumbled back. The Dax recovered quickly though, backpedaling before he could follow up with a gutting thrust with Sun in riposte.

“I am a Dax. My oath is to the ruler of Duviri.”

“Which is Thrax.” Why was Denphius telling him this now? He felt as dense as cold mud, but not so dense that he didn’t engage as Denphius probed his defenses with a series of back-and-forth slashes. He spun and wove in his own strikes and parries, remembering Teshin’s advice, “Weave a net. Leave a hole for your enemy and you’ll know where to guard.” If he’d done it right, then as soon as he came around out of his spin, Denphius should strike at his ribs, right now-

Denphius put his weight into the blow, just as expected.

He locked Moon against the Azothane and shoved. 

Denphius stumbled, off-balance. 

Now he went for the gut thrust (during Spirals past when they fought for higher stakes, it would've been a brutal evisceration) with an open handed shove more suitable for practice. 

Denphius hit the ground. As he levered himself up, he acknowledged the victory. “A good hit, sire. One point to you. Best two of three?”

Drifter stepped back into a guard position, breathing hard to catch his breath before round two. More Dax were watching now, along with citizens and merchants who’d stopped to watch the show. If he didn’t get his racing mind in order, it’d end with his own ignominious defeat. Denphius was hint, hinting with all the subtlety of a thrown brick, but why? He would’ve expected staunch loyalty from Thrax’s champion. “Is this Bombastine’s idea?” 

“Not the Court’s idea. It's mine.”

Of course, it was possible that Denphius was covering for Luscinia’s machinations again. Or, if he was telling the truth, then maybe he wasn’t so different from Teshin Dax. An oath-bound champion who’d grown a conscience. Who dared hope for a better leader to follow.

Denphius pointed the Azothane’s tip at him. His feet glowed briefly. He charged across the crossroads in a matter of seconds.

He hurled himself out of the way just in time, rolling on the hard road. Get up, Drifter, because the follow-up move was coming-

Denphius leapt high in the air, so high that his back arched and his heels nearly touched his raised arms. Then he brought the greatsword down in the massive cleaving strike.

Drifter rolled and rolled, anything to get out of range before he scrambled to his feet. Even then, Denphius pressed him so hard and fast that he only barely interposed Moon. Without Sun to brace the short sword against, Denphius forced Moon backward, closer to his face. Shit, he was so out of practice…

In Spirals past, this was the moment his guard broke, ending in either merciful decapitation or humiliating capture. Instead, Denphius growled as they wrestled, “My oath is to the ruler of Duviri. Do you understand?”

Yeah, he understood. He’d changed Duviri for the better. 

It wasn’t just the Courtiers who felt the difference. The commoners and sages hoped for calm days, righteous enforcement of the laws, and a good king who’d hear out their plans for the future. The Dax wanted a king worth serving and oaths worth fulfilling. It said something about how far Drifter had come that they now preferred him to Thrax. It said even more about how Thrax wasn’t changing with his kingdom.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t be that king. He’d put off leaving long enough.

Worse, he recalled the Sage’s words to Luscinia. People could accept suffering so long as it had meaning. Without meaning or hope, it was pure misery. 

He ripped that hope away like tearing a bandage from a scab. “You’re asking for something I can’t do. I will not remain in Duviri as king, hero, or outlaw.”

Denphius shoved him away. He slammed the Azothane into the ground. Crackling electricity spread out in a wave from the sword.

If that wave caught him, he'd be paralyzed, a prisoner of his own twitching muscles. 

He flipped Moon up into a throwing position. He hurled it.

It struck Denphius hard enough that he let go of the sword. The electric wave died. For a moment, he was stunned, temporarily defenseless. In a moment, he’d grab the Azothane to guard against the follow-up blow he knew was coming.

So Drifter ran, and slid into Denphius’ legs, tangling them up together. His metal legs, which hurt quite a lot - this was a stupid idea, idiot, this is why we don’t wrestle Dax - but at least he had momentum on his side. 

Denphius toppled again. 

Drifter came out on top, with Sun pressed against metal throat. “My point,” he gasped, breathing ragged enough that if there had been a round three, no doubt he’d get his ass kicked up between his ears.

The excitement attracted more than a crowd. Thrax himself said, “Aww. Maybe I need a new champion.”

“He fought well,” he told the king. 

“Hmmph.”

As soon as Thrax’s attention was elsewhere, Denphius accepted his hand up. The Dax said, “Consider my point as well.”

“Thrax is your king. I'm leaving Duviri.” He hoped he sounded convincing because he felt every bit the hypocrite. Transference Surge was ready to summon his warframe.

He joined the Court in looking for brass tabs. He’d just flown Kaithe up on the top of the Citadel’s intact tower then dismounted to collect a tab when it abruptly became clear that Thrax’s attention had not, in fact, gone elsewhere.

“I’m bored,” Thrax complained.

Perhaps the king had been hint, hinting with considerably more subtlety, that he wanted Drifter himself for his new champion? A pleasant change of tune, but no less impossible. Instead, he offered, “Your Majesty is welcome to join us.”

Thrax scoffed. “After yesterday?”

“Always,” he said, and hoped he’d take the offer. Eventually even Thrax must see that rejecting them at every turn only made him more unhappy, right? Then again, he reconsidered with a sinking feeling, seeing her fears defeated only made Sythel more fearful, seeing his enemies routed only ever made Lodun angrier, getting everything he could lay hands on only made Bombastine want more, and so on and so forth for every Courtier for centuries. It’d been a long, long road out of the crab pot for all of them.

The Court had just gathered in the crossroads with their pieces of the lore fragments. Acrithis waved up at him. He waved back down with the final piece. A passing peddler waved back, mistaking him for someone he knew.

Thrax announced again, “I’m bored!” with all the petulance of a child denied a sweet. 

Drifter pointed out, “You could come and help us. Then you wouldn’t be bored. Try something different for a change. You might find you like it.” 

Instead, Thrax turned to his champion, Denphius, and leapt headfirst back into old, bad habits like a Sun, sovereign above all, mind in firm action, committing without reflecting. “Entertain me, Dax. Execute someone. Anyone will do.”

Like watching the Jubilee’s disaster unfold, Drifter had a paragrimm’s eye view to what happened below as Thrax took that offered hand and spat on it once again.

A passing Dax squad looked to Denphius Dax for orders.

When Denphius looked to Lodun for orders, Thrax snapped, “Go on, Champion.” 

Drifter leapt back into Kaithe’s saddle, thinking quickly. Denphius wanted a better Duviri, so he wouldn’t turn on the courtiers. He’d grab an easy sacrificial victim, like that peddler…

Two Dax heralds grabbed the peddler and forced him to his knees, spilling his wares. Denphius drew his greatsword, looking not at the man but up at the kaithe leaping off the tower far too late to make a difference.

Kaithe folded his wings to his sides. They plunged. It didn’t matter. They’d be too late to save the pitiful man stretching out his hands to the giant head of Thrax in the sky, pleading that His Majesty had nothing to fear from a poor man like him.

As Denphius measured his neck for the blow, Luscinia threw herself between him and the prisoner. She spread her red silks and cried to the sky, “You’ll have to kill your Nightingale first, Thrax!”

Thrax sneered, “You are as soft as pudding.”

But then Bombastine stepped up, linking his arm with hers. Acrithis took her other arm. Mathila grabbed Acrithis. Lodun and Sythel were only a step behind to join the line.

Drifter landed in a clatter of hooves behind them. Thrax hadn’t faltered in the face of his united court yesterday. This wouldn’t phase him.

Thrax ordered, “Denphius, move her.”

Luscinia’s chin rose proudly. “I won’t be moved.”

The king’s voice grew dark. “Then hurt her.”

Denphius shuddered like a tree caught in a storm wind. Like a mountainside shaking in an avalanche. Like a man, compelled by oath to commit dishonor and denied the chance to simply fall on his blade rather than obey.

Lodun ordered, “Stand down, Dax.” His voice crackled with pent-up righteous fury. “This isn’t right.”

“We swore oaths,” Denphius said, sheathing his sword. He drew his right hand back, preparing to slap Luscinia. “We swore oaths to the-”

“-king of Duviri,” Lodun finished, through clenched teeth, for he was just the Prince of Fire. The General of the Dax had no power here, and he knew it.

Then Drifter skidded to a stop behind them. 

Thrax, swiftly growing bored with their torment, ordered, “Get on with it.”

Drifter reached out to the Paradox. His Guiding Hand surged with power, bridging the gap and overwhelming Thrax’s ability to block his connection. 

Even Denphius backed up as a Warframe as tall as he was burst into existence. 

“What did you do?” Thrax shouted in panic.

He had seconds to act. Wisp knew what to do. She planted three flowers - red, green, and blue - that floated around his allies and encircled them within a tripartite ring of lights.

Then the surge of transference ended. “Healing, Haste, and Electricity,” he said for their benefit, as a crown of those flowers drifted around each courtier’s head.

“What witchcraft is this?” Thrax asked. “You should be hung.”

“...at least that’s a better reason than because you were bored,” he retorted.

Thrax seethed. “Denphius. Hurt her. Now!”

Denphius slapped Luscinia across the face.

Or he tried to, because the moment he took one step over the line towards her, electricity danced up his limbs and held him in place paralyzed. His hand was raised to strike; when his Dax dragged him free as best they could, he fell to the ground and didn’t try to rise again. He just stared at her miserably.

“Hurt her!” Thrax raged.

“This isn’t right!” Lodun raged back. “Your Dax are supposed to uphold the law, not your spoiled whims!”

As Drifter linked arms with Lodun, he pleaded, “Surely this is enough excitement. Surely you realize this isn’t going to make your day better. It’ll only make tomorrow worse!”

Thrax sent the rest of the patrol against them anyway. 

The Court clung to each other; any Dax who breached the line convulsed in seizures until Bombastine, Lodun, or Drifter threw them free. A rank of Arcus fired down on them from the Citadel’s ramparts. Acrithis’ brass cloak and Drifter’s parries were proof against their arrows. When the silver bolts got through their guard; the wounds healed near-instantly thanks to Wisp’s healing mote.

“No amnesty for insurrectionists!” Thrax bellowed.

Lodun bellowed back, “Your right to the throne means nothing if you can’t be the right king!” 

Somehow, that got through to Thrax when nothing else had. Fear’s skies darkened. The wind picked up. Thunder rumbled. 

Sythel stepped up shoulder to shoulder with Lodun. “Your Majesty wouldn’t need to fear for your throne if you were worthy to sit upon it.”

Lightning struck the tallest of the citadel towers with an almighty crack. Thrax mumbled, “I suppose not even you can lose all the time,” and dismissed the Dax so fast they looked like they were routed rather than resuming their patrol routes.

The thunderstorm picked up pace, wind-whipped clouds racing towards the palace where Thrax might well be cowering under a blanket, praying that his court accepted his not-apology. Drifter sighed. Far from learning from yesterday, Thrax repeated his mistakes and it was only thanks to Wisp that they hadn’t paid a steep price for defiance. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes?” The peddler checked himself over. “Yes! Oh, thank you, dear Nightingale. Thank you, thank you.” He practically fell at her feet to kiss the hem of her silks.

She stepped over him to get to Denphius. Though tears streamed down her porcelain face, her soprano cut sharper than a knife. “No, I’m not okay. Untouched, but not unharmed.”

Twice now, Thrax lashed out at her because he thought her a soft target who only spent her pent up fury on others instead of at the spoiled boy who demanded she serve at his whim. She’d proven herself willing to defy him twice now, and stood unbowed, unbroken in the face of his malice. She told Denphius, “We’re through. It's over between us. You understand why, right? You chose the king over me.” 

He said sadly, “I would cut off my hand if it meant I’d never hurt you again, but I cannot cut off my oaths.” Then he looked directly at Drifter.

Bombastine told Denphius, “I don’t want you for my bodyguard either,” then he realized what was going on, and followed his gaze like everyone else. To Drifter, he said, “Sire, I think I speak for all of us when I say we wish you’d stop looking for a way out, when all of us are obliged to stay.”

Bombastine had said that phrase ages ago, back during the bad Spirals. It struck a chord with Drifter then. Instead of leaving as soon as he won his freedom, he’d stayed because he owed them the debt of a creator to his creation that he leave it in better shape than he found it.

Facing down the united court, Drifter got to enjoy the same experience as Thrax did yesterday.

As Mathila had said just the day before, what could their combined emotional control accomplish when the King of Duviri opposed them?

Nothing…unless the King of Duviri was the man they all trusted.

Now it struck a different chord because he owed debts on every side. 

“I can't stay. I owe more debts than just to Duviri.”

“Why not?” Mathila asked, mystified. “Teshin stayed.”

Teshin wasn't even sure if he was dead or alive when he fell into Duviri. “Teshin has worked tirelessly for ages to help me escape. Just because he would never ask me to take up the tasks he left undone in the Origin System doesn't mean I shouldn't do it.”

Sythel said, “Even though you'd be leaving Thrax in charge?”

He explained, “This morning, I asked the Tenno to help me protect you all. They lent me Wisp, a healer capable of guarding us from a Citadel full of Dax. Now I ask myself, what sort of dangers do the Tenno face that they need a warframe like her? I don't know how I can repay them, but I have to try.”

Lodun asked, “With what, a pair of swords and a pistol? At least here you can beat the King’s Champion in a fair fight.”

He held out his right hand, his Guiding Hand. “Remember that meteor?” When Lodun nodded, he made sure they all saw the woman’s hand with the immaculate purple nail polish that now nestled in place of his own, pulsing with his own heartbeat. “Somehow I doubt that she wanted her hand cut off and sent hurtling through the Void. There’s yet another debt I owe that can only be satisfied on the Other Side of the Wall.”

Acrithis had stayed silent. Now she held up her lore tablet. “If it's just a matter of debts to repay, you may not have to leave. You said that you and Thrax were two peas in a filo pod. It seems he shares some connection to the Paradox. A connection he has kept hidden from you.”

“What?” He hadn’t thought she knew anything that could shake his resolve.

She had a glint in her eyes. “He forbids your void meddlings by law. He would hang you for witchcraft for contacting the Tenno. But it was not always so.”

The Doll Mausoleum

The Necropolis Island was once one of the largest in Duviri, and the strangest. It appeared to be a sprawling burial ground, littered with gravestones, wooden crosses, sarcophagi and ornate tombs. But those who broke into these places found that there were no bodies to loot. Not a cadaver, not a skull, not even a tooth.

Instead, each coffin contained a simulacrum of the human form, in various stages of decay. Entire skeletons carved out of wood. Corpses of rotting straw stuffed into old clothes. Mouldering faces sculpted in crumbling clay. Little bones laboriously whittled down from large bones.

I have never been able to make any sense of it.

The Doll Mausoleum did not even attempt to imitate an authentic burial structure. It was built to far too small a scale. The cavities within it were tiny, each one holding a coffin that contained a miniature human figure. These were all genders, often with brightly coloured hair, all wearing odd one-piece hooded suits of black leather.

Thrax was known to visit the Mausoleum, alone. I do not know what he did there.

Now the place is lost to the Void. A mystery that shall remain so, forever. Isn't that maddening?

---

She continued, “I believe I can unravel the mystery now. Those were your fellow children aboard the Zariman, were they not? The Tenno.” 

“Yes,” he said slowly. He did not doubt her recounting, only the glitter in her eyes. That was not merely delight at solving a puzzle.

“Then you can aid them just as well from the throne of Duviri!” She said, triumphantly.

He was not so certain. Even though hers was as good a guess to the Doll Mausoleum’s purpose as any other, a whole host of misgivings rose up in him that started with Teshin’s warning that today’s friend might be tomorrow’s foe and ended with Lodun’s warning, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Sure, he hadn’t yet roused Acrithis’ anger. But Thrax? The whole Court was rightly furious, but only Acrithis had literal centuries to stew on what she’d do if she had the chance to deal with a king who burned her books. He would not put it past her to use him like a catspaw in pursuit of her vengeance. “Perhaps if the Necropolis were still in Duviri, I could try,” he allowed. “But its not, and even if I took the throne, I couldn’t change that.”

She scowled at him.

Suddenly, he was rather glad that Teshin had insisted on keeping that second lanthorn a secret from her.

Sythel asked, “Then, since you won’t stay, what are we going to do about Thrax?” A breath later, she put up her hands in a warding gesture. “Don’t look at me, my fear-driven plots to overthrow him never worked out.”

Even though they were resigned to him leaving, the Court still looked to him for an answer.

“I don't know.”

That wasn’t satisfying, even to him.

“Look, I know he’s a tyrant spiraling downwards. He just abused Denphius' oaths to make him abuse Luscinia. He treats questioning his whims like its insurrection. Not only is he not learning from the past, he’s getting worse. If our guesses about the role of emotional control in keeping Duviri safe are right, then he’s got all the emotional regulation of an abusive teenager. He’s endangering us. But…”

The whole Court frowned at his “but.” 

And he didn’t blame them. “But you know who else got worse before he got better?”

Suddenly no one wanted to meet his eyes. 

Bombastine said, “Alright, since you’re all thinking it, I’ll say it: me.”

Lodun patted him on the back. “Me too. Even after the Spirals ended, I threatened to impale the Imp next to Drifter.”

Luscinia said, “I pity Thrax, for I was that pitiful once. Unlike me, he has not forsworn revenge. He’s not safe. He’s not the right king. So what will we do about Thrax?”

On the one hand, he was absolutely certain that Thrax would not, could not break free of his spiral downward without their helping hands. He was no different from Drifter himself or the other Courtiers. Behind that kingly mask was a lonely, hurting and hurtful boy who needed help.

On the other hand, he was just as certain that he could not ask them to endanger themselves and their precious progress upward by allowing Thrax to abuse their good natures. 

His mantle of responsibility felt like a yoke. 

“Hell if I know.”

Without an answer, they once more scattered to their homes in Duviri to wait for the Archarbor’s next appearance, at which point they could resume the hunt for Acrithis’ lore tabs. Drifter stopped at Lonesome Outlook and played the shawzin just to take his mind off the cares that weighed him down like a giant’s hand pressing on his shoulders, bowing him over. Music didn’t help.

When he went back to Teshin, the old man was playing Komi against Sol. He rose from the table, creaking and groaning like an old tree in high wind, and held out a Zariman tablet. “Denphius dropped this by. One of the patrols found it while searching under Moirai bridge.”

He took it, surprised that Denphius dared come back here. Sol seemingly wasn’t bothered, so presumably all was well despite the way the day went. “What did Denphius want with you?” 

“He wanted answers. Advice. For me to give meaning to his suffering.”

He winced. “Did it help?”

Teshin nodded at the tablet. “I suggest you read that.”

You wouldn't welch on a deal, would you?

           A. *CORRUPT FILE DETECTED*

           B. I saved them. All of them. Never said I'd save you.

“What the hell?” He asked. “This isn’t more to do with that debt, is it?”

It was. He couldn’t have said why he was suddenly so abruptly certain of that, because he didn’t remember and that hole in his memory felt an awful lot like the empty, vast, indifference of the Void itself when he pressed too hard trying to find an answer.

The memory of the deal was gone. The memory that came afterwards, however…

A child curled up in a lonely dormizone, choking on hot tears and bitter bile, sure and certain down to his bones that he had been abandoned to drift alone, forever.

Teshin gripped his arm like an iron pathos clamp. “The Litany,” he urged.

Only then did he realize how tightly he gripped the tablet. That he tasted his own bile and saw through a veil of hot tears. He should recite the Litany. He should breathe a four-count. Ground himself in the moment. Use the fury boiling in his veins, focus that overwhelming sense of betrayal crashing down on him into something productive, and then he wouldn’t give in to the overwhelming urge to-

He hurled the tablet into the rock wall as hard as he could.

The cover splintered. Electronics sparked, ruined beyond recovery. 

That awful deep voice boomed mocking laughter that rolled on and on and on.

Teshin’s grip gentled. “Did it help?”

He shuddered. “No.”

Chapter Text

The next week passed uneasily through Duviri. Thrax's mood alternated between anger and fear, even though he never once stirred beyond the palace or made any more trouble. Perhaps he realized he'd burned a bridge he couldn't afford to lose. Perhaps he was merely sleepless, cranky, and sulking about it.

The Archarbor remained hidden away to protect it from the King's darker moods, so instead Drifter and Teshin spent their time preparing as if Thrax would eventually see reason. Each day, they went out to the Citadel with Lodun to train the Dax to fight in the Undercroft. Denphius was a shell of his former self. He threw himself into the training like a man possessed by the faint hope of redemption. And if Lodun was taking notes to pass along to Duviri’s martially-inclined citizens…well, Drifter looked the other way from the budding militia. He still didn’t have an answer for what to do about Thrax. 

At night, he dreamed of the child he'd been, curled up in the abandoned dormizone until loneliness curdled into bitter rejection.

He confessed to Teshin, “I don’t know why I keep dreaming about it. It's not like I can do anything about it now.”

His mentor merely recited the Litany back at him, “To the receptive mind, all things come in time.”

He tried meditating on it, he really did. But that never worked before and it didn’t work now. 

After a week of that, he woke from the same dream with that void-voice still whispering, “I saved them. All of them. Never said I'd save you,” and knew there was no point trying to go back to sleep. Laying there in the dark thinking about it would be worse than getting up and getting out like the Furies' whips drove him. He pulled on his clothes without lighting a lamp, mind swirling like a whirlpool. He really was such a Sun. The urge to act was like fire in his veins and only the knowledge that ‘commitment without reflection’ was rarely helpful in the long term kept him there long enough to scarf down breakfast. 

On his way out, Sol flopped across his bedroll in a tangle of blankets, watching him cross the room with annoyance. Teshin grunted, shifted, and then went back to snoring.

What Spiral was it, even? More anger or just fears that fed into his own?

It was Joy.

Huh. Maybe it’d be a good day to hunt for those lore tabs at the Archarbor.

Or maybe not. Thrax was no less dangerous in a joyous mood than any other. He patted Sol. "Tell Teshin I'm doing okay."

Sol's beady little squint seemed to say "You can lie to him yourself if you want."

At least the Tenno on the Other Side didn't seem too worried, since he had the regular selection of warframes to choose from. He picked the healer Trinity, just in case, and then headed out into the chilly, pre-dawn dew. His boots were streaked with damp after the few steps it took to summon and mount Kaithe. 

The Archarbor’s white cap glowed rosily on the horizon. As driven as he felt, he could probably search it top to bottom and have the whole set of tabs by the time the Court arrived. And then, past experience reminded him, he'd basically collapse as the wind left his sails. The kicker was that even rushing to collect the tabs wouldn't satisfy him. What he really wanted was answers. An answer to his dreams. An answer for Thrax.

Kaithe snorted and shifted underneath him, waiting for his rider's direction.

"Right. Sorry. Just woolgathering. I bet Mathila's got tea going."

Mathila did indeed have tea going. In fact, she and Brimon sat outside on her porch, eating a breakfast of pastries and candied fruit together. 

"Cuppa?" Brimon offered.

"Please." 

Duviri's kovnik tea reflected the spiral in which it was harvested. Farmers cropped it at the end of the day, claiming that the flavor was more concentrated, with the last harvests being the highest quality. Since the Jubilee, there was in fact a raging debate about whether the less extreme Spirals made for more complex and delicate flavors or whether connoisseurs preferred the older, more vibrant teas. 

This tea was straight out of an Anger Spiral, with spiced notes that woke up his taste buds and everything else. It must be pleasantly warming for the two enjoying the dawn together. But he was already wide awake, and so it was a jolt he didn't need, spiking his heart rate and making it impossible to sit still and enjoy the rising chorus of birdsong as the sky lightened and slow curls of aurora glimmered with increasing vibrancy.

Mathila broke the silence. "Drifter, I'm not saying you aren't welcome or that I'm unhappy you've come to me instead of dwelling on your sorrows alone…"

Brimon just straight up asked him, "Are you doing okay, man?"

Despite their welcoming concern, he abruptly realized that he'd just waltzed in on a private moment, drank their tea, and then sat there brooding without even a hint that he cared about their company. Embarrassed at his rudeness, he drained his teacup. "Sorry to disturb your morning. I'll see you at the Archarbor?"

"You're welcome anytime," Mathila protested as he left. 

Brimon called out after him, "Fly free!"

He waved back, but his mind was already at the Archarbor. When he landed, the dawn's radiance streaked across the sky like fingerprints of pink, rose red, glowing gold, and light lavender. One of the Docents approached. "Can we help you, good Drifter?"

Mindful that his urge to do something, anything, must not drive him to excess, he took a moment to compose himself. All around, the people of the Archarbor greeted the new day as they wished. A quartet of shawzinists tuned their strings. If he’d invited Sol along, the rablit would've found Komi partners. A pair of lovers strolled hand in hand down the serpentine path of aggristone that wound around the central stalk, past reading nooks watched by benevolent busts of Thrax, past bridges to smaller islands with golden eevani groves, all the way to the foot of the windmill that powered the archive where they spread a blanket and laid out their picnic breakfast.

"I should relax. Reflect. Maybe even read. Do you have any suggestions?"

The Docent settled him down in one of the reading nooks with a poetry book. The contents were derivative of the children's rhymes and plays. One of which was a rather familiar play, with which Thrax taunted him while he rushed to rescue Teshin.

Once upon a time… 

There was a dying, old man. As he lay on his bed, dying, he called to each of his beloved children. So they came to his bedside, one by one, and his firstborn knelt there. 

And the old man said, “My child, my child, why be your eyes so dry?”

And the firstborn said, “So that I might be strong, father.”

And so the old man gave to them the deeds for all his lands. To his second born, he said again, "My child, my child, why be your eyes so dry?”

And his second child said, “I shed no tears, father, for I chose now to remember only the joy you made of my life.”

And so unto him, the old man gave his family home. And when his last child had entered, he said again, “My child, my child, you were my favourite of all. Why show you no feelings at all?”

And the last child said to him, “I feel nothing, for it was I… who has killed you.”

At the time, Drifter identified with the third son, for he'd also murdered his father in panic and instinctual rage that left his hands stained with blood. In accepting what he'd done, he took control of the trauma that drove him to create Duviri. Little had Thrax guessed that his taunting was the last piece of the puzzle necessary for Drifter to escape his power for good.

However, what if Thrax hadn't been taunting him at all? Maybe Thrax had been saying something about all those Spirals ending in death by impalement, and coming to his “father” out of a strange desire for…what? Atonement? Forgiveness?

If so, he’d missed it completely. What else had he missed?

To the reflective mind, all things come in time. He marked his place and simply tried to enjoy the atmosphere.

The Archarbor really was the most beautiful of all Duviri's islands. His nook was shaded by a large tree with silver bark and purple leaves whose delicate branches grew in sweeping curls like fibonacci sequences. Younger specimens of the same tree stood straight and proud along the outer edge of the island's paths as windbreaks. Birds fluttered between them, nipping in and out of the eevani groves chasing insects for their nests or else calling for mates in twittering song. Carriages and flying boats arrived and left, bringing more readers, scholars, and more than a few giggling lovers to enjoy this brief moment of unadulterated happiness.

Why, then, couldn't he concentrate on anything but that terrible phrase? 

"I saved them. All of them. Never said I'd save you.”

Reading plays and poems wasn't helping. He flipped to the next chapter, Epigrams from the Sage. He read: "To adjust perspective on suffering, remember that the shape of both comedy and horror are identical."

"Oh, fuck you, buddy." He muttered, dispirited. "This isn't funny."

"Ahem.” Acrithis stood there, hands on her hips, having apparently tried and failed to get his attention for some time. “Excuse me?”

"Uh…" Shit. He hadn't noticed. 

She laughed, long and hard. “Your face! Like an epic tragedy! What are you reading?”

On second thought, it actually was kind of funny. He put the book back on its rack, a rotating cylinder of reels that formed a bookshelf. “I guess the Sage has a point about horror and comedy.”

“Ah, the Epigrams. My favorite is “It is said you cannot cheat an honest man. Untrue. To cheat an honest man one does not appeal to their greed, but to their pity.” ” She ended with a significant look and a raised eyebrow.

When the rest of the Court waited on them at the Archarbor’s entrance, this wasn't the time to argue about why he pitied Thrax. Not when they’d clearly delegated Acrithis to go rouse him from his stupor. “Sorry. As you can see, I'm not very with it today.”

She tucked her hand into his elbow. “Not a problem. You don’t have to do this alone. Wasn’t that the point of you not only becoming a whole person yourself, but also lifting up the whole Court to work together?”

“Yeah, but I’m sorry anyway.”

She led him back to the others. Mathila had even brought the twins, who capered around her and Brimon, gleefully shouting:

“Even when your house is burning down,
Even when a fool has stolen your crown,
You can smile instead,
You can smile."

Lodun rolled his eyes. Brimon said, "Don't worry, I'll take them off your hands. Come on, kiddos, let's leave the boring adults to do their boring adult things." He flashed them a megawatt smile.

The kids seized his hands and dragged him upward along the rocky path, calling out as they did so:

"Even when you can't afford your tax,
Even when your husband's been killed by Dax,
You can smile instead,
You can smile."

Luscinia pursed her lips. "I'm not going to just smile and forgive Thrax because of one nice day."

Mathila said, wryly, "Unlike in the past, I'm not going to tell you to chin up. On the other hand, as I have said to Drifter on many, many occasions, either you keep stewing over your grudges or you channel that energy into something positive. It's up to you."

Luscinia smiled. “Indeed. I have amused myself these last few days by singing according to my whim and for my own merriment. It's been surprisingly refreshing.”

The Docent escorted them all right to the central stalk of the Archarbor. The Archives were above the puzzle segment below that housed the Orokin devices on emotional regulation. Each Archive was stacked on top of each other and consisted of a semicircle of six columns of six stacked spinning reels containing lore tabs. Each column was wound up by a machine for access. It ticked along merrily with a sound like windchimes.

"Welcome to the archives, noble courtiers," the Docent announced. "How may we be of service?"

With a discordant jangle, the windchimes clattered to a stop. The reels rattled.

The Docent’s expression of confusion and alarm told them he certainly wasn’t the cause of whatever had just gone very wrong.

“Thrax,” Acrithis jumped to conclusions.

The worst of it was she probably wasn't wrong.

With a thump and a groan, ancient blast doors rumbled to life. They began to close off the stalk.

"Everyone out!" Drifter ordered. He grabbed Acrithis as she lunged forward and hauled her back. If the blast doors were anything like the Zariman's, they completely sealed off the environs, isolating anyone left inside until they demonstrated successfully that the disorientation and worse from the Void had passed. "You'll be trapped."

Bombastine took up the call, booming the same warning in his actor's voice that reached to the back of the Agora, and now to the upper reaches of the Archarbor. "Everyone out! Evacuate!"

Scholars, docents, and visitors scrambled to safety. The last were a pair of half-dressed lovers who found themselves stuck on a balcony in full view of everyone and promptly decided they didn't care.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Acrithis seethed. "These are Duviri's archives. They've never been closed off, not in all my memories."

Luscinia pointed to the windmill. Despite the constant wind out here on the northeastern end of Duviri, the windmill's blades were still and silent. "There’s your problem.”

Acrithis said, “There's only one person in Duviri who wants to hide knowledge from us."

They looked at Drifter like they expected him to argue.

The sad fact of it was that, as much as he'd love to respond with Mathila's confident "I haven't given up on him yet," Thrax had given him nothing to work with.

So he said nothing.

Acrithis sniffed. "That's what I thought."

His Majesty Dominus Thrax immediately made any speculation moot. "Have I not made it sufficiently clear that your Void meddlings were to cease? Leave the Archives alone."

Even though it'd been obvious, everyone in the Court stiffened with an extra measure of steel in their spines. After the last week, they weren't backing down.

Thrax started chuckling to himself. Chuckles escalated to chortles, chortles to outright guffaw. "Your faces!" A metallic ringing sound came as he slapped his knee. "Oh, oh," he wheezed. "Did you think I couldn't learn from the Spirals? Today, I'm going to make myself happy by watching you fail!"

Though the Docents, scholars, and readers all looked to the Court for a solution, the Courtiers had the perspective to realize that the king couldn't be daunted in a moment.

Garmi Jr. and Mathila II, however…

They came tearing down the path, with Brimon scrambling to catch up. "Mom! Mom! The Caves closed off and now we can't see the puzzle. Mom, make it work. Please, Mom!"

Mathila consoled them. "Look, kiddos, sometimes our plans don't work out. The king broke the Archarbor so we can't do anything fun until he fixes it."

"Why'd he do that?" Garmi Jr. asked.

"Because he’s not happy, and he thinks if he's not happy, nobody should be," she explained.

"That's not true," Thrax protested. "I'm having a great time watching you all fumble."

Meanwhile, Lodun went into full problem-solving mode. He examined the blast doors, which from the outside were sheathed in the same white and green marble with gold detailing as the rest of the Archarbor. "With the right tools, we can cut through it."

Drifter corrected him. "The right tool is a ship's hull-grade laser. Even if I could find and haul one off the Zariman for us to use, just imagine what melting through a half-meter of metal will do to those books."

There came the faint sound of Thrax choking back a giggle fit.

Acrithis clenched her fists. "My favorite book of all is the one that details suitable tortures for people-"

Everyone chorused, “We know!”

Her expression as she looked up at the sealed archives was bleak and pitiless. "After our revelations concerning the Void, I almost forgrave Thrax for the Galleria's destruction and the loss of our islands. This…I shall not forgive."

Thrax snorted, "Oh no. I may piss myself."

Drifter thought that once again, Thrax had crossed a line and not even realized it. "At least you didn't hurt people today. That's an improvement."

"No, it's not," Acrithis snapped.

Mathila pointed out, “He did hurt people. This was supposed to be a joyous day." She waved her hands at the picnickers, the lovers, the scholars, the readers anxiously clutching their books, and even her twins scheming up a new rhyme. "Thrax, the only person who wasn’t enjoying the day is you. You ought to open the Archives right now and maybe you'll take the first step to opening your heart to joy."

Thrax's laughter faded at the rebuke. He asked, "Do you actually believe that sentimental claptrap?"

The twins chose that moment to chime in: 

“Even when your court won't listen to you,
Even when you don't know how to start anew,
You can smile instead,
You can smile.”

Thrax gasped like someone just stabbed him in the gut. "That…that's not…that's not about me!"

Drifter pitied him, for he knew well how painful it was to see himself as the sad sack of a man that others saw. Then, he doubted himself. Was that honest pity? Or was he an honest man being cheated because of his pity, and thus failing to hold Thrax accountable?

Mathila scolded Thrax. "I think it is about you. No one's saying you have to force yourself to be happy, but you could start by making others happy."

"But…but!" Then Thrax found the words. "Mathila, you've always tried to make people happy. Distract them with revels. Luscinia, sing!"

Luscinia asked sweetly, "Did you sleep well, your Majesty?"

"...no. Because you didn't sing for me."

"Because you abused me. Because you abused Denphius. Because you tried to murder a man for your own entertainment, and if I think back, you’ve done much worse over the Spirals," She reminded him. "I do believe I've finally found an appropriate sort of revenge: the consequences of your own actions."

"...but…"

Mathila said sternly, "You abused our good natures long enough. It's time for you to experience the consequences of your own actions. When you make people unhappy, it comes back around and makes you unhappy. Make better choices."

Drifter stepped back as the two women took over. Frankly, they were doing a better job of teaching Thrax to change than he could. He was too close to the problem.

Even though Dominus Thrax was the king from the Tales of Duviri, he was more than just the book character. He was more than just the Drifter’s own deepest childhood desire for the power to keep himself safe. Just like the whole Court, Thrax became his own person. Not necessarily a very likeable person, of course, but a person in his own right. Though Drifter had spent centuries of Spirals hating him, now, he pitied the boy who’d taunted him as he ran to save Teshin, saying, “I've never seen you like this! So ready to fight! It makes me so happy! But why are you doing this? You never cared this much for me…”

Maybe, if he had just reached out to Thrax earlier and worked with him like he worked with the Court to put together the Jubilee, they wouldn’t be at such an impasse now.

Or maybe not. His honest pity wasn't doing much good at inspiring change for the better.

A grinding sound broke his reverie.

The windmill's blades slowly rotated, picking up speed in the wind. The powered lines of pylons sparkled with the Void once more. The Archarbor doors ground into motion. The reels’ rattling mixed with the windchimes in strange, mesmerizing music.

The crowds at the Archarbor cheered. 

Whatever the Court said to Thrax, it must have worked.

For now.

As happy as everyone else was, the Court was solemn. Bombastine said, "I'm not sure how I feel about the idea that, once Drifter leaves, our only hope of fixing the windmills is waiting for Thrax to stop throwing a tantrum. Maybe this is just my pride speaking, but I don't think we should have to beg and beseech him for the basics of life."

"It's not just your pride," Acrithis scowled. "What's life without the arts and knowledge to enrich it?"

Luscinia said, "As proud of myself as I am today for holding firm, I won't always have leverage."

Sythel said, "Void help us all if he turns to worse things to soothe his nightmares than your singing. And he will - I should know."

Lodun said simply, "We can't be held hostage to the whims of the Imp every day. It's time that the right king is on the throne of Duviri.”

This time, the whole Court looked to Lodun instead of Drifter.

He was the rightful heir.

He’d proven that he could master the Anger that had once mastered him.

His plan to safeguard Duviri from the Undercroft was already bearing fruit.

Who else was better suited to become King of Duviri?

One by one, the Courtiers nodded their acceptance. Even Mathila. Until they came to Drifter.

He had every reason to agree that Lodun was not only the rightful heir, he would also be the right king. But saying so meant dethroning Dominus Thrax. 

And now he knew why he’d dreamed of an abandoned boy. His subconscious knew this choice was coming long before his reflective mind figured it out.

He himself was the dying old man who must leave behind his legacy to his “sons.”

Chapter Text

As the silence stretched on, the Court looked to Drifter to confirm their decision and to lend his voice in accolade to Lodun as the next, best, rightful and right king for Duviri. In doing so, he would reclaim his legacy from the “son” who’d murdered him countless times, who’s reign resulted in swathes of Duviri crumbling into the Void, and who’s current state of petulant pouting underscored just how unsuited he was to remain ruler.

Drifter stayed silent as he wrestled with his conscience. 

Everything he'd learned since taking up the mantle of responsibility to leave Duviri a better place than when he'd made it said that the right thing to do was to stand behind Lodun. Lodun would enforce just laws. Lodun would protect the islands. If Drifter just anointed him king, Duviri would be set up for success in the centuries to come. He could leave for the real world beyond the Wall with the clear conscience that came from knowing that his make-believe kingdom was in good hands at last.

Everything he'd felt since regaining control of his emotions and becoming a whole person said that he would never forgive himself for abandoning Dominus Thrax now. Who else would still hold out their helping hand after Thrax rejected everyone? There’d be no more chances offered. Anointing Lodun meant abandoning Thrax to despair and the bone-deep knowledge that Drifter his creator had never cared for him enough to fight for him like Teshin, to play with him like Sol, and not even enough to help him break his bad habits like the Courtiers. That he was unwanted, unloved, and ultimately discarded.

He couldn't choose. 

Not choosing meant hurting Lodun, all the worse because this was a betrayal the Prince of Fire wouldn't see coming. They’d become brothers in arms. He regretted the hurt to come, and said it anyway. “I can't choose between you.”

A sudden gut-punch would've hurt Lodun less. “Why not?”

“Because-” He didn't expect them to understand, not when he'd shattered the tablet that would've been proof, but he had to try anyway. “I cannot say to him, “I saved them. All of them. Never said I'd save you.””

“You-” Lodun sputtered, “-you told me to be the right king. The Imp is not the right king, and you know it, you…you hypocrite!”

He lowered his head. “Yeah, I know.” But he still didn't agree to support Lodun.

Acrithis was stunned. “You're still going to support Thrax after what he's done to Duviri? To Luscinia and Denphius?”

He tried to explain, “I'm not supporting him because of anything he's done. If I give up now, who's going to save him?”

She turned her back. He didn't blame her. Thrax's actions really were indefensible.

Luscinia argued, “Maybe what he needs isn't a helping hand. He's escaped the consequences of his actions long enough. We're standing here contemplating a coup because his actions led us here. 

Guilt weighed down like a heavy hand. “We're also standing here contemplating a coup because while I helped all of you, I haven't helped him. He's not just envious of your collective ability to control your emotions while he can't, he's envious that you've had my time, my effort, my friendship-”

Lodun interrupted, “Well, I thought I did.”

An awkward silence descended, filled with the distant merriment of the Archarbor’s visitors who had no clue that the Court wasn’t celebrating the day’s victory, but rather deciding the future. Lodun broke it. “Let's all go look for Acrithis’ tabs before I say something I can't take back.” 

Lodun had never looked more kingly. It was easy to see the shape of the new Court following his lead: Acrithis at his elbow as advisor, Sythel examining books she would've feared to touch before and Mathila bounding after her with more enthusiasm for the task than aptitude, while Bombastine and Luscinia split off as a pair to see to his wishes.

Only Drifter wandered away alone. He stood at the edge of the Archarbor’s entrance looking back over the abyss to Thrax Gardens where a statue of the king stood in the midst of waterfalls. Months ago, he and Lodun talked through their anger there. Today, he didn’t know how to bridge the silence.

“Would you like company?” Luscinia offered to let him join her and Bombastine.

“I think I’d better be alone for a bit.”

She left him to his meditation as graciously as she’d offered. The swirling auroras that covered the sky and the cool water flowing from the gardens offered no answers. Had he expected one? He was no Moon. 

Maybe the Archarbor’s Enigma would hold more guidance for him, as it once guided him to become a whole person again. Three busts of Thrax needed to be rotated into position to unlock the caves in order to access the puzzle. As soon as he set off on the path to the first bust, his spirits rose. Of course they did. He was a Sun, taking action at last.

The first bust was already in the right position. At the second plaza, which featured a paragrimm’s hutch and an impressive garden of twisted trees and windbreak bushes, he caught up with the culprits. Brimon and the twins slowly turned the bust until the king’s impassive mask turned to face the Archarbor. Brimon exaggerated wiping away sweat as the kids pushed. “Push!”

“Need a hand?” he offered.

Brimon grinned back. “Nah, we’ll do it.”

The twins redoubled their efforts. The bust rotated faster and when it was in position, the eyes glowed briefly. “See?” he said. The twins ran past them onward and upwards to the third plaza. Brimon jogged after.

He did see. Even though he was still unsettled about the question of kingship, there was no doubt in his heart that he wanted to remember the joy they’d made of his life. Family, friends…he'd thought he'd lost them forever on the Zariman, only to find them where he least expected.

Then Luscinia said, “I see you decided not to be alone.” 

She climbed out of the bushes on the far side of the plaza where he hadn’t noticed her, not least because he’d never expected to see her tugging her red silks free from clinging twigs nor Bombastine attempting to scale a tree. She had a Paragrimm’s button in hand.

When he offered a hand, she shook her head with a smile. “You don’t need to help us either. We decided we’d solve this puzzle together. But I’m glad you’re here.”

He relaxed. “Sorry, I’m not exactly with it today.”

Apparently they’d first tried to persuade the Paragrimm with honeyed words and sweet singing, but nothing worked. Faced with the choice to give up or work together, they’d traipsed through bush, brush, and tree to solve it. 

Afterwards, he asked Bombastine, “Did you ever perform the play with the Dying Old Man and his three sons?”

“Why, yes. It’d be easier to list plays I haven’t performed.”

“Does it ever say what he gave the third son who murdered him?”

“Well, it depends on the performance. When I played the old man, I often performed it as a cautionary tale. I’d summon the Dax and have the boy dragged for execution for patricide, screaming, howling, and kicking all the way. Oh, the audience loved that! When I played the favorite son, of course he would be honored above the rest for his ambition and willingness to seize the inheritance he deserved…say why do you ask?”

So the play left it open-ended for the reader to decide what the third son deserved. “I read it this morning.”

“Ah.” Bombastine poked the final spinning button with a long stick until it showed the right letter and the Paragrimm opened its hutch full of books. “Well, that was all back in the old days. I suppose I wouldn’t be so self-aggrandizing now.”

He asked, “Then you won’t have any problems supporting Lodun?” After all, besides Sythel, Bombastine was the one with the most naked ambition for the throne.

“Me?” The actor was innocence personified. “Of course not.”

Drifter almost believed him.

“Besides,” Bombastine thumbed at Luscinia, “I have her to keep me honest.”

She beamed. 

Now, that, he actually believed could work.

Then the twins came running up to him. “The caves are still locked,” Garmi Jr. panted. 

Mathila II asked, “Brimon can't pick the lock. Can you open them?”

He followed them back to the front of the Archarbor where a pair of brass doors were flush with the pavement. A brass console controlled access to the caves. 

Brimon leaned against it. He gestured to the console cover. “I’m not a lockpicking outlaw, I’m afraid.”

“It is a bit fiddly,” he agreed.

“You hear that, kiddos? Don’t jog his elbow.”

While Brimon corralled the twins, Drifter accessed the console. Just like Thrax’s treasure chests, it borrowed inspiration from the Zariman’s systems. The “lock” was a series of spinning rings with orbs on them that had to be locked into synchronous orbits. He supposed it was meant to represent the planets of the Origin System all bowing to the Orokin, or something like that. Each planet made a pleasant chime as he set them in place.

Then the console flashed as its projector turned on. Acrithis loomed larger than life and completely see-through.

He missed the next planet. The console snarled at him. “Shit, could you not jump-scare me?”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic at all. “I just thought I’d catch your ear for a private chat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If Thrax isn't stopped, you know that executing you for void meddlings and then resetting the Spiral to trap you here forever is the least of what he could do to you, right?”

The funny thing was, he didn't doubt it. “He's still acting like a tyrant because I never taught him otherwise.”

She made a rude noise. “You and your guilt! He doesn’t deserve it. He could just as easily cast you out into the Void and refuse to rescue you. Listen to this:

The Caves of Academe

There was a time when the children of Duviri were educated.

Upon the island of Academe, within its chalky caves, in rough-hewn classrooms lit by burning blue gas, sages taught them everything they would need to know. They learned of the Seven Principles, the geometries, the primords, the harmonics and resonances, the sacred stories, and most importantly, the unquestionable benignity of Dominus Thrax.

And then, not long after the Rain of Chains, the first of the Hollow Children appeared.

They joined the others for class, sitting at the back, silent and attentive. Their eyes were a deep and lustrous black, their mouths fixed in a constant grin. None of the sages saw them enter or leave.

The Hollow Children did not speak, nor did they participate in class in any way, except to giggle unnervingly when the subject of the Void was mentioned.

When adults came to collect their children, they noticed an additional oddity. Among the Hollow Children were exact duplicates of themselves when they were younger. Each day there were more of them.

Thrax ordered the island destroyed, but when Lodun descended from the sky to ravage it, the Orowyrm found it had broken free of its own accord.

Thrax did not give the order to pursue.

Acrithis asked, in a tone that could cut through blast doors, “The unquestionable benignity of Dominus Thrax is looking pretty questionable lately, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So why do you insist we keep giving him chances to throw one more bucket of piss on us?”

He finished orienting the locking mechanism. All the planets neatly in their place. Not one left behind. “He's just a child pretending he knows what to do with the authority I dumped on his lap before I ran off to live my life how I wanted. And look, none of the Courtiers were in any better shape when I earned my freedom. I helped them. How do you think it feels to be the one I refused to help?”

“I wouldn't know about that.” Her projection turned as though she was speaking to someone else over her shoulder. “How does it feel, Lodun?”

He flinched. Lodun was listening? 

Shit. She'd set him up.

If they could see him through the console like he could see her, then his face surely told Lodun everything the Prince needed to know. 

Worse, he hurt Lodun again. Even when Lodun was at his best, the last thing he wanted to hear was his supposed ally Drifter sympathizing with his rival.

Acrithis’ projection cut out. The console acknowledged the correct sequence. The cave doors began to grind their way open.

He paid no attention to the twins barging past him or Brimon's apology. He only had eyes for Lodun, who stormed out of a side nook and down the path towards the central stalk. He had a brass tablet stashed under his arm. Acrithis hurried after him. Mathila and Sythel waved him over to their pile of books. They had no idea they were inviting a thundercloud to rain on their parade. 

Ought he go join them and face the music? 

What could he say?

He was no closer to knowing how to divide his legacy between his “sons.”

Though it felt cowardly to leave them to take the edge off Lodun's rage, he ducked into the cool darkness of the cave. There was a final bust of Thrax deep within. Once he spun it so it overlooked the enigma, the gates guarding the puzzle fell. Brimon flew the twins inside with a whoop and a loop-de-loop.

Drifter studied the bust's blank, uncaring, unfeeling mask. Wasn't that just a cruel joke, that the boy who couldn’t control his emotions had to hide them?

Then, he flew down to the Enigma chamber and reviewed its teachings on emotional control with fresh eyes.

The Datum Aggregator told him that this conflict was inevitable: In time, your life experiences will make you into a complete person, a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire. But they can only do this if you accept them, incorporating them into your psyche. To divide parts of yourself off is to be a nation at war with itself.

Because he'd failed to incorporate everyone and allowed Dominus Thrax to be divided from the rest, Duviri was inevitably heading straight for a coup and a civil war. Stopping Lodun now would make him an unbearable hypocrite.

The Gyrotic Transformer told him what he was going to do about it instead: There is not one emotion that you cannot use positively, given sufficient discipline…Even guilt is useful, for it proves you have failed to live up to your own moral standards.

Because, his guilty conscience informed him, if he was the dying old man, then he’d been a pretty shitty father. He must do right by Dominus. He must not abandon his son.

Dominus desperately wanted his love, recognition, and respect. He needed a father's help to overcome and grow from his sorry fate in the Tales.

Finally, he had an answer for Lodun.

Fatherhood was a terrible and precious responsibility. 

He could not, would not, abandon his son Dominus.

He could not, would not, shelter him from the consequences of his indefensible actions either.

Having reached a decision that satisfied his conscience, he went to speak to Lodun.

Lodun stood alone in the nook where he'd spent the morning reading. He paged through the Epigrams and seemed to have settled on the same play. 

Drifter said, “I feel like the Old Man, blessed to have three sons. When I leave, you will be the strong bulwark that Duviri needs.”

While Lodun’s back was as stiff with pride as usual, the anger leeched away. Before Drifter could say anything more, he said, “First, I’m sorry. I should not have eavesdropped on your conversation with Acrithis. She is my valued advisor, but I will take care that her grudges do not become my own.”

Thank goodness he wasn't furious. “It's forgiven.”

With that said, Lodun faced him as an equal. Not as the Prince of Fire and His Majesty's Party Planner, but rather as the future King of Duviri speaking to its Creator. “Second, I decided that even if you offered to dethrone the Imp and elevate me in his place, I would rather demonstrate for all to see that I will be both right and rightful monarch.”

“You’ll be an excellent king. You’ve learned when to bridle your anger and when to wield it righteously. I have no doubt I’ll leave Duviri in good hands.”

Lodun nodded, pleased by the compliment inherent in the simple acknowledgment that there was no doubt concerning his ability to succeed now that he could control himself. “You intend to remain the Imp’s Party Planner?”

“He may not be the right king, and he may have murdered me every day for a million years or so, but he’s still my son.” Wryly, he added, “You can call me a hypocrite for it if you like.”

In the mildest tone, like a mere flick of a riding crop used to brush away a fly, Lodun said, "Hypocrite."

“Why aren’t you angry with me?”

“Oh, I was. Gave Mathila and Sythel quite an earful about it. I’ve had it with the Imp’s sabotage. I’ve had it with you making excuses for him. The whole nine yards. Ranted and raved, in fact.” Lodun finished wryly, “And when I was done, Mathila just said, “Would you ask me to save one of my children, and not the other?””

Of course she understood the terrible, wondrous responsibility of a parent. “She’s right. I can’t not try to save him.”

“Then how long do you want? The Imp gave you two weeks for the Jubilee. I can be at least that generous before I launch my coup and dethrone your ‘son.’"

Oh, how he wished that would work! “Look, it's just been a few weeks since the Paragrimm incident and he’s only gotten worse. I can’t ask you to make a promise that you can’t keep.”

Lodun sighed. “Give me something to work with here.”

"I can't shield him from the consequences of his actions. I shouldn't shield him. He has to learn that for himself, even though he needs encouragement to do the right thing too. As for you, you have to be free to do what seems right to you. I only ask that-"

When Drifter stumbled off the Zariman, he'd been cast adrift in Duviri without a safety net and fallen into a sad spiral downward. That wouldn't be Dominus' fate. No daily deaths by impalement. No endless cycle of despair. This Duviri would be strong enough to carry on without Drifter and kind enough that there'd be helping hands to haul Dominus out of the Spiral of his own making.

"-that you keep your promise to me, months ago. That your ascension to the throne would be peaceful and without bloodshed."

"I can do that," Lodun vowed.

This time, shaking hands didn't feel like a deal with the devil.

He flew back to Teshin’s Cave. There, he asked his second father, "How do I haul someone else out of a self-destructive Spiral when they don't want help? I figured you’ve got some experience with that."

Tears welled up in Teshin's eyes. "Oh, Drifter."

He laughed. Or cried. Or both. "They say the curse of parenthood is that you grow up to have a child just as bad as you were, right?”

Teshin made a little 'come here' gesture with both hands.

Drifter buried himself in that loving embrace. Teshin’s wiry hands stroked his hair, soothing and calming in a way that went beyond words. An unspoken promise that just as Teshin had endured spiral upon spiral of hope and loss and gotten up to do it again the next morning, Drifter could endure the same.

He took refuge in humor. “Surprise, Dad. You've got a grandchild after all. You thought I was a handful? Wait until you meet Dominus."

Teshin made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "What does your heart say?"

"Sometimes you get stuck. Sometimes you go numb. The colour drains away. You stop trying, and that just feeds the spiral going down. Maybe you'll get lucky one day. You see yourself in the mirror and snap out of it. But for some of us… it takes more. A friend. A stranger. A story. A helping hand. He’s like me. I needed like three helping hands and outside intervention to change my spiral.”

Teshin said, “It may be that Lodun’s rebellion does him some good. A wake-up call.”

He shook his head. “Dominus already knows he’s doing the wrong thing. Maybe he’ll figure out how to face his fears and bridle his anger before he’s dethroned, but that’s hard when you’re facing the end. I should know. I mean, knowing I was going to die at the end of the day no matter what I did was exactly what broke me.”

“Oh, Drifter,” Teshin murmured.

The next morning dawned dark with fear. Acrithis interrupted breakfast with Teshin. “Thrax is terrified,” she reported. “Lodun believes he’s found a way to resolve the succession crisis swiftly and peacefully. If you haven’t completely thrown your lot in with Thrax, come meet us in Upperhaven.” Then she vanished.

Teshin had paused, teacup half raised to his lips. “You’ll have to decide how best to support Dominus.”

It went without saying that Drifter wouldn’t reset the Fear Spiral until he got it perfect, because hundreds of spirals hadn’t helped Teshin save him. He’d just have to do his best to fumble through, like every parent ever. And so he must choose his priorities. 

There would be no daily deaths by impalement.

No drawn-out downward spiral as Dominus struggled against the inevitable consequences of his actions, hurting himself and others in the process.

No endless cycle of despair afterwards.

“I will go to Lodun first,” he decided. “Since there must be an end, let us make it swift and peaceful."

Chapter Text

Upperhaven dominated the skyline of the upper half of its island, rising up from flat, fertile pastures into a series of foothills and crawling up the immense arm of the broken arch that curled up behind it. It was prosperous, though multi-tiered from bottom to top like most Orokin cities. Commoners at the base of the foothills, merchants and tradesfolk in the middle, and nobles and scholars at the top level. On one high point of the city, a bust of Thrax as big as any building presided over the library and city hall. On the other side, Lodun’s double story, towered mansion filled one side of a courtyard.

Yesterday, when Drifter flew back to Teshin to figure out how best to help Dominus, Lodun spent the Spiral cementing his alliances within the court. This time, they stood arrayed with Lodun at the center, in front of his house. 

The brazier and pile of books to be burned was nowhere in evidence. At some point, Lodun had the punch-marked facade repaired. Drifter smiled to see it.

At his smile, the whole court relaxed. 

Lodun stepped forward and took his arm. “I’m glad you’ll accompany me to the Sage.” He pointed to a solitary house, up and to the left, on the arch itself. It was the highest house in Upperhaven and the only house higher than Lodun’s. “It's time for the rightful heir to be the right king. The Sage’s genealogical records will prove my claim, the same as the lost succession scrolls.”

Then Lodun paused, still clasping arms with him as a warrior would. “Last chance, Drifter. I will stand down if you want to claim the throne. I will not stand down for the Imp any longer.”

He shook his head.

Sythel said, “Then we are decided.” Duviri’s First Minister finally spoke with the full authority of her station on her own worst day. She spoke with confidence. “We will not be subject to Thrax's whims and lack of emotional control any longer. We will do what we must, bound only by our promise to Drifter: in so far as it be within our power, we shall act without bloodshed.”

There it was: the start of open rebellion. And hopefully, it's swift and peaceful end with the help of the Sage and his succession scrolls.

He followed Lodun down the stairs from the courtyard. Since the Sage's house was up on the arch, it was physically set apart from the courtyard even though, as the crow flies, it was just behind and above Lodun's tower. So they had to walk down the flight of stairs onto a rocky path, then turn nearly around and walk up the rocky side of the arch. The path had rope lines on the exposed edge to keep people from falling into the abyss between, and serve as handholds on the steep path.

At the base of the hill, Lodun said, "You'd have been a king worth following.”

"You don't have to sound so disappointed," he teased. Little did Lodun know, it felt like a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. "You get to show what manner of man is Lodun, Prince of Fire: a king worth following in your own right. I get to experience all the trials and tribulations of parenthood with none of the fun bits."

Lodun barked a laugh. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"You'll be a king worth following." He gestured up at the Zariman looming in the sky. "I'll settle for just being a man in my world."

Then there was a sound like glass breaking. 

As one, they looked up at the Sage's house. The upper window's glazed pane shone from within even during the day.

That wasn't mere lamplight. Despite the wash of foreboding Drifter felt, he said, "Surely not. Surely Dominus wouldn't…”

Denphius Dax strode out the Sage's front door. His hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed nikana. 

That didn't necessarily mean anything, Drifter told his stomach, now residing in his boots. Denphius always walked like that. 

Then glass shattered for a second time in a series of reports. Flames gushed across the first floor of the Sage's house, briefly silhouetting Denphius as just another faceless Dax oppressor before he slammed the door behind him.

When the door slammed, the windowpane on the upper floor blew out in a shower of glass shards. A second, fainter report said the window in the back likewise gave way. Black smoke billowed out into the sky. Streamers of flame licked out at fresh air.

Denphius knelt in front of them. "I followed orders. I surrender."

Drifter was too stunned and horrified to do anything about it. Lodun wasn't any better, grinding his teeth as the succession records went up in smoke.

Even more chilling was the silence. The king wasn't even gloating over his first blow against the rebellion.

Dominus had never faced consequences for murder before, so why should murder not be on the table now? And now a man was dead because of it-

Oh, shit. What if he wasn't dead?

"Did you kill him?" Drifter demanded.

Denphius was too lost in misery to answer him. 

Part of him supposed that was what he must've looked like when dragged to execution for the nth spiral in a row. The rest of him summoned the calm of a true warrior. Without an answer, he must act to save a life. He flipped his leather hood on, sealed it, and started up the steep slope.

"Good man," Lodun barked at his back, and then started shouting for the Bucket Brigade.

The Sage's house was a blocky rectangle of a double-story building with only the one window on the upper floor that he had no hope of reaching. The fire and the Fear Spiral's winds basically turned the house into a chimney. He climbed through pelting ash and glowing cinders. 

With each step closer, the temperature rose as if he were bread being placed in an oven. Radiant heat dried his leathers, dried his eyes within his hood, and dried out the air he breathed until it scorched his throat. His raised hand was no shield or shade at all. The front door's edges were starkly outlined by light and the doorknob glowed dully. Whatever decree of death the king made, it'd turned the first floor was an inferno.

He couldn't make it. 

Maybe, just maybe, the Sage had been on the second floor. Heat rose, but so did smoke and so he might still be alive up there, passed out less than a meter from the back window.

He retreated back to the intersection and summoned Kaithe. 

Kaithe took one whiff of the smoky air, saw the towering black cloud, felt the heat, and heard the harsh, clanging toll of Upperhaven's fire bell calling the citizenry to man the sipho fire engine, and nearly bolted. He threw his head back away from Drifter's soothing hand. He stamped at the ground and all but tossed him over the edge when he tried to mount up.

"Whoa! Steady, Kaithe."

But Kaithe would have none of him, lowering his horned head at his chest.

"What's the matter? You've never flinched from Orowyrm Lodun." Then he looked back at the house on fire. "Okay, that's the matter." 

Even though everything in him cried out to rush to the back of the house, he couldn't get there without Kaithe, his faithful partner. So he led Kaithe down the road into the lee of one of the houses below the intersection and then stroked, patted, and talked to Kaithe until his trembling subsided and courage came back into his rolling eyes. 

"We'll just fly up to the arch behind the house so we'll stay out of the smoke."

Kaithe consented, flying him up to the long arm of the arch. 

He scrambled and slid down the rocky ridges to where the Sage's house was built right into its base. The back window was mostly blocked off by rockfall from the arch. By the look of it, it had been for some time. He couldn't get in. The Sage never had a chance to get out.

That same rockfall also sheltered him from the heat, but not from the scraps of parchment blown on the hot air fountaining out of the house. Not from the guilt of his conscience pointing out that maybe, just maybe, if he had rushed to Dominus’ side, he might have stayed this madness…

Wretched with guilt, he climbed back up to Kaithe. From their high vantage point, Lodun and the Bucket Brigade were getting into position in the courtyard in front of Lodun's house. 

Despite the name, they functioned more like an actual brigade than a haphazard collection of volunteers. Which made sense, he realized belatedly, in a realm where fiery meteors rained down from the skies about once every five days. Lodun's histornam kaithe was harnessed to a wagon carrying a brass pump submerged in a reservoir of water. While Lodun handed out firefighting tools like buckets, long hooked poles and axes stored by the reservoir attached to his house to the men, the women of the town brought quilted blankets which they soaked in water under the direction of the woman who's house stood across from Lodun's mansion. She'd traded her broom for a billhook.

The six men on the sipho fire engine levered the pump into position so the main spout angled up towards the burning building. As they began to work the double pumps, water jetted across the gap between the courtyard and the sage's house. Anyone not engaged with other tasks rushed to form a line of buckets to the reservoir to keep the sipho supplied with water.

The water hissed into a plume of steam, stark white against the black of the smoke. 

"More!" Lodun roared encouragement, "Beat back the flames."

But the wind shifted and blew in their faces. The water jet couldn't reach against the wind, and the pumpers gasped and wheezed as the smoke enveloped them.

Sythel ran to Lodun's side, saying something. Probably, "It's not enough."

Drifter looked for something he could do.

There was a second sipho fire engine coming from Upperhaven's lower tier. Its's kaithe was head down and straining against the harness, struggling to haul the heavy load of water up the steep slope. The brigade crew even put their shoulders and back into it, but then they'd be spent and useless by the time they made it to the intersection, much less to the Sage's house.

He pointed them out. "Kaithe?"

Kaithe whinnied.

With the royal steed harnessed in too, the wagon lurched uphill. But when they got to the intersection, he and the wagon crew's chief looked up at the steep hill. The curled aggristone looked like dragon's claws on the one side and, on the other, a couple slender golden cords strung between them and certain death in the abyss. Now that water jets from the side quenched one wall, it was even more apparent that the sage's house was hollowed out from within. Little more than a marble facade, it couldn't have much structural integrity left.

Drifter warned, "If that front wall crumbles-"

The crew chief said, "It's gonna come down on us like the wrath of Thrax."

They looked behind them at the couple houses at the bottom of the intersection. "Or on them."

He and Kaithe backed the wagon up out of the direct line of the slope. The crew, seeing the danger they were in, worked fast to construct a firebreak directing the rubble away from the road and houses and into the abyss.

Lodun leaned over once, looking ready to bawl them out. Then Sythel started saying something else, gesturing up at his house, and he left them to it.

For the first time since the fire started, Drifter managed a tiny smile. Even Lodun knew no one liked a backseat crew chief.

A minute later, Mathila came flying in on her Psyacus kaithe. She wore a bandolier of water bags that she pumped with one hand and directed a spray nozzle with the other, guiding her kaithe with her knees in an impressive display of flying. Brimon was behind her, but he carried a rider. When he landed next to Drifter's wagon, Barris slid off. “Please, can I ride Kaithe?”

"No," he said immediately. "It's too dangerous. The heat and turbulence is nothing like a race."

Barris argued, "I'm lighter than any of you. I can carry more water."

Oh, that brave boy! Kaithe headbutted his shoulder, a sure sign that he'd overcome his early fear and wanted to fly. Reluctantly, he unharnessed him. "Be careful."

"Kaithe won't let me fall," Barris swung into the saddle confidently.

But Brimon blocked their path. The champion racer's voice went harsh and hard. "This isn't a race. This isn't for fun and games. This is real. If you get hurt bad enough, you'll never ride again. So be careful!"

Barris gulped. "I will be."

Drifter didn't even get to wave them off because Sythel grabbed onto him. "Drifter, I need you. Lodun won't listen to me!”

"What?"

She dragged him up the stairs to the courtyard and pointed to the tower stop Lodun's house, "Look!"

While everyone was focused on dowsing the flames, she'd been on the lookout for less obvious dangers. And so she'd seen what he saw now, a tiny wisp of smoke curling up from the tower atop Lodun's mansion. Maybe it was more mischief of the king's or maybe just an unlucky spark that flew far when the wind shifted and burrowed into dry wood. Regardless of why, Lodun's house was on fire too.

"Shit." He hauled her along behind him through the bucket line. "Lodun!"

"What now?!" 

He practically plopped Sythel in front of Lodun. "She's your First Minister. Listen to her."

Sythel quickly drew out the catastrophe beyond even what he'd envisioned. Just like how the Sage's house fire endangered Lodun's, his huge mansion might send embers flying across all of Upperhaven. When the tower fell, it'd crash into the woman's house across from it, and if she caught fire too, the houses below her would also go up in a conflagration. If the tower missed her house and hit the bridge instead, they'd have an even harder time fighting the fires. 

Lodun said flatly, “Give me a minute.”

"One more damned bucket of piss-" Lodun spent his minute just letting off steam. Then, he gathered himself. "If I had a bucket of piss, I'd throw it on the fire. Brigade, bring out the ballista!"

He blinked. That was a mistake, now his eyes stung. "What?"

Grimly, Lodun said, "We're going to bring down my house to save the city."

It could’ve been the same sort of callous amputation with which Dominus sent islands off into the Void.

It wasn’t.

The crew rallied. Drifter took his turn on the pumps, which was hard but mindless work.

Barris took over Mathila’s duty with the sprayer, misting down the roofs of nearby houses. Mathila and Brimon hauled the heavier soaked quilts up and spread them over the areas most in danger. Acrithis and Bombastine made a few quick trips into the first floor to save precious items - Bombastine his ceremonial regalia, Acrithis came out clutching an armful of books - before Lodun forbade anyone to risk themselves further.

Then the ballista, a giant crossbow with a bolt as long as Drifter was tall, was ready. 

"Fire!"

The heavy bolt punched through the walls, pulling a rope behind it. Every man not on the pump grabbed the rope. 

"Pull!"

Masonry showered down to the street. 

A cheerful man pounded him on the shoulder. "I'll take my turn."

He handed over the pump, stretching out his muscles, and then jumped down from the wagon to take a place on the ropes. He was already sore. At least it'd use different muscles. 

They'd reloaded the ballista. "Fire!"

Crunch. "Pull!"

His arms protested, but this was more about grip and weight. This time the bolt had caught a load-bearing timber with its flanged grapple head. The timber groaned.

"PULL!" Lodun bellowed. 

They pulled until the fastenings weakened. The whole building shifted subtly. 

It still took hours to pull down Lodun's house and soak the rubble. What remained of the Sage's house was a burnt out hulk after most of the facade broke and rumbled down the steep slope. Their firebreak caught most of the rubble and directed it over the side of the island. Everything else got soaked thoroughly with buckets of water. Finally, everyone did a walkthrough of the town, looking for any trace of smoke or embers. Homeowners checked their attics. Kaithe-riders swept the roofline for the slightest hint of smoke.

When the bell rang the All Clear, he sat down on a free bench and immediately knew that was a mistake. His whole body sagged. He was going to fall asleep here. 

So he forced himself up. Now every ache and pain announced themselves in riotous chorus. But he had to stump over to the main square of town, because Lodun was speechifying.

"Citizens of Duviri, thanks to your efforts, you've saved your city from being put to fire." Lodun looked just as hot, wet, scorched, and mucky as the rest of them. He'd never looked more kingly. "But you know who set that fire!"

By the grumbling, yeah, they knew. And thanks to the increasing calm Spirals and the many ways that Duviri had been getting better since the Jubilee now that the court controlled their emotions, the people didn't want to revert to the bad old days either.

He'd accidentally started a revolution.

"We're not going to fire a revolution sitting on our asses!"

Lodun had Denphius Dax dragged on stage. He demanded, "Who ordered this?"

"His Majesty Dominus Thrax."

The crowd booed.

"Did you at least kill the Sage first?"

"It was the only mercy I could give him."

That was a small relief at least.

Lodun said, "I don't blame you, I blame the one who sent you. Go back and tell the Imp that Sage's blood is on his head."

The crowd booed and jeered Denphius as he marched off down the road to the palace. They cheered for Lodun.

While the crowd cheered for Lodun, Drifter went to check on Kaithe. Brimon tended the kaithes while Mathila had Barris wrapped in a warm blanket. The boy was unharmed, just shivering with reaction and adrenaline.

He helped rub down the kaithes, get a warm blanket on them, and feed them good oats. Anything to keep moving.

Mathila said, "Take tomorrow off."

Barris protested, "But who'll watch the tamms?"

Brimon said, "I will. You did great, kid. But trust me, you gotta rest in between races."

Barris asked, "But what if there's more fires?"

None of the adults could meet his eyes or answer his question because the crowd in the main square was fired up. There'd be fires before long and not all of them would be set by the king. The easy answer - reset Duviri's spiral - was the one solution they'd eschewed and which Dominus knew would get him dethroned by Drifter.

Then Drifter considered that his parents keeping himself in the dark hadn't helped him at all during the Zariman. He'd still been just as afraid, and he'd been angry that the adults he trusted didn't trust him.

So he sat next to Barris, and though that was a mistake because his treacherous body insisted it was naptime, it was the right decision to sit and explain. He finished with, "There's a pretty good chance this ends badly for anyone who gets mixed up in the fighting no matter who wins."

"Who's going to win?" Barris wanted to know.

Mathila said, "Lodun. Or, at least I've thrown my lot in with him, which means that my farm and your tamms will be a target. So if the King's Dax march out against us, you'd better believe that we're going to surrender without a fight so we don't get sacked, and Lodun knows it. Nobody really wins in a revolution. Oh, maybe there'll be a new crowned head at the end, but it'll be the common folk dead for it at the end and no coming back. Stay safe, or this won't be a victory at all."

"Okay," Barris mumbled.

"Thank you," Drifter told Mathila, and meant it.

Her eyes were shadowed with unhappy thoughts she couldn’t have handled a few months ago. "I sided with Lodun because someone needs to remind him there has to be a Duviri left to rule over when this is over. If you'd do the same for Thrax when you inevitably side with him, I'd appreciate it."

Acrithis had apparently been lingering for some time, for she now said, "He won't side with him, after he reads this."

Mathila all but rolled her eyes. "No offense, but loving books isn't the same as having kids." She, Brimon, and Barris packed up and headed out, ready to prepare the farm for when the Dax mustering in the Citadel marched out.

When Acrithis handed him the lore tabs from Upperhaven, she said, "The sage's blood isn't the only blood on Thrax's hands. I implore you Drifter, believe that this is who Thrax is.”

Manipura Island

The island of Manipura was Duviri's vineyard. The Calaventi merchant sisterhood had villas there. Their tenant farmers raised succulent grapes to be turned into wine, which was taken as tribute to be shared among the Dax.

Tribute day was a great celebration in the Dax barracks, as the veiled Yaskutai would pour bowl after bowl of wine, comrades would show old wounds and tell tall tales of how they were come by, and old songs would be sung late into the night.

The Calaventi were proud. They considered themselves reflections of the 'true' Orokin, and though they bent the knee to Thrax, they did not respect him.

With his changeable moods and his short stature, Thrax was - they whispered - merely an upstart, an imitator.

It was the servants who alerted Thrax to their masters' insolence. If they were expected to be rewarded for this, more fool them.

A terrible Orowyrm was sent to, and I quote, 'trample the Calaventi sisterhood as they trample their grapes'. With no warning, the Orowyrm burst through the island from beneath, shattering it to fragments.

If the Dax of Duviri resent the loss of their wine-tribute, they know better than to speak of it.

"Well?" She demanded.

As he'd thought, Dominus simply never faced consequences for murder before. He’d been so insulated as king that it simply hadn't occurred to him that when you gave people a taste of a better life and then threatened to yank it all away from them, it didn't go over well. People started questioning the unquestionable. Just like the Orokin before him, he sent dissenters out into the Void or simply killed them.

Again, his conscience reminded him that he'd never taught Dominus better. With only the Orokin for an example, how was Dominus to learn? 

He said, "I think Mathila has it right. Someone has to remind Dominus that he'll be king of nothing and no one if he breaks Duviri. If I don't believe in him, who will?"

"He doesn't deserve your belief," She hissed, grabbing his arm as though she'd singlehandedly drag him up on the podium next to Lodun like the rest of the Court showing their support.

He looked down at her on his arm, wondering for the first time what part she played in the Tales of Duviri. 

"What?" She asked.

"There's no Acrithis in the Tales of Duviri that I remember," he said. Perhaps she'd been in one of the illustrations and taken on a life of her own. "If there were, you'd be the Merchant of Memory."

"Not a bad name," she mused. "I've considered plenty over the Spirals. The Remembering Retailer. The Sassy Storyteller. The Attentive Archivist. Mathila used to call me the "Gabby Gossip" for a while and she wasn't wrong, you know."

He didn't expect her to agree with him about Dominus, but at least he owed her an explanation for why he continually rejected her advice. "So you remember everything they've done." He nodded up at the stage. Jerked his head back towards where Mathila's kaithe was a mere dot in the sky.

She winced. "Yes…"

"You remember every man, woman, and child that Lodun's whipped raw. Every life ruined because Mathila didn't take "no" for an answer. Everyone ruined by Bombastine and Luscinia's feud. And as for Sythel, you yourself told me you barely scratched the surface of what she got up to."

She couldn't meet his eyes any longer.

Gently, as kindly as Lodun had said it to him, he said, "Hypocrite."

She looked down at the lore tabs in her hand. "Teshin once said something to me I didn't understand: that those who don't know their own history cannot help but repeat it. I thought he meant you."

"When I go to Dominus tomorrow, come with me. Remind him of what Duviri stands to lose."

She nodded. "I will."

Chapter Text

Unlike everyone in Duviri who woke to the rumble of distant thunder and wished to themselves that they could lie abed, bury their head in the pillows, and pretend that open rebellion was not driving the king into a Fear Spiral, Drifter and Teshin woke up early, ate breakfast, and got ready to face the day.

Teshin shook out his wool Loneryder jacket. The smell of smoke clung to it like a funeral pall. "Unless you want to bother Bombastine for new clothes, I suggest you wear a clean Zariman suit."

"He's got bigger problems." Last he'd seen him, Bombastine stepped up on the podium after Lodun, and rallied the crowds to new heights. The actor would be a prime target for the Dax, who might not stop at mere humiliation, unless Drifter went to Dominus and reminded him that he wouldn't have a kingdom left to rule if he gave free reign to his fears. He changed clothes and tucked the tablet about Dominus Thrax back into his belt pouch.

When he walked in front of Teshin's mirror, he paused for a long moment. The man looking back at him was nothing like a king of Duviri. Neither was he an aimless drifter. He was a man, and nothing more or less. "You'll do," he told himself. 

Teshin clasped his shoulder and pulled him close enough that their foreheads touched. "You'll do," he repeated. "Now, go save your son from the stubbornness he learned from you."

Drifter summoned Kaithe and set their sights on the palace. No tamms gamboled on the hillsides or chewed their cud in their pens. Barris must've rounded them up to shelter in the caves with the rest of Mathila's farmers. 

A small picket of men and women with pitchforks and other farming tools stood with a kaithe rider on a hill outside the Citadel, watching the Dax.

The Dax patrols bristled with spears, but they never ventured out except for one tight square that resembled a hedgehog. They marched fast out along the southern road to Throneguard barracks and the watchtowers there, not stopping to harass anyone on the way to their destinations they had in the days before the Jubilee. 

They were as frightened as the king was, and well they should be, for the citizens they'd abused in the name of Thrax weren't going to stand for it any longer. Or perhaps, more charitably and heartbreakingly, they hesitated because while their oaths compelled them to serve one king, their loyalty lay with their former Prince and General who'd given them a promise that the Dax could serve the people, uphold the laws, and act honorably. 

The rider waved in salute or signal. Then he blew his horn. 

The low, mournful sound carried across the hills. Another horn echoed the call back to the north, from Upperhaven. 

So Lodun wasn't in the least paralyzed by fear. He must've worked long into the night using Sythel's network of informants to fill out his pickets. Now he knew that the Dax and Drifter were on the move.

As Drifter flew towards the Palace's island, the road below became increasingly clogged with wagons and people on foot heading away. Kaithe had to find an updraft above the heavily laden kaithe-drawn carriages that flew out of the city. These weren't refugees fleeing fighting, not yet. Just nobles and citizens who feared which way the wind was blowing and wanted their lives and possessions secured, even if it meant enduring gridlock on a narrow bridge above the abyss. Terrified faces followed him on the wing.

Another stream of people curled out of the town's lower tiers around the sides of the island into the cave complex beneath the palace. Those were too poor to leave or simply too late to evacuate through the gridlock, and so they had no choice but to shelter in place and hope that Sythel, Lodun, or one of the other rebellious courtiers simply didn't go Orowyrm, smash the bridge, and cast their island out into the Void.

In contrast, the Palace courtyard was surrounded by boarded up houses with blacked-out windows and empty except for clusters of Dax and Acrithis. She stood at the foot of the stairs, arms folded, foot tapping.

"He refused to see me," she said, sulking.

"I doubt he wants this memorialized."

"Hah! He's right. I'd give naught but a fig leaf for his pride."

The Dax opened the doors for him. The Palace corridors were empty of servants and petitioners except for Lequos who clung to his list like it was the last semblance of normalcy he had. Lequos led him past the throne room to the war room where Dominus stood at a to-scale map of Duviri decorated with detailed models.

Though Dominus planned how to deal with the rebellion, murmuring, "It'll take at least a spiral for Lodun to cement support. Tomorrow he'll attack the Throneguard barracks to secure weapons for his peasant muster-,” he spoke to himself. He was alone. His shoulders bowed as though the weight of the whole kingdom were on them and he moved around the map with darting, frantic movements back and forth from objective to objective.

In the time it took Lequos to announce Drifter, and for him to bow, Dominus set down the token for Denphius Dax at the Citadel, picked him up and put him at Throneguard, moved him back to Castle Town, and changed his mind twice more.

Then Dominus saw him - saw his Zariman suit - and the token landed in the abyss with a thump. "You're leaving? Already?!" He cried.

Drifter's heart clenched at the fear in that cry; the fear of a child about to be abandoned. He rescued Denphius’ token from the abyss and put it back on the Citadel for now. “Not yet. Soon.”

“Oh. Are you here to make yourself useful for once and help me fight Lodun?” He snatched up a square of Dax and put them on Throneguard Barracks.

Now, Drifter saw what he looked like during a Komi game. Dominus was all frantic movement with no clear strategy. Yes, Dominus knew Lodun’s likely target…while leaving Upperhaven unguarded, his own Castle Town in disarray, and neglecting the evacuation entirely. This was the effect of paralyzing Fear and avoiding unhappy thoughts at any cost. He said, “No, I’m not going to help prop you up on a throne you haven’t shown yourself worthy of.”

Dominus froze.

They were talking about something bigger than just a throne, weren’t they? "I cannot condone your actions. I still love you."

"If you’re not here to help me fight Lodun, piss off. You’re useless. I won’t miss you.” 

Maybe taking a different tack would help them connect. "You once told me a story about a dying old man."

"Don't tell me that sappy story.” Dominus swept his hand across the map. “Are you going to give me the family lands? No!” He jabbed at the Zariman visible through the northeastern window. “Are you going to give me the family home? No! You've got a new favorite." Raw envy boiled over in a rant: 

“You always played favorites. First it was Teshin. Now, Lodun.”

"Did I get to play lunaro with you? No!"

"Did you cheer me on when I raced on Kaithe? No! And I set the race record!” 

“You even loved that damned rablit more than me! What do I have to do to earn your love?"

Drifter weathered the storm. Dominus got his worst traits from him, after all. Envy was a dragon never sated, always devouring. He no longer wondered how they ruined their relationship. In the beginning, his envy of the king’s power must've driven him from Dominus. And now that the situations were reversed, envy told Dominus to spurn his offered love. 

He said, "You already have it. I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to earn it. Since I’ve become a whole person again, there’s love enough for you too."

"I have nothing!"

He wanted to grasp him by the shoulders and shake him. He went back to that sappy story. "And the last child said to him. 'I feel nothing, for it was I... who has killed you.'"

Envy flashed over into Anger. Dominus slammed his fist on the table, making all the tokens jump. "Don't you dare blame me. I gave you everything. I gave you all the chances you could ask for. I gave you-"

"- And so unto him, the old man gave… " He held out the Zariman tablet he'd taken from the top of the palace. The one that named Dominus Thrax and his great flaw that he could not control his emotions. Finally, he’d found the right moment and the right gift for his son.

Dominus held it away from himself at arm's length like it'd turned into a poisonous snake. "What is this?" He read. "No, no!"

"It's the truth. If you won’t accept my love, the least I can give you is the truth so you might be able to find your own way free."

He shook his head, falling into the reverse side of Joy, the refusal to face reality. "The people of Duviri were happy under my rule."

"Are they?"

Rather than face reality, Dominus changed topics. "I'm more than just a character in a book!" For all that, he still held onto the tablet and read it again as though knowing his great flaw could enable him to overcome it.

Drifter's heart ached for the poor boy. And so he dared what he never had before. He stepped up alongside him and hugged him. 

For a moment, Dominus was as stiff as a golden statue. Then he turned and buried his mask against Drifter’s shoulder. 

"You are more than a character in a book," Drifter said, hugging the flesh-and-blood boy hiding under a gold-and-ceramic Orokin guise. "That's what the Scholar tried to tell you and what you tried to hide from us. You're real. Duviri's real." But this crisis went beyond the merely existential. Dominus knew he existed. He wanted to know that he was loved.

And so Drifter hugged him tightly for all the times he hadn't and all the times he couldn't, and he said, "I love you no matter you choose. But you can choose to be a better king than the Tales decreed. You can be the Dominus Thrax you want to be."

They stood upon the precipice of a choice. Would Dominus take his hand or spurn it? Change for the better or wallow in routine?

"I can't," Dominus whispered. Tears dripped down below the edge of his mask. "I've gone too far. I killed the sage. I hit Luscinia. I skipped Garmi's funeral-"

He'd have continued the list, had Drifter not held him closer and said, "It doesn't matter how deep you've dug into your spiral. The first step to getting out is to stop digging."

Dominus hunched his shoulders and sobbed. For a precious moment, he nuzzled closer. 

Then, like a kexat who’d wanted to be petted and then abruptly changed its mind, he threw Drifter off in a convulsive thrashing. He shoved away from his chest, elbows flying, feet kicking.

Though Drifter let go, he wasn't quick enough. A small gold-clad fist caught him on the eye. An elbow smashed right into his groin.

He saw stars. His eyes watered. He landed on his knees and grabbed the table for support, nearly toppling the model statue in Thrax Gardens as he panted.

Shit, that hurt. The physical pain wasn't even the worst of it, for Dominus immediately burst into great heaving sobs and ran out of the room. It took a seemingly eternity for the pain to fade enough to get up off the ground and follow him to his reading alcove where the boy clutched his doll, book, and tablet to his chest while curled up in a far corner fearfully eyeing Drifter.

“I’m sorry,” Dominus mumbled.

He must not be angry. Dominus needed calm and control more than anything right now. "When you want to talk about all this, I'll still be here."

"Go away."

"Are you sure?" There'd been times he been so upset he wanted to be alone on the Zariman. Times he'd screamed at his parents to leave him alone. And then he'd sat there in misery, wishing they'd come back.

"Go away!"

Each slow step away felt like walking a tightrope between respecting Dominus' autonomy and offering the comfort he wanted to and he was sure Dominus wanted too. At the massive door to the throne room, he paused. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Hesitantly, Dominus poked his head out of the alcove like a rablit checking that the outside of its den was safe. Then he said, "Send Acrithis in."

"She's not very happy with you," he warned. "A sincere apology might help."

Dominus stared at the tile floor. "Please ask Acrithis if she would attend me. I guarantee her safety."

"I will. And that was well done, Dominus." It was just a baby step in the right direction, but just like his Court, the King could change.

Acrithis accepted the guarantee with a sniff. “And what will you be up to, Drifter?”

Somehow, the evacuation had gotten even more snarled in the brief time he’d spent with Thrax. The lower cave complex’s lines were starting to curl around the outer edge of the island. The gridlock at the Castle Town bridge was even worse, and from his vantage point of the Palace steps, it looked like the biggest bottleneck was at Primrose Village on the far side of the bridge. The more pressure built up behind the bottleneck, the greater the risk that people pushing and shoving to secure their place would end up pushing and shoving someone else off the bridge by accident. Dominus was too preoccupied to take charge himself and the Dax who would ordinarily control such traffic were in disarray.

“Well, it's no Jubilee,” he said with morbid humor. “But I think Duviri needs its Party Planner.”

The danger at the bridge was acute, so he flew out to Primrose Village. The main road cut straight through the village, so he’d have to clear the traffic jam there before he could guide the rest of the foot traffic onward to the other villages and hamlets. He looked for the village headman and found him yelling at a portly nobleman who’d parked his carriage in the road and refused to move until the owners of the village house he’d picked out moved out for him.

Both of them turned on Drifter. 

“My status as a noble of the Court means I deserve proper lodging. I can’t sleep in a filthy cave. Make him see reason, Party Planner!”

“Your status doesn’t entitle you to throw families out on the street, milord. Either you move your wagon or I’ll have it thrown over the side.”

“See, Party Planner, they’re threatening me. That’s robbery in plain daylight, that is! I demand compensation. I demand blood!”

The headman covered his face with his hand in lieu of strangling the nobleman. 

Drifter heartily sympathized, because once the nobleman started yelling at the top of his very healthy lungs about thieves and robbers, they’d have a panic on their hands and no mistake. Then the solution came to him. He beamed at the nobleman. This was apparently so unsettling that his stream of demands slowed to a trickle. “Milord, you’re a good rider, right?”

The nobleman swelled with pride.

Drifter sent a mental note of thanks to Lodun, wherever the Prince was, for telling him that respect for horse flesh was the mark of nobility. "Your wagon isn’t going anywhere in this mess. Unharness your best kaithe. Fly to the Citadel and deliver the King's order. The Dax Equitem are to fly here and assist with the evacuation, keeping everyone on the bridge calm, and catching anyone who falls. If you do well, you may earn the king's favor."

The nobleman scrambled to obey. With his attitude, he'd badger them until they listened.

Once he flew off, they both heaved a sigh of relief. The headman asked, “Can I please pitch the carriage?”

“Look, if it just so happens to end up in the hands of a poor family who needs supplies, I won’t say a thing. Now, what’s this about a “filthy cave?””

Primrose Village simply didn't have room for all the Castle Town people in their houses. It did have a large cave complex beneath the village. When the headman directed the high and mighty there, no noble wanted to risk liminus ghosts, ancestor phantasms, and who knew what other strange things lurked down in the Zariman debris. They’d rather throw their weight around.

Drifter loosened his swords in their sheaths and drew Sirocco. "Let's see about clearing this cave."

The headman led him to the cave mouth which was literally in the middle of town. "We hear voices sometimes. Always repeating the same words: "Halako Perimeter." When the king didn't know what it meant, we left well enough alone."

"Halako Perimeter was a floor on the Zariman. Whatever ghosts linger around my old classrooms, they'll just have to make room for the living.”

Immediately, the cave forked left and right. He took the rightmost path, which curved into a large open chamber that was ringed by a second upper level above him. One side of the chamber was open to the sky, and in the center of the cavern, a two-story statue of Albrecht Entrati hung upside down from the ceiling like a bat clinging to the cave roof. If Entrati were a bat, he could let go and drop right out of the gaping hole in the cave floor into the abyss, spreading his wings to fly off. This statue hadn't moved in ages. Ivy crawled between his legs, draped the hand that rested on his heart, and almost obscured the golden mask on his face.

"Hope you don't mind company," he told the statue, and turned his attention to the vast amount of Zariman debris that filled the cave. Much like how the other caves mixed aggristone formations and sections of the Zariman, this one extensively borrowed portions of dormizones and classrooms. No ghosts announced their presence as he evaluated its liveability.

Fortunately, the divided sections should serve the refugees well, preventing families from crowding others out the open holes by accident. There were even some nicer dormizones that the nobles would claim, like a bed that could've been his if he'd loved spaceships instead of kaithes. A tablet lay next to it:

Q: What is your first priority if you are exposed to the Void?

     A. Request the duty cephalon to seal off your environs

     B. Call the Lorists, then immolate yourself at a thermo-cubicle

He tucked the tablet away. The voices were just the speaker system that was stuck on repeat. Nothing to be afraid of. Failing to find an off-switch, he hauled the speakers out to the open edge, pitched them off, turned around, and came face to face with an amorphous black ink-smear of a man.

He shrieked, backpedaled, and aimed Sirocco all before he realized it was just an ink-smear of a man painted on an upturned table.

"Nothing to be afraid of." His pulse receded.

Or so he thought, until he examined it closer. The smeared man was creepy enough, with its blank eyes and amorphous hand stretched out. Behind it, in a lighter shade of gray paint that hadn't registered at first, was the unmistakably crescent shape of the Zariman.

"Either that’s creepy as shit or this Fear Spiral is getting to me."

"I'd say so." Acrithis said.

He whirled, leveled Sirocco, and then his brain caught up with his hands, and he holstered the gun instead.

"I'd say it again-" she said, unperturbed.

When had she flown in through the cavern? Had he been so spaced out examining the painting that he literally didn't notice a whole flying carriage landing inside the open edge? That thing was creepy as shit!

"-but we know I'm right."

"Sorry."

"Now you owe me a favor," she pointed up at the statue. "There's a small hollow up above him where I left my last lore tab about the Island of Lorn. Go grab that for me and I'll tell you what Thrax told me."

Sure enough, if he cut the ivy down with Sun, he and Kaithe could fit.

The Island of Lorn

When Duviri came into being there were many islands whose contents were - to put it bluntly - horrific. The Execution Cyst, the Golden Hive, the Inversion Tree, Stitcher's Gulch and the Bountiful Swamp were all notorious, but each met a natural end, engulfed by the Void. Lorn was exiled deliberately.

The Island of Lorn was a desolate, bleak outcrop where ghosts would scream accusations against anyone who came close enough to hear. Shunned by all, it was ultimately severed from Duviri and set adrift in the Void, where it can still occasionally be heard screaming to this day.

Islands are usually unmoored or otherwise destroyed by command of the King. Here, though, it was the local citizenry who rose up and cast the offending island out, smashing the bridges with their tools and dragging it away using ropes and flying Kaithes.

Lorn was notable for its curious shrines, many of which were dismantled and their component stones taken from the island by royal order. One comes across them occasionally, and it is possible - though not advisable - to reassemble them. To do so risks a local outbreak of ghosts, an offense punishable by death should the Dax catch you at it.

When he handed it over, she said, "Thrax asked that I ask if you would continue to help me recover my lore tablets."

After the talk they’d had? After Dominus got his first hug in a millenia? "No way that was all of it."

"No. But then, I don't agree with your quest to keep him on the throne of Duviri. We need a king, not a baby."

"That doesn't explain why he's shuffling me off. Last time he gave me a task, it was because I was failing miserably. Now he’s the one that’s struggling. It doesn’t make sense.”

She shrugged.

In one sense, Dominus’ decision mirrored his own life on the Zariman, just before the leap. Even though the whole ship was steaming straight for disaster, everyone went about their daily routine as though pretending there was nothing wrong could make it so. The idea of following Acrithis around and picking up lore tabs as he had for the last weeks gave him the same strange sense of normalcy on the edge of catastrophe.

Then he considered the correct answer to the quiz question he’d just picked up. “When you’re exposed to the void, “Request the duty cephalon to seal off your environs.” He’s sealing me off to keep me safe and out of the way of the impending coup.”

She asked, “Is that sort of like him trying to ‘keep you safe’ by executing you every day for a million years so you wouldn’t leave?”

“He does care, you know.”

“Really? No, I wouldn't know by the way he’s acting. Anyways, don’t you have refugees to house?” she said, in the most blatant distraction attempt he’d seen yet.

Yes, actually. Maybe that was why his parents went about their normal routine even as normality crumbled around them because being an adult meant upholding one's adult responsibilities like organizing shifts of Dax Equitem, directing nobles who wouldn't listen to anyone lesser than His Majesty's Party Planner, slowly clearing the jam at the bridge, and ensuring that everyone stayed calm more by the virtue of acting calm than by anything else. 

Duviri's civil war wasn’t the Zariman’s leap, he told himself. Disaster could yet be averted. And so to everyone who asked, fearfully, “What’s going to happen to us? Or tearfully, “When can we go home again?” Or fretfully, “The King’s going to win, isn’t he?” Or gloomily, “Wonder how we’ll fare under the King of Fire?” he said:

“We’ll be alright as long as we regulate our emotions.”

Most of them looked from him to the palace and scoffed. 

He couldn’t blame them. “No, don’t depend on the king and the court to fix your problems. As long as you regulate your emotions, you’ll be able to respond appropriately whatever crisis arises.”

At his side, Acrithis scribed that down on another lore tablet, “Speechifying’s all well and good, Drifter. Do you think it’ll make a difference?”

He murmured back, “I needed to be executed for every day of my life before I figured that out. If it makes a difference for one person, it’s worth saying.”

She scribed that down too.

“Look!” the watchman cried, pointing to the south where the broad, white slopes of Throneguard and Netherbarrow rose above the Agora’s shallow bowl of an island. 

“Is that smoke?” Drifter asked, and then cursed himself for an obvious answer. What else would billow in a black cloud from the tent barracks at the base of the three watchtowers?

Acrithis laughed like a crow cawing above the chorus of surprise and alarm. “There go the banners!”

The banners were no more than red strings at this distance, but against such a background, they were easily picked out as they fell one by one and then flew off as they were snatched up by the wind.

“Lodun’s done it,” she cheered, so loudly and with such satisfaction that every eye turned to her.

“What?” She asked. She thumbed back at Castle Town. “Your ‘king’ is hiding in his palace.” Then she pointed forward to Throneguard. “Your King just armed his army.”

The headman said, “Lodun’s not king yet.”

Not yet. But Lodun wasn’t paralyzed by fear. He’d moved on a faster timetable than Dominus expected and thus secured himself a crucial advantage against the King’s Dax. 

Baby steps in the right direction weren't going to get Dominus there fast enough to mitigate the consequences of his actions.

So Drifter faced a choice. He could follow Acrithis’ hand on his elbow, go along with Dominus’ decree to go lore hunting, and let himself be carefully shunted aside where he’d be safe even as his son now faced the crisis alone. Or he could shrug her off, and go try to make a difference.

“Drifter, I only have the one set of lore tabs left,” Acrithis tugged on him. “They’re at the Amphitheater.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding them.” He disentangled himself.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I’m not going to interfere with Lodun, don’t you fret.” With the road mostly cleared and the refugees either housed or moved on down the road, he had room to summon Kaithe.

“Oh, you’re going to help the other villages.”

“Yes.” He mounted up. “And then I’m going back to the Palace.”

She grabbed Kaithe’s bridle. “He’s not going to learn!”

“It took me being executed every day of my life to learn to do better.” At his touch, Kaithe shook her off. “It took months of spirals for the Court. He’s got to start sometime.”

He left her behind, studying her lore tabs as though they held an answer.

Chapter Text

Plates, cups, and silverware clinked as a child's fist slammed down on the table. "WHY is my breakfast not served?!" 

Drifter woke, bleary-eyed and stiff from sleeping on a palace couch, into the glare of an Anger Spiral and a king in the grip of a tantrum. 

"Oh joy." He rubbed his face. He hadn't slept well, either worrying about things he couldn’t change or hoping that the simple fact of his presence here could change something.

"I'm starving," Dominus announced.

He left the antechamber between the king's suite and the dining room. It was set for a full banquet or more, at least twenty place settings. Dominus sat at the head of the table, gripping his fork and knife and glaring at an empty plate.

"First off," Drifter told him, "I have starved. You are not."

Dominus sputtered. 

"And second, if you'll hold your kaithes long enough for me to wash up, I'll cook breakfast."

"You?!"

"Unless there's someone else you didn't chase off, yes, me."

While Dominus sulked, Drifter washed up and made breakfast. Eggs, toast, jam, sausage, and tea for two. Then he took in a plate for Dominus, set his own plate one place down, and started eating.

"What are you doing?" Dominus pointed to the far end of the table and shooed him off. "Sit down there."

And he'd thought Lodun was bad at first for insisting on the marks of status. "Don’t be ridiculous."

Dominus poked at the eggs. "I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous. The eggs are scrambled. I want a soft yolk."

He didn't deign to answer right away. Sleepless nights made for hungry stomachs. Whatever today brought, he wanted to face it well-fed. As he scraped up the last of his eggs and started slathering jam on his toast, Dominus stared down at his own plate, fists clenched. Wild kaithes could drag that boy to the dinner table but couldn't make him eat. He suggested, "Consider that this is an anger spiral. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry."

Dominus didn’t stop grumbling about his eggs, but at least he ate everything else. 

Right after Drifter finished washing the dishes and making sandwiches for lunch and a pot of stew for dinner (because goodness knows that boy needed fuel even if he'd rather die than admit it), Lequos stumbled in looking like he hadn't slept well either for wondering whether he'd thrown his lot in with the wrong king. "Prince Lodun sent a messenger," he reported.

Dominus said, "Petition denied. Hang the messenger from the Castle Town arch."

Lequos dithered. How to tell the king that even though a king could, he shouldn't?

Drifter said, "Dominus, that's a war crime."

"So?"

"Just because the Orokin brutally suppressed dissidents doesn't mean you have to emulate them. And if you kill Lodun's messenger, what do you think he's going to do if you have to send him a messenger yourself? I know you’re angry, but that only makes it more important to think about the consequences of your actions."

Dominus rubbed his mask’s temples with his fingertips. "You’re supposed to be my party planner, not my conscience."

"Well, Your Majesty's Party Planner is reminding you that it's an Anger Spiral, and the angrier you get, the harder it is to work with your loyal allies."

"Fine, fine, I get the point!" 

They went to the balcony to receive the messenger in royal style. If Dominus had hoped to overawe the supplicant with his height, the attempt fell flat immediately. Bombastine artfully furled his white banner of parlay. Behind him, several ranks of Dax stood in lines, disarmed, each one's wrists bound to the waist of the soldier in front of him so that they had shuffled as one mass back to the king's doorstep.

The whole scene had been masterfully crafted by a master presenter to showcase Lodun's largesse…and ruffle the king’s feathers.. Behind Dominus' mask, his eyes were like twin pits burning with humiliation despite his bold retort. "Oh dear. I lost a sentry post. I may wet myself." 

As for Bombastine? Behind his mask, his eyes glittered with satisfaction, and not over a job well done. "Perhaps your wet nurse can take care of that for you." Here he looked pointedly at Drifter.

"Get on with it," he replied, and hoped Bombastine got the point. No one liked owing an asshole.

Bombastine cleared his throat. "Lodun desires to settle this business of kingship with no further bloodshed. Alas for Duviri that Your Majesty destroyed the Sage's succession records! Fortunately, there is another way. To this end, Lodun proposes that he and Your Majesty (or Your Majesty's vested representative)," here, he looked pointedly at Drifter again, "-Rebuild the shrine of his Great-Grandmother together. To that end, should she acknowledge his succession rights, there will be witnesses."

"To that end, should his claim be upheld, you will surrender and he will become king."

"To that end, should his claim be denied, he will surrender and Your Majesty remain king."

Dominus asked, "Why should we indulge the Prince of Nothing?" 

"Because you're soon to be the king of nothing."

Dominus wrung the railing like the neck of a chicken destined for dinner’s stew.

Drifter murmured, "Because you are the king. You can control your anger for the good of Duviri. He's offering a way out of this Anger Spiral without bloodshed. You or I must go."

"You go," he ordered. "Smooth it over."

"I think we're well past that point," he reminded him. "Either accept or reject Lodun's parlay. If you send me as your witness and representative, then my agreement binds you. So think about the dangers of uncontrolled Anger. If you break my word out of petty spite, that means the open war we all hope to avoid is upon Duviri." Did Dominus understand the weight of that?

"Then be my conscience." 

Maybe he did. 

He knelt. Dominus gave him a signet ring and he rose as the representative of His Majesty, his word the same as the king's. 

Then he escorted Bombastine out of town. The Amphitheater was a shallow bowl of an island with lacy edges made of aggristone curls and wyrm-made arches. It had once been connected to the Citadel but the bridge between the two islands crumbled away a long time ago. He and Bombastine took a flying ferry out instead. 

The flight on their small sailboat took long enough for Drifter to ask himself some truly disturbing questions. After Lodun took the throne, what then? Would the court stand united behind him without the external threat of Dominus Thrax and the Void to unite against? Would Duviri remain stable or quickly spiral back into bad habits? The Tales of Duviri named Bombastine the most dangerous courtier because “envy of another’s station undermines the Empire.”

"Drifter, I'm so glad you could come with me.”

"You'd best watch yourself."

"Just because he’s your son doesn’t make him untouchable."

"You and I both know that no one likes owing an asshole."

Bombastine winced. "Sorry."

The hot wind belled out their sail, carrying them swiftly towards the gigantic square arch that marked the brassy landing pad. Next to the arch, a waterfall trailed off into nothingness. Behind it, Lodun and the rest of the Court waited in the middle of a plaza, ostensibly admiring the spinning circular rings of an art installation. Behind them, the stage itself dominated the skyline. The U-shaped roof mirrored the hands of the statue in the sky reaching upwards, embracing a series of oblong rings that rose and fell like a graceful arpeggio of notes written on invisible sheet music. 

A beautiful setting for a peace treaty.

Theoretically.

Bombastine asked, "Do you think he'll actually hold to it?"

"I certainly hope so." Once he landed, he explained his purpose. “I have the king’s seal and acknowledgement as his representative.”

“Good.” Lodun said, “Acrithis will witness.” Lodun looked well-rested. Even Mathila was all smiles and Sythel wasn't twitching with nerves.

Drifter complimented him, "Nice work with the Dax at Throneguard." 

Lodun replied, "They’re my army too. Why should I not spare them?" But it was easy to see how the respect pleased him while its absence would’ve infuriated him. "As for this, you can thank Acrithis. Her talk of the past made me think of another way we could access the past after the Imp burned the genealogies."

She tossed over a new set of lore tabs. "Lodun helped me finish the collection."

He caught it. "So this shrine, is it one of the shrines of Lorn?"

"From Lorn, yes," Lodun led the way around the Amphitheater towards the back of the building. 

As they walked, Drifter read.

The Bleeding Earth

The island was called Cornucopia, for its fecundity. The soil, dark and rich, yielded tubers and greens that shimmered with life. Wagons laden with tribute would go tottering up to the Palace in procession.

All this was, of course, the will of the King; for what is a kingdom without its peasants? Thus had he created the islands, and thus they remained, day after indolent day.

Then, on a morning like any other, Farmer Hovrel drove his spade into the earth and brought up blood.

Blood welled up from the gash like crimson oil. As Hovrel looked on, stupefied, the rivulet reached the road and... began to pool. The shocked cries of other farmers rang out as their furrows, too, began to fill with blood.

The stuff was dark, almost black. It had a heavy metallic odor suffused with grave spices. One venturesome soul tasted it. His eyes instantly became pitch-black orbs, his voice a smoky whisper.

Panic ensued. Was this a curse? The judgment of Dominus Thrax?

The Dax came swiftly, the roads were barricaded, and Cornucopia was isolated from Duviri.

Later that day, a great Orowyrm shattered the bridges. The island was set adrift, inhabitants and all. The last sight I had of them was a row of wide-eyed, pleading faces watching me steadily as they vanished into the Void.

Lodun said, "I cut Cornucopia loose. I don’t believe I asked why at the time. What do you make of the bleeding earth?"

Disturbed, he said, "It sounds like Kuva. A fluid with the Void-derived capacity to conduct consciousness."

Everyone else looked to Sythel. She said, "I told you it was creepy."

At the rear of the amphitheater where no one went except tamms and krubies, large black stones lay scattered amongst the weeds. “The stones of Lorn,” Lodun said, as he levered up a flat slate a handspan tall and as long as his long arm. “The Imp shattered her shrine to erase proof of my ancestry. Today, we rebuild.”

The stones were slick and glassy, like black obsidian. They had sharp edges, as though they were cleaved from some towering cliff face. As the two summoners, he and Lodun found, gathered, and stacked the stones upon each other into a squat pyramid of a shrine.

The truth was that Drifter had no idea what to expect. If Acrithis’ lore about the Shrines of Lorn held true, Lodun’s great-grandmother might just be a screaming ghost, potentially as foul-mouthed as her great-grandson had been. As for how she’d prove succession, he had no idea. As far as he knew, the actual Duviri had simply sprung into being as a fully-conceptualized realm with Dominus Thrax as its king and Lodun as a grown man and Prince.

"What a scene," Bombastine marveled. "What a foundation for Duviri's future. I wouldn't miss seeing this for the world, even with only a bit part to play."

Acrithis scribed that down on her brass tablet. "Allow me a moment's indulgence to record why we're doing this."

Luscinia said, "Finally, we change Duviri's sad Spirals for the better."

Mathila added, "War and conflict make for a better story, but such excesses make no one happy.”

Sythel said, "To protect our land and people from the Void and whatever entity’s consciousness was conducted when they drank the kuva."

Lodun said, “When I am king, no one need fear an Orowyrm come to cast them into the void.” Then he put his right hand on the uppermost stone. A potent energy gathered at his touch; the same sort of wispy black energy that conjured up the liminus converged with the ghostly ferocity of Thrax’s legate phantasms from the Undercroft. Without fear, he declared, “I summon my great-grandmother to judge my claim to the throne.”

Drifter felt a pressure fall over him as though Dominus was looking over his shoulder. “Dominus, do you want to speak?” He asked.

Dominus muttered, “You bear my seal and writ. Besides, you’ve actually got a knack for being convincing.”

Acrithis looked at Drifter, pen poised. 

“I'm here to witness what is to become of Duviri before I leave it forever.” He laid his left hand on the stone. Not his Guiding Hand, for though he held the deepest gratitude for all she’d done for him, she hadn’t been there when he created Duviri. “I summon the spirits to tell me the truth of the rightful kingship of Duviri.”

The ghostly figure that rose up from the shrine was unmistakably Orokin. Her blue skin owed nothing to porcelain glazes. Her long arm was no gold-smith’s art, but rather the greatest geneticists and bio-engineer-sculptors the Empire had. Her haughty face was perfectly symmetrical under her crown of dreadlocked hair and a circular diadem. If a mere glance could kill, they’d all vanish in a flare of jade light.

His mouth went dry. He knew what she’d sound like even before she opened her mouth to rebuke them: a cool, precisely enunciated soprano that dispassionately condemned the Courtiers for their failures in the same tone as she taught about the dangers of traveling through the Void.

He’d just summoned Euleria Entrati, author of the Tales of Duviri.

Lodun jutted his jaw out. “Who is the rightful king of Duviri, me or the Imp?”

She ignored Lodun and glared down at Drifter. “Are you a fool or just a slacking student? You didn’t make a kingdom, you made a mockery of my teaching!”

This was no time to feel like a kid called up to the teacher’s desk for not studying. He’d made mistakes and he’d face them like the adult he was. “Why not both? You meant Duviri as a teaching tool. Now it stands as a bulwark on this side of the Wall. But I don’t belong here and so we want to know the truth of who should rule in my absence.”

She weighed him with judgmental eyes. “You are not yet a complete person, nor a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire. To divide parts of yourself is to be a nation at war with itself.”

Lodun said, shortly, “That’s the point of getting you to stop this damned civil war. So am I the rightful king or not?”

She ignored him.

Lodun looked up at the fiery sky, rolled his shoulders, blew out a long breath full of steam and anger, and settled back on his heels to wait her out.

Which bought Drifter enough time to consider for himself what he wanted to say, because while Lodun had the pride of his noble lineage to stiffen his spine, he'd never felt more like a peasant. Thrax at his worst had nothing on a real Orokin, and one of his old teachers to boot. “Becoming a whole person is a lifelong endeavor.”

She nodded in slow approval. “So I wrote. At least you remembered something. You might make a worthy servant yourself…eventually.”

He felt like he'd scraped by on a difficult test with the minimum passing grade.

On that cool dismissal, she turned back to Lodun. “Prince of Fire, the root of your anger is your powerlessness, for who wouldn’t be righteously angry that their heritage was trampled, their birthright given to another, and the crown that should rightfully rest on their head worn by a spoiled brat? It's just too bad you’re too prone to petty rage to do anything about it. That's why you'll never be king.”

Lodun looked at him. “Is that proof enough for you as the King’s representative?”

Euleria Entrati herself confirmed it. Who was he to argue? “I accept this statement as proof that Lodun’s claim to the throne of Duviri supercedes that of Dominus Thrax.”

“Finally!” Lodun threw up his hands and crowed with the pure joy of long-awaited vindication. His supporters crowded close to clap him on the back. Bombastine and Mathila hoisted him up on their shoulders, which was hilariously lopsided, but no one cared.

Acrithis signed the record as Duviri’s archivist. “So it was witnessed.”

For the first and probably only time in Drifter’s life, he witnessed a look of pure confusion cross an Orokin face before Euleria’s ghostly form dissolved back into the Lornic shrine.

Dominus remained ominously silent.

"Are you alright?" Drifter asked quietly.

Something flashed high in the sky. Fiery meteors were nothing new on an Anger Spiral, but this one was heading straight for them.

He bellowed, "Dominus Thrax, you cut that out this instant!"

Dominus snarled back, "No amnesty for insurrectionists."

Drifter planted himself right in front of the shrine. “Cut it out!”

The Courtiers scrambled clear, all save Lodun, who likewise planted himself shoulder to shoulder with Drifter. 

Then they looked at each other. Despite all his frustrations with his son, he couldn't help but smile. “Courting death by meteor, are we?”

Despite the righteous anger kindled in his eyes, Lodun snorted. “It could be worse. Bah. It's not worth it. Come on.”

They both sprinted for the safety of the Amphitheater's wings for the rest of the court.

The meteor, when it struck, flashed as white as pure daylight. The shockwave knocked them all off their feet and set the arpeggio of oblongs clanging like bells.

When they could hear again, Lodun said, "This means war, Thrax."

Dominus snarled back, "Duviri is mine. I break what I like."

With a thunderous crack, the back edge of the amphitheater cracked off from the impact, hanging over the abyss. Flat black bricks of obsidian spilled down into furious, roiling clouds.

Fists clenched, Lodun vowed, "For now."

Drifter felt only a deep, aching sadness. He'd tried to give Dominus a peaceful out. His chances for bringing this all to a peaceful end now seemed as remote as those plummeting stones. Maybe he should have stood there and dared Dominus to kill him after all.

The whole sky flashed bright as the sun.

Lodun roared, "Listen here, you little shit!"

But Dominus asked, "What was that?"

Another meteor streaked over Duviri, bigger than the last, trailing streaks of the Void like fire.

Dominus panicked. "That's not me. I don't know what that is!"

Sythel shrieked, "You lying little-"

But Lodun and Drifter looked at each other, because they'd seen something like this before. As one, they traced the meteor back to its origin - the Void portal high in the sky, closing. "He's not lying," Lodun said. 

But what it was, and whether it'd be as benevolent and beneficent as his Guiding Hand, no one had any way of knowing.

Chapter Text

The meteor thundered over Duviri. Its high arc took it from the rapidly closing Void portal in the crimson sky, over the basin of the Agora's valley, and past the Amphitheater. It roared over their heads louder than any orowyrm and plunged onward toward the sweeping expanse of the southernmost island. Fire, smoke, and Void wisps trailed behind. Would it obliterate the Chamber of the Muses, or fall into the abyss?

Neither.

As it flew past, the Court ran inside the Amphitheater's stage wings for shelter. Sythel practically collapsed, pawing at the back wall as if she could claw out a hiding space for herself. The whites of her eyes showed all around as she tracked the sound.

Moments later, it detonated with a white flash so stark Drifter saw the shadow of his bones through his upraised hand. The arpeggio of notes jangled in the shockwave, but he couldn't hear it. He touched his ears and the fingertips came back bloody.

The Courtiers were all far less effected than he, being made of ceramic, except for Sythel who fainted. Mathila knelt beside her, fanning fresh air to her. 

Disregarding her own safety, Acrithis rushed back out of their shelter and forward to the southern edge of the island where an aggristone arch jutted horizontally over the abyss. She clambered up onto the arch's ridges and stood at the edge, frantically scribing down all she saw on a new brass tablet.

Whatever she saw, he had to know. He used one of his few health restores for his ringing ears, then joined her.

In the empty space between the Amphitheater and the southern slopes, a new island boiled out of the aether and tainted fragments of the meteor. It had a core of white marble, as if it were a round tower turned upside down. The Void wreathed itself in coils around that white tower like a snake climbing up a tree trunk. In mere minutes, the shimmering metal coils solidified into the more familiar appearance and texture of aggristone. The rock formed the foundation for Duviri-style buildings and statues that blossomed like a strange crop of flowers.

Without pausing in her note-taking, she asked, "Was this how you made the rest of Duviri?"

If it was, then Conceptual Embodiment was far more wondrous and terrifying than he'd imagined. "Actually, I have no idea."

"This isn't your doing?"

"No. Nor Dominus'."

She, who'd witnessed the destruction of so many islands, including the finger at the Galleria, now regarded him with the same mix of wonder and terror. 

He and Dominus were relatively safe and known factors who could already control Duviri. This was someone new. Someone unknown. Someone who'd just created a whole new island from an unknown concept, for an unknown purpose. Not even the Scholar Albrecht Entrati managed that feat.

Her eyes glittered with anticipation. "Don't even think of exploring that island without me."

Exploring the new, wholly unknown island? His hands went a little clammy. Up until now, Duviri had felt safe and filled with known factors. Something he could control. Whoever made that island might be as dangerous as they were mysterious. He couldn't hope for a third miracle like Teshin or his Guiding Hand.

But she was right. He followed after her intuitive leaps like a kaithe racing into second place. They had to explore the island, no matter how dangerous. Had to find out what its creator wanted and, if necessary, stop them before they brought danger to the rest of the islands. The only people who could control Duviri to fight such a threat were Drifter himself and whoever became king. Which meant that no matter how much he wanted to vacillate and delay, he had no choice but to go.

Shit, he had to get his act together. Once he left Duviri, everything would be new, unknown, and out of his control. He couldn't stand there, frozen and cowering, before each new experience. “Whoever ends up as king needs to know what that island's creator wants. You talk to Lodun, I'll talk to Thrax, then we go together?”

“Deal.”

But first, he had to deal with the crisis brewing behind him between Dominus and Lodun who was glaring at the Palace as though, if it weren't shortly to be his own, he'd very much like to hurl it into the abyss.

Dominus first. The boy-king had silently listened in to his conversation with Acrithis with the sort of pea-rattling-in-a–filo-pod panic that told Drifter that tomorrow was going to be a Fear Spiral. A small part of him looked at the wreckage at the rear of the amphitheater, and felt bad for the boy who'd fallen into the Anger Spiral, turned against his allies, and only made his precarious situation worse.

As one of those allies, he was also righteously angry. "Listen," he told Dominus. "You vested me as your representative. You sent me here to learn the truth and give your agreement. Then you reneged, broke your word, and left me with the short stick. Lodun could, and quite possibly should, execute me for your treachery."

"He wouldn't," Dominus whispered, finally shocked into speaking.

"If he doesn't," he continued, rolling over the protest, "it's because we now face a crisis. While you and Lodun lock horns over who's going to king of Duviri, I have to make sure that new island doesn't harbor a hidden threat."

"But-"

"No buts. Maybe if someone hadn't smashed Euleria's shrine, we could've asked her what was going on, but nooo…."

While he talked, Acrithis spoke to Lodun. Now, Lodun pointed his riding crop at Drifter. "Well said. Tell your son that there is open war between us. I have swore that I will not shed his blood; tell him not to test my patience further."

Dominus said, "I…I understand. Drifter, unravel that mystery for us. And, please, stay out of our fight.”

Lodun agreed. "I killed you so many times. Don’t make me do it again."

Now that both parties had taken the coup out of his hands, it felt like a weight off. "Alright. Take care, all of you."

As Dominus' attention returned to the palace, Drifter reconsidered. He should've said goodbye properly.

Even though he'd extracted their promises that the coup would proceed as peacefully as they were able, that didn't mean that he himself would survive whatever dangers this strange island held. For all he knew, the island's creator might even be able to expel him from Duviri through another void portal, never to return. Suddenly his last words seemed terribly insufficient. He murmured, "I love you, son," even though he was sure it went unheard. 

Then he turned to give the rest of his friends a proper farewell. 

Lodun clasped his arm, then drew him in for a hug. "I won't hold the destruction of her shrine against you."

"I truly believed he'd see reason," he apologized to him and the other courtiers now coming out from shelter to embrace him and Acrithis. "It's past time I stepped aside and let you all take charge of Duviri."

Lodun nodded. "We'll be worthy of it."

Bombastine was next. He thumped him on the back and said, "We won't forget the lessons you taught us, Sire."

He hoped not, and feared so, but it'd be ungracious to say it. "Break a leg." Bombastine’s unchanging smile was genuine as he made way for Luscinia. 

She cupped his cheeks in her hands, red silks trailing from her wrists like twin rivers of blood. "Our sorrow at this parting cannot be avoided, so we must endure. When we meet again, Duviri will be a better place."

Quietly, he said, "I know you have more cause than most to seek revenge on Dominus. I'm trusting you to make sure everyone holds to their promises.”

She went up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead in benediction. “I will ensure that this ends peacefully."

After her, Mathila plucked a single purple blossom from her flower crown. He bent down so she could tuck it behind his ear. It sat there, a splotch of purple in the corner of his vision. 

He said, "Keep your family safe," or tried to, because he thought about his own family torn apart by the chaos onboard the Zariman, and choked up halfway through. 

She hugged him. A widow holding an orphan. They didn't need words. 

Sythel had gotten to her feet, though she still huddled under the corner of the Amphitheater's sheltering wing, looking ashamed of herself. "I'm glad you're still here, Drifter. If I had to be the one searching that strange island…"

Acrithis said, "Even once he leaves for good, you won't have to, Sythel. There's nothing to be ashamed of about knowing your limits."

Hugging her was like holding a tiny bird. No matter how gentle they were, her heart beat with the innate knowledge that she could be crushed at any moment. 

She whispered, "It's not just the island that worries me. It's whatever was on the Other Side of that void portal."

"Me too," he admitted. "Me too."

Strangely, that set her at ease. Maybe because it was the truth and she'd been bracing herself for comforting lies. "You'd best not let me keep you, then. Go on, go on." she pushed him back towards Acrithis.

He let himself be pushed. “I'm going, I'm going. You all take care.”

Fortunately, Acrithis’ carriage had been sheltered from the worst of the shockwave by the bowl of the island itself. He said, “This island reminds me of that Fear Spiral where I got you imprisoned. I let Sythel build up her fears and her forces over several Spirals until we were overwhelmed. This will take swift, decisive action. Do you want me to fly ahead on Kaithe?

When he handed her up into her carriage, she left the reins where they lay and instead searched the back shelves for supplies. "Haste makes waste, I say.”

"You are the more experienced explorer," he allowed.

She left off stuffing a whole roll of brass tabs into her pack to lean over the railing so they were face to face. "Drifter, I promised Dominus-," and she said the name precisely so he'd take it seriously. "-that I would keep you safe. There is no one else as experienced as I in exploring Duviri's most dangerous islands. The Golden Hive? The Execution Cyst? Those places are lost to memory because their tablets were lost to the void with the islands, not because I didn’t write them."

He'd merely given lip service to her experience before; now, he listened. 

"If you rush in like a fool where angels dare to tread? Dominus will have to reset the Spiral to save you. I don’t doubt he’d do it, no matter the cost."

There would be a cost. Resetting the spiral cost both memories and lessons learned. Not to mention that it’d signal a return to the old bad times when everyone in Duviri slaved under a tyrant. 

And beyond just Duviri, Acrithis' words were a powerful warning of what he ought to expect outside of Duviri in his own world. There, if he rushed in where angels feared to tread and got himself killed, nobody was going to reset the Spiral. He'd be just as dead as everyone else on the Zariman. "You're right. I'm at your service," he said, and meant it. "What do you advise?"

“Go see Teshin. And ask the Other Side for another favor like that Wisp warframe.”

He flew back to the Zariman, surveying Duviri along the way. Aside from some broken trees, the Amphitheater hadn't sustained much damage from the shockwave. Across the gap, the Citadel's walls looked to have taken the brunt of the impact, though a line of broken trees marked the ring of destruction. From a distance, some avalanches had rolled down the Netherbarrow slopes and spilled over the side.

Teshin met him at the portal on high alert and yet inordinately relieved to see him in the middle of the Spiral. His brows knit together as he observed, "Something's different."

"No shit. After Dominus trashed the peace talks in a fit of pique, a void portal opened up in the sky." 

Teshin glanced at his Guiding Hand.

He shook his head. "Whoever fell through created a whole new island in Duviri. Acrithis and I are investigating."

"Hmmm. That might explain this." Teshin guided him back towards the open part of the cave where the warframes knelt. 

Something else was different? Shit. "What now?"

The harder he'd worked to repair Duviri, the more options the Other Side gave him to fix the chaos in the Undercroft. These days, he had as many as five warframes and eight weapons to choose from. Except that now, the pedestals were empty, save for one, just like when the Tenno gave him Wisp.

This warframe looked like the sword-wielding Excalibur, except that he was black as night, red as blood, and as murderous as Mordred. 

Under that eyeless gaze, his urge to speak died as his mouth dried. The warframe measured him with the pitiless gaze of an assassin and found him wanting. 

"The Tenno want me to transference with him?" He asked, incredulous. Referring to this warframe as "he" came naturally. Unlike the rest, he was no mere battle envoy. Nor was he the sort of executioner that he thought he might eventually befriend, like Lodun or Denphius Dax. There was too much hatred bound up in that muscular sword-steel body.

Grimly, Teshin said, "What the Tenno want has nothing to do with him. He is the Stalker."

"An assassin stalking his prey." His hands were clammy again. Sure, right now the Stalker was kneeling quiescent on his plinth. But as soon as he tried transference, he was pretty sure that was going to change right quick. 

"His motives are uncertain, even for me. But I believe that he pursues the Warframes because of the blood on their hands. Since you have been safely tucked away in Duviri all these years, I doubt you've had opportunity to earn his enmity. Perhaps he and you hunt the same target."

A thrill of horror ran down his spine. Warframes like Wisp, Voruna, even Yareli were incredibly deadly. The Stalker hunted them?

Horror turned to fear. Because if the Tenno on the Other Side hadn't sent him this assassin…but the paradox that bound them together thought he needed the Stalker anyway…

He put the puzzle pieces together. "There's a rogue warframe on that island. One with enough blood on its hands that the Stalker is willing to work with me."

"That is my suspicion as well."

Oh, shit. What was he supposed to do against a rogue warframe with Sun, Moon, dinky Sirocco, and the Stalker?

If he did nothing, he'd let Acrithis face it alone. She'd die, no matter her experience. A single warframe could overcome Dax and militia with ease. Dominus and Lodun would both end up dead. A rogue, blood-crazed warframe on the throne of Duviri?

"Fear kills you twice." Teshin chided.

"First in the mind," he acknowledged. "Only later in the body."

"So arm your mind well."

It didn't bear thinking about how badly events might've gone if he'd rushed off to the island unprepared and without Teshin's guidance. "Acrithis has earned so many "I told you so's" today," he said, ruefully.

Then he reached out to the Stalker, first with his hand and then, when it didn't get ripped off for the presumption, with transference. "It's impossible for a mere human like me to fight a warframe. But not if you help me."

Transference took an eternity of dissociation. Fury and hatred that wasn't his poured through him. He didn't understand it, so much as endure it like a pebble tumbling in a river current.

The Stalker strode to the weapon stands. Despair's brace of throwing knives hung from his hips, ready to pierce his foe's sword-steel skin like thorns tearing through flesh. He slung Dread, his bow and its quiver, over his back so that no matter how far his foe fled, they could not escape. He hesitated for a moment between his scythe Hate and the greatsword War. 

He rifled through his erstwhile passenger's mind and evaluated his skills. Dax-trained, not a Dax himself. Passable with dual swords and the two-handed nikana, nothing more. More hindrance than help in a fight. He took Hate. 

Without a glance back at Teshin Dax (for the old Dax had betrayed all they once held dear and thrown his lot in with the enemy), the Stalker strode through the cave portal.

Drifter stumbled from the portal, fell to his knees, and breathed in the hot air. Never had he been so glad to be himself again.

"Using the Stalker is a last resort," he told Acrithis after they met up at the Amphitheater and he explained what he'd learned while they harnessed a fresh brace of kaithes to her carriage. Lodun had borrowed hers to get his court off the island and over to the mainland.

“I do hope you'll be able to keep to that.”

But before they took off, a commotion at the docks below the Citadel drew their attention. For once, it wasn’t the Dax causing trouble for the boatmen.

Instead, Garmi Jr. and Mathila II escaped their mother’s grasp and jumped aboard the flying boat. They cast off the anchoring lines quicker than anyone could stop them and turned the sail to catch the wind.

Lodun bellowed, "What are you doing?!”

The kids set sail for the new island.

His jaw dropped. They didn’t know. They thought this was just a lark.

The boatmen shook their fists and bellowed, "Get back here, you wretches!”

Mathila's shriek went to ear-splitting levels. "Garmi Albrecht, Mathila Dominia, you fly back here this instant!"

The kids just waved cheerily. They had no idea that they might be heading right for a bloody-handed warframe.

He summoned Kaithe. “We can’t wait.”

“Wait!” Acrithis said, pointing. From Orion Tower, another slew of boats launched. A flight rose up from Thrax Gardens from the Archarbor ferries. All of them flew over island and abyss towards the new island. "They aren't the only ones."

Once was a coincidence. Children from all over flocking to one place with their siblings and friends was anything but.

Instead of rushing out, he flew over to the Court.

Luscinia asked him, "Is this some bewitching spell?"

Some warframes had mind-control powers. But Mathila, shaking her head, said, "Not on my children. If I can't make them do what they don't want to… maybe they saw that the war was going to kick off again and they think they'll be safe there?" She speculated hopefully.

Safe from the war, maybe. It was up to him and Acrithis (and, Void forbid, the Stalker) to keep them safe from the warframe. “We'll make sure they stay safe,” he assured Mathila.

She replied, “And I'll make sure this war ends swiftly so they can come home.”

Then he and Acrithis flew over the new island.

It hung low in the sky, lower that either the rim of the Agora's basin or the Netherbarrow slopes. It was unmistakably a part of Duviri, for statues of Thrax surmounted the tower and other large buildings that shared the style and colors of other towns and villages. Aggristone coiled around the white tower like a dragon guarding it's hoard. Tamms climbed the slopes. An endless waterfall poured from the bottom of the tower until the vapor whisked away into the abyss beneath.

However, the whole island was somewhat hazy. As they got closer, flakes drifted through the air. He caught one as large as his fingernail and it crumbled to dust and grit. He tasted it. Ash. No wonder the distant trees looked leafless and dead.

Soon he was forced to squint. Then he pulled on his visored hood.

Kaithe circled over the top of the island. That cluster of buildings and especially the tallest one with a spire ought to be some sort of main hall. It led down to a ledge overhanging the white tower. He’d expected the tower to be solid. Instead, it was a tube, like a hollowed out tree trunk. 

What was the purpose of the tall barred doors that ringed the inside of the tower? Who sat in the chair on the edge of the ledge?

But he had little time to consider possible answers, because the childrens' ships docked wherever they pleased. Garmi Jr. and Mathila II landed and ran into an aggristone cave and out of sight.

He and Acrithis landed at the top of the island near the main hall. As soon as he'd dismounted, Kaithe turned back toward the mainland.

"Not a fan of the ash?" Acrithis asked, wrapping a brass-spangled scarf over her face. Her own Aetigo kaithes weren't bothered at all by the ash storm. 

“I don't know. What is it, Kaithe?”

Kaithe nudged him once, as if in farewell, and then flew away back towards the Citadel for as far as he could see him in the haze. 

"Well, you know your business.”

Acrithis finished hitching her carriage up to a post and then hauled out her supplies, "And we must see to our business. Shall we find out what the children know?"

He shouldered the pack she offered him. Despite their recent disagreements, they were allies who understood each other. For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Now that they'd landed, the island felt bigger than it had from the air. There was no sign of the kids or indeed of anyone living, except for the sound of singing on the wind. The kids were chanting:

Kullervo, Kullervo, warrior-born,
From his mother's breast he was torn.
Doomed to go wandering all forlorn,
Kullervo, Kullervo, made to mourn.

“What's that mean?” Drifter asked.

“I don't know.” Acrithis said. “There's not a Kullervo in your book, is there?”

“No…but there's a Kullervo in Duviri now and the children know his story well enough to sing it.”

"Fascinating. I do believe we’re witnessing the birth of a new Tale.” 

Just like how the physical nature of the island conformed to Duviri's architecture, the story of the island was already insinuating itself into the warp and weft of the Tales of Duviri as if it'd always been there. At least the pressure was mutual - Duviri marked the new land with its buildings, its king, and its Spiral. “And here I thought all I had to worry about was a rogue warframe. What do you think the story might be?”

"I don't have a hypothesis right now." Acrithis explained, "When I'm investigating a new situation, I keep an open mind, gather whatever clues I can find, and then draw conclusions."

She'd never minded drawing quick conclusions before. He kept his unkind thoughts to himself. 

The dry, ashen air made it easy to pretend there were other reasons for silence, anyways. This place was a barren desert, parched, and apparently devoid of life save for the leafless trees and dead potted plants. The wind blew hard to the south. The plume of ash must cast quite a pall over the Chamber of the Muses, so perhaps it was a good thing Luscinia was too busy for the usual rehearsals.

She huffed a little laugh, having evidently been thinking along the same lines herself. "Forgive me for grandstanding, Drifter. I find myself back in my old element after too long being confined to too few islands. I assure you, that I was not always so quick to gossip so cruelly. You and everyone else have reminded me to do better."

"Sure, so long as you give me grace that my previous method of exploration was to test my hypothesis with my face."

She laughed, choked on a chunk of ash, coughed, spat, laughed, spat and laughed. "You ask the questions, I'll take the notes, then we'll put our heads together. We shall make a good team."

Their boots rasped across the ashen tiles. Despite the buildings, he doubted many would willingly come live here. Duviri's people liked their joyous days, not deserts and cactus. 

Once they got inside the Main Hall, it was less of a hall than its facade suggested. More of a glorified barracks than anything, with weapon racks and empty tables, save for a single Zariman tablet. He read:

Who is constructing the Extrasolar Rail between Pluto and Tau?

       A. An elite group of loyal servants of the Seven

       B. A new, hardy strain of Grineer Void Engineers

Despite the apparent lack of any connection to their current circumstances, he almost snorted at how easy the question was. 

Acrithis looked at him curiously.

"Grineer are brutes," he explained. "I'll eat my boots if any of them have a connection to the Void - they certainly weren't taking my classes. The second answer is correct. The Seven ruled the Orokin Empire. No one but their best and most loyal were trusted to build the rails."

"Were the Seven good rulers?" She asked.

Now he did snort. Everyone on the Zariman were fed lies about how the Seven cared for their best, most loyal of citizens right up until their rations were slashed and they were sent into the Void to die. "They make Thrax look benevolent."

"I see," she said, as though she'd just deduced something about him . “And by what right do they rule over the rest of you?”

Despite his bold thoughts about the Seven not a moment before, that answer was just as easy, flowing from the part of him that was always a student on the Zariman forever hoping that if he just kept his head down and did well enough at his studies then the crisis would pass him by. “They just do.”

She sideeyed him. “As Lodun would say, you're a hypocrite. Let's try that again. By what right do the Orokin govern?”

The part of him that'd grown up in Duviri agreed with her. But he'd woken his inner student now (or perhaps, Euleria Entrati had, with her strict teacher's mien and piercing question about whether he would become a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire). That part of him had started every school day since he was old enough to speak with an oath to the Seven. That part of him marched proudly in the Zariman parades, head held high because he and his family were the best and most loyal, trusted to colonize the Tau system. That part of him believed in Orokin superiority as wholeheartedly as he believed in the rings of Saturn.

He said the only correct answer. “That's a forbidden question.”

“Maybe to you,” she replied. “My second favorite books are those which ask forbidden questions.”

“...so you know, people who asked forbidden questions too many times and to the wrong ears got glassed.”

“Glassed?” She asked. “Oh, like Cephalon Melica? Hah, I knew I liked her!”

Shaking his head, he walked through the Main Hall. “They're eternal. Untouchable. So superior that questioning it was forbidden.”

The exit at the far end of the hall ended in a prominent jetty looming over the ring of the hollow white tower. A tall man, ceramic and porcelain like everyone else in Duviri, sat on a chair just above where it dropped off steeply enough that even Drifter wanted a handrail. He wore a mask made of white marble. His tunic was made of luxurious white samite, unstained by the ash and richer than anything that even Dominus wore. His braided hair was twisted and coiled around with golden beads and pins in a style that Drifter remembered from portraits of the Seven hanging on his classroom walls.

The man lounged on his chair like a throne as if he owned the Hall, the tower below, and the ring of cells that were cut into the tower walls and blocked by enormous golden gates. A Warden, ruling over his prison.

Drifter asked, “Are you Kullervo?”

The Warden looked up, and simultaneously looked down his nose at them as though his relaxation had been interrupted by a pair of ants. “No. Who are you?”

When Drifter read the tale of Manipura Island, he hadn't understood why the Calaventi thought Dominus an imposter. What did anyone in Duviri know about the real Orokin, save for transplants like Albrecht Entrati?

Now, he understood. The Warden instantly read as Orokin in a way that even Thrax didn’t. Everything about his mannerisms, his voice, and his steady gaze announced that he was of even higher caste than Euleria Entrati.

Drifter immediately, instinctively looked down at his feet. He was right back in his classroom pledging, "By the glory and wisdom of the Seven I give my life-" under the cold eyes of their portraits. 

The Warden's cold eyes evaluated him in an instant, found him lacking, and left him trembling with the effort not to prostrate himself at his feet.

Acrithis gripped his elbow and whispered, "Are you okay?”

When he didn't answer, the Warden told her, "Do not eye me so venomously. I do not know you.”

Drifter fought the urge to babble apologies on her behalf. “Sorry,” he bit out, and reminded himself that he had his duty. He wasn't a student anymore. He couldn't just cower in subservience when there were children depending on him to get to the bottom of this island's story. “We're here to explore the island and take back a record for the king."

"Ah." The Warden made a little shooing motion. "Then don't block my light."

He shuffled her out of the watery light coming through the arch. "Who's Kullervo?"

Instead of an answer, an eerie howl rang out from the hollow tower below. 

Drifter peered over the edge to see what manner of beast - or person - or warframe - made that noise. It hadn't come from the ring of arena stands above the cells. Maybe something moved behind the golden gates. "And what was that?"

Fortunately the Warden wasn’t displeased with his curiosity. "Just the wretch. Howling again, as he does."

"One of your prisoners?" He guessed.

"Kullervo." While the two of them were hardly worthy of attention, much less the honor of genuine irritation, the Warden pronounced that name with precise hatred and disdain that dripped like poison. "The beast. Betrayer and Fool."

Acrithis gripped his arm, occasionally giving him a little shake. Sharply, she told the Warden, “We're in Duviri now. The King's justice (such as that is) determines who shall be imprisoned. What crimes has Kullervo committed that he is locked up under the care of a self-appointed prison guard?”

Did she have a death wish?! Drifter was aghast. Unless she wanted to end up like the Calaventi, surely she knew that challenging an Orokin's will could only end in the Warden reasserting his authority through complete destruction of the defiant. If the Warden was this island's creator and the lead character in its new story, there was no telling what he might do if challenged. “Hush,” he said, and then put himself between her and the Warden. “I don’t want to bail you out of prison or worse.”

“Wise of you. As for you, woman,” the Warden said silkily, “I keep him locked up for his own safety or else he would ravage Duviri. I suggest you do not disturb him, unless you wish to experience his penchant for mindless slaughter personally." Far from cautioning them, he seemed to almost anticipate it.

Acrithis dared ask, "What happens if we wanted to, ah, “disturb him?"”

"Then your blood is on your own head, be you merchant, memoirist, or gossipmonger. He only respects the sanctity of children. As for myself, if the king weren't a child, I'd hang the lot of them."

"But you wouldn't stop us from seeing Kullervo for ourselves.”

He indicated a lever by his chair. "Feel free to extinguish his spirit whenever you like, however many times you like. I don’t object to a bit of bloodsport.”

“Will we find you here? At any hour?”

“Of course, where would I desire to go? Every day Kullervo suffers afresh. And so my purpose is fulfilled. Happy am I."

She eyed him venomously. 

She pulled on Drifter's arm, guiding him back up the steps after her and ignoring all protocol and etiquette that told him that he should never, ever turn his back on an Orokin and certainly not leave their presence without a proper dismissal. She marched him all the way back to her carriage ranting all the way. “Of all the repugnant, self-righteous-” and she continued in that vein for quite some time. 

He sat in a daze until she shoved a cup of tea into his hands. 

Scribing pen at the ready, she asked, “What's gotten into you? I have seen Thrax drag you to execution every day of your life, sometimes kicking and screaming, sometimes too tired to fight anymore. But that man? He could've told you to kneel and smile about it, and you would've.”

He took his hood off. He drank the tea without tasting it. The worst of it was that she was right. He would've followed orders, knelt, and smiled about it while the blade went in, out, always in the same damned spot. Because despite everything the Orokin did to his family and the Zariman, obedience had been drummed into him so deeply that even centuries in Duviri couldn't erase it.

He said, “I thought I was past all this.” He’d thought he’d been dealing well with the trauma of the Zariman. In fact, maybe he was, which was why as soon as he scraped the surface, he found a whole well of deeper, unresolved trauma. 

How he'd laughed to himself at Mathila's naivety about hierarchical society! All without ever considering that he was so deeply marked by life under their rule. It so shaped his own preconceptions that he didn't even know it until he locked eyes with the Void Conceptualization of an Orokin Executor and knew himself to be inferior right down to his bones.

Under the coldly judgmental eyes of the Warden, he got his first glimpse of what - when he stepped out into the real world beyond the Zariman - the Orokin might see when they looked at him. He and his pretensions of just laws and “right rulers” might as well be an ant, waving its mandibles at the mountainous foot about to crush it. 

Kindly, she said, “It had occurred to me that living under the thumb of rulers who make Thrax look benevolent might explain your rather skewed perspective of him.”

Just because he had the sinking feeling that she was right didn't mean he couldn't see what she was trying to do. “I really don't appreciate you taking advantage of my moment of weakness to try to drive a wedge between me and Dominus.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding repentant.

Time would tell if she really meant it. While he looked for a distraction, the skies sent one on kaithe-wings. Kaithe flew in with Barris on his back and Koral holding on behind.

“Ah, good, we can ask the children what they know!” Acrithis exclaimed, sounding as grateful for the end to the awkward silence between them as he was.

He climbed down from the carriage, happy to finally be doing something. Drifter patted Kaithe's nose. “I should've figured you'd go to your other rider,” he said.

Barris beamed, sitting proudly on Kaithe.

“That being said, what are you doing here? This island isn't exactly safe.”

Koral held her hands over her heart. “I felt very deeply that some ill-fortuned creature needs my aid here. Kaithe and Barris were kind enough to bring me.”

He frowned. “It's a brand new island.” But then, she'd been tending the void-sickened animals for as long as he remembered. She would know. “I suppose there might be some animals who got sick with void contamination when it appeared. I saw some tamms here when we flew in.”

Barris rolled his eyes. “Wherever I go, I can't escape the tamms.”

But Koral shook her head.

Acrithis tapped her lips. “A hypothesis presents itself. The Warden mentioned a particular “beast.””

Oh. 

Oh shit.

He demanded, “Tell me you're not here for Kullervo.”

Koral's eyes were wide and innocent and she was completely unbothered by his vehemence. “Of course I am.”

“But he's dangerous.”

“So are the krubies and the kexats, and I tend them just the same as the tamms and the rablits.”

He winced. A rablit like Sol, backed into a corner, was more dangerous than the rest combined. “I mean that he's imprisoned here for a reason. For our safety.”

Acrithis interjected, “Or so the Warden says.”

Koral scoffed. “If a man mistreats his kaithe by hitching him to heavy loads, driving him too hard, and whipping him for failures, would you blame the kaithe for turning and snapping its teeth? If a herder kicks and beats his tamms, would you blame them for kicking him back?”

Barris scratched his head. “I dunno, Koral. Some of them are just naturally stubborn assholes.”

Koral glared. Though she was shorter than the rest of them, Barris and Drifter both looked away.

Acrithis put her hand on her shoulder. “Don't worry about it, dear,” she advised. “Drifter lends a great deal of credence to the Warden's words, for reasons that I'm sure make sense to him.”

He retorted, “Well, at least for once I'm not testing my hypothesis with my face.”

That left Barris simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “Adventuring like Loneryder is so much more exciting than sitting in a cave with a bunch of smelly tamms and their cheese.”

His boyish smile was filled with such simple enthusiasm that Drifter half-envied him. If only the stories of the Spirals weren't cautionary tales of what not to do!

Shyly, Barris asked him, “So, I…uh, the real reason I came…I wanted to ask you…I was wondering if, maybe, since Mathila said you were leaving…” He touched Kaithe's neck for reassurance and gathered the courage to ask. “I know I just borrowed Kaithe for the Jubilee race. But I wondering if, when you leave, if you would consider letting me ride Kaithe?”

Drifter reached out and touched Kaithe. Kaithe nuzzled against him. Despite all the fretting about his “legacy” he'd done these last days, he hadn't thought about what he'd do for his most loyal steed.

Dominus, Lodun, and Brimon already had their own kaithes. Barris the tammherder didn't. But just like a certain boy on the Zariman, he dreamed of a loyal kaithe to call his own.

Smiling warmly, Drifter said, “Well, it's not my choice to make.” And if he had not been interrupted, he would have said, “It's Kaithe's. He's his own master.”

Except that he was interrupted by a cold, cutting voice that stilled his tongue and stole any desire to argue. The Warden said dismissively, “Who ever heard of a dumb shepherd rising above his lot in life? Go back to your tamms, boy, and be properly grateful for the task.”

Barris’ expression froze between hope and despair.

Drifter's mouth was dry. His tongue felt like lead. Loneryder never stopped to wonder why a boy might not want to follow in his father's footsteps as a shepherd. That was just the way the world worked. If he were a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire, this was where he patted Barris on the head and told him the Executor was right and he'd come around to his duly appointed lot in life eventually. 

But, in his heart, Drifter did question the essential rightness of the way the world worked. And what did that say about him?

It said he'd never be that worthy servant of the empire. He'd be an ant, futility waving his mandibles at the foot about to crush him.

Struggling with himself, he said nothing.

Barris’ face fell.

Koral glared at the Main Hall, where the Warden hadn't even stirred from his chair to shatter Barris’ dreams. “I don't think I like him at all.”

It took a monumental effort to keep his mouth shut and not hush her. Backtalking Thrax was one thing; one simply did not sass an Orokin unless you and your family were prepared to pay the price.

Acrithis said, “Me neither. Just because he speaks like an authority from the land beyond the Zariman doesn't mean I believe him. The Void knows its own. I suggest that we investigate the prison below and meet this Kullervo for ourselves.”

Barris dismounted and, with slumped shoulders, said, “I guess I should go find the other kids. Goodbye, Kaithe.”

Guilt welled up, a sure sign to Drifter that he'd failed to live up to his own standards. Standards which promptly clashed with the inflexible standard of obedience hammered into him from childhood. He tried to reach out to Barris anyway, to let him know that he was seen and not ignored. “If you see Garmi Jr and Mathila II, can you make sure they're alright?”

“Sure.” Barris said bitterly. “Shepherd and errand-runner for my betters. That's what I'm good for.” With a final pat for Kaithe, he ran off into the ash, waiting long enough that he thought he was out of sight before wiping away his tears.

Drifter pulled his hood up. Not that it did him any more good, because both Acrithis and Koral watched him with knowing looks as though his inner turmoil played out across a stage for all to see.

At least they didn't torment him with more forbidden questions as the three of them climbed down the spiraling island to the prison level to see Kullervo. 

They left that to his conscience.

If this brand new island had a central emotion, he knew what it was.

Guilt.

But what was he supposed to learn from it?

He already knew Euleria Entrati's answer, practically by heart. “Even guilt is useful, for it proves you have failed to live up to your own moral standards.”

The problem he wrestled with now was that when Euleria Entrati wrote her Tales of Duviri and taught the Zariman children to regulate their emotions to mitigate the effects of void exposure, she did so for a purpose: to make them into “a complete person, a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire.”

Guilt told him that he should've defended Barris to the Warden's face if necessary.

Guilt told him that he should be as doubtful as Acrithis that the Warden had anyone's best interests in mind, much less his prisoner's.

Guilt told him that he should lend a hand to Koral's efforts instead of calling the Stalker. That if Kullervo was a rogue warframe, then he might need help, not an assassin.

And guilt told him, with the soul-crushing authority of an Orokin Executor, that as long as he doubted the essential rightness of the Seven's authority, he would never, ever, be worthy.

Chapter Text

Drifter, Acrithis, and Koral descended to see Kullervo for themselves. From the Warden's perch, pathways spiraled down the white prison through rows of spectators’ seating. Kullervo waited below within a ring of seven cells barred with golden doors. The backs of the cells were open to the clouds of Duviri. Where could Kullervo go? No one would save him if he leapt into the abyss.

Koral said, “I feel I owe him a great debt of compassion. He protects the children of the island and beyond out of deep obligation, but who protects him?”

Drifter shook his head at her blind confidence. The more he examined the prison the more it resembled an arena. No wonder the Warden spoke of bloodsport, when his lever could extend a floor upon which Kullervo and his gladiator opponent could fight while he watched from the stands above. 

The Warden called down, “Drifter, shall I release the beast so that you might extinguish his spirit?”

Koral turned wide eyes on him. “You wouldn't, Outlaw. Would you?”

Would he? If he were a worthy servant, yes he would, without question, as many times as the Warden wanted.

Seeing him hesitate, the Warden asked, “Shall I release him, little girl?” His bloodthirsty tone made it clear enough what he hoped would happen: he would unleash the beast on her, forcing Drifter’s hand.

Koral said primly, “Not today, thank you.”

“No?” The Warden had a silken laugh that sent chills up and down Drifter's spine. “Then I will take care of his daily reminder of guilt. Watch and learn of his seven crimes.” He threw the lever.

Grinding and scraping, the floor slid out to cover the entirety of the abyss. The water falling from beneath the Warden's perch splattered down and began to fill the floor.

Koral rushed to the arena's railing, looking down as the first set of doors opened and Kullervo walked out to face his punishment. They followed, ready to see the story of the island play out before their eyes.

Acrithis had seen Drifter call Wisp, so she knew at once. 

Koral asked, "Is he a warframe?"

"Yes." 

Kullervo's sword-steel skin was void-touched and Duviri-hued. Judging by the colors, his Spirals were Anger, Sorrow, and Fear: the darker emotions. His helmet even bore a passing resemblance to Dominus Thrax's mask, except that the right half of his cranium was sliced open, revealing Void-light within. His body was pierced with a dozen or so daggers, front and back, and void-light shown around each blade instead of blood.

“Poor Kullervo,” Koral gasped.

Drifter tried to imagine himself wrestling Kullervo into submission like a void-addled kexat who’d rather claw him than get cured. 

Ha. Not happening. Not unless he had a squad of Dax pile on top of him (and maybe not even then.)

At the Warden's decree, Kullervo’s opponent rose out of the aether. He was a pitch-black figure, more smoke than substance. A Liminus wore the bone-white mask and golden crest of a Prosecutor. He bore no weapon. He held up a single, gleaming ayatan star.

Ayatan, Drifter recalled, was a precious material used by the very elite Orokin to memorialize events for posterity. The recorded voice that pronounced Kullervo’s sentence made the Warden sound like a mere echo and void conceptualization of the actual Executor. 

You, Kullervo, thought an Executor's favour was a thing to be stolen and worn. You spilled precious Orokin blood – before seeking the Executor out for approval. Hated Kullervo, did you truly believe he could love you? You are, forevermore, a low murderer.

Kullervo knelt. His head hung low.

The Liminus Prosecutor stalked forward and drew a single dagger from Kullervo’s back. Void-light stained the blade like blood. Then he stabbed it back in so forcefully that Kullervo vanished in a spray of void-light.

When he reappeared, he was back in his cell. The golden bars slammed shut in his face. He remained there, head bowed, in a posture that Drifter knew all too well: a man already dreading tomorrow's execution.

The second set of cell doors swung open, revealing the next Kullervo. Out in the steadily filling arena, another Prosecutor Liminus stood ankle deep in water waiting for him.

Koral said, “I have to help him.” She ducked under their hands and sprinted off towards the stairs leading down to the jail level.

Drifter chased after her. If the first crime was to be believed (and who was he to doubt an Executor, the elite of the elite), then the Orokin he'd always been taught were eternal and untouchable were anything but. Would a warframe who'd murdered the eternal and untouchable hesitate for a moment to slaughter a little girl who got too close?

Acrithis trailed behind, for she frantically scribed down the next Prosecutor's sentence in shorthand as she ran.

You witnessed the slaughter as the Orokin eradicated your defective, demented brothers and sisters… and did nothing to aid them, choosing to tremble in your cowardly seclusion. A traitor twice over. Kullervo, bloody-handed, I charge you with Cowardice.

Oh, yes, Kullervo’s story mirrored Drifter’s own guilt, for hadn’t he also done nothing to aid his friends and classmates during the slaughter on the Zariman? He'd trembled in cowardly seclusion. He’d made his dormizone and later Duviri a safe place for himself alone.

However, he had no time to examine their strange kinship too closely. Not if he was to catch Koral. He had longer legs. She was faster and, while he’d been training the Dax to fight in the Undercroft, she’d spent her days hunting sick little animals and sprinting up and down the Lunaro court. He only just caught ahold.

“You can't help him,” he urged. “He's not an animal. He's a murderous warframe.”

Unable to break his grasp, she argued, “If he's so dangerous, why isn’t he fighting back?”

He looked over the railing, hoping that he'd see Kullervo battling his Prosecutor, and thereby prove his point.

Instead, the second Kullervo was already back in his cell, as soundly defeated as the first.

A third Kullervo splashed out to face judgment with the same slow, steady tread as Drifter himself once faced Lodun and his daily impalement.

“Yeah…” He asked slowly, “Why isn’t he fighting back?” Even at his most depressed, Drifter always fought back, and thus earned himself the title of Outlaw (which wasn’t nearly as dashing or heroic as Koral’s childish naivety made it sound.) He’d been a desperate man willing to dare anything: furthering Luscinia’s revenge, spreading Bombastine’s poison, feeding Sythel’s fears…

The Archimedian Ainikki, your… 'mother'… lived. And you, like the vermin you are, scurried after her. In butchering the Dax whom the Executors charged with taking you into just custody, you – laughably – managed to kill the very woman you came to rescue. The third charge: Flight from Just Custody.

Enough Prosecutors to make a squad of Dax surrounded Kullervo. Each of them held one of his daggers. Void-light stained him silver as he took each blow without complaint.

Of course he did, Drifter thought, for they both knew the pain of the Furies’ whips in the darkness of their own thoughts. Kullervo's story was a matricidal mirror of his own, all but confirming the nature of the island's spiraling story. “He's trapped in his guilt. Just like I was.”

Koral squeezed his hand and said, as if it were obvious, “Then you have to help him, Outlaw.”

Who better than the man with experience wrestling his guilt for the Jubilee to help him?

From his high perch, the Warden called down, “Society produces filth. We do not rehabilitate it. We hide it away, to stink and fester out of the sight of decent folk.”

Drifter hesitated again, just as he had when torn between Barris’ hopes and dreams and the Warden’s view of Orokin society, long enough for a fourth Kullervo to enter the arena.

This Kullervo would not go so quietly as the rest. First, he summoned void specters of himself. Seven of them formed an arc around him. While they held the prosecutors off, Kullervo charged through the water so quickly that, had it not been for the wake arrowing behind him, it looked like he teleported. He rushed upon them like death itself, dealing such heavy blows with his daggers that it ruptured their smoky bodies and burst their masks asunder.

“So he can fight back when he wants to,” Drifter said. If it came to a fight, the Stalker was now his first resort.

Meanwhile, the Executor’s ayatan explained why the Stalker hated Kullervo so:

Upon the arrival of the wretched Tenno, you struck. Out of, what, a desire for redemption? You thought to strike the Orokin where it hurt: their laboratories, their edifices of government, their homes. To distract. To buy time. Idiot. You are charged with Treason.

This time Drifter’s mind skipped right past yet more evidence that the Orokin were not untouchable to focus on a rather more personal connection. “The wretched Tenno?” What happened to the Zariman’s survivors?

Unbidden, the part of him that tread perilously close to treasonous thoughts itself murmured back, “What do you think? The Seven sent the Zariman to die in the Void. Why would they rehabilitate such filth? You heard him. The wretched Tenno were hidden away to fester out of the sight of decent folk.”

His gorge rose. He owed Kullervo nothing, but he owed the Tenno everything.

Koral ducked his hand. “If you won’t help him, I will.”

Confusion slowed his reflexes. He grabbed at air.

She sprinted ahead of him, then jumped down the stairs to the prison level in a flying leap he wasn’t fool enough to try, and grabbed the golden bars of Kullervo No. 5’s cage. She shouted inside:

"Kullervo, Kullervo, swaddled in lies,
Raised to a life of groans and cries,
Took to his task with sorrowing sighs,
Kullervo, Kullervo, death was your prize."

Rather than suffer her cheek, the Warden summoned a veritable horde of Prosecutors. They rose like a black cloud from the water as the Executor proclaimed:

You saw the new generation of your kind, and the Tenno whose deviltry blent with theirs; and you began to whisper corruption into their ears, weave dark thoughts through the coils of their minds. Incepting, as is your wont, chaos, and disaster. You are charged with Espionage.

The new mention of the Tenno slowed Drifter just enough that Kullervo got to Koral first.

She stood fearless before the dagger-wielding warframe and cheered the next stanza of rhymes.

Drifter only saw the knives, gripped in red sword-steel hands. Wicked thorns, they were, of blackened void-metal. This Kullervo meant to kill.

Transference surge wasn’t ready.

He couldn’t call the Stalker.

He hadn’t even charged Sirocco’s shot.

He shot anyway. At a dead run and panicking besides, so what he'd hoped was a clean headshot capable of knocking a Dax Malleus off its stride sparked off the prison wall behind Kullervo instead.

Then Kullervo gently, with the same sort of tenderness that Teshin reserved for Sol, nudged Koral behind him. The rogue bloodstained warframe placed himself between her and the oncoming prosecutors. Only when he was sure she was safe did he go on the attack.

And what an attack! His legion of prosecutors sagged as they were chained together like so many prisoners manacled and put to work. Then he lifted his hands to the sky and the Void itself answered with daggers that fell like Sorrow's hailstones. Smoky figures dissolved back into wisps on the water. 

Koral cheered him on. “Kullervo, Kullervo!”

The part of Drifter that was well trained by Teshin in the ways of the Conclave studied Kullervo's attacks, weighed his personal chances in battle, and came right back to the Stalker. Would even the Stalker's incredible depths of hatred be enough to assassinate this Warrior-born?

Then the Warden sent the next wave blooming out of the aether. 

The Night of the Naga Drums. Your incepted chaos… bloomed… and the beautiful gilded Empire… fell. Were you entirely responsible? Of course not. You are, after all, a fool. But one need not be entirely responsible for the murder of an empire to be punished for their role in it. And punished you shall be. For a second count of Treason."

That was almost, not quite, beyond Drifter's comprehension. The eternal, untouchable Orokin Empire…yet an Executor announced their destruction. So it must be true. 

What then of his ambition to become a whole person and a worthy servant?

An Empire's worth of smoky, long-armed shadows swarmed Kullervo. He died. The sixth Kullervo rushed forward to the fight. Nothing could protect him from the mass, even though he danced amidst them and flung his knives through them. There were simply too many victims of his treason who would be damned if they didn’t drag him down with him.

When they did, their bone white faces turned on the girl who’d cheered him on. 

At what cost would Drifter obey the Orokin, as he was taught?

Drifter threw hesitation out. Threw caution to the winds like the Sun he was. If that meant committing treason, then that was surely better than throwing Koral to the Warden’s minions. He stepped in front of her, ready to face down the horde with a charged Sirocco.

Behind him, Koral stuck her tongue out at them and blew a raspberry.

The horde faded into nothingness. The arena floor slid open, pouring water into the abyss.

The Warden warned, “I will not be so merciful if you interfere with my judgment again.”

Koral blew another raspberry.

Drifter shakily holstered Sirocco. “Koral, could you please stop provoking the Warden?”

“But Kullervo protected me. You saw him!”

“I know, but I'd also really, really rather not break my record of “not dying.””

Acrithis jotted that down, presumably to add to her collection of ‘how Drifter felt about being executed every day.’ Then she asked, “Where's the final Kullervo? What is his seventh crime?”

The final cell’s doors were broken, but if Kullervo was within, then he was buried under the rocky debris of his landing. Drifter touched the ayatan star embedded in a plaque beside the cell door.

As the Empire burned, you found the one Executor you coveted and despised most. You presumed to raise your foul hand against him. One of the Seven. But he did not die so readily as you had hoped. Thus I lay upon your wretched head your ultimate crime: Attempted Regicide. And with it your punishment, and the Executor's eternal vengeance.

Drifter said, “When I see Teshin next, I have so, so many questions.” He'd never pressed Teshin too hard for details about that golden veil or red banner, because it was obviously a sore subject. He'd never pushed, because Teshin bore enough woes and worries without him asking insensitive questions about Valeria or what he'd left undone when he hurled through the Void. Now, he wished he had.

“When you do,” Acrithis suggested, “ask him which Executor wrote these. I suppose his loyalty oath as a Dax may prevent him from saying much else about the man.”

He blinked. 

Oh.

Oh shit.

Of course the eternal, untouchable Executor who’d survived Kullervo’s assassination attempt hadn’t died of old age between then and Teshin’s fall. 

Of course the Executor was still out there, able to throw anything or anyone else who displeased him into Duviri…

He held up his Guiding Hand. “Someone cut off her hand and threw it into the Void.”

Acrithis mused, “Teshin taught the wretched, corrupted Tenno. He was on the brink of death when he fell into Duviri…or was hurled.”

He touched his chest right where in, out, always in the same damned spot, except this time he remembered the spectral sword that pierced him just before his Guiding Hand fell in. The same Executor’s voice as the one who pronounced Kullervo's crimes had said, "-send it back to hell.”

She said, “This Executor seems to have a habit of disposing of things he doesn’t like into the Void. And a positive knack for getting into people’s heads.”

“Yeah, like mine,” he admitted.

“I meant Kullervo’s,” she said, but she smiled. 

He certainly was learning a lot about the outside world and, moreover, a lot about figuring things out in unfamiliar territory. He’d learned a lot, but didn’t have any idea how to put the pieces together just yet. It felt a lot like groping around in a fog. "Can I just say I was a lot more confident about my chances outside Duviri before I came here?"

"Of course," she said, amused. "Sorry. It's just that your life is such an epic tragedy."

He laughed, because what was the point of crying about it? "If, at any point in my spirals, you would've told me that I'd stand here thinking that maybe Dominus had a point about how dangerous the outside world was, I would not have believed you.”

Koral asked, hopefully, “Does that mean you’ll help Kullervo?”

The Warden snarled down, “Do not pity the wretch!”

But Drifter did pity him.

Even though pitying this murderous, treacherous, mother-killing warframe was tantamount to joining him in treason, he pitied him.

The part of him that swore oaths to the Seven made one more attempt to drag them all back to reason out of insanity. “But how am I supposed to help Kullervo?”

He ticked off his fingers:

“First, look at these rocks. I can't move them. We'd need the Dax-” despite the trappings of Dax barracks on the island, he hadn't seen any soldiers, “-or a warframe. And the only warframe I have is the Stalker.”

“On the subject of the Stalker, he's here to kill Kullervo, and for good reason! I've been asking myself what sort of world the Tenno live in that requires a tool as deadly as the warframes. Well, I bet the Stalker blames Kullervo for every death at Tenno hands, and he's right!”

Koral looked about ready to cry.

He looked away. 

Acrithis said, slowly, “Maybe he is right. Though I suggest we consider that, if you had been rescued from the void only to be called wretched devils, you might not have taken much ‘corrupting’ to turn against the rulers who sent you there.”

The sad thing was, she was right too.

He rallied: "This prison is just a void conceptualization of a strong emotion: Kullervo's guilt. I don't think the Warden could hold him if he didn't believe he deeply, truly deserved it."

She wrote that down. "You would know."

"Guess my education was good for something."

"I meant about the guilt."

"Well…yeah, that too." He absolutely did know all about a guilty conscience pointing out all the ways he’d fallen short of his own standards. It didn’t even take that much imagination to see himself in one of those cells next to Kullervo, weighed down with woes and bound with pathos clamps.

He threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how this story goes. For the first time in a long time, I’m really, truly flying blind. And I’m making a real mess of it.”

Koral suggested brightly, “You could ask the other kids!”

He'd been so focused on the maelstrom that was Kullervo's conflict with the Warden that he'd forgotten that other dangers existed on the island. Dangers like a small horde of children who surrounded them on the stands above and blocking the entrances. They held rocks and ropes and looked determined to defend Kullervo.

Garmi Jr. and Mathila II giggled at his expression from amidst the throng. They looked back to the entrance of a nearby cave.

The children’s leader stood there. A tall, thin girl carried a sword as tall as she was. The leaf-shaped broad blade had the same anger-sorrow-fear colors as Kullervo did. She turned to the boy next to her, Barris, and asked, “Do you trust them?”

Barris looked miserable.

Koral scampered up to the girl and started whispering. 

With no small amount of dread, Drifter watched her count out three fingers just like he had.

More than that, Barris bore the same sort of look that Drifter had so often seen on Barris' mentor, Lodun: heartbreak mingled with righteous anger. 

And on this Anger Spiral, Drifter’s guilty conscience reminded him, ‘You know, we did betray him first. We could’ve stood up for him when the Warden bullied him. But no, we did nothing to help him, just like we did nothing for Kullervo.’

Barris shook his head.

Acrithis shook her head wryly. “Such an epic tragedy and I’m right here for a front row seat.”

Drifter couldn't exactly shoot back or draw blades against a bunch of children who grabbed onto his arms and legs and dragged him down to the ground. He couldn’t even wrestle against that dead weight of porcelain. One of the kids produced their ropes. 

One of the children near Acrithis shouted, “Kullervo!” and hurled a fist-sized rock. It struck her like a bell. She cried out.

“Kullervo! Kullervo!”

Drifter curled into a ball as best he could. “You’ll kill us!”

Koral shouted down, “Oh, don’t hurt them!”

Then something hard struck his head. He saw white, and then nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Drifter woke up aching all over. An Orowyrm banged around in his skull looking for the portal that would let it escape. Somehow, the rock hadn't actually cracked his head open. His hands and feet were tied tightly enough that he’d feel pins and needles once he got untied. And to cap it all off, he had to piss.

The children had tossed them into a gated barracks down in the caves, so Acrithis watched him from a corner. She’d been bound, and unlike him, gagged and tied to a chair. Being made of ceramic, she was in much better shape after their battering.

The barracks was a cramped, crowded room stacked high with provisioning barrels, extra uniforms, and weapons for a Dax garrison. He painfully crawled over to the rack of Edun polearms. Acrithis kept an eye on the locked gate as best she could while he sawed through the ropes.

Once he got upright (and braced himself through the rush of dizziness that followed), he cut her bonds. This close to the gate, he heard what he’d missed before thanks to the pounding in his skull: the children chanting farther in the cave.

"Kullervo, Kullervo, warrior-born,
From his mother's breast he was torn.
Doomed to go wandering all forlorn,
Kullervo, Kullervo, made to mourn."

‘Thanks,” she murmured. They found an empty barrel and took turns in a corner. 

The children hadn’t set a watch on them. Presumably, they were engrossed in their festivities. The gate was locked. Just outside, there was a console and a bust of Dominus Thrax just like the ones that secured the Archarbor’s secret paragrimm puzzle. Both of them tried, but couldn’t reach the console.

“I guess we’re stuck here until they let us out.”

“Or until someone else investigates the island and rotates the busts in the right direction without getting caught by the kids.”

They looked at each other.

“So…we’re stuck.”

In that case, they’d better be ready for anything. Quietly, they evaluated their situation.

"Kullervo, Kullervo, swaddled in lies,
Raised to a life of groans and cries,
Took to his task with sorrowing sighs,
Kullervo, Kullervo, death was your prize."

They’d taken all his weapons. Not having Sirocco at his hip felt like the phantom weight of a missing limb. Instead, he leaned on the Edun and she picked out a Cinta bow and slung the quiver from her waist.

Poking around in the barrels, they found the garrison rations of tinned meat and watered wine. He was thirsty enough to not have any scruples and made himself eat something with the wine despite the nausea that provoked.

She asked, “What’s your plan?”

“I guess we sit, wait, and when the kids check up on us, appeal for our release? The girl with the sword seemed to be in charge.”

“I wish I had my scribing tools. I could take notes on their singing.”

"Kullervo, Kullervo, sworn to the sword,
Sweated and slaved for the head of the horde,
Bruised and bludgeoned and scarred and gored,
Kullervo, Kullervo, warrior's ward."

Drifter sighed. “I guess they'll want me to help Kullervo.”

“Will you?”

Wasn't that just the million-credit question? 

On the one hand (his Guiding Hand, the one that reminded him of all the help he'd needed and been given), neither compassion nor conscience would let him say to Kullervo, “I saved them. All of them. I never said I’d save you.” If he didn't help, Acrithis would justifiably call him a hypocrite.

On the other hand (his own hand, the one that reminded him of all the blood he'd shed in his downward spirals), Kullervo was his dark mirror. An outlawed and exiled warrior whose bloodstained life brought him here to prison and daily execution in Duviri’s endless Spirals. When Drifter looked back at his own past with a jaundiced eye, he wasn't so different. He'd justified his law-breaking to himself because Dominus Thrax was a cruel tyrant keeping him captive against his will, but the truth was that he had been Sythel's co-conspirator, Luscinia's catspaw, and worse. If not for Thrax imprisoning him, executing him, and making him try again until he learned to care…he would've rampaged his way out of Duviri long ago and left it a smoking ruin behind him. Kullervo was murderous and apparently unrepentant. If he freed such a beast upon Duviri and then he left them to deal with a rogue warframe, at what cost to everyone who wasn't as innocent as a child?

Frustrated, he said, “I don't know.”

“Hypocrite.”

They were discovered shortly after. One of the kids came running over to check on them. 

Drifter set down his Edun and tried to look nonthreatening. Sitting, not standing. No sudden lunges towards the bars. Oh, he knew all too well the sort of tactics a hungry adult might use on a skittish child. At least the experience let him avoid that here. “Kiddo, can we talk? I’ll stay right here.”

The kid shouted out an alarm. That brought more of the kids, including Barris, Koral, and the twins.

"Kullervo, Kullervo, far he strayed.
Lips to the steel he blessed and prayed,
Whispered promises that boy made!
Kullervo, Kullervo, friend to the blade."

Barris squeezed to the front of the pack. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide and teary.

The other kids jostled Barris for it. “Why so worried for the Warden’s shill?”

“There's nothing wrong with us bullying the Warden’s bully boy.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Barris said. “But I was jealous.”

Ah. So that's what happened. Humor struck Drifter at the right moment. Morbid humor, maybe, but all the same, it was a little funny that Envy was nearly his downfall. “What’s a little attempted murder between friends? Kaithe’s his own man. Well, his own kaithe. If he wants you for his rider, who am I to stand in his way?”

Barris stared, disbelieving that he’d be forgiven that easily.

Drifter stared back, taken a little aback at how easily the treason of contradicting Orokin standards came to him. It felt like a weight off his conscience…or the first step down a slippery slope.

Acrithis said, “Children, we’re not all here to side with the Warden. We just need to know what’s going on so we can tell your parents that you’re safe. Can you take us to your leader?”

"Kullervo, Kullervo, ragged and thin,
Tracked back the path so steeped in sin,
All the way back where it did begin,
Kullervo, Kullervo, sought for his kin."

“It's a trap,” one of the kids he didn’t know proclaimed confidently.  

The others started speculating with a flurry of suspicious looks and rapidly escalating threats. When one of the kids loudly said that he and Acrithis wanted to stake Kullervo out to be eaten by an Orowyrm, Barris protested, “No he doesn’t. That’s Drifter. You know, the one who fought the Orowyrms?”

“He hasn’t fought them lately, has he?”

Barris retorted, “Because there haven’t been any Orowyrms lately.”

“Yeah, it's been boring!”

Acrithis laughed at that, a ringing peal that even brought a smile to his face. “Children, I’m sure if he’d realized he was depriving you of your daily dose of near-death experiences, he’d have kept on fighting the Court. Sythel could keep on putting you all in prison, Bombastine could stop leading your acting troupe…”

That last got their attention. Apparently they really had enjoyed Bombastine’s lessons. Well, good for him.

Koral spoke up. “I don’t think the Outlaw is cruel. Would Kaithe and Sol be so loyal to him otherwise?”

Before the others could argue, Garmi Jr. and Mathila II spoke up with their own rhyme.

“Drifter is the Hero who never ever sleeps,
Swifter than a kaithe; never looks before he leaps!”

At least they didn’t go on to the second verse about him being a grifter who didn’t keep his promises. Evidently, he’d impressed them.

The kids conferred and settled on “We need a pledge of good behavior. Bind them.”

Koral held out her wrist. “Bind them to one of us.”

Barris held out his wrist too.

Acrithis allowed herself to be bound to Koral.

They tied Drifter's right wrist to Barris’. Yes, he was taller and stronger and could break free or at least drag the boy along if he had to…but that wasn’t the point. They were awkwardly bound together, pledged to each other’s good behavior. 

Barris whispered, “Are you really okay? You look like a tamm who came off worse in a fight. I’m so sorry.”

At least he wasn’t seeing double anymore. “I did come off the worse in a fight. Congratulations, you can add “defeated Drifter” to your list of accomplishments when you become the best kaithe racer in Duviri.”

After doublechecking that he was smiling, Barris smiled back shyly and put his hand up on his own shoulder. “Here. You’d better lean on me.”

"Kullervo, Kullervo, burdens he bore,
Many the woes and horrors he saw!
Tyrants and conquerors ravaging the poor,
Kullervo, Kullervo, witness to war."

As their guides led them through the caves, there were times where the caves criss-crossed open areas of the spiraling rock formation. He checked the Spiral.

The sky was dark and cloudy, not fiery. The ash fall felt charged with static electricity.

A Fear Spiral. He’d been unconscious for a whole night.

"Kullervo, Kullervo, stranger to mirth,
Spoke with the ragged who toiled in the earth,
Learned of the truth of the days of his birth,
Kullervo, Kullervo, what was he worth?"

They were driven onward and downward. The children’s chanting grew louder and more distinct, until they were led through the midst of what felt like every child in Duviri packed into one small cave room with all their supplies piled around. The only person with any appreciable amount of space to herself was the leader girl with the sword. She sat alone on a raised ledge of stone next to a fire.

The children chanted and cheered.

"Kullervo, Kullervo, stood all alone
Over the graves of the ones he'd known.
Homestead warmth turned to ashes and bone,
Kullervo, Kullervo, cold as a stone."

That girl said, quite grandly, “Kneel.”

She didn’t have a patch on Thrax. But Barris and Koral sat down, and so did they.

At which point, it became clear that she and the kids had no real plan, because unlike the king they aped, they were just kids with no experience with authority. So Drifter took charge. “We’re on a mission from His Majesty -” He kept it vague because who knew what’d happened during the civil war while he was out cold, “- to evaluate the threat that Kullervo and his island pose to the rest of Duviri. The Warden has been quite forthcoming with the details of Kullervo’s crimes. From what we’ve seen, Kullervo defends children and is a danger to everyone else. Will you also share what you know with us?”

After a flurry of whispers with the others, and a good deal of whispering straight to the sword, which was called Vaenn and according to her it whispered back (which was not encouraging), she couldn't come to any consensus. Garmi Jr. and Mathila II finally said, “When Thrax doesn’t know whether or not to trust Drifter, he gives him a task and says, “Prove it.””

She held out the sword to him. “Vaenn belongs to Kullervo. I’ve been hiding it from the Warden. If you want our trust, you’ll give it back to Kullervo. Prove it!”

“Prove it!” The children cheered and broke out into more chanting.

"Kullervo, Kullervo, broke like a flood,
Ripped and he ravaged with a slash-slice-thud!
Many lay headless, armless, in the mud,
Kullervo, Kullervo, bathed in blood."

Definitely not encouraging.

To Drifter, this too felt like a Tale of Duviri; the story of the island offering him the choice to perform either the Warden’s daily punishment or else help Kullervo, who felt his guilt so keenly he constructed the prison, warden, and punishment for himself. If the children could’ve simply given Kullervo back his sword through the bars of the cage, they would’ve. So it wouldn’t be that simple. He’d have to tell the Warden he wanted to fight Kullervo, and then hand over the sword.

Get in the arena with a warframe, when he felt like shit? Oh, that’d end well.

Koral pleaded with him. “Won’t my Outlaw friend do me this one, last favor before you leave Duviri for good?”

The Outlaw only ever helped the Courtiers spiral out of control. The Tales of Duviri told him what not to do.

What choice did he have? Either Kullervo was the guilt-ridden defender of children or else he was an incurable criminal. Either way, the King of Duviri had to know. Either way, once again Drifter had to test his hypothesis with his face. He had to give Vaenn back to Kullervo. In the doing, he’d figure out whether Kullervo was really as much of a murderous beast as the Warden said or if, like Drifter himself, there was still a man within who could be saved by a helping hand.

He answered, “I'll give him Vaenn, on one condition. When this goes horribly wrong, and it will, because that's how the Tales work, you allow Acrithis to go make her report."

Acrithis gave him the sort of look that said she wasn't pleased that he'd set her up to watch and report on yet another epic tragedy, but she couldn't exactly complain. Not when he was finally helping Kullervo as she wanted.

Everyone trouped out to the arena. At the Warden’s threshold, the girl untied them and handed over Vaenn. Vaenn was definitely weighted for warframe use, and therefore useless to him. She pointedly didn’t offer him his restoratives, Sun, Moon, or Sirocco.

Koral hugged him. “Outlaw, even though he has fearsome fangs, Kullervo is suffering.”

He sighed. “I just hope he wants help. He's a warframe. I know what they're capable of. If he wanted to, he could climb right up those walls and escape at any time."

She looked at him like he'd said something obvious, something that should've clued him in and made him agree with her instead of the opposite. "Sometimes animals that are leashed up too long never leave the pen."

"Really?" Barris asked. "Maybe I should try that with my tamms."

And that broke the tragic mood. Drifter laughed, and oh, that hurt something fierce, but laughing was better than dwelling on yet another connection between him and Kullervo. Because of course he knew how captivity broke a man. That was why he’d never stopped fighting tooth and nail to get out. Stopping, even for one Spiral, would’ve been a morass he couldn’t escape. “Right, wish me luck.”

“Break a leg!” Garmi Jr. and Mathila II caroled back.

The cheering children ringed the stands, shouting down the final stanza of Kullervo’s song:

"Kullervo, Kullervo, long did he weep,
In his own breast his sword drove deep.
Down to the dark and a merciful sleep,
Kullervo, Kullervo, your secrets we keep."

The Warden eyed Drifter with displeasure. 

Some fearful whisper in the back of his brain warned him that the Executor would surely know if he lied. The Seven had secret arts that let them see into the heart of their citizens. 

Humor came to his rescue. No secret arts were necessary when he was just a bad liar. So why try?

"Please release Kullervo."

Mercifully, the Warden didn't press him on why. "Yes. Extinguish his spirit as I once did." He pulled the lever. With a massive groan, the floor folded upward. Once it locked into place with a series of heavy bolts, one of the cell doors swung open. 

Kullervo crouched and sprang into the center of the arena. He grasped two of the daggers plunged into his chest and pulled them out, ready and waiting for his persecutors to appear.

Drifter made his way down to the arena floor. It took some effort not to drag Vaenn’s heavy weight through the ankle-deep water. The water would make it harder for him to run if/when Kullervo attacked.

As Kullervo's head snapped up to track him, Drifter realized he’d made a fatal mistake.

He’d come down expecting that he could offer Vaenn and then either escape from the beast’s rampage (and thus prove to everyone that Kullervo could not be trusted and must remained imprisoned) or Kullervo would return to his cell peacefully (and thus prove to him that he ought to offer his help).

His mistake: to Kullervo, it looked exactly as though Drifter was doing the Warden’s bidding.

And then the Warden hammered the nail in his coffin, shouting down from his high perch, “Now, fool Kullervo, for your crimes do you feel the lash!”

Well, now it didn’t matter that he immediately held out Vaenn for Kullervo to take. He was just another Prosecutor. It didn’t matter that he set Vaenn down and backed away. Or that the children shouted his name along with Kullervo’s. Because he hadn’t defied the Warden, he looked like his thug, whether that was what he wanted or not.

Kullervo blurred into a series of afterimages that made his head hurt when he tried to focus on them. Then Kullervo charged, cutting a wake through the shallow water like two white arrows, aiming right for him.

He threw himself to one side. Rolling brought him out of the way, even as his world tilted horribly and his inner ear revolted. He tried to spin up to his feet again, overbalanced, and fell on his ass. He scrambled, slipped, and slid through the water.

Oh, he was hopelessly outclassed, exactly as he'd feared. At his very best, hale and hearty and determined, he might've barely stood a chance against an enraged warframe.

Might’ve.

Somehow, Kullervo had missed. No, he’d scooped up Vaenn from the water. That void-lit, eyeless gaze promised death.

Oh, he'd so fucked this up.

The Warden taunted, "No escape, Kullervo. My reach is long, my grip inescapable."

Hah, no, Drifter was the one who couldn’t escape. He didn't even have enough transference surge to call the Stalker. 

The Stalker pressed against his mind anyway, eager for battle. Everything went red, as though in an Anger Spiral, but it wasn’t Drifter’s anger ripping and clawing at the decree that kept him from using warframes in Duviri. The Stalker wanted blood. The Stalker wanted Kullervo’s head so much that a memory forced its way through.

A Low Guardian watched a great gathering of the Orokin from a distance. There were Warframes standing in the place of honor, each draped in silk fine enough that all sumptuary laws had been waived for them. Then a solemn beat on the ceremonial Naga drums rang out. One strike, two, and as it continued, the Stalker’s rage mounted.

Drifter fought through the maelstrom of anger for the calm of the true warrior.

If he summoned the Stalker, he'd only confirm that he was the Warden's catspaw and Kullervo's enemy. 

If he didn’t and he died, he'd told Dominus not to reset the Spirals. If he died, that was it. No legacy. No leaving Duviri.

Kullervo raised Vaenn and charged at him again.

The Stalker stood where Drifter fell.

With a sidestep, the Stalker hooked his prey like a fish on a line. The scythe Hate caught and tore through the numerous stab wounds on Kullervo’s body. Void spilled out like blood.

Then the Stalker hurled him down into the water with a splash. Despair's throwing knives pierced Kullervo’s armored "coat" like a rain of nails. 

Kullervo pulled free, tearing bits of himself off as he did so. 

Unfortunately for Kullervo, he fought an assassin who regularly battled squads of Tenno-controlled warframes and even occasionally won. The Stalker aimed Dread's crimson arrow at his heart and fired.

Kullervo fell, downed.

The Stalker faded. The fight had only taken a matter of seconds. The king’s decree that Drifter could not use warframes in Duviri forced him out. His frustrated howl rolled through Drifter’s aching head as he raged that the job was not finished!

Drifter staggered free as the Stalker left him completely. Residual anger scoured through him like sandpaper. His head hurt even worse with transference static pounding in his temple like a new, worse migraine. He knelt because he couldn’t stand upright.

All the children booed.

The Warden said something, but Drifter didn’t want to hear it.

What had he done?!

In a moment of fear and weakness, he’d given in. He’d saved his own life…and proved that he was no better than the Warden’s hired thug. 

Was this how he wanted to live if he escaped Duviri? Bending his knee to tyrants and hurting others to save himself?

No. And if he somehow survived this, he’d remember that.

Something splashed behind him.

By the time he turned around, Kullervo already sprang back into the air, fully healed.

He wasn’t going to survive this, he knew with the sudden clarity that descended on him in a truly life-or-death situation. He should have known better. He knew that his warframes had revival systems. Why should Kullervo be any different?

Kullervo took his sweet time about taking revenge. He communed with Vaenn and split into seven void specters of himself. Each eyeless, void-lit gaze promised that it didn’t matter what trick Drifter had up his sleeve. 

Drifter did have one more trick: Transference. Even though he knelt, emptyhanded and weaponless, he still had his Guiding Hand. He wouldn’t survive fulfilling his duty to Duviri, but before he died, he could at least find out if Kullervo was a beast or a man.

Leading the way for his seven specters, Kullervo sped towards him.

Drifter had plenty of practice getting impaled. That quick, in-out, tearing pain didn't faze him. In fact, he'd planned for it. In the moment that Kullervo gutted him, he was close enough to grab on and not let go. His Guiding Hand spasmed with pain and then initiated transference.

Drifter leaned into the dissociation caused by someone else's emotions and memories. It wasn’t hard to establish a connection. Nothing at all like the maelstrom of the Stalker’s anger. Kullervo was his dark mirror, and so transference was like a familiar yoke of guilt, weighing them down. Memories were as heavy as a millstone around their neck.

“Kullervo, Kullevo,” a woman whispered over the warframe lying on her lab table. She wore Archimedean robes and her eyes were kind. "I do not know who you were before you came into my hands, but I give you this song to remember who you are and that I am your mother."

Another flash of memory shared between them. That woman lay dead. Her blood stained his daggers. 

She’d made him without tear ducts. The irony of it all burned through them both - for they were intimately linked through transference in one flesh and one will - and so while Kullervo saw that Drifter could have cried for his dead father and yet did not, Drifter felt keenly that Kullervo wanted to weep for her and could not.

Drifter said, “It was an accident. Even your accusers say so.”

Another flash of memory surfaced. Drifter did not control it; this was Kullervo asserting control over their transference and playing out his crimes with all the bitter guilt of a man saying “No. See what I have done? This is why I stand condemned.”

This time, he showed Drifter the ceremony with the Naga drums from a different angle. Butchered Orokin bodies piled on the stage until kuva ran down in rivulets. A warframe, Octavia, danced the ritual movements of the drummers. Her drumsticks - a pair of ninkondi - flung splatters of blood high into the air with every strike. There were other warframes Drifter recognized in the crowd. Yareli chased down a runner, her aquablades spinning like death. Rhino and Volt made sure the dead stayed dead, cutting throats and consuming their oro.

“You see?” Kullervo howled, lost in the throes of his guilt. “You see why I deserve this?

Yes, Drifter saw that Kullervo had not harmed the Tenno. He'd just dragged them into his crusade for revenge, stained their hands with blood and kuva, and made them murderers to sate his conscience.

"I do see." And because he could no longer deny that Kullervo was his dark mirror and that both of them had bent the knee to tyrants and hurt others to save themselves, he understood. “In your place, I might have done the same.”

Then transference faded in a crackle of static, because Drifter's grip failed. The time when he could’ve, should’ve offered a helping hand to Kullervo was long since past. The water was as wine dark as his vision.

He managed a smile. Maybe it was more of a grimace. “Make it quick?” 

Kullervo nodded. Seven specters nodded with him. 

This was how his legacy ended. Dead in Duviri. At least this time he'd die with dignity. It could’ve been worse.

Then his Guiding Hand surged, depleting her own life-force to revive him. She said, "I will not lose you, Tenno," as she frantically healed his wounds, urging him back to his feet.

But it was already too late. The last thing he saw was Vaenn, about to decapitate him. The last thing he heard was Kullervo, howling wretchedly.

At that moment, the battle between the Dax and Lodun's militia on the steps of the palace faltered as Thrax's attention waned. A few Dax fell under the pikes and scythes of Duviri's commoners before Lodun bellowed for a halt to the fighting. 

At that moment, Dominus Thrax sat on his throne, head in his hands, and groaned, "Drifter's dead?"

The massive doors to the audience hall swung open. Lodun and the rest of his Court stormed in to dethrone him.

They found him exactly as expected: on his throne, head in his hands, palms pressed to his temples as though he could ward off either a headache or his inevitable defeat. They did not expect him to look up at their approach and say, "Drifter's dead."

"What?" Mathila asked. Then, stricken, she demanded, "How? He was supposed to find my children!"

Dominus Thrax didn't have an answer. He just clenched his fist. Raised it.

Sythel shrieked. "Don't you dare!" 

"But Drifter's dead.” He said, more like a lost boy than ever. "How else can I save him?"

Luscinia was too struck by the horror of it to say anything. Tears welled up and ran down her mask. 

But Sythel said, "Drifter doesn't want you to reset the Spirals. Remember? He fought me as an Orowyrm rather than let you reset. He'd want to fix whatever went wrong one step at a time, not reset until he got it perfect."

Mathila said, "I don't think he meant for us to leave him dead. He can't exactly fix anything now."

The Court looked to their new king for guidance. 

Lodun wavered. Who among them knew better than him how much Drifter had hated being trapped in a Spiral that ended in death only to be brought back day after day to try again? But who among them owed more to Drifter's friendship? Luscinia would feel the sorrow more keenly, but Lodun would lose a brother. "I want to be king, but not at that cost."

Then Bombastine spoke up. "What if he's lying?"

"I'm not." Dominus said. "Drifter's dead."

Bonbastine was cunning and clever, used to weaving his own wiles and seeing through the wiles of others, which was the true reason he'd earned his place in the Court as an adviser, not merely an entertainer. "What if this is just a last ditch attempt to keep ahold of his throne, reset the day, and try again?"

"I'm not lying!"

"And when he fails to stop you tomorrow," Bombastine painted the picture as he would have acted on the stage, "he'll greet you with the same lie, playing on the fire in your heart to trap us all in the Spiral, Drifter included."

Luscinia nodded.

Seeing the way the wind blew, Dominus pleaded, "I'm not lying."

Lodun steeled himself. "If you wanted me to believe you, maybe you shouldn't have broken your word at the peace talks."

"But…"

“If I'm wrong, I will regret it for the rest of my reign.”

"You're wrong."

"Now it's time you surrendered."

Despite himself, Dominus’ hands clamped down on his throne.

Holding onto the frayed ends of his patience, Lodun said, "I promised Drifter I would not shed your blood."

"He's dead."

"Get off the throne or I'll take you off it."

"You don't understand, he's dead!"

Lodun marched up to the throne. But he was not yet king of Duviri, nor was he the creator of Duviri. So even though the Prince of Fire had a strong leash on his anger and control of his emotions through the solid support of his Court, the throne did not shake at his approach. Dominus did not tumble from his high seat.

Instead, for perhaps the first time of his life, Dominus Thrax focused, calmed his fear, anger, and every other emotion clamoring for attention, and did what he had to do.

He slammed his fist down.

"Begin Again!"

Chapter Text

Drifter began, again, aching all over and with a headache that felt like an Orowyrm banging around in his skull looking for the portal that would let it escape. His hands and feet were tied tightly enough that he’d feel pins and needles once he got untied. 

Acrithis, bound and gagged in her corner of the barracks, raised her eyebrows in the most unimpressed look she could manage. Each reset Spiral acted according to the Palimpsest of Spacetime: events could be written, traces of the original would persist. Eventually, as more and more reset spirals piled up, the memory of the original became completely muddled. Clearly, just one reset Spiral wasn't enough to erase her memory of his spectacular failure.

He wasn’t exactly impressed with himself either. Grateful for the second chance at both life and legacy, but, boy, he’d fucked up his first attempt about as badly as possible. So as he sawed his bonds off, he bent his pride to the harsh tutelage of the Conclave and catalogued everything he’d done wrong:

He’d served the Warden’s cruel whim. He’d called on the Stalker to save himself. Such was the action of a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire punishing a criminal. No wonder Kullervo thought him an enemy.

Then he considered what little he’d done right. Through transference, he and Kullervo were laid bare before each other like the pages of an open book. Even though Kullervo felt so guilty that he believed he deserved eternal imprisonment on his own island, their dying moment of understanding made Drifter sure and certain that Kullervo could be rehabilitated, if only someone cared enough to reject Orokin expectations and offer him a helping hand.

When he freed Acrithis, he apologized. “I’m sorry I died.”

“I'm sure you are.” She said. “It’ll take more than one Spiral for me to forget your head sailing through the air like a lunaro ball. Let’s come up with a different plan this time, shall we? You need to get off this island. Get away from the Warden for a while. Clear your head. Go ask Teshin those questions I know are eating you up.”

She wasn’t wrong, but some mistakes must be fixed as soon as possible. “Actually, I still need to give Vaenn back to Kullervo.”

She studied his face. “Do you know what they call doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?”

“Insanity?”

“No. Tragedy.”

It wasn’t that funny, but they laughed until the wide-eyed children came to collect them.

The reset Spiral hadn’t erased everything. It couldn’t erase Koral’s disappointment. She stared him down over folded arms and said, “I don’t really remember why, but I feel in my heart that you should be sorry.”

“I am sorry,” he admitted. It had taken him too long to choose justice over obedience, mercy over retribution, and to make the same choice that the Tenno had: he would not be a worthy servant to the Orokin. Orokin silks were worth as much as filthy rags. The Golden Masters he’d once sworn oaths to were oppressive tyrants. “Since I’m going to be an Outlaw and an Oathbreaker, it's time I did it properly.”

This time, when she hugged him, she pressed a health restorative into his hands. “For your compassion, Outlaw, blessings be upon you.”

Her forgiveness meant he wasn’t seeing double when he went before the Warden.

The reset Spiral couldn’t erase the Warden’s arrogance. No, it’d made it worse. Confident that Drifter would do his bidding, the Warden observed the chanting children and confided, “What idiots they are to clap and cheer! What is he to them?”

“He’s their protector.”

The Warden sat up. He looked down his nose at Drifter, as though by not nodding along with his snide comments, he’d made himself worthy of attention for the first time. He ordered, “Do not block my light.”

Drifter didn’t move. Yes, it was petty of him, to match the Warden’s pettiness with such a small defiance. One step at a time. First, simple disrespect for a man who’d never earned respect, just demanded it. Next, Kullervo’s freedom. And after that? Well, if their suspicions about Teshin and his Guiding Hand were correct, he might just have unfinished business with the real Executor back in the real world. A part of him said, “Before we know it, maybe we’ll have a rap sheet as long as Kullervo’s.”

He smiled to himself. Then he told the Warden, “Release Kullervo.”

“You intend to fight the slaughter-drunk beast?”

He spoke loud enough that Kullervo would hear his words, not just the Warden’s. “I know full well the chains of guilt. Nothing you say to him is worse than what he’s said to himself. Release Kullervo.”

The Warden huffed, threw the lever, and said, “Go on, finish your business with the prisoner and make it quick.”

Kullervo’s cell doors opened and the prisoner emerged.

The reset Spiral couldn’t erase Kullervo’s guilt that “yesterday” ended in yet another accidental murder. Yes, he’d thought Drifter an enemy. Then transference showed him something most precious: the face looking back at him from a dark mirror, shining with understanding. But it came too late to do him any good, for he’d already struck the death blow. Even a last-second miracle hadn’t saved them. Drifter died by Kullervo’s own hand.

Kullervo began, again, kneeling in the wind of a Fear Spiral, alone and guilt-ridden. He could die ten thousand deaths and his crimes would still pursue him. He could wait ten thousand years in solitude and not expiate his sins. Lightning flashed in the distant clouds and he did not take shelter. He only waited for the rain that would imitate tears he could not shed on his own.

When his cell doors opened and he saw Drifter climbing down towards him with Vaenn in hand, he knelt in the water and bowed his head for the blow.

Drifter paced over to him and knelt down in the water, close enough to grasp Kullervo’s red pauldron or one of his daggers. He placed Vaenn in Kullervo’s hand, then closed the warframe’s fist around it.

Kullervo gripped his sword. His eyeless and void-lit gaze clung to Drifter as though he could not believe it.

“Hey,” Drifter said, still smiling. “What’s a little attempted murder between friends?”

They clasped each other’s shoulders, extending forgiveness to each other as much as they asked for it. 

For this transference, Drifter asked permission. Instead of demanding answers, he opened himself to Kullervo's searching questions. Just like he'd judged Kullervo, now Kullervo searched him for answers.

Kullervo did not wonder if Drifter had learned how to rise above and atone for his crimes. That much was obvious in how much he'd grown into a whole person. Kullervo wanted to know how, and if he could do the same.

Drifter remembered:

He sat in his tiny cell, leaning back against the stone wall. It was a Sorrow Spiral. The wall was damp, and enough of the rain seeped down through the small window that it'd formed a puddle that was slowly reaching out along the cracks in the paved floor towards his boots. He watched it grow and didn't bother moving. What was the point? He'd been captured early this Spiral after killing a Dax Equitem who'd tormented Luscinia. Denphius Dax would be here soon to haul him out for a wet wagon ride and death by impalement in a few hours while Luscinia wept for what she'd done. What was the point of staying dry now?

Kullervo recoiled from that memory like he'd seen himself in a dark mirror.

“You know,” Drifter mused, “I don't think either of us do well in prison.”

Dax roughly shoved Drifter to the ground in front of Lodun. It was an Envy Spiral, and the sky above the palace courtyard was poison-green. The air was rank and bitter with balked ambition, because even though he'd done everything that Bombastine asked, stealing Thrax's treasures, sending his poison pen letters, and even going so far as to attempt to put Bombastine on the throne, it hadn't been enough. He scarcely even heard the sentence read out anymore, and so the impact of the thrust caught him by surprise. In, out, still in the same place, the cold spreading through his chest, and then falling and the crunch of his broken nose.

As the memory faded and he fell, Kullervo caught him. 

Within those supportive arms, Drifter murmured, “"Execution doesn't expiate our guilt. I should know, after every day for hundreds of years." He'd have to remember to tell Acrithis that - she'd wanted to know how he felt.

There were Seven Crimes and Five Spirals, so Drifter wasn't exactly surprised that next he thought of the Zariman, and the crouching child he'd been when he killed his father. 

Kullervo understood that. After all, he'd whispered to the Tenno too. Drifter was far from the only patricide on the Zariman. That fact, almost as much as their void-touched powers, was why the Orokin called them “the wretched Tenno” and worse. The Orokin did not rehabilitate such criminal filth. They hid the Tenno away out of the sight of decent folk, clad them in gleaming warframes, and put them to work upholding the Empire.

Kullervo hadn't needed to turn the Tenno against the Orokin. They already held grudges aplenty. He'd just told them it was possible to kill the unkillable and proved it. After that, the same sense of justice that told Drifter that kings should rule rightly and soldiers should fairly uphold just laws set the Tenno on an inexorable path to the Night of the Naga Drums.

So as Drifter accepted that memory, his mind drifted to another:

He knelt in the eye of the storm, holding Teshin‘s body in his arms. Strange that such a solid support in life should be so light in death. Their precious moment of peace broke as grief tore through his emotional control. What was the point of pushing himself to his feet and challenging Thrax for dominion over Duviri when everyone he loved was dead?

From atop his high perch, Thrax taunted, “I feel nothing.”

If Drifter couldn't do anything to save Teshin - if all he could do was kneel at Ainikki's side until the Dax came to haul him away - perhaps he would've ended up just like Kullervo.

Kullervo watched what happened next hungrily, as though it held the secrets to how he himself could break free of his own Spiral.

With his Guiding Hand, Drifter pushed himself to his feet. Sol brought him Teshin's last gift. Kaithe carried him aloft to face the Orowyrms in the air. Finally, he reclaimed his power over Duviri and then traded it all away to bring Teshin back.

Drifter told Kullervo, "With the help of my friends, I learned that guilt doesn't have to define me. But make no mistake, that was just the start of my journey upward. If you’ll have me, I’ll help you walk the same road.”

Kullervo clasped his offered hand.

They stood as one flesh. True transference, synchronized, joined in will and united by forgiveness. No decree of Duviri's king, past or present, could tear them apart. 

The Warden seethed. "What are you doing?!"

Through transference, Drifter's will guided Kullervo's hand, pointing out how the Void combined with strong emotions to treat Kullervo as he thought he deserved. “The Warden is the embodiment of your guilt, punishing you as you believe you deserve. The only power he has in Duviri comes from you.” 

The Warden demanded, "Drifter, execute the brute!" Then he cast out his hand at them, every inch an Executor announcing judgment.

Transference tore like rotten cheesecloth. 

Drifter splashed onto his hands and knees as he was thrown from Kullervo. 

Kullervo slumped beside him, dropping Vaenn, kneeling with his head tipped back to the sky. He was the very picture of brokenness. If even Drifter couldn't help him, what was the point of trying?

From atop his high perch, the Warden taunted, "Just one more defeat amongst countless, Kullervo. When, oh, when shall you learn this most obvious of lessons and remain low?"

If the Warden had his way, this was the moment when Drifter, a worthy servant of the Orokin Empire, proved his loyalty and cut down Kullervo with his own sword.

Drifter grabbed Vaenn, put its hilt into Kullervo's hand, and closed his grip on it. Then he lifted the heavy warframe's arm over his shoulder and staggered to his feet. Of course Kullervo couldn't overcome his guilt in one moment. Drifter hadn't, after all. By the time of the Jubilee, he'd been hard at work at becoming a whole person, building the resiliency to overcome setbacks like this. Kullervo had yet to learn that from his life of hardships, but fortunately, he wasn't alone.

They trudged slowly through the water, up the ramp out of the arena, and towards the seventh, final cell filled with debris. At first, Kullervo was just dead weight. Drifter reminded him, "This is your island. Kullervo's Hold. The Warden has no true power in Duviri beyond what you give him. I believe you deserve better than eternal punishment."

Then and only then, Kullervo found his feet. They stumbled together to the pile of rocks that buried the seventh Kullervo for the crime of Attempted Regicide. Together, they grabbed a large rock and dragged it away.

The Warden threw his lever, retracting the floor. “Fall in and do us all a favor.”

Well, if the Warden was going to make their job easier…

They shoved the rock over the side. It dropped into the abyss. They turned back for another.

The Warden’s jaw dropped.

For the second time in his life, Drifter witnessed a look of pure confusion cross an Orokin face. This time, he laughed. What power did the Warden have to stop them?

The Warden flounced back into his seat. “Worthless collaborator.”

No power; just insults. Was he…sulking?

“Fool.”

Definitely sulking.

“You gave that beast exactly what he craved. Dignity.”

Dignity, yes. Dignity that would not bow their heads meekly to a bellowing tyrant. Dignity that would not serve the Orokin, here or anywhere.

The Warden had no more power here at all.

The children came running down in a cheerful swarm. They hauled open the other cells and pulled each Kullervo out to assist with freeing the seventh. The kids seized smaller rocks and hurled them into the abyss, shrieking with delight as they sang:

“Kullervo, Kullervo, far he strayed.
Lips to the steel he blessed and prayed,
Whispered promises that boy made!
Kullervo, Kullervo, friend to the blade.”

When the last rock was lifted from Kullervo's battered cuirass and the seven became one whole person, Kullervo knelt and, with newfound dignity, offered his blade to the assembled children. Such was his solemn promise: he would be their faithful defender as long as they lived in his Hold.

The kids promptly lifted Kullervo up on their small shoulders and carried him down to the caves, where they feted him with wine and dancing. Barris decked him with a crown of ueymag flowers as if he were a champion racer, then shyly produced a second crown for Drifter too. 

Drifter turned it over in his hands, and then placed it on Barris’ ceramic locks. “Did you know you placed higher in a kaithe race than I ever did? It's Kaithe’s choice if he wants you for his rider, but I think he’d be a fool to say no.”

Barris beamed.

Koral likewise beamed at him. “Outlaw, will Kullervo be well?”

He led her to Kullervo, and said to him, “Make no mistake, this is just the start of your journey upward. Koral calls me to have compassion for everyone in Duviri, including the animals, and she is not afraid to tell me to my face when I’ve gone down the wrong road. You could not ask for a better friend.”

Koral plopped down next to Kullervo as though the fearsome warframe was no more dangerous than a tame krubie. “We shall be friends, right?”

Kullervo solemnly nodded.

Eventually, Drifter made his way to the back of the party where Acrithis edited her notes. She said, “If you had told me this morning that today would go the exact opposite of “yesterday”, I would have told you that you’d cracked your skull worse than you thought.”

“I can’t take offense when you’re right.”

Together they strolled out into the fresh air where they could see the island and the Warden’s perch. She observed, “I believe you’re correct about the Warden. He has no power outside that arena, and then only to deliver punishment to Kullervo. Contained and confined to his lonesome vigil, I think he shall do little harm stewing up there on his eternal grudges.”

Drifter said, "So long as Kullervo doesn't backslide into bad habits once I leave."

At the same time, they both said, "Teshin."

Who better to guide Kullervo than the one who’d guided both Drifter and the Tenno?

She offered, “I will stay here while you make your report to the king. I want to question the Warden about what he knows of life outside Duviri. Then I'll show Kullervo to Teshin's Cave once the children are safely home. As for you,” she pried, “you've figured out whatever was bothering you."

"Yeah, though it took me long enough. Once I leave, I won’t serve the Orokin.”

“Not even if the real Executor is still out there?” 

“He’s not worthy of my service."

“I think Teshin would be proud of you.”

Lightning flashed out in the distance. Then the dark sky streaked with red fire. 

As they stood gaping and the children left their partying to watch the commotion and even Kullervo came out to stand with them, the storm clouds churned into a baking heat. The ashen desert turned stark and lifeless under crimson light. 

There was no mistaking the changes to the warp and weft of Duviri as Fear gave way to Anger.

The king is dethroned. 

Long live the king.

"Lodun, King of Fire," Acrithis announced.

While the kids hastily planned how to return home now that they were safe from the civil war, Drifter stared up at the sky and hoped.

Hoped that Anger would give way to Calm.

But it never did.

He said, "I need to attend the coronation."

Acrithis indicated Duviri's newest prison. "Have you thought of what you'll do if Dominus was taken prisoner?" 

"I wouldn't imprison a rabid dog here, for that man to poke and prod. I’ll take him with me back to Teshin. Who better to guide him? Teshin worked miracles with me, after all.”

Drifter flew to Castle Town. By the time he arrived, all the old banners were stripped. Lodun’s new banners were being hung in their place. Despite the oppressive heat, everyone helping bore smiles on their faces and waved cheerfully. When they greeted him as “His Majesty’s Party Planner,” it was clear they expected that he’d come to help plan the coronation. 

There’d been a battle in the palace courtyard, though it looked like there’d been far more prisoners taken than deaths. Probably the Dax turning their blows as much as their oaths would allow. Which was why Denphius Dax stood tall and proud, directing more Dax to remove the barricades and guard their new king. He told Drifter, “Finally, I have a king worth following.”

“What of Dominus?”

“You’ll have to ask His Majesty.” Deniphus gestured up to the palace.

Drifter mounted the steps at a run. The audience hall was a mass of ordered confusion, with old portraits being removed, food being brought from the kitchen out to the workers, and too many bodies jostling around trying to catch the new king or his court’s ears. Lequos and Sythel argued over a list of invites for the coronation. As he brushed past them, Luscinia and Bombastine turned from their own argument and saw him.

“Drifter!” She flung herself on him. “You’re alive!”

He staggered under the tightness of her hug. “What?”

“See?” Bombastine said, eyes glittering triumphantly. “I told you Thrax lied.”

“What.”

Quickly, they explained. This Spiral, Thrax had stalled and stalled, claiming that he had to hold onto the throne in case Drifter died on the new island. He’d stalled even to the point that he’d refused to surrender on pain of exile, until Lodun finally physically hauled him off the throne.

“Make way for His Majesty!”

And then Lodun was there with the others in tow, clasping him by the arms, and looking so desperately relieved to see him again. “I could have lived with myself if I’d killed you by refusing to reset the Spiral, but I would have regretted it forever.”

“I did die,” Drifter said. “Not this Spiral, but the one before that. Dominus reset it to save me. Where is he?”

Lodun wouldn’t meet his eyes any longer. “He chose exile.”

“Where?”

Mathila burst out with, “I told you he wouldn’t like it. I warned you.”

Lodun snapped at her, “You of all people should know happiness can’t be forced.” Whirling back on Drifter, he said, “The boy didn’t want to stay. He didn’t want to have to kneel to anyone else or call me king. He didn’t want to stay at the back of the coronation like an ordinary child. He didn’t want to live out the rest of his days fishing for golden maws as a peaceful peasant. He wanted exile. Anywhere else was better than witnessing my triumph.”

Drifter facepalmed. That damnable pride and envy struck again. “I’d be lying if I said he didn’t get it from me.”

“Let him go.” Lodun urged. “It's what he wanted.”

Mathila barked a short, sad laugh.

Yeah, Drifter understood why Dominus chose exile. As a child he’d hidden himself away from everyone in his dormizone, but all he’d really wanted in those miserable hours that stretched into days as he realized that they were floating in the Void for eternity was for someone else to care enough about him to come find him and comfort him in his misery. “Where is he?”

Finally, Lodun assented and they went to the back of the Palace. 

From the balcony’s height, Drifter saw a small island, newly hacked from the mainland, floating away into the wind-whipped clouds and off towards the Void. The island was a large chunk of rock topped with a copse of trees and that tailed off into a whirl of aggristone. He just made out the small form of a boy, all alone, before the island was swallowed up by the mists.

“I’m going with him,” he said, and gave them enough time to move aside before he summoned Kaithe.

Lodun said flatly, “He chose exile. You may not bring him back to Duviri. By my decree as King, I will banish all kaithes if I must.” They both knew how much he’d regret that.

“Give me enough time to reach him,” Drifter requested. It was reckless, impulsive, exactly the sort of leaping into action without reflection that was so like a Sun. But it was the right decision, he felt it in his heart. Above all, he could not let Dominus go.

Understanding what he meant to do, the courtiers protested. Only Mathila stayed quiet, but then, she already knew why. 

Lodun argued, “But you wanted to leave,” pointing up at the Zariman. More than any of them, he knew what Drifter had done while beating his wings against Duviri's prison cage.

Every moment Drifter stayed, he lost precious time to find Dominus. “I know I'm throwing away my best chance to leave. There's no guarantee I'll make it off that island. But I too was a lost boy, once, sailing alone into the Void. Lodun, you're king now. Take care of Duviri for me.”

“Farewell.”

Kaithe flew. His wings beat first against the wind and then the mists of the Void. It felt like they flew for far longer than they should have to find the island. 

When they did, it was tearing through the Void at a fast clip. As soon as they landed, Kaithe vanished without even the chance to say farewell. 

Dominus was nowhere to be found, save for the copse of trees and a cave opening in the ground where the boy must have hidden.

The Void swirled around them. The mists closed in so completely that Duviri was nowhere to be seen, nor any familiar landmark.

They were well and truly lost. He sighed, and remembered: Void travel was safe as long as they controlled their emotions…

Chapter Text

Drifter took a deep breath. He'd spent a fair amount of sleepless nights thinking about what he might have done had he been the adult he needed on the Zariman. So he started by taking stock of their situation.

Dominus Thrax was nowhere to be seen. Most of the island's top was covered in by a picturesque tangle of trees that was too thick to climb through. As he'd seen flying in, the island itself was basically a coil of aggristone wrapped around a hollow rock like a can inside a spring. The boy must've taken shelter inside the rock. The cave entrance looked natural, created when Sorrow’s rainwater flowed off the aggristone and ate through softer dirt. 

He dropped down through the cave opening to a ledge below, then scrambled downslope to where a dormizone door blended with solid rock. The drop was far enough that he could get back out with effort, but Dominus wasn't getting back up without help.

The dormizone itself was painfully familiar. This Duviri cave had copied the outside of his own dormizone, down to the broken hydroponics planters and the trickle of water flowing out of a broken pipe. The cave entrance was even in about the right place to be the elevator. Just like then, a feral child took refuge on the far side of the sealed door. 

He wisely kept his distance. "Dominus? It's me, Drifter."

Behind the door, Dominus answered. "What are YOU doing here?"

"I remember what it was like to be lost in the Void. I couldn’t let you go alone."

"Oh. Okay." In a return to his normal imperious tone, Dominus ordered, "Then you can fix this."

They were so far past fixing this, it wasn't even funny. "We're sailing into exile in the Void, all kaithes are banished, and even if we got off the island, you'd still have to surrender to Lodun. I can't fix this for you, Dominus. The Lunaro ball is in your arcata bat." He hoped to spark some introspection. 

"You’re as useless and incompetent as ever. I needed a father, not a bumbling idiot like you."

He hadn't been prepared for how much that hurt. He'd thought much the same of his own father, of course, no matter how unfair it was. Now he stood in his father's shoes. How had his father kept going despite feeling like he’d failed his son? Probably because he had to. Guilt wouldn't get them out of here safely. "We can only get out of here safely if we control our emotions."

“Oh, because that's SO easy for me. If only I had tried, and failed, but now that you come here and tell me the obvious I'm sure I'll succeed just like that!" Dominus snapped his fingers at the last, even as his voice rose in hysteria.

"Then let me help you," Drifter said, because getting worked up into a tantrum was not going to help at all. "Dominus, listen, you know this part. Void Travel is perfectly safe as long as we control our emotions. You don't have to do it all at once. Just breathe with me."

"That's Sythel's new schtick."

"Does it work for her?"

"...better than anything else she's tried."

He sat down against the door and heard Dominus rustle into position too. Back to back, though he sat in a lotus position and he suspected Dominus was hunched over holding his knees to his chest. "Breathe with me. In…1…2-"

It worked for about a minute. Until Dominus' breathing gradually picked up. "Out…1…2…I can't."

"3…4…In-"

"I can’t!"

"You can. In…"

"You know I can't control my emotions!" There was a crash and a bang as Dominus sprang to his feet and stumbled over something. It was probably a chair or a pan, and Drifter could only imagine the now hyperventilating boy grabbing it as a weapon in case he came through the door after him. 

Dominus shrieked, "I’ll kill you if you come through that door!"

Even though everything in him wanted to go in and comfort the boy, Dominus would, just like he'd killed his father in a panic, and then where would they be? This far from Duviri, even if Lodun reset the Spiral it wouldn't save them. Instead, he stood. "I'm going to explore for a bit. You think about how long it took me to become a whole person and practice your breathing. You aren't the only one who thought they couldn't do it."

There wasn't an answer, which he'd expected. Hopefully his advice was helpful. In any case, exploring would give him a chance to calm his own emotions. This was a two-person ship, after all. He'd need the calm of a true warrior to keep it steady. 

First, he hoisted himself back out of the cave. Duviri was long out of sight. Without a point of reference in the clouds, there was little to judge their exact speed against. Purple leaves stripped off by the wind blew into his face…so, pretty fast.

Enough of the leaves were gone that he made out the curved shape of a void mirror’s empty ring behind the tightly spaced trunks. Lodun surely hadn't known that was there, or he'd have bricked it up before sending Thrax off. Or just picked a different sacrificial island entirely. However, no helpful Tenno appeared in the mirror. So they were well and truly lost. 

He took a deep breath. He'd made his choice. There was no point in regretting it. He climbed back down. 

Dominus asked, "What do you want?" 

"I'm just seeing what supplies we have out here.”

"Not enough."

No, indeed, even by lower standards than a boy who wanted his eggs cooked precisely to order. "We have water.” There was even a bottle tucked in under the trickle where he'd left it when he retreated into the dormizone to create Duviri. "I'll leave a bottle for you by the door. I'm going to check for more food farther below.”

"There isn't any."

“Well, maybe I'll get lucky and find a hidden cache. Hey, check under my mattress, will you? I think I left some there.”

"I'm not hungry!" Dominus protested. 

Every time he'd said that, his father had ruffled his hair and said, "Son, eat something. You aren’t yourself when you’re hungry." So even though his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten this morning with Acrithis, he said the same thing to Dominus. Then he left him to it.

Just past the dormizone, a flight of stairs led down to an aggristone cave. Torrential rainwater had bored out massive holes in the cave walls and floor, revealing the abyss beyond. The aggristone coil that wrapped around the island spiraled through one of those holes until it too ended in a point. The wind whistled through those holes, whipping past the shrine at the tip of the aggristone. The shrine was just far enough out there he'd be completely exposed to the wind.

"You know, I really do not fancy creeping out there to start a super little puzzle,” he muttered to himself. “Not without a line to secure myself, and I didn't see one."

Searching the island was a bust. No food caches, a shrine too dangerous to activate, and a void mirror that didn't respond to him. They were stuck. Stuck with nothing to do except wait for Dominus to eat and drink something and calm down enough that they could have a real conversation.

When he returned to the dormizone, at least Dominus had taken the water and retreated inside. Hopefully he found something to eat too. Drifter sat down far enough away from the door and meditated like how Teshin taught him on the Litany of the Dax and the regulation techniques of the Archarbor. When he had the same calm with which he would approach an Orowyrm battle, he reviewed their situation. As long as both of them were calm and in control of their emotions, this headlong flight into the Void should be safe.

The theory was sound. Take the Zariman: the Orokin went to great expense to inculcate them all with a sense of their importance to unify them in their mission. To install them with unshakeable confidence in their bold leap into the dark. 

Now, theory hadn't saved the Zariman because the Orokin themselves did not understand that calm could not coexist with oppression. In fact, he suspected that even if their void engineers aboard had by some miracle managed to attempt a second leap out of the Void, it wouldn't have worked as long as emotions ran rampant onboard. But at least the theory was sound. Even the laughing, mocking voice from the tablets agreed that was the correct answer.

He and Dominus were similarly adrift in the Void. The only way out was calm. That was hard when starving and thirsty and afraid, but forcing it would only make their journey harder.

Fortunately, while they were moving very quickly, the Void was a vast, empty expanse. Duviri's lively islands were the exception rather than the rule. That so many things landed in it rather than the vast open ocean was a strange coincidence. They should be able to drift for a long time without ever meeting anyone or anything.

As long as they didn’t end up in the Wall of Lohk, they should be fine.

He waited a long time. Long enough that he got stomach-growling hungry, drank enough water to fill his empty stomach (which helped as little as he'd remembered), and somehow managed to fall asleep. He woke to the sound of the door opening and politely pretended he was still asleep.

Dominus went to the broken pipe and drank directly from his cupped hands. Eventually, he slowly approached, crouched, and flicked Drifter between the eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Oh. You’re alive." Dominus said, endeavoring to sound disappointed and failing. "Did you find anything good?"

"Just a maze shrine below and a void mirror above, hidden in the trees. Did you find food under the mattress?"

"Yeah." Dominus wrestled with himself. Reluctantly, he pulled a small carb nutricube from his pocket. It was squashed and hardly more than half a granola bar. "I, uh, I saved some if you want it."

Oh, he did want it. But with perspective came both the understanding that all those times his parents told him they weren't hungry, they lied, and why they'd done it. As hard as it was to ignore his gnawing stomach, it was worse to see one's child suffer. 

However, Dominus had a better bullshit meter than he had as a child. It was on a hair trigger just like Sythel's. He'd know if he lied. So Drifter said gravely, "Thank you. I know how much control that takes to offer that. I’m proud of you and I want you to keep it and eat when you get hungry."

"But what about you? You can’t protect me if you’re starving."

"While we’re in the Void, our best protection comes from staying in control of ourselves," he explained. "It'll take longer than this for hunger to weaken me. But thank you for thinking of me."

After being praised twice in a row, Dominus actually looked proud of himself. It was a subtle thing, thanks to the mask. A straightening of the hunched shoulders and back. With confidence, came calm. “I want to see that shrine,” Dominus said, and darted down towards the stairs.

“Be careful,” he warned. “It's not exactly safe.”

With the fearlessness of youth, Dominus stood at the edge of the cut-off room. “Where are we?!”

They were in the Deep Void. 

Below them, things bellowed and lashed in the deep. The everpresent mists gave way to an endless expanse that redefined “horizon” to human eyes who were used to an “end” to focus on. Nebula-like metallic clouds of void contamination billowed and coiled in the distance, but Drifter knew from experience that those visions were as ephemeral as a mirage.

Dominus trembled. It wasn't just from inexperience. Stay in the Void long enough, and even artificial gravity couldn't help. Spatial relations just weren't the same. Their eyes and body would play tricks until it felt as though they were walking on the ceiling and one step forward would send them falling into the sky. 

He put his hand on Dominus’ shoulder. 

Dominus clutched it like the anchor it was. 

“I survived the Deep Void once. We can survive it again.” He pulled Dominus close so his mask pressed against his chest. 

Dominus wrapped his arms around him until his trembling subsided. “You promise?”

“I promise that no matter what happens, we're in it together. See? Our island has already slowed down now that you're calmer.”

They stood together for who knew how long until there was a distinct change in the Deep Void around them. A genuine horizon appeared. A wall of lighter material came into shape. 

Drifter couldn't hold back his start of alarm. Either he had the worst luck, or they'd been moving much faster than he thought.

Dominus pulled away. “What's that?”

“The Wall of Lohk. Not something we want to smash into.”

“The Wall? The Scholar wanted to find a way to get back through,” Dominus volunteered what he knew.

“Yeah, well, if it were easy to get through the Wall, I assure you I would've escaped Duviri a long time ago.”

“What is it?”

Old quiz questions on the Zariman made than an easy answer. “It's the barrier between rational reality - my world - and the Void.”

Laughter, the deep rolling endless laughter that followed an incorrect answer rolled over and through them. Dominus screamed high and shrill.

While Drifter desperately wanted to clap his hands to his own ears, he covered Dominus’ instead until it passed. 

“Don't say that again.” Dominus ordered him.

“In my defense, I think Euleria Entrati would be very unhappy to learn she has the incorrect answer.”

By now, they'd been swept close enough to start making out vague shapes. From their great distance, the Wall first appeared as a thin line stretching into infinity. As they sailed closer, it loomed taller and taller. Soon it would take up their whole sight as far as they could see up and down. The wall was white, bringing to mind steep marble cliffs against which the void washed like tidal waves carving out channels and grooves.

Dominus asked, “Is it made of bone?” 

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Dominus pointed. “Look, there’s the Golden Hive!”

Maybe his guess of marble cliffs was apt, because what he’d initially taken as lumps and irregularities on the surface were actually the lost islands of Duviri piled up like flotsam. Except that when those islands were sent out into the void, they hadn't been the same shade of white as everything else.

Dominus said, “If we land there…if we touch that Wall…”

Drifter thought of the children's rhyme: 

Something's watching through the window,
Watching you and watching me…
Wants what we have, wants to BE us!
We know that can never be.

Dominus said, “...we're dead. We’re so dead. We're worse than dead.”

He gave Dominus a tiny shake. “We can still control ourselves. We still have time to think of a plan at our current speed, which will only get faster if we panic. So we don’t panic. We think of a plan. We have this shrine and that void mirror. Which do you want to try first?”

Given something tangible to focus on rather than dithering, Dominus calmed. 

Drifter squeezed his shoulders in reassurance. Maybe if he hadn't isolated himself where panic could take its toll, he might have been able to focus like this during the Zariman Crisis and made a difference for his classmates.

Dominus suggested, “Let's try the shrine. At least that’s from Duviri and not some void devilry of yours.”

They still didn’t have a line to secure themselves, but with Drifter holding onto the cave rocks and stretching out his arms, Dominus just barely reached the shrine with his free hand. It chimed. Drifter reeled him back in and shook out his arms while Dominus looked eagerly for the strand of void energy that should lead to the next pylon in the maze.

Instead of a pylon, the Void energy spooling out of the shrine congealed into an armored Grineer.

Unlike the fearsome centurions or legates that appeared in the Undercroft or guarded the king’s treasure chests, this Grineer man bore the unmistakable signs of clone rot from long decades in Orokin service. Dark splotches covered what skin wasn’t drawn tight and dry with age. He wore dark red armor, which instantly threw into question Drifter’s assumption that he was - call a spade a spade, Drifter - an Orokin slave . The Orokin never would’ve armed and armored their slaves for combat. Someone had sliced this aged man in half at the waist. A golden Void Key was plugged in over his heart, another technological treasure that he found it hard to believe was gifted by the Orokin to a mere Grineer. The key’s golden energies literally held the man upright and together.

“Listen, you!” Dominus ordered

Drifter pulled Dominus back behind him with a “Hush.” Like Kullervo, a former Orokin slave could not be expected to submit to Dominus’ Orokin appearance and demeanor instinctively. Come to think of it, the Empire had fallen, so it was probably time he stopped thinking of the Grineer as slaves. In fact, what if they had more common cause than he’d thought? He offered a hand to help the old man off the coil. “Hey, we’re lost here, just like you. Shall we work together?”

One eye was cybernetic. The other eye, sunk deep in its socket, narrowed with recognition.

“What a waste!” The Grineer growled. “Your scarred vessel comes to beg once more!”

Not a word of that made sense to Drifter and he wasn’t sticking around to ask questions. “I don't think he's friendly.” He muttered to Dominus and nudged him back up the stairs. “Go to the void mirror.”

Dominus didn't argue. As he scrambled up the stairs, he retorted, “This is all your fault.”

Drifter followed after. He watched long enough to see the Grineer slowly walked up the aggristone curl after them. The void key’s light brightened with each step, strengthening him.

The Grineer growled, “You will never pry the Janus Key-”

Passing by the dormizone, Drifter only stopped long enough to grab the water bottles and tied them to his waistband. 

“-from the clutches of its rightful owner!”

He boosted Dominus up and out of the cave. 

“I, Captain Vor, have ascended-”

At least their implacable pursuer had a name. Drifter hoisted himself up. 

Dominus sprinted through the trees to the mirror. “Open up!” He barked. It remained empty.

Maybe the Tenno on the Other Side was busy? Which meant Drifter needed another plan to stop Captain Vor. The small cave opening was the best bottleneck they had. He looked around for a heavy rock to brain him with and saw nothing.

Dominus kicked the mirror’s rim. “It's not working!”

“Try asking nicely?” He suggested.

“What good with that do? “Please, oh pretty please Paradox, hand me a peashooter and a warframe that will do absolutely nothing against the Wall?””

Actually a warframe would be very handy against Captain Vor right now, yes, please and thank you. Still, he couldn’t fault Dominus’ sense of priorities. The Wall loomed above and below them. He could even make out details on the islands. 

Was that his imagination, or were they speeding up?

He took a deep breath. They weren’t embedded in the Wall yet. Captain Vor’s glow hadn’t even reached the top of the stairs yet. “Dominus, please ask the Other Side if they would open a portal to the Undercroft. And say please.”

“The Undercroft?!” Dominus burst into a gale of terrified hilarity. “Are you a complete dimwit?”

They were definitely speeding up. “Explain it like I'm an idiot,” he ordered. 

The familiar act of mocking him brought Dominus back to the edge of sanity even though he was clinging to it by his fingertips. “The Undercroft is the Void’s unbridled chaos. Your vaunted calm of the true warrior is useless there. What the hell sort of escape plan is this? I ought to go hide in the dormizone until you and it kill each other and rid me of the burden.”

Dominus made as if to dash past him back into the cave. Then he stopped dead, because the Janus Key’s golden light was steadily approaching as Vor’s rambling monologue got louder. 

For a long moment, the wind’s whistle just got higher and higher as they moved faster and faster.

Dominus whimpered. Caught between a rock and a hard place, for the first time he really saw the direct impact of his lack of control. 

As Drifter knew all too well, just because he saw the Spiral's yawning trap didn't mean he could get out without help. He got in between Dominus and the cave and the oncoming light and tipped his mask up so they were face to face. “Look at me. Not at the light.”

Gradually, Dominus’ darting eyes settled on him. Drifter added. “I'm not sending you into the Undercroft alone. I'm coming with you. Think about how many times you've seen me go in there…and how I always come out.”

“Do I really have to talk to that weird doppelganger of yours?”

“The Tenno on the Other Side isn't so bad once you get to know them.”

“Can't you do it?” Dominus asked.

Through the limited view from the cave opening, Captain Vor stepped into view. His gaze was fixed on Drifter. “You will die a lifetime-”

“You're going to have to be the one to do it.” Drifter drew Sirocco.

Dominus ran to the void mirror. “Look, uh-” He took a deep breath. “I, Dominus Thrax, former king of Duviri, request your aid.”

Vor rambled on. “- an eternity, a universe of deaths before you are blessed by the endlessness of this place, this paradise-”

The mirror flared up. Instead of a portal to the Undercroft, Kullervo stood on the Other Side. 

Dominus stamped his foot, “I don't want a warframe. I want a way out of here!”

Before Drifter could protest that, no, actually, he was delighted to see him, Kullervo vanished.

Vor bellowed laughter. “I will never close an eye to the gift that is the Void.”

The mirror sparked to life again. Dominus shouted back at someone unseen, “Of course I don't want to die! You’ve got to help me!”

Vor saw that Drifter guarded the entrance with the high ground. He wrenched the Janus Key from his chestplate. It glowed with unrestrained energy.

Drifter took aim and shot him with Sirocco.

The shot should’ve taken him straight between the eyes. Golden light flared and the shot vanished. Then the Janus Key glowed as bright as the sun, it unleashed that energy in a powerful beam that scorched and scored lines into rock as it flared up toward Drifter.

He couldn’t dodge, or it might hit Dominus or the mirror that was their only hope of escape. So he blocked the beam with Sun and Moon instead, and prayed that a pair of Dax swords of Orokin make were more than equal to another Orokin tool. Golden energy poured in until Sun and Moon glowed like they were back in the forge that created them. 

Mere moments before he thought Sun and Moon would explode in his hands, the beam cut off.

He couldn’t do that a second time.

The Janus Key had only dimmed. Now, it started gathering energy into itself again. Vor saw his expression and cackled to himself.

Shit, Drifter thought to himself so Dominus couldn't hear it. He couldn’t block it. He couldn’t get close enough to take the key away from Vor, either. His only hope was to lure Vor away and hope Dominius figured something out before Drifter got decapitated for the second time in two days.

From behind him, he heard a quiet. “Please?”

As Vor raised the key and proclaimed, “-even as my flesh hardens, a wall of bone awaits my joining.”

Dominus’ small hand grabbed his and tugged. “Come on.”

Drifter followed blindly, sheltering Dominus with his own body as best he could. The Janus Key flared out towards them. Then they were safely in the Undercroft.

Chapter Text

Drifter had never seen this part of the Undercroft before. A broad, helical ribbon of aggristone spiraled endlessly upwards and downward until it was lost to sight. 

Out in the dark distance, the same huge statue of Dominus Thrax that dominated Duviri's sky stared upwards, empty-eyed. Across from it, another giant Dominus made of billowing clouds glared at them. There was even a wispy Zariman up there, because of course he couldn't escape its long shadow wherever he went.

He and Dominus stood on a tiny ledge with the empty void mirror at their back, the abyss at their heels, and only the unknown, but literal Spiral ahead. 

“Great, just great,” Dominus grumbled. “We're stuck in the one place I can't control even if I try. This wasn't MY idea. Don't hold ME responsible.”

Drifter was just happy there was no sign of Captain Vor, his Janus Key, or the Wall of Bone. “Hey, it looks to me like you stayed calm and got us out of a sticky situation.”

“I guess I did. What now?”

“Well, I hoped we'd end up in one of the sections of the Undercroft where Teshin keeps watch. He's been my guide as I fought to calm the chaos.”

“Just wait a minute. You're telling me that your “plan,”” Dominus made the air quotes, “is that we’re going to risk our lives fighting to save the very Duviri who cast us out?” His sarcasm could've cut like a knife.

“Well, I'd hoped.”

“You're still a fool. I just escaped certain death. No way I'm going to die for those ungrateful little shits.”

Drifter bit down on the first retort that came to mind. Informing Dominus that he was a sarcastic little shit would be truth, and also hypocritical. Instead, he said, “Those “ungrateful little shits” were your citizens and courtiers who once believed in your unquestionable benevolence. Who gave them cause to question it?”

Dominus stared up at his face in the sky like it held the answers.

Drifter scanned the sky as well. Try as he might, he couldn't pick out the twinkle of Garmi's Entrati lanthorn beacon marking the way home. Maybe they were too far down to see it. “Well, I'd hoped that finding our way home would be easier. It looks like we've got a long way up to go.” He offered a hand.

“Who's to say we don't have to go down to get out of here? Climbing up is hard work.” Dominus plopped down in a rattle of metal, practically daring Drifter to force him.

Had he been this awfully, instinctively contrarian as a child? Probably. But why? 

Because he'd felt powerless, swept up in events beyond his control, forced down paths not of his own choosing. Digging in his heels was the only way to feel like he held power (illusory though it was). How much worse must it be for a dethroned king? Besides, no one liked owing the sort of asshole who just dragged everyone along in his wake. 

“I don't know for sure that we have to go up,” he explained. “But it seems to me that this is a rather literal spiral, so it follows that choosing to backslide down the spiral is a bad idea. Maybe you can't control the Undercroft, but you can control what you do here.”

A quarter of the way around the helix, Dominus started complaining. First about his calves. Then his ankles. Then he’d look up and just heave a sigh, getting progressively more irritated each time Drifter did not offer to carry him. “Are we there yet?”

“No. Perseverance builds character.”

“I hate you.”

“You could try distracting yourself from your woes.”

“How?”

What would Mathila do? “Let's try a song. Eighteen million bottles of kuva on the wall…”

“Oh, for Void's sake!”

Okay, maybe he'd overdone it. Two circles up the helix spent in petulant silence later, he was about to call for a break so Dominus could rest his aching feet when they saw a platform with an empty void mirror ahead.

Dominus rushed ahead, aching feet apparently forgotten. “Get me out of here. Uh. Please?” At least he hadn't forgotten everything. Some of those baby steps stuck. 

The Tenno on the Other Side of the Paradox seemed to understand he was doing his best, because the void mirror spun itself into being. 

Kullervo stood on the other side.

This time, Drifter said firmly, “We're very happy to see you, Kullervo.”

“We are?” Dominus asked skeptically. “He's the one that killed you. I had to reset the Spiral to save you, you know?”

“I know.” Come to think of it, he'd never thanked Dominus for that, even though it'd probably cost him his best chance to hold onto his throne. “I know, and thank you. I never did report back to you either. Because you saved me, I helped Kullervo find new purpose as the defender of Duviri's children.”

“Oh. Fat lot of good he did me.”

Silently, Kullervo held out his hand.

“Uh, what does he want? You're the one with the warframes and void witchcraft. You deal with him.”

Assuming Acrithis followed through, she took Kullervo to Teshin, which meant that he offered them the hoped for way out if they could fight through the Undercroft arena that waited beyond. And that was a big “if,” because even though this was a literal Spiral they slowly trudged up one step at a time, Dominus’ bad attitude did not inspire confidence. If they went in there and he lost control instead of finding the calm of the true warrior, it was quite possible they'd lose all their progress upwards and more.

Well, he'd hoped it would be easier. “I think he wants our help. Both of us. We're in this together. If you want to defend Duviri or if you'd rather keep walking, I'll follow your lead.”

Immediately, Dominus said, “I want to get out of here,” and grabbed Kullervo's hand.

They were pulled through the mirror onto an island that could have been mistaken for one of Duviri’s except that the giant statue looming high above everything else was of Albrecht Entrati, not His Majesty Dominus Thrax. Entrati stood on top of an isolation room from which the Zariman colonists were supposed to meditate on the Void. He was surrounded by gardens, agribiomes, and planters that weren’t as scorched and barren as Drifter remembered. Duviri's lush ferns, trees with lacy branches like fibonacci sequences, and twisted bristly purple bushes now grew where their crops died.

The edges of the island were looping aggristone arches. At the base of those arches, their foes blossomed out of the aether. Dominus shuddered and pressed close to Drifter as Corrupted Grineer, Crewmen, and even some of Duviri’s Dax who must’ve been lost with their islands appeared. “Where's Teshin? Didn't you say that old hermit was supposed to guide us?”

Teshin chuckled in their ear. “Ah, Drifter. There you are. I worried when Acrithis brought the news.”

“Wait, you're not even here?” Dominus objected. “You're sitting back in your squalid little cave while we're in danger?!”

Teshin said warmly, “Ah, Dominus, you're safe too. You are so like Drifter, did you know? He once said much the same to me, so many Spirals ago that he no longer remembers. And I say the same thing I told him back then: my job is to persuade the Paradox to send you more excavators when you waste them.”

As though his warmth was a balm, it diffused the fear that had taken hold of Dominus’ heart. Just like how Drifter was proof that the Undercroft was survivable even for a fool, Teshin was the calm of the true warrior incarnate making an onerous task sound easy. “First,” Teshin instructed, “You require a weapon. Drifter, give him your Sirocco.”

Shit, no. 

Dominus looked up hopefully.

Nobody but him used his gun. Sirocco had been in his hand longer than Sun and Moon; his only weapon through countless Spirals.

Then Drifter calmed himself. Those surges of possessiveness meant little compared to Dominus’ safety or the awe in his eyes as he took the big handgun in his small hands. He must not let envy prevent him from empowering his son. “Hold it like this. Only aim it at something you want to kill.”

They were in the Void, where strong emotions could shape reality. Dominus really, really wanted Sirocco. As soon as he touched it, the old reliable pistol sprouted out void tendrils not unlike those which became Kullervo's island. This time, they solidified into a bracer sized precisely for his arm that would support Sirocco's weight and absorb its recoil. 

Sirocco Incarnon by ser-i-vant

“Ha!” Dominus exclaimed. Then he asked with genuine concern, “Wait. Will you be okay with just your swords?”

That was a poignant reminder that his son did not lack empathy, just control. “I have Kullervo.”

Kullervo clashed with the Corrupted vanguard. Raising his palms to the sky, he called down a rain of daggers that hammered them down like so many nails. Behind him, a mechanical excavator plunged from the Undercroft sky and began to noisily drill into the aggristone. 

Teshin said, “No, let Kullervo do his work. When you leave for the real world, Drifter, you cannot always expect to have a warframe at your beck and call. These are the armies you will face in your future. Learn now to fight them as yourself.”

Well, shit. If he got mixed up in the brawl centered around Kullervo and the ghost of one of Thrax’s centurions trying to chop the excavator to itty bitty pieces with its double-headed scythe, it’d go very badly indeed. Kullervo charged and gutted the centurion from crotch to chin. Without a warframe’s strength, Drifter would be more hindrance than help. Ruefully, he said to Dominus, “Well, I’d hoped this would be easy. Let's get you somewhere safe where you can concentrate on your shooting.”

Nowhere was truly safe. Albrecht Entrati's statue and the heavy stoneware pots that held decorative shrubs, however, made for a sheltered sniper's nest that could stop Crewmen tech and Grineer ballistics. It wouldn't do much if Dominus drew the attention of the corrupted Dax and their blades of molten steel. So Drifter grasped him by the shoulders and said, “You'd better have a damned good reason to abandon cover because I will come save you, okay? I love you and I want you to stay safe.”

Dominus clung to him. “I can’t stay calm.”

“I assure you that I was not the least bit cool, calm, and collected when I started fighting here. It comes with practice.”

“You? You fight my Orowyrms.”

“...did I mention lots of practice? Listen to Teshin. He guided me; he'll guide you too.”

Dominus settled into position with equal parts relief and reluctance. “So I’m just supposed to take potshots?”

“Ha ha, is that a pun?”

“Ugh!”

Still laughing to himself, Drifter headed towards the battle around the first excavator. While Kullervo was far better at defending it than he could hope to be, the excavators also needed to be powered with battery cells looted from Corrupted corpses. A scavenger's job, while the stronger warframe held off their foes.

Behind him, Dominus settled into position and started shooting. “What's the point of the excavators, anyway?”

Teshin replied, “This is the Circuit, where we defend the border of Duviri from foes within the Void and, beyond, from the Paradox. While you have allowed this chaos to brood within your subconscious, the Paradox has defended you. Now, you repay them with secrets and blood.”

“Not MY blood.”

“Only if you fail. I suggest you do not.”

Drifter thought, “You make it sound so easy.” Even though he put a brave face on the situation for Dominus, a few potshots in the back weren't going to keep this from being a painful, grinding slog. The good thing was the Paradox was not as stingy with their excavators as Teshin suggested. The bad thing was that Paradox really needed whatever void treasures they dug up, and would keep sending excavators until they got enough. He stripped the first power cell of many from the corpse of one of the elementally charged warriors that Teshin called “Eximus” and got a powerful shock for his trouble.

Behind him, Dominus whined to Teshin, “You make it sound so easy.”

Drifter laughed at himself. At least they'd get lots of practice!

The simple truth was that without Kullervo’s curses and blades, they couldn’t have done it at all. The warframe practiced his warrior’s work on the foes that mindlessly charged at his excavators, proving with every one slain the vengeful verse:

Kullervo, Kullervo, broke like a flood,
Ripped and he ravaged with a slash-slice-thud!
Many lay headless, armless, in the mud,
Kullervo, Kullervo, bathed in blood.

Drifter did his scavenger's work. Someone had to keep the excavators powered, or else Teshin would chide him. “An excavator requires power.”

Unlike past trips to the Circuit, he clamped his mouth shut on his usual sarcastic retorts. There was no need to encourage Dominus, who more than made up for it with his own complaints. “Yes, yes, I know the excavator is under attack. What do you want me to do about it? I'm doing good if I hit the Dax at all, much less a headshot.”

For the second excavator, Drifter adapted every skill Teshin taught him to fight dirty. He hid behind walkways and in dark corners. The Corrupted only had eyes for Kullervo. Those who would shoot Kullervo in the back never saw Drifter waiting in ambush until he sprang out and stabbed the weak points in their armored backs. Soon he even had a few extra power cells stacked where Kullervo could grab them if needed to recharge the excavator’s shields.

After he tripped a Crewman then slit his throat without giving him a chance to get up, Teshin grunted approval.

“It's not exactly heroic.”

“Heroic is for story-book heroes. When you leave, you won't be Loneryder.”

In the midst of one such unheroic but undeniably effective backstab, Dominus’ shots flew wide over the excavator. The boy had stayed calm and was steadily getting better with practice. The Grineer made for large lumbering targets as he first shot them in the back, then marched his shots up their chest until he eventually hit their head. It wasn't much of a contribution, but hey, Drifter reminded himself, every enemy that he shot was one he didn't have to worry about.

But now, Dominus shot clear across the island again and again like he was aiming at something.

Which was either a “What the hell are you doing?” type situation, or an “Oh, shit, what have you seen that I missed?” type situation. Neither was a good thing when Drifter himself had a fiery Eximus lumbering up the ramp towards him just as he'd abandoned the cover of a planter to find out which.

Grineer Eximus units wore heavy armor that reminded him of deep pressure suits worn by gas miners on Saturn. This one carried extra fuel packs for the flamethrower he carried. When the Arson Eximus saw Drifter, he blew one of those fuel packs. Fire expanded from him in a ring.

Shit. 

Running away would only get him caught in the expanding flame. Jumping above it meant he'd get fried, because heat rose. An old piece of advice, ancient even at the time of the Zariman’s voyage, came to mind: “stop, drop, and roll.” He tucked his head and rolled toward the ring of flame. 

For a brief moment, he felt as crispy and pan-fried as a bacon nutricube. Then he slammed into the Arson Eximus like running into the hot brick wall of an oven. Through the pain, he made a mental note for the future: don't tackle Grineer who outmassed him by a lot of muscle and armor.

Fortunately, the last thing the Eximus expected was to see his dark shape coming through the wall of flame and smoke. His momentum drove Moon up under the Eximus’ chin deep into his skull, killing him instantly. 

Unfortunately, Moon went in so deep that he took precious extra seconds trying to extricate it while the flame ring died and Dominus scrambled up, out of his hiding place, and ran around the statue towards whatever he'd been aiming at. 

“What are you doing?!” He bellowed, left Moon where it was stuck, and ran after him.

The Corrupted were too focused on the excavator drilling out void treasures to hunt for one hidden boy, but they had no trouble following movement. Though Dominus was a fast runner, that just meant that gunshots trailed his footsteps as he ran towards something that glowed blue. A brass tab like one of Acrithis’, about the right size that two more would make a full-sized tablet.

“It's not worth risking your life over!”

Dominus didn't stop. When he grabbed the tab, it glowed blue. Dominus glowed blue. Kullervo glowed blue.

Drifter glowed blue. He didn't feel any different. He grit his teeth rather than bawl Dominus out like he’d planned, because that glow meant that Dominus was on to something.

The second excavator finished. The third and hopefully final excavator arrived. Kullervo paused in the middle of cursing an incoming squad to gesture an unmistakable “I've got this. Go,” to Drifter and grabbed the extra power cells.

So while Kullervo fueled the drill and dueled another centurion, Drifter chased after Dominus and the squad of Corrupted Dax who pursued their former king. 

Dominus scampered up a big aggristone arch to the glowing tab at the top. 

The Dax clustered around the base of it like so many Ravenous Maws waiting for him to slip and fall into their waiting jaws. One of the Dax Heralds got tired of waiting. Whirling his Edun polearm, he cried out, “In the name of the King” and spun out a vortex of hot air and flame. 

Dominus was trapped. He shot back, but his calm quickly eroded as the fire whirl wafted upwards. He couldn’t reliably make the headshot that would daze the Herald. Then Drifter got too close and he stopped shooting entirely, clearly too afraid to aim at someone he really didn't want to kill.

Drifter had lost Moon, or he would've thrown it at the Herald. Instead, he stabbed the Gladius who guarded the Heralds. Sun stabbed cleanly through Gladius’ chest, and tangled in its ribs.

Teshin grunted. “A hasty strike.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t let Dominus die,” he snapped back and grabbed the fallen Gladius’ Azothane instead. With it, he cut the Herald nearly in two. The vortex died away a few feet before it would've reached Dominus. He laid about with the two-handed sword, cutting down the rest like wheat before a scythe.

Dominus said, “Took you long enough,” as if he hadn't just been terrified and staring down certain death.

Drifter didn’t laugh. Nothing was funny when Lodun was king and the corrupted Heralds still called on the fire of an Anger Spiral. Had all his efforts been for naught?

The boy hunched his shoulders and added, “I see the last one.”

Okay, maybe he was too harsh on him. Dominus was trying. He caught him as he slid down. “The last one of what?”

“My decrees,” Dominus took off running. 

Or he would have, had Drifter not grabbed him by the scruff of his royal tunic. “This time, we go together.” 

Kullervo waved to them again then flung daggers into the cursed crowd surrounding him. Bodies burst asunder in a shower of blood.

The final excavator finished its work. The whole island fell silent as the fighting ceased and their foes vanished. 

The Dax bodies around them disappeared too, taking Sun with them. Then a new void mirror opened up where they’d entered.

“Well done,” Teshin applauded them.

Dominus sagged. Drifter told him, “Well done.”

“Can we go home now?” Dominus sounded near tears. 

“Well.” Teshin said.

Which wasn't the answer Dominus wanted to hear. “Haven't I done enough? We helped Kullervo. We defended Duviri. The Other Side got what they wanted. I just want to be done!”

“Well,” Teshin said, “You can leave, rest on what you have accomplished today, and leave Duviri’s defenses in the hands of others. Or you can re-enter the spiraling Circuit and climb upwards, continuing to practice the calm of the true warrior, the only thing that can bring emotion under control.”

Dominus burst into tears.

When Drifter offered him a comforting hand, Dominus shook him off immediately like a prickly kexat. He didn’t scream “Go away” though, so Drifter sat next to him, tended his scrapes, and listened. And when he sobbed out, “Don’t you dare tell me “Perseverance builds character-””

In hindsight, no wonder his son took that as a cruel dismissal. Drifter should have known better after persevering through countless reset spirals. He assured him, “Okay, I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“Perseverance for no purpose didn't build my character.” For perhaps the first time, he acknowledged what he owed his son. “You did, when you challenged me to prove I could live up to my boasts.”

“Huh. I guess I did.” After that, his sniffles gradually died down until he said, “My feet hurt.”

“You know what? So do mine.” He had his Zariman boots. Dominus had on court shoes. “Hey, I bet there's still some supplies in that isolation chamber under the statue. After that, it's your choice to leave or keep going.”

The glass-walled isolation chamber was a makeshift campsite. Hammocks hung from the walls. Child-sized bedrolls sheltered behind upturned tables. The final decree shimmered in the center.

As Dominus took the decree, he said, “If this is good, we’ll go on. If it's bad, forget about it.”

Just as quickly as he read it, he hurled it away from him. “Aw, that's shit!”

For a moment, Drifter wanted to snap and say, “Really?! You put yourself in danger for something useless?!” Then he reconsidered. He could either reinforce the boy’s negativity or build him up instead. “Control yourself,” he reminded. “Once your emotional reaction fades, you might see potential you otherwise missed.”

“Fine.” Grumbling, he read out, “I, Dominus Thrax, former king of Duviri and current owner of this godforsaken mess of a subconscious do hereby decree that Kullervo's blades shall strike twice as majestically, Drifter's attitude is contagious to everyone around him, and as far as I’m concerned, Bombastine's malice will spread across the land.

They all glowed blue. Even Sirocco’s brace glowed.

Dominus yelped. “What the hell?”

Teshin explained, “As you decreed, Bombastine's toxic malice can spread across the land, or at least to nearby enemies after you shoot them in the head.”

“But I'm no good at headshots.”

Drifter reminded him, “With practice, you can save yourself from the Heralds.” Honestly, he'd rather have Kullervo's decree. Majestic Strike made melee weapons deal a double blow, which would’ve been rather nice for a scavenger striking from ambush. 

“There's a thought,” Dominus said, cheered a little. “What about yours?”

Close Contagion was a powerful synergistic decree that extended the reach of any status effects like fire or toxin he applied to more enemies. Which would be fantastic…if he had any status effects on his new Azothane. “Teshin, what happened to Sun and Moon?”

“I have them,” Teshin replied. “You left them behind; make do with what you can find.”

Well, shit. On the other hand, maybe Dominus’ sarcastic description wasn’t so far off. His attitude was contagious, and so he’d just cheered up Dominus with a word. He couldn’t backslide by complaining now. “Close Contagion is useless to me right now, but if you keep looking for more decrees, maybe it won’t be. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Dominus asked, “Do you want to go on?”

His son had an excellent bullshit meter. Only the truth would do. “I hurt all over. Tackling an Arson Eximus was such a bad idea that I'm gonna feel it for the next spiral. I lost my weapons. I have no warframe. I’ll be worried sick for your safety. If you want to stop here, I’m still proud of what you accomplished today. But if you choose to make it your purpose to climb the Spiral upwards, defend Duviri, and master yourself, then I will stay with you every step of the way.”

Dominus listened, took stock of all his options, and made his decision. “I want to prove I can do it.”

Drifter scavenged food and two bedrolls from the campsite. They found a pair of shoes that the Void fit to Dominus’ feet as nicely as it’d changed Sirocco. Then they walked back to the void mirror together. “Onwards and upwards,” Drifter encouraged.

“I still wish I’d gotten Majestic Strike.”

“You don’t even have a melee weapon,” he teased. 

Dominus brandished his fist, and then for the first time, genuinely laughed. It was a surprisingly cheery sound amidst their gloomy surroundings. “What, you don’t find the thought of being hit with this, twice, terrifying?”

Laughing along with him, he said, “Sorry, son, I do not.”

Chapter Text

Together, Dominus Thrax and Drifter left the excavated island behind, walked through the void mirror, and stepped back out into the Undercroft’s spiral. Though space and distance were notoriously hard to judge in the Void, Drifter was pretty sure that they were ever so slightly looking down on the statue and cloud faces of Thrax in the sky. “I think we're a little higher than before.”

Dominus looked up and up. “Does it matter? We've got so far to go.”

That was how the longest Spiral of their lives began: trudging ever upward along the coiling aggristone until eventually they reached a void mirror where they joined Kullervo to face whatever chaos the Undercroft threw at them in the Circuit.

Each arena was hard fought. Even though they got more powerful as Dominus gathered more decrees, Drifter was still well aware that they were relatively fragile humans with zero technological enhancements like the Corpus or cloned strength like the Grineer. His decrees increasingly synergized with Close Contagion, adding toxin to his long blade such that one strike could poison an entire group. The first time he stabbed one Crewman in the back and the decree Molten Mettle spurted flame across the Crewman’s whole squad, Teshin warned, “Don’t get used to this. In the real world, you’ll have to stick to taking down single targets from the shadows.”

Meanwhile, Dominus’ decrees seemed to understand that his safety lay in speed and good gunplay. He became a Fleet-footed racer. The decree didn't help his trudging climb up the Spiral; during Void Floods, he was the fastest of them all. He continued to pick up Bombastine’s Malice so his headshots wiped out whole squads…on the rare occasions when he steadied himself well enough to aim properly.

Kullervo and Vaenn got even deadlier with each decree. They were simply murderous in melee range, and “melee range” was anywhere the warframe could charge to.

It was impossible to judge time. Each battle was so frenetic it felt longer than it took. It was easier to judge their progess. After a few trips through the void mirrors, they were definitely higher up than before. Dominus no longer complained, not after the Void Flood where he'd seen for himself the clawing fingers that ripped and tore at Duviri's defenses and (more importantly) he'd helped drive them away. Drifter no longer worried that Dominus would lose his cool and backslide down the Spiral. 

That being said, the fervid light that came from making a difference was quickly being replaced by the faltering light of a lamp burning low on oil. At the foot of the next void mirror, Drifter said, “We're taking a break,” sat down, patted the ground next to him, and opened his odd little pack of two child-sized bedrolls, food, and water.

“We should go on.” Dominus argued. “I think I'm finally making a difference.”

“At least sit down to eat.” As he'd guessed, the moment Dominus sat, he pretty much slumped into a puddle of exhausted child. Which Drifter guessed, because frankly, he was only a little better. A chorus of bruises he hadn't known he had and sore muscles he'd known but ignored made themselves known as they ate. It tasted about as good as centuries old, sealed nutricubes should, which was to say that they were hungry and taste didn’t matter.

It wasn't cold in the Spiral, but when they laid down to sleep for a bit, he shrugged off his outer jacket and draped it over Dominus anyway. Then he rolled up the other bedroll and tucked it under his head for a pillow and tried to sleep. 

The exhausted boy dropped off immediately, his breath whistling slightly in his mask. 

Drifter did not sleep. Now that the bodily necessities were taken care of, his mind wanted its turn at dredging up cares and worries that had been pushed aside to deal with the immediate demands of survival. 

Doubt rose up like a specter. It wasn't just the fiery vortex of Lodun's anger that made him tremble, but also Bombastine's sly, twisting words. How long could the Court last before infighting tore them apart? For that matter, since time was non-linear in the Void, by the time he and Dominus reached the top, what sort of Duviri would they walk back into?

He didn't know, closed his eyes, and meditated on the Litany of the Dax. He was a Sun; there was nothing he could do right now. He accepted the lesson that he must keep a reflective mind and trust that things would become clear in time. He thought of clouds drifting across Lua - clouds he'd never seen for himself, though according to Teshin, people lived on Earth now - and eventually slept.

He woke and knew immediately he hadn't slept long enough. Dominus’ soft whistles had turned to sniffling.

A bedroll on rock and a jacket for a blanket were a far cry from a palace bed and sweet lullabies sung by Luscinia. And he didn't remember any lullabies. “I'm no opera singer, but I could try humming some shawzin melodies if it'd help.”

“Sorry,” Dominus mumbled. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“I'm awake now,” he said. “Do you want to talk about what's weighing on you?”

“No.”

“Okay. I'll listen if you change your mind.”

It was harder than he expected to lay there, close his eyes, wait and hope that Dominus would open up rather than isolating himself.

And of course, because Dominus was a form of himself at that age, it didn't take long before he whispered, miserable and teary, “Yes.”

That's when Drifter sat up, held out his arms as his father would have (perhaps had, in a happier eternalistic version of reality that didn't end in murder), and got an armful of desperately unhappy, sobbing teenager. Mask, metal, boy…it didn't matter, because Dominus had had to be the model of self-reliance and self-preservation for so long despite lacking all emotional regulation necessary to do so and now he finally had an adult he trusted.

An adult who he pounded with his little fist and cried to, “You're not going to stay with me every step of the way. You’re going to leave me. All you ever say is how you’re leaving Duviri. Why are you leaving me?”

“I’m sorry,” Drifter murmured back, heartbroken. If it were just as simple as his earlier selfish desire to get out of Duviri and escape his responsibilities here, maybe he could stay. But it wasn’t. There was work to be done outside. Duviri wasn’t safe as long as that Executor was out there. The Tenno weren’t safe. But none of that meant much to a hurting boy who faced losing his father just as he’d found him, any more than it would’ve meant anything to him all those years ago. There were no right words.

“It's not fair!” Dominus sobbed.

“No, it's not. At least my parents didn’t intend to leave me when they died.”

Those weren’t the right words (there were none) but at least Dominus heard the truth of them. That steadied him immensely. “I guess at least I'll get the chance to say goodbye to you.”

Drifter made a weak attempt at a joke. “I killed my father. You could always go for one last death by impalement.”

Dominus giggled hysterically at that. Drifter chuckled right along with him. 

The Dominus that pulled away from their embrace seemed that much more mature than he'd ever been. So much more capable of dealing with a future of inevitable change and loss. “I won't waste this chance I have to prepare to live without you.”

“And how do you want to live without me?” Drifter asked. “My plan was always to take you to Teshin. He's been like a father to me; you'd be a grandson. You'd be safe with him, no matter who's on the throne of Duviri.”

“Is it so terribly selfish of me to say that I still want to be king? The right king, I mean. Not like I was before.” 

Drifter understood that impulse. After all, he'd made Duviri himself. It was a wonderland to a boy who'd felt powerless. “Even with all my power as Duviri’s creator, since I couldn't control myself, my kingdom became my prison.”

Dominus winced. He sat a long time, knees drawn up to his chin, wrestling with his thoughts and regulating his emotions. Eventually, he said, “If Lodun’s the right king, not just the rightful one, then it would be selfish of me to take that from him.”

Oh, he was so damned proud that Envy wasn't going to be such a stumbling block for his son. Maybe they wouldn't share the same damning mistakes or else maybe Dominus had learned something from watching his many many stumbling failures. “I'm proud of you. Teshin would say, “Ambition braces the soul. Envy only embitters it.””

Hopefully, Dominus asked, “Do you think, if I surrender properly this time, Lodun might take me on as a squire? I could learn from him. He could keep an eye on me.”

“Maybe.” He'd hope that the Anger Spiral wasn't a sign of bad things to come. He'd just have to hope.

“I'd have to earn it, though.” Dominus said, bracing himself for the task ahead. “Like I made you earn the title of Party Planner.” The way he said it, it wasn’t a joke. “I'd have to become a whole person. I'd have to control my emotions.”

Drifter hugged him. “Ambition braces the soul.”

They sat together for a long time, just resting, until they agreed it was time to eat something and go through the portal, onward and upward. As they ate, something caught their eye. A light, sparkling high above them along the Spiral, as if a single twinkling star had pierced the gloom of the Void-dark sky.

“Do you see that?” Dominus asked. “It’s like the light from Watcher's Isle.”

“That's Garmi’s beacon, guiding us home.”

With renewed hope and purpose, they climbed and fought. Dominus was particularly fervent about Void Floods; nothing would break through to Duviri on his watch. Especially not after Teshin ran through his usual spiel, “Undo what the void angels’ claws have done, or Duviri may fall to something worse even than Thrax,” and then awkwardly fell silent like he hadn't meant to say that.

Dominus, who was about to sprint off to gather vitoplast, paused, squinted up to the sky, and asked, “Excuse me?”

Drifter said, “I mean, you do know why Acrithis doesn't like you, right?”

“I exiled her favorite island?” Dominus hazarded a guess. Then he sighed. “Huh. I guess my track record of protecting Duviri is actually pretty shitty, isn't it.”

Yes. 

“All those islands in the Wall…all those people who believed in my unquestionable benevolence…they all paid me tribute. I should have done better by them.”

The yoke of a guilty conscience was a crushing burden. Drifter reminded himself that his attitude was contagious. “Guilt reminds us that we've fallen short of our own standards. What should the right king - or Lodun's squire - do now?”

Dominus held up his vitoplast container. “I guess I make sure something worse than the old me can't get in.”

Together they sealed the breaches. Before Teshin sent them back out into the Spiral, he said, “Duviri's defenses were always weakest here. Today, you held fast. Well done!”

Onward and upward, they climbed.

Soon they were close enough to Duviri that they could see the beacon. It hung out in space where they couldn't reach it, save through the void mirror that was aligned with it.

“Once more?”

“Let's go!”

They jumped through. Kullervo greeted them on an island that was different from the rest. It was a pastoral scene straight out of Duviri complete with tamms gamboling across the hills, arches, and meadows. Hay bales and Zariman crates made circular “pens.” Granaries and windmills completed the picture of rich pastures and fertile fields.

Despite Dominus’ previous disdain for dungshovelers, he ran up to the first tamm he saw. “Hey, little fellow, did you wander through a void mirror on the mainland and end up down here? The Undercroft is no place for a tamm like you. Hey, when we get out, we can take all of you back home!”

“Spoken like a king who’s never herded a tamm in his life,” Drifter said, smiling. 

“It can't be that hard. Barris does it everyday. You just kinda run at them, right?”

“Sure.” Even though it was the chaotic Undercroft, it was nice to think that they'd hit on a peaceful spot of Dominus’ subconscious that really just wanted to wile away the hours herding tamms. A day’s hard work would do the kid some good. He plopped down on a haybale. “Think of this as another Conclave lesson: a chance to try, fail, and adjust your tactics, but without the pressure of life or death combat.”

“You're kidding me.”

In his best imitation of Teshin, Drifter intoned, “The Conclave is a harsh master: you may yet find a stubborn tamm a tougher opponent than an Orowyrm.”

Dominus shook his head, but went after the tamms anyway. He'd actually managed to get his first one into the pen with a fair amount of shouting, waving his arms, and a few curses when they both heard a whistling sound.

“What's that?” Dominus asked.

It got louder. A light streaked toward them from the Void sky like a shooting star. Drifter sprang off the hay bale. “Nothing good, I'd guess.”

The thing that landed in the pen was nothing from Duviri. A thing of Corrupted metal, four-legged like a beast, but made of metal and lights like a robot. It smashed the tamm flat with one stomp, and by the time it turned its mounted guns on the two of them, he'd grabbed Dominus off his feet and dragged him behind those crates and out of sight before the boy had a chance to complain about the rough handling.

Complain he did, in tiny terrified whispers. 

“Hush,” Drifter whispered back. “Self-control.”

As it began to stomp around with a heavy tread that emphasized just how big it actually was, Dominus' eyes slid closed in terror. 

Holding onto his hand, Drifter peeked out around the crate. The thing marched away from them and took up a patrol route. It was heavily armored with plates on its body, twin mounted miniguns flanking its tiny “head” like tusks, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the plates on its shoulders were retractable. Probably hiding more guns. His decrees were built towards backstabbing, Dominus’ towards head-shots, and Kullervo's towards melee. They had nothing useful against a robot twice as tall as he was. If not for a lot of practice, he'd also be in the grip of knee-shaking fear. “Teshin, what is it?”

“The Jackal,” Teshin answered, sounding as though he too had a hard time believing his eyes. “How…I don’t know. What…it's a machine. A mere envoy for the Corpus.”

“Aren't the Corpus just a cult that worships Profit?”

Despite the danger, Teshin snorted. Drifter took comfort from that; as long as they could crack jokes, it couldn't be that bad.

Dominus demanded, “Wait. It’s from your world?!”

Again, Drifter took a strange heartening comfort from that. An outraged Dominus would be just fine.

Teshin said, “Both the Grineer and Corpus of my time sought to explore and exploit the Void for their own ends. I don't know if they intended to find Duviri, or how this found its way into the Undercroft, but it certainly has.”

A fire seemed to spark in Dominus’ eyes. “No one gets to exploit Duviri.”

Drifter asked, “No one except you?

It was quick - the moment of self-reflection, shame, and then self-regulation. “Not even me.”

This might be the last thing he said to Dominus if this Jackal killed him. “I'm so proud of you. Now go find your decrees.”

As Dominus dashed off to find the only thing that could give them an edge over the Jackal, he and Kullervo listened to Teshin’s advice: “A warrior must strike where the foe’s armor is weakest. The Jackal’s body is well armored. The legs, less so.”

The Azothane and Vaenn were both two handed swords given to heavy, slashing blows. When the Jackal was facing away, they attacked together. 

Drifter ran between its legs. If it turned out that it could slam its body straight downward, he'd be squished flat. It was still the less dangerous position compared to Kullervo’s, who jumped, rolled, dodged, and bullet jumped around the absolute hose of bullets that streamed from its miniguns as it stomped and spun after him.

While Kullervo led the Jackal in a circle, Drifter kept pace underneath, cutting through the weaker armor and slicing through servos and wires underneath. It wasn't actually a beast that he could hamstring. The analogy was close enough, as he cut through electronics and tubes that sprayed coolant fluid.

The Jackal's legs could no longer bear its weight. Instead of collapsing, anti-grav units lifted it up in the air. 

“Be prepared to move,” Teshin warned.

A cross section of four walls of laser light spread out from the Jackal's midsection. 

Like a warframe, the Jackal had limited self-repair capabilities. But unlike the warframes, it first intended to clear the battlefield before it repaired itself. Drifter told Kullervo, ”As long as we stay calm and move with the walls, we'll stay undetected.”

And so it proved. Satisfied that nothing had tripped its lasers, the Jackal dropped to the ground and started to repair.

In that moment, Kullervo struck with yet another dagger. This slim blade extended from inside his wrist, settled into his hand like it belonged there, and then he stabbed it deep inside the Jackal. Armor plating buckled, electronics sparked, and more importantly, some of the Void corruption on the Jackal’s carapace peeled away. Kullervo sprang free from the collapsing carcass. 

Just when Drifter relaxed, however, the Jackal shook, shuddered, stood upright, and let out a claxon cry. 

Across the echoing hills and valleys, more Corrupted Crewmen appeared in answer as they swarmed through whatever hole let the Jackal into Duviri in the first place.

For the first time, Drifter panicked. He'd sent Dominus off alone, thinking they only faced the one foe. His mistake had sent the boy right into hordes.

“Dominus!” He shouted.

Sirocco's shots started flying from another shepherd's camp. They flew wide and not at all on target, a sure sign that his panic was contagious.

Drifter abandoned his cover and ran down the slope towards the camp, hearing but not fully registering the whining wind-up of the Jackal's miniguns until they started firing at his heels. All that mattered was Dominus, who was cornered in the camp as Crewmen rushed towards him in a closely packed squad. 

Dominus wasn't even running away. He'd hidden behind a haybale, which wasn't going to do shit against their bullets.

Then Dominus braced Sirocco on the top of the haybale and aimed. The lead Crewman's helmet blew apart. A moment later, as Bombastine's Malice spread, the rest of the squad dropped to the ground as toxic gas spewed out of their helmet seals.

Then Drifter threw himself behind cover, because those minigun bullets were really too close for comfort. 

Then Kullervo cleared the whole way with a single charge that ended in a bisected Arson Eximus. 

Once its reinforcements were all dead, Jackal jumped high up in the air and landed in the shepherd's camp. It's new patrol was purposeful. Looking for someone. Looking for Dominus.

Fortunately, Teshin said, “It's just a robot, not a student of the Conclave. The same distraction will work twice.”

So Kullervo led it in a merry dance while Drifter hacked and slashed until it entered its repair sequence.

Unfortunately, this time Drifter stumbled over the dead bodies. The laser wall hit him like an electric shock, even worse than a Shock Eximus. Then the walls flashed red and he saw white.

When he came to, he bounced on Kullervo's shoulder as the warframe hauled him to safety. Dominus was tucked under Kullervo's other arm and not complaining at all. Before they all hid under a rocky outcropping, he saw why the warframe warrior decided that discretion was the better part of valor. 

The Jackal's shoulder plates flared open like a lion's mane, revealing boxy protrusions that - if he correctly identified them from other Corpus style weapons lent to him by the Tenno - were actually a pair of missile launchers. Rockets burst from its shoulders in a cloud of sparks and smoke. They arced high and hissed down before exploding in thunder that rivaled a meteor.

When the thunder ended, it let out another claxon cry.

Reinforcements would be here any moment. Drifter asked Teshin, “How many more times do we have to stab it?”

“Judging by the internal damage and void corruption, once more should do it.”

He sighed. Even Teshin sounded worried. This sort of foe was for warframes and warframe weighted weaponry, not his dulled Azothane and battered human eardrums.

“I think I understand it now,” Dominus said.

“What?”

All his nerves melted away. If anything, he’d settled himself down from his panic with no help from Drifter. He answered, “The calm of the true warrior. It doesn’t matter whether it's a tamm or the Jackal, we have to stay calm and make a plan or we’re bound to fail.”

“Well said!” Teshin complimented.

Sounding more like a king than he had for a long time, Dominus said, “I’m pretty sure I know which decrees we're going to get. So here's the plan. Kullervo, injure those eximus, but do not kill them. Drifter, help me get the last decree.”

Kullervo did so in a whirl of daggers that, as promised, wounded but did not kill the onrushing enemies.

Meanwhile, Drifter and Dominus rushed to the final decree at a granary. He boosted Dominus up to the railing to grab it. They glowed. 

“Yes!” Dominus cheered. “I guessed right. You can take revenge for that poor tamm!”

As Dominus decreed, Tamm's Fortune would increase Drifter's armor after he backstabbed an enemy. And thanks to Dominus’ keen intuition, there were a lot of wounded, weakened Grineer and Corpus littered around the Jackal's stomping ground.

“Let’s finish this.”

Dominus waved his hands in the air, catching the Jackal’s attention. “Hey, when I roll, you can’t hurt me! It's called “Tactical Repositioning.”” Between him and Kullervo, they led the Jackal around by the nose, even if he did look a little like a court jester doing it.

Drifter stayed calm, trusting that his fleet-footed son was likewise calm despite the danger. He mercilessly slit a Grineer’s throat. At least there was no consciousness left in the cloned man’s eyes, which had long ago been blotted out by void-light. 

Fire and flame spread throughout the downed reinforcements in an instant as if struck by a bomb. They burned like human torches and turned to ash.

His new decree turned his Zariman suit as hard as tamm horns with all the flexibility of a warframe’s sword-steel skin. He could not ask for a better suit of armor. The Jackal turned its miniguns on him and none of that mattered because thanks to Tamm's Fortune, he had ten seconds to hack those damaged legs apart.

Then the three of them calmly, carefully stayed between the laser walls.

Once it started its final repair sequence, Kullervo charged, stabbed, and it was all over. The Jackal fell and did not get back up.

Drifter pretty much collapsed on the grass out of sheer relief. Dominus trudged up and flopped beside him. Kullervo knelt down next to them. 

Garmi's beacon twinkled invitingly, but right now Drifter just wanted to lie in good Duviri grass and sleep. He did manage to say, “Thanks, Kullervo. Couldn't have made it without you.”

Kullervo sent back the feeling that although he could have battled alone, after so long in solitude, he was grateful for their company.

“You too, Dominus. You did good.”

Dominus said proudly, “Yeah, I did find the calm of a true warrior.” Then he asked, “So, uh, after we herd up the surviving tamms and take them back to Duviri, what happens next?”

Drifter bit back a groan. He'd forgotten about the damned tamms. The explosions sent the beasts scurrying across hill and dale. It'd take hours to round them all up… Okay, that was ungrateful after their fortune had saved his life. He'd better return the favor. “Well, the good news is that you taking up the peaceful life of a tammherder is the last thing King Lodun will expect. He might just let you do it. If not, I’ll take you to Teshin like we planned.”

“We must warn Lodun about the Jackal,” Dominus agreed solemnly. “Protecting Duviri is more important than my pride. Maybe once I’ve earned his trust, he’ll let me help Teshin manage the Undercroft.”

He’d grown a lot from the boy-king who’d thrown a tantrum because he feared the Court taking over that duty to protect the land from all that dwelled in the Void.

And from the way Dominus went quiet, it seemed he’d realized that too. “This is what you felt, isn’t it? The guilt of responsibility. That you should’ve done better, been better, and then maybe those you were leaving behind wouldn’t have to deal with the shitty hand you dealt them, right?”

Though they were talking about Drifter, he knew Dominus was applying it to himself. “Yeah, pretty much,” he admitted. “You know what it's like to deal with the shitty hand I left you when I dumped my responsibilities on your lap and ran off to play as Loneryder. And again when I decided to leave Duviri. I won't claim that you were the reason I decided to stay long enough to fix up Duviri, but you've made me very glad I did.”

Dominus replied, “If you can become a whole person, so can I.”

“That’s the spirit.”

If Mathila could see him and Dominus running over pasture and slope herding up tamms, she’d smile with joy. If Sythel saw a whole herd spilling out of a void mirror over Garmi’s grave, no doubt she’d rub her eyes, and then call Acrithis to witness the strange event with her. 

However, when the last tamm was through, and he and Dominus held hands and stepped through to Duviri and whatever welcoming party awaited them, Kullervo came up behind them and gave them a powerful shove. 

They fell through the portal, past the beacon, and sprawled onto ashen ground.

Chapter Text

Drifter stared at the ashen soil of Kullervo's Hold for longer than it should have taken him to realize that, instead of arriving at Garmi's graveside as he'd expected, they were back on the prison island he'd just left. His previous exploring meant he oriented himself immediately: they were on the uppermost courtyard, well away from the hall where the Warden lurked. The full sweep of Duviri was visible through veils of ash from Lodun's spired palace to the Citadel undergoing repairs. None of that answered the question: Why? Why Kullervo's Hold? 

With no kaithes.

With no boats.

They were trapped, in the hard light of an Anger Spiral. 

“What the hell?!” Dominus shouted at Kullervo. “You worthless traitor!”

Drifter took a deep breath. Then another. None of them did well in prison, so surely Kullervo had something else in mind? Surely. He dusted himself off and encouraged Dominus, “Remember the Spiral.”

Fists clenched, Dominus nevertheless stopped, and thought about the crimson sky. “It's an Anger Spiral. I'm always quick to turn on my allies.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I'm thinking about me and not about if they had a good reason for what they did to me.” He rounded on Kullervo. “Explain yourself.”

Kullervo pointed to the south, towards the Netherbarrow slopes, towards Garmi’s grave.

Dreading what he'd see, Drifter waited for the hot wind to clear away the ash clouds. There was the broad slope of the southernmost island and, there, the graveyard. Which held a building it hadn't before: a hastily erected building over Garmi's grave about the size of a single prison cell. “A trap.” He said, appalled.

“Oh.” Quietly, Dominus said, “I'm sorry, Kullervo. You did well to save us. More than that, after everything you did for us in the Undercroft, you deserved better than my instant distrust.”

Drifter, meanwhile, wrestled with his own Anger Spiral. Turn against his allies, did he? Yeah, well, he had ample cause. They'd turned on him first!

Who else knew that Drifter intended to use Garmi's Lanthorn to find their way back into Duviri? Why, none other than the woman who'd been there when Drifter brought it out from the void-ridden halls of the Zariman. The same woman who’d made her opinion of his quest to save Dominus crystal clear: Acrithis.

Even Teshin warned that she was trouble. He should’ve listened. By hook or by crook, she’d made sure that if Dominus made it back to Duviri, he'd be right under the king's thumb.

Not that Lodun was off the hook. Oh, no, not at all. That prison wasn’t built without the king’s blessing. Rather than trusting Drifter to keep his word, Lodun relied on the iron fist of his Dax rather than the rightness of his rule to keep Dominus down.

Even Mathila had to sign off on the plan. Maybe she'd told herself it was for their own good. Or maybe she just looked the other way as her husband's grave became a trap and pretended not to understand the unhappy consequences. If not for Kullervo's timely shove, he and Dominus would be locked up until such time as Lodun and his Court saw fit to deal with them. Was there no one he could trust? 

He growled, “What a load of hypocrites you are!”

“What was that about turning against your allies?” Dominus asked snidely.

Only then did Drifter realize he was clenching his fists too. Relaxing them took conscious effort. “I…okay, you have a point.” So instead of ranting, he explained what he suspected of the plot against them.

Dominus sighed the exasperated sigh of a teenager certain that, between him and the adults, he was the more mature one. “So, in short, while you ran around my back preparing to leave Duviri as a story book kingdom under Lodun's rule so you could run off to your death in the real world, it turns out that actually Lodun is still furious, Acrithis is still a schemer, and they're vandalizing graves. Oh, and the Undercroft is still a mess and the Wall has been absorbing the lost islands. That sound about right?” 

Drifter couldn't even deny it, since Dominus had Sythel's hair-trigger bullshit meter for lies. “Well, I'd hoped…”

“You'd hoped that Lodun would be Calm Incarnate once he finally got what he wanted, instead of angry that he was king and still powerless to change everything he wanted to?” His sarcasm could scorch as hot as any fire.

“Yes. I hoped.”

“A fool's hope.” Dominus retorted. “I was the better king.”

Bullshit. “Shall we ask the people of Duviri? What about everyone who got exiled to the Wall?”

Dominus kicked a rock over the edge. It fell without striking anything on its long way down.

Unkindly, Drifter observed, “One more rock for the Wall.”

“You're the one who started this coup. If you hadn't taught my courtiers to work together, they never would've overthrown me and we wouldn't be in this shitty situation in the first place!”

“Ah, yes, and His Majesty Dominus Thrax refusing to work with his court every single time they offered had nothing to do with our current situation either!”

They glared at each other and then, by mutual agreement, walked a little ways apart. By now, they knew their own bad habits too well to say something that would burn one of the few bridges they had left between them. Dominus occasionally picked up rocks as though to hurl them over, then thought better of it. 

Drifter knelt down on the ashy ground to meditate over the Litany of the Dax and the Archarbor's admonitions. He faced what he felt and named it squarely: he wanted revenge. And he knew that was foolish. Maybe the Courtiers weren't the only ones struggling to recall lessons he'd thought they'd learned. As much as he wanted to march right back to the Zariman and give Acrithis a piece of his mind (and maybe even find Cephalon Melica, inform her of the forgery, and ensure that Acrithis was cut off from the Zariman's archives for good), that was just cutting off his nose to spite his face. His long-term goal was to make Duviri a safe place for Dominus too, which would hardly be served by holding grudges or worse, scorched earth revenge.

For that matter, snapping back at Dominus hadn’t helped either. Sure, what he’d said was true. But he knew all too well that nothing was so crushing as unkind truths repeated by one’s own guilty conscience. He must apologize.

Dominus’ shoulders were weighed down as he paced around Kullervo's former prison. Despite his lack of emotional regulation, despite his constant backsliding down the Spiral, despite everything, Dominus Thrax still felt the yoke of responsibility and guilt. Of course he did; he was his son. Of course he did; that's what it meant to be the right king.

Drifter walked alongside him. “I'm sorry. Guilt is useful because it shows where we’ve fallen short of our own standards. But we cannot let it become pathos clamps that chain us to our bad habits.”

Dominus accepted the offered hug, then muttered, “Hugs aren’t going to solve everything.”

“Of course not. But properly solving things one step at a time might take us a little more thought and effort this time. Teshin would say that I'm very prone to “acting without reflection,” you know.”

Dominus laughed. “Yeah, I'll say.”

“Peas in a filo pod, eh?”

“I have no idea what that means, but sure.”

“It means we're not so different after all.”

The boy who'd once hurled it back in his face that they were nothing alike, nodded. “I see that now. I…I think maybe I need a little more practice with regulating my anger before we try the mainland.”

“You're not the only one,” Drifter said ruefully. “Let's go see if the kids left any supplies down in the caves. Unless something comes up, we'll rest tonight and make a plan in the morning.”

Kullervo left them to resume his patrol of the island. Since the tamms happily spread out over the new island, they left them to crop at the scrubby ash grass and climbed into the cave network.

They found Koral and the girl who'd led the children down amidst the remains of their spectacular party. The girl hopped off her crate and barrel "throne” and stuck her hand out to Dominus. “Hey, new kid. I'm Vaenn.”

“Dominus Thrax.” He replied proudly. As that echoed around the little cave, he reconsidered, and shook her offered hand. “Uh, just Dominus.”

“Well, welcome to our humble home. We've even got some wine!”

Dominus eagerly followed her over to a wine cask. To be honest, Drifter wouldn't mind a bit either…

Koral said, “Wait! I need your help. Outlaw, the Void is worse than ever.”

Dominus made a scornful noise, as though to say, “See what mess Lodun's made of MY kindgom?” Then he asked her, “What's happening with the Void?”

“It's tormenting our animal friends.” 

They followed her outside and down the aggristone that coiled around the prison tower. The tamms were already exploring. Most of them had the good sense their creator gave them to not go plunging over the island's side to find out if the grass was greener on the other side of the Wall.

Most of them. One had gotten close. It stood stock still on an aggristone ridge. Head down, it lowed in a deep, trembling moan.

Drifter closed his eyes. As real as life, he pictured his dream after saving the void-riddled kexat. He stumbled to the top of Custos Arch against his will, driven forward by the void-coils crawling under his skin, and then he plunged. This time, instead of an endless abyss and an eternal fall, the mists parted. A Wall of Bone waited to receive him.

“Look!” Dominus shouted.

Drifter came back to himself with a shudder.

Dominus stood fearless on the aggristone ridge, pointing downward to the black maelstrom clouds that churned below Duviri during Anger Spirals. Every so often, lightning flashed in the clouds, revealing wisps of the Void's coils reaching up and out of the clouds towards the land above. “That never happened while I was king,” he said, but his voice trembled. 

“Get down from there,” Drifter advised. 

Dominus didn't argue, just nudged the trembling tamm ahead of him until both were down safely.

Koral petted the tamm as she told them her story. After Drifter flew off to the coronation, she and Barris waited several days for Kaithe to take him home, but no matter how long they waited or how he called, Kaithe never came. So they flew a boat back home to Mathila's farm instead. But as they flew, she saw more and more sickened animals. “When we got home, Brimon told Barris that all kaithes were banished because of Drifter.”

“What?” Dominus asked. Then he looked between Drifter and Netherbarrow, and said, “Oh.” He settled down next to Drifter and asked, “Actually, it was because of me, wasn't it?”

Drifter set aside his guilt at how rejected Barris must have felt to comfort the boy with him right now. “I don't regret any of it. Not flying out after you or climbing the long way back up either.”

Dominus squeezed his hand as they listened to what came next: the herds sickened. 

There were too many ill for her to treat by herself. Sythel came to consult and all but fled the hamlet in terror, saying that only the King's touch could save them. 

They had only to look at the sky to know that Lodun didn't have full control over his own emotions, and thus, he'd been powerless to defend Duviri's animals against the Void's grasp.

So Koral took it on her own slim shoulders to look for her Outlaw friend. “I asked Sol where he'd last seen you. He led me back here and Kullervo to a void mirror, where we saw you climbing.”

“I'll have to thank Sol when I see him,” he said. Then a dreadful thought seized him. “Where is Sol?”

Miserably, she said, “He-” and she waved to the flashes of void.

Not his Sol. Surely not.

Koral's wide, wet eyes said otherwise.

“Where'd he go?”

She didn't know. Of course she didn't. It'd been nearly two weeks since the coronation. Days of anxious waiting by the void mirror that Kullervo vanished into. Days of anxious watching as the Void seeped nearer and nearer. 

Where would Sol go, when he couldn't find Drifter and the Void coiled its way around his tender heart and infected his tiny body? 

“Is there a Komi board around?”

“Oh, of course!” Koral exclaimed. “I think there's one nearby.”

Sol sat at a board on a balcony overlooking the arena, a picturesque view from which Komi players could contemplate their views as though capturing the Black Moons and White Suns mirrored the slaughter below. Sol wasn't focused on his next moves, or some grand strategy that would end in Drifter's miserable rout. He twitched painfully and shuddered. His ears were laid back tight against his back. His eyes were wild, rolling at the slightest noise and especially at their scraping footsteps.

Drifter ached to hold that small, void-riddled body, to draw out its coils, and heal him. 

Koral produced the Orvius that Sol usually carried from her pack. “Will this help, Outlaw?”

“Maybe.” He had no doubt that if he tried to grab Sol, his panicked pet would kill him without ever knowing who he was just as violently as it once had Denphius Dax.

But this was Sol. He couldn't just walk away.

Dominus said, “It's just a rablit.”

He glared. 

Dominus flinched as though he'd struck him.

He turned back to Sol. The greatest danger was that Sol would leap into the Void. The next, that he'd lash back at Drifter. He'd used the Orvius before against the Orowyrms, but there the only penalty for a missed throw was that he'd fall to his death. That was easy for a man who'd died thousands of times. This, where another's life depended on the perfect throw, was the hardest it'd ever been.

He hurled the Orvius. It struck Sol, sank its hook into that tiny body, and bowled the rablit over the edge. 

He hoped. A moment later the Orvius flew back to him, paying out its line. 

Sol dangled, kicking and fighting with all he had. The line tangled around his antlers and paws, ensuring that he couldn’t break free. Once Drifter hauled him up to the balcony floor, he lay there whimpering while the Void's coils rose out of him like a nest of angry snakes.

“Sol, it's me. Drifter. You know me-” he coaxed while holding the line taut so Sol could neither flee nor kick.

The Void lashed at his hand. Those rolling eyes didn't know him from a kexat or a krubie. There wasn't even a spark of recognition. Nothing to hint that Sol had been at his side nearly as long as Kaithe, that he got his name from a boy who longed for the purifying light of the Sun he'd left behind, or that he'd been such a comfort through dark nights for a man who knew he'd wake up in the morning to die.

“It's just a rablit,” Dominus said again.

Drifter turned on him, despite the Anger Spiral, ready to unload quite a bit of the despair that filled his heart and rose up in his choked throat like acid. 

Dominus froze again, hand half-outstretched as though to comfort him.

“I know that,” Drifter said tightly. 

Dominus pouted. “Why are you doing this?”

With that pouting question, he reminded Drifter of something he'd asked so long ago while he went on his rampage to save Teshin. As he slaughtered the Dax sent to stop him, Thrax cried out, “Why are you doing this? You never cared this much for me…”

Drifter banked his anger as though it was hot coals. Just because he felt powerless to save Sol, that was no excuse for flaming hot against a boy who didn't understand because no one cared enough to teach him. “I know he's “just” my pet rablit. The same way that you're “just” a peasant boy now. I still went after you, rather than lose you to the Void.”

It was perhaps the first time that anyone had ever told Dominus that he had more value, not less. Some of the anger left him. 

Drifter sighed, breathing out the last of his own anger. Such a sad boy, envious over never getting his share of love, believing himself powerless to earn it, and thus so quick to anger. “When I'm not holding down the most bad-tempered rablit you ever set eyes on, I'd like to give you a proper hug.”

Koral plopped down next to Dominus and hugged him. “You looked like you needed it.”

Dominus definitely never considered that someone else thought he was more worthy of comfort than her animal friends, not less. Hesitantly, he hugged her back. Even more hesitantly, he suggested, “I think Sol is more scared of you right now than he is of me. I mean, we used to play Komi too. A long time ago. So maybe I could reach him from the other side while you distract him?”

“Be careful,” Drifter warned. He distracted the hissing ‘snakes.’

Dominus reached in from the opposite side. “Hey, Sol. I don’t know if you remember me. We used to play Komi, way back before I started resetting the Spirals every day. I wasn’t very good. But I never flipped the board. I was too scared of you to try it.” He got a finger on Sol before the Void snapped out at him. “Ow! Shit.”

Drifter reminded him as Teshin would’ve: “If that didn’t work, the Conclave teaches us to try something different.”

“That’s great. I’m all out of ideas.”

“The Void responds to emotions. Control yourself and you can control it. To an extent. It's not a tame thing.”

The Void wasn't a tame thing and neither was Sol. 

But Sol was still a rablit who'd known nothing but love and care from Teshin, and who'd given warmth and comfort to a scared boy who'd become a deeply traumatized man. 

Dominus was a new hand, but he was still a boy, gentle and afraid and in need of comfort. So as Dominus cradled him close and began to draw out the Void's coils like so many parasitic worms into a mass that was seemingly bigger than Sol, Sol cuddled against him for comfort and to give comfort in turn. 

Drifter carefully untangled the Orvius’ hook and line, and then just rested his hand on Dominus’ back. Gently, he asked, “Why are you doing this? He's just a rablit.”

Dominus cuddled Sol until the brightness came back into his eyes. Sol rubbed his small nose against the boy's mask. “Because even though he's just a rablit, he's still worth it.” 

Drifter murmured, “And even though you're just a boy, you're worth it to me.”

Koral sat on Dominus’ other side and chattered about how carefree life would be if only they were tamms. All the while she keenly watched their every move as though memorizing how she could take her deep and abiding compassion for her animal friends and use it to free them from the void's grip. “If you two are not rushing off to your next great adventure, I should dearly like to check on the rest of the tamms. Perhaps I can even practice what you've shown me!”

Dominus turned to him hopefully.

Amused, Drifter gave permission. “Sure, go ahead and leave me to my fate,” as he sat down at the Komi board.

Sol scampered up to the other side and wrinkled his nose at Drifter's first move. 

“See? I'm about to get royally trounced and I've only just started playing.”

By the time that “best two out three” turned into “best three out of five?” was headed for Drifter's third straight humiliating loss, he heard children shouting and the crunch of footsteps on gravel and ash.

“Kullervo, Kullervo!”

The Warden was still the very image of an Orokin Executor, except that Drifter was certain that Executors were never driven from their high thrones by a few rock-throwing, taunting children. Nor did Executors go looking for An Adult to rein them in or sullenly ask. “Are these brats yours?”

Drifter rose. “What's it to you?”

“Get them off my island.”

“You don't have the authority,” Drifter rebuked him. “This is Kullervo's Hold and he alone decides who belongs on his island.”

The Warden clenched his fists.

Dominus, Koral, and Vaenn laughed at the Warden's stiff back all the way to his lonely seat.

When they climbed back down, Dominus admitted, “He has a point, though. I mean, I guess I’d be safe enough to stay here with Kullervo to protect me from Lodun, tamm herding to keep me busy all day, and Komi games with Sol to pass my nights. But we’ll have to leave the island if we’re to warn Lodun about the Jackal. He needs to know.”

“No kaithes,” Drifter reminded him. “We’ll have to attract someone’s attention and hope they fly a boat over.”

Koral agreed to watch over Sol for a night before making her way back to the mainland. Then they climbed up to the dock while Drifter talked through the next steps. “We'll have to bargain for passage back to the mainland. Getting back to the Zariman from Duviri may be even harder. It's been nearly two weeks since we left, so if Teshin sets out his beacon, at least we can go through the Undercroft.

“Assuming Acrithis doesn’t sabotage that too,” Dominus said, sourly. 

“She doesn’t know about it. Because Teshin is a lot cannier than I am.”

“That isn't hard.” Dominus said, but he sounded like he was teasing. Then he pointed. “Look, a boat!”

Indeed, someone had cast off from the docks, and not the two boatmen. Once again, they shook their fists at the children who’d stolen their boat, the twins Garmi Jr. and Mathila II.

The twins landed at Kullervo’s Hold. 

“Drifter?” Mathila II asked.

“Thrax,” Garmi Jr. spat.

Drifter had a bad feeling about this. “Are you two safe? Why’d you come back to Kullervo’s Hold?”

“Mom's gone mad,” Mathila II said.

Garmi Jr. said, “Brimon sent us here for our own safety.”

Not even two weeks. Lodun still had not mastered his anger, Acrithis tried to trap them, and now Mathila had gone mad. And Drifter couldn't blame her. Who could look on this mess they'd all made of Duviri and feel happy?

Then Dominus said, “So, she's her usual self?”

Garmi Jr. punched him on the mask. His small ceramic fist changed off metal. Both boys fell to the ground and burst into tears.

Chapter Text

Once both boys’ tears subsided into sniffling, Dominus’ mumbled apology made it clear that he'd been trying, in his own insensitive way, to ask if Mathila was okay. “What happened?”

“Why do you care?” Garmi Jr. snapped back.

“She always tried to help me be happy,” he answered miserably.

“Fat load of good that did her,” Mathila II said. “I can't believe we spent the Jubilee singing your praises. You weren't a very good king.”

“Oh, like Lodun's any better?” He demanded, outraged. “Why, I ought to march right back to Castle Town and-”

Drifter facepalmed. “Kids, no fighting-” 

As he spoke, a bitter wind swept past him. A cold wind - except it wasn't actually that cold, just in comparison to the hot air of Anger. Clouds billowed up in the sky, then sank, leaving long trails like silken cocoons dropping from a cave ceiling. The clouds had a distinctly greenish tinge. “Oh, shit.”

Three heads turned to him. 

“Ha ha, Drifter swore.”

“Mom won't let us swear anymore.”

“Get back on the boat,” he ordered. That bitter scent on the wind heralded rising Envy. For all Lodun's faults, he'd never wanted what didn't rightfully belong to him. Which meant that Bombastine was making his move on the throne. “It's about to become an Envy Spiral.”

“The king is dethroned.”

“Long live the new king.”

Stricken, Dominus asked, “Surely he wouldn't turn on Lodun?!” as though not a few seconds ago he hadn't been happily thinking about the same thing.

“I don't know,” Drifter said sharply, “But if we don't leave now, once those eyes appear in the sky, we won't be able to go back and help Mathila without getting caught.”

They rushed back onto the boat. He pushed them free of the island and took the rudder while the twins manned the sail. Envy's gusts sent them on their way back to the mainland. Dominus huddled in the bow, feeling sorry for himself. Whenever he tried to help, the twins rebuffed him with hard shoves. 

Fighting children on a small cockleshell of a boat flying above the abyss while Drifter still couldn't summon Kaithe? A disaster waiting to happen. “No fighting, kids. Save that for solid ground.”

Garmi Jr. shoved one last time, overbalanced, and fell towards the side of the boat, windmilling his arms. 

Mathila II shrieked and grabbed her brother. 

The whole boat tilted. Drifter had no choice but to step to the uppermost side, or else they would all spill out.

Dominus grabbed Mathila II’s hand, and then helped her haul Garmi Jr. back to safety. The whole boat rocked and rocked. They huddled together until it rebalanced. 

Once Drifter’s heart sank back out of his throat and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to get launched, he said, “Void travel is safe as long as we control our emotions, kids.” It was a relatively short flight back. It felt like an eternity full of gusts and turbulence as hot gusts of anger met with cooler bursts of envy. He was pretty sure that Dominus learned more about emotional regulation in those ten minutes than he had during the entire Circuit, because every single time any of them got upset or didn't work together, the boat immediately rocked.

When they landed, the boatmen grabbed their billhooks and taught him a few new curses.

“That's a good one,” Garmi Jr. said appreciatively.

“Oh, for Void's sake,” Dominus said, after a particularly colorful description of what Drifter ought to do with himself.

When they were done venting, Drifter said, “As long as you don't harm the children, Kullervo's Hold should be a safe place to wait out the new king’s reign.”

The boatmen shut up, eyeing the sky.

Envy definitely won the struggle. Poison green clouds covered the sky like a veil. Once that veil pulled back, green staring eyes would see everything that moved on the surface or in the air of Duviri. “Gentlemen, I won't keep you any longer. I have children to get to safety.”

They got out of his way.

They were in the shadow of the Citadel. If Lodun had been king, Drifter would've surrendered there to the first Dax patrol and been confident in getting a fair hearing. With Bombastine on the throne, he hustled the kids off the roads and through the rough country, sticking to the valleys and creek beds that crossed between the hamlets and villages. While Drifter might not remember most things from his spirals, he did remember the lay of the land like the back of his hand. It was still tough going and cost them precious time while the eyes were still covered.

“Why?” Dominus complained, as he trudged through knee deep water.

“Why not?” Mathila II splashed him.

Drifter said, “Envy Spirals were the most dangerous for me. Everyone else had a goal. Bombastine just wouldn't be satisfied until everything belonged to him. He'd dare anything, try everything. And those eyes in the sky saw my every move.”

“Then shouldn't we be under cover?”

“We're almost to a cave.”

“We know all about the caves,” Mathila II volunteered.

Garmi Jr. said, “Sis, don't tell them-”

Drifter got them into a cave. He pretended he didn't see the Vagabond sitting on top of the cave mouth, watching him.

Inside, Garmi Jr. and Mathila II started up a whispered debate. Dominus stood under the cave opening, looking up at the sky. 

Drifter went to pull him back inside. “You'd be surprised at what those eyes can see.”

The veil of clouds shredded. A eye, green and hazel, shot through with flecks of gold, appeared from behind it. Naked and hungry, it shone greedily down on the land. 

Dominus retreated. “You would know.”

“I died quicker on Envy Spirals than any other.”

Then, quieter, Dominus said, “I'm sorry.”

Drifter squeezed his shoulders. “I'm not saying that because I'm mad at you. I'm saying it because I don't want you to die. As far as I know, Bombastine doesn't know we're back yet. Once we start helping Mathila, he's going to find out.”

“And he won't want to give up the throne.”

“No.” And he hated to say it, but it had to be said. “I don't think he'll be happy with exiling you.”

“The Tales of Duviri said he was the most dangerous courtier. He'll try to kill me, won't he?” Dominus asked.

Well, he hoped that Bombastine would conduct his coup without bloodshed. But then, he’d hoped for a lot of things that hadn’t happened.

The twins had stopped arguing to listen to them. Now, Mathila II asked, “So what are you gonna do, hide in a cave or help my Mom?”

Dominus looked up at Drifter. 

He said, “That's up to you.”

Dominus said, “My guilt is useful because it tells me where I've fallen short of my own standards. I always told myself I loved Mathila for her joyful attitude. Well, now she's unhappy, and it's all my fault. I want to help, no matter the danger.”

The twins nodded to each other. Garmi Jr. said, “There's a back way into the farm storehouses that we used to sneak food. We'll show you.”

Mathila II eyed Drifter. “It'll be a tight squeeze.”

It was damned tight, and by the end of it, the twins had a much better understanding of why he’d told them to listen when it came to exploring caves. When Dominus saw him taking instructions and advice without complaint, he didn’t argue either, and saw the benefits as his path got easier. Then they got through to the storerooms. Instead of the racks of aging cheese, they came out in a wine cellar stacked high with ale casks and wine barrels.

Garmi Jr. asked, “Ah, this’ll be our little secret?”

Mathila II said, “Mom doesn't let us get down here anymore.”

“Oh, for Void’s sake.” Dominus muttered.

Footsteps rang from the cave halls beyond, and then the door was wretched open. Brimon held up a torch. The headwoman of Mathila’s farm was behind him with a pitchfork in hand. Barris had his shepherd’s crook. Barris’ mother had her fire poker.

Brimon saw the twins first and his jaw dropped. “Kids, I sent you off for your own good-” Then Brimon saw Drifter, and if it weren’t for the kids there, he would’ve thrown a punch. “What are you doing here?!”

The headwoman lowered her pitchfork. “Well, since they aren’t here to murder us in our beds, shall we move this somewhere a little more civilized?”

Before Mathila went mad, she’d gotten her folk and farmers to safety in the warren of storerooms, caves, and storage tunnels that ran underneath the farms, villages, and hamlets. This was an underground network Drifter never really explored during his Loneryder/Outlaw spirals because these were honest folk who would’ve called the Dax on him. Now, they were just as fearful of Bombastine’s soldiers as he was, which left them huddling in the caves along with a hundred bleating, shitting tamms. 

Dominus saw it all, sighed, and then asked Barris, “Can I help?”

Barris looked at him funny. “Aren’t you the king?”

“Not anymore.”

“Aren’t you the old king who used to make fun of Drifter for being a tamm-herding dung-shoveler?”

“...yeah.” He picked up a shovel. “Which goes to show what I knew, doesn’t it?”

Though absolutely weirded out, Barris accepted his help.

Meanwhile, Brimon set his torch down and dragged Drifter over to a corner away from the twins. He hissed, “What the hell are you playing at? No, don’t answer that. Mathila and I talked after you left. You’re on some ridiculous redemption quest. How dare you drag her kids back into this after I sent them where they’d be safe?”

Looking at it from a certain perspective, Brimon wasn’t wrong. Drifter was on a ridiculous redemption quest, but that was no reason they couldn't help Mathila too. “I didn't drag them into this. They leapt at the chance to help their mom. Because she’s their mom. They need an adult on their side.”

“And I suppose you think that’s you.”

He jabbed Brimon in the chest with a finger. “I think that’s you. So step up.”

“Hey,” Garmi Jr. broke in, “you told us not to fight. You should take your own advice!”

Drifter facepalmed. 

Mathila II chimed in, “Adults are such hypocrites.”

Brimon ground his teeth.

Dominus, in the midst of coaxing a ram down from on top of a cheese rack with a handful of sweet grass, asked innocently, “Are you coming with us to help Mathila?”

“You? Going to help Mathila?” Brimon scoffed. “If you really wanted to help her, you would’ve changed your ways.”

Drifter went to speak. Brimon glared. “I don’t want to hear a word from you about your son’s redemption quest after what’s happened. Mathila trusted him.” To Dominus, he said, “Mathila believed you could change. Look what that got her: running off into the hills laughing madly. If you would've changed your ways, maybe things would be better, but you didn't, and they aren't.”

Drifter shut up. Dominus shrank back.

Garmi Jr. said, “Well, actually…”

Try as he might, Brimon couldn’t quite glare at him with the same fervor. 

Mathila II said, “He has changed. A bit.”

Garmi Jr. said, “I punched him and he didn’t even threaten to have me impaled.”

“You…punched him?” Brimon said, simultaneously appalled and delighted. 

“Pow!” Garmi Jr. mimed it. “Right in the kisser.”

Dominus said, “I think I deserved that. And yes, I want to help Mathila. If that means that all I do is stay here and take care of her tamms while you go help her, then I’ll do that.”

Brimon turned back to Drifter, still appalled and astonished. 

Drifter offered, “Shall we?”

Shaking his head, Brimon said, “Man, I’m not even going to pretend to understand how you regularly pull minor miracles out of your ass. I’m just going to stick close and pray you’ve got another one left for Mathila.”

While they traveled along the cave systems as far as they could and then waited for the nightfall before crossing the broad open plain of the Agora, Drifter worked the story out of Brimon. He, the twins, and her villagers kept their heads down during Lodun’s coup. The militia kept the Dax largely pinned inside the Citadel, but just when they’d thought it was safe to come out and celebrate the coronation, Mathila came back on foot. That’s when Brimon found out that he couldn’t call his Psyacus and Barris couldn’t call on Kaithe. She’d become bitter and hard, looking like she’d aged a century in a few days, and when pressed had said that while Lodun might be the rightful king, he still wasn’t the right king.

Upon hearing that, Dominus only dipped his head. His shoulders bent low with guilt. 

Then Acrithis and Lodun arrived, asking her permission to construct the prison over Garmi the Elder's grave, and it all went to hell. Brimon hadn’t caught much of the argument, but the twins were there because Lodun said they were old enough to give their opinion.

Garmi Jr. said, “They wanted to dig up Father’s grave for the beacon.”

Mathila II said, “We said that sounded like fun.”

“Mom said, “No, but I can’t stop you.” And then she laughed.”

“She didn’t stop.”

Brimon’s shoulders dropped. He bore his own share of guilt. Under the darkness of night, when they crossed the wide floodplain under the shadow of the Agora’s tower and then hid in the mouth of a cave while torch-bearing Dax squads searched through the night for dissenters that Bombastine was sure existed, he confessed to Drifter. “She didn’t stop laughing until I took the kids away. I think…I think she knew she wasn’t safe to be around, but at least they’d be safe with me. She didn’t say anything as we left. I didn’t know what to do. I'm pretty handy with a blade, but nothing like Kullervo is. So I sent them back to Kullervo, thinking he’d protect them better than I could. By the time I came back for her, she’d run off this way and I’d lost the trail.”

“What was I supposed to do? I'm just a kaithe racer, with no kaithe. I tried to protect her family and farms like she would've wanted, but I’m no noble courtier. What was I supposed to do with politics and the kingdom once everything went to hell?”

“You stepped up as best you could,” Drifter said. “Sorry about being an asshole earlier.”

Garmi Jr. snickered. “Ha, ha, Drifter swore.” Then he yawned.

All three children were flagging after the long day and anxious scrambling in the dark. Fortunately, the trail led to another series of interconnected caves. While most of Duviri’s citizens knew these caves, there was only one permanent resident down here. Drifter said, “I hope she found the Sage. Or he found her.” 

Brimon asked, “You know where to find him?” 

“I know his usual haunts. At least we can ask if he heard where she went.” 

They hustled off the roads under the pitch-green sky. The Sage's cave exhaled a noisome warm stench into the night.

“Gross.” Dominus protested.

“You’ll get used to it,” Drifter assured him. 

The cave had several vertical layers of interconnected tunnels, a fair bit of Zariman debris, the Sage’s preferred perch where he sat and played the shawzin, and a few holes in the floor where Sorrow’s rains had eaten into the aggristone. Drifter settled them down in one of the Zariman sections. “Hey, look, we’re gonna wait until daylight before you kids go stumbling around in an unfamiliar cave, okay? Nobody takes a tumble. We all stay safe.”

“But what about Mom?”

Brimon backed him up. “Drifter knows this cave. He’s gonna go see if the Sage has seen her. But it’ll be daylight in a few hours, and I-” He fake yawned. It promptly turned into a real yawn. “Kids, maybe you don’t need to sleep, but I do.”

The kids fell asleep in a pile. Even Dominus did, with Drifter’s Zariman jacket tucked under his head for a pillow, and cuddling with the twins for warmth and comfort.

Brimon said, “Go ahead. I’ll watch over him for you.”

“Thanks,” Drifter said quietly. “For believing he could change.”

“If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have. Now if he can help my Mathila, and maybe give me Psyacus back, I’ll even consider voting for him as king.”

He chuckled. “You know, elections might not be the worst way to pick a rightful king after all.” A week ago, he wouldn’t have said that. A week ago, he wouldn’t have even thought that. Orokin right to rule was a fact of nature. Therefore, Lodun was the rightful ruler because Euleria Entrati said so. Maybe it was time to think about a better way forward for Duviri. Leaving those seditious thoughts for another day, he picked his way through the cave, ignored the glowing chest that was almost certain to rouse Bombastine’s fury if it were touched, and followed the sound of the Sage’s gentle strumming and mumbling until he came to his chamber.

The Sage sat on a plinth of rock, looking up through a hole in the cave roof up at the dark sky above. He never seemed to move far from where he dangled his legs and mumbled to himself and everyone. He’d once said something rather wise to Luscinia, and Drifter half wondered if this time there would be any words of wisdom for him.

“Sage, have you seen Mathila?”

The Sage looked at him with a weighty stare. “Ah,” he said as though he’d uncovered a mystery. “You are trapped by your ability to symbolize. Do you understand?”

“...no?” He thought about it. “I suppose if I understood, I wouldn’t be trapped.”

“Quite right,” the Sage said, and then he pointed to a crevice in a Zariman wall. Behind a bristly bush, Mathila’s pink dress, torn and tattered, could just be seen.

She hugged her knees to herself, her eyes were closed, and sometimes she shuddered with silent, painful laughter.

“Mmm.” The Sage crooned, “A nurse held hand after hand day after day as soul after soul fled body after body. She believed her mind had fled and her soul would be next. No. Our minds save us. Saved her. Her mind ferried away horrors before returning for the next day's passengers. The things she believed lost were only borrowed, as company for her saviour's journey. This, this is good to remember.”

By the time the Sage finished speaking, Drifter crouched down next to her. There was no point in speaking words of comfort. She was beyond that. Nor could he bring her back to her family in this state. Not yet. Instead, he sat next to her in that crevice and let her know by the warmth of his presence that she was not alone.

Daylight streamed through the holes in the ceiling and floor before she opened her eyes and whispered, “Ah. Drifter. You’re here to help me make everyone in Duviri happy again, aren’t you?”

She’d fallen back into the old habits of her Spiral. With a bit of coaxing, he got her up on her feet. She stiffly made her way back to her family.

“Kids, I simply can’t stay,” Mathila said brightly, while fresh madness danced in her eyes. “Duviri is very, very unhappy right now, and I need Drifter’s help to make it all better.”

Drifter handed her over to Brimon. “Mathila, I think it's time we worked on making you happy.”

“Oh, I’m already very happy, dearest, but thank you for thinking of me. It does you some good to spend your time making people happy instead of making trouble.”

Brimon said, “That’s why you’re going to stay here with me and the kids, while you give Drifter and Dominus some super-little task to take off your plate.” He got her situated next to him and started sharing out their flatbread and cheese. The twins were wide eyed, but started whispering to each other. 

“Dominus?” She peered at the suddenly shy boy. “Oh, Dominus! I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again. What a pleasant surprise!”

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to do my best to make people happy from now on.”

“Well, that’s a lovely thought. Say, I do believe I lost some old sentimental things of mine in this nasty, mucky, old cave. Is that a place for precious items? Of course not.” She pushed herself up, only for Brimon to hold her back down. Then she sagged against him. “Would you be a dear and go get them? I’m afraid I’m not quite up for it.”

Dominus nodded. Drifter double checked with Brimon and the twins. “You okay with this?”

Brimon stopped Garmi Jr. from smearing cheese in his sister’s hair. He said, “They’ve lived with her like this for a long time. And I don’t intend to let her run off again. It's not ideal, but we’re in no danger. Especially if we stay out of sight of the Dax and,” he warned Mathila II, “we do not touch any royal chests, no matter how shiny.”

“Aww,” the twins grumbled.

“Eat up!” Mathila hummed along.

He and Dominus headed back into the cave. While they picked through the crevices and Zariman debris, Dominus said, “I used to think she was really happy. But I suppose that when I was happy, I wasn’t a good ruler either.” He quoted the Tale of the Harbinger of Joy, ““To the happy mind, all things seem simple. Problems could be solved by making them go away.””

They steered clear of the chest. Drifter commented, “Well, you’ve learned a lot about emotional regulation since then. What do you think now?”

Dominus dug through a pile of trash and discarded it all. “Well, before, I would’ve said this was a wild goose chase and you were a fool who couldn’t find your ass with both hands.”

He teased, “Hey, it's not my fault the spirals reset and I could never remember where I put things.”

“Well, if you’re a fool for looking here, what does that make me? If she lost anything, it’d be scattered all the way back across the Agora plain, not here.”

“So when we go back emptyhanded, what are we going to tell Mathila?”

“...well, I think…I think finding her things won’t make her happy.”

“Yeah?” He wasn’t as good as Teshin at prompting and prodding his pupil through the hard self-discoveries of Conclave. But he’d try.

“Getting things never made me happy for long. And, uh, I got a lot of tribute, when I was king.” Dominus pointed at the chest. “It's kind of weird, okay? You’d think that if I stole that back, I’d feel happy. But I don’t think I would.”

“What makes you happy?”

“Protecting Duviri in the Circuit. Holding Sol. When Garmi Jr. stuck up for me. I guess I even see why you like herding tamms. What makes you happy?”

Lots of things. But everything he thought about, he’d leave behind when he left Duviri. What would bring him joy once he left? Back when he’d been fighting with all his might to escape the Spiral, he’d come to a realization. “In my experience, joy isn’t something I find by looking for it. It's something that happens when I surround myself with those I love, and I just have to stop and savor it while it lasts.”

They’d searched their way to the Sage’s chamber. Dominus hugged Drifter, burying his mask against his side. “I guess I have to savor it while it lasts.”

While they hugged, the Sage said, “One cannot repair people, only love them. Let go of the fallacy, or be dragged behind it.”

Dominus asked, “Do you think her family is the precious thing she lost?”

“Let’s go find out.”

They came back to find Mathila’s face free from madness and filled only with her genuine beaming smile. She and Brimon relaxed together while Garmi Jr. and Mathila II capered around a small fire performing Kullervo’s Song for their parents.

Drifter gave Dominus a tiny shove. “Join in.”

“Are you sure?”

“A mucky old cave is no place for a lost, precious item like you.”

Dominus joined in the dancing, raising his voice with the chorus. “Kullervo, Kullervo!”

Drifter sat down, rolled up a bedroll, and drifted off to sleep to the happy sounds of a family reunited. 

Chapter Text

Drifter woke up to mid-afternoon light beaming through the holes in the cavern and the happy chatter of children. The twins taught Dominus some sort of game with sticks and round stones. The boy laughed with his friends like a real child instead of a lonely king. Mathila and Brimon snuggled together and watched the kids play with fond smiles.

While he stretched stiff muscles from sleeping on stone, Brimon passed him a flatbread with crumbled tamm cheese and a cup of cold tea. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would not have believe it.”

“He’s really changed?” Drifter was glad to hear it, because as the kingdom’s current state went to show, it was one thing to do better when under Drifter’s watchful eye and quite another to do so when the proverbial kexat was away.

“I’m not saying he’s a perfectly-behaved child…” Brimon demurred. 

Drifter snorted. 

Mathila grinned. “Neither are mine. If I’d realized all I needed to do to make them happy was to arrange playdates up at the Palace, I’d have done it ages ago. It's good for him to act his age for once. And my twins seem to be learning something about responsibility from him. He wouldn’t let them throw rocks over the edge, you know.”

“I’m glad he's behaved himself.” Tamm cheese on day-old flatbread was heaven after meager rations scrounged from the Circuit. He picked up every crumb. “So what happened during the last two weeks that everything went to shit so fast?”

“We all felt powerless. And you know what that leads to.”

“It's the root of the Anger Spiral.”

What broke her sanity was not simply that no one in the Court was happy, but how quickly it all fell apart. Lodun began with such big dreams of being the right king bringing reform that his failures weighed all the heavier on him. “I don't believe he's enjoyed a moment's happiness since the coronation, and who could blame him? He feared he'd sent you to die in the Void. Then the herds sickened and we all worried that we couldn't defend Duviri without Dominus’ experience. He shouted that we were just looking for a chance to supplant him. It didn't matter that he apologized right afterward because I'd swear Bombastine was just looking for an excuse to run off and plot.”

Reflexively, Drifter checked the sky. Bilious green clouds still scudded past the holes in the cave floor and walls. “I really, really wish I'd been wrong to suspect him. What about Acrithis?” 

He could forgive Lodun for his part in the trap. Even Bombastine's backsliding down a rut in his Spiral's tale was painfully familiar.

Acrithis? She knew how he felt about prison. She remembered each and every soul-crushing execution. She'd also seen for herself how prison oppressed Kullervo. And yet she'd still used the Court's concerns as an excuse to trap and imprison him and Dominus. This scheme was personal. Well, if she wanted to match grudge for grudge, then he'd be more than happy to give her a run for her money.

“I don't know.” Mathila allowed. “She and Lodun were already arguing when they came to ask me for permission to build their prison cell. I don't imagine she’s happy about how all this turned out.”

No, not when it all ended in Lodun overthrown and her tentative friendship with Mathila strained by madness. “I’d say she deserves it, but that’s not very kind of me.”

“Oh, what’s that I used to tell you all the time about the King’s Dax?” She winked, “”Either you keep stewing over your grudges against Acrithis or you channel that energy into something positive. It's up to you.””

With the adults distracted by talking, the kids hit their rocks back and forth, harder and harder, until they went flying into one of the large holes in the cave floor. “Hey!” Dominus shouted. “I SAID not to send stones to the Wall.”

Having made the unlucky shot, Mathila II retorted, “Hay is for kaithes.”

“I said, “Hey!””

Garmi Jr. taunted, “You’re just sore because you’re losing, kaithe-face.”

Dominus stomped his foot. Then he stomped over to the adults, plopped next to Drifter and started poking the ashes of the morning's fire with his stick. “I don’t want to play with you guys anymore.”

“Good riddance to sore losers-” Garmi Jr. got that far before Dominus buried his mask in Drifter’s arms. Then he registered that his mother was glaring at him. 

“Garmi Albrecht, I think it is high time that we practiced a little moderation, don’t you?” she scolded in a voice like steel.

“Aww, but Mom-”

Dominus grumbled loudly, “Go away. I never want to play with you again.”

“Never?” Drifter asked, lightly rubbing circles on the boy's back.

“Never ever.”

Mathila II mumbled, “Aww, we were just teasing.”

Brimon covered his smile with a hand while her mother shook her head. “I think a break for something different will do us all good.”

Unfortunately, they couldn't leave the cave while envious eyes hung in the sky and Bombastine's Dax searched the kingdom. Drifter sketched out a rough map of Duviri for the kids to see, including the desolate sandbar of an island the Zariman was marooned on. “Without our kaithes, I don't see an easy way to get us all to the Zariman and Teshin.”

The twins complained. “We have to stay with old Teshin?!”

Mathila said, “I will be far better able to stay the course if I know my family is safe.”

Brimon asked them, “Would you rather go back to Kullervo's Hold? Or hide out at the farm and help Barris with the tamms?”

Contemplating their alternatives, they sheepishly muttered, “No.”

Dominus tried to cheer them up. “Teshin has warframes in his cave.”

“Well, I guess that'd be alright.” Garmi Jr. allowed. 

Maybe there was something to the easily angered, easily forgiven hurt feelings of children. Drifter bent anew to the logistical problems of their escape. “Normally I'd go find Sythel right away. However, I cannot think of how to get from the Agora to her house above Netherbarrow without getting caught by Dax.”

Mathila said, “She said she’d try to foil Bombastine, seeing as how she was the best conspirator of all of us..”

Dominus said, “She is, you know. The best conspirator of you all, that is. Uh, is Luscinia okay?”

“I hope so.” Mathila replied. “Once I said I was going home after the coronation instead of staying at court, she plopped down, started crying, and said we’d sent our hope out into the Void.”

Unprompted, Dominus said, “It wasn’t just your mess. You all were trying to fix MY mess. And maybe things all went wrong because you were building on a shaky foundation - not just the Tales of Duviri that shaped us, or even Drifter’s trauma that created Duviri - but spirals and spirals of my tyrannical rule and false, fixed smiles instead of real happiness.”

Mathila and Dominus, two people who’d never ever been able to face the harsh light of reality without flinching, understood each other all too well. He promised, “We’re going to fix this. One step at a time.”

She nodded. “I would be pleased to help you, Your Majesty.”

Dominus winced. “Don’t call me that. I want it…I haven’t earned it.”

“If you say so,” she said.

Brimon said, “If you bring back my kaithe, I'll even consider voting for you as king.”

Dominus blinked. “What’s a vote?”

Drifter patted him on the back. “I elected a class president once. Ask me later.”

The twins poked at the map up near the Archarbor. “There are boat docks at Thrax Gardens.”

“We used to go joyriding.”

Mathila covered her face. “No wonder I'm persona non grata with the Boaters Union.”

Dominus said, “I can't believe I'm saying this after we almost fell over the side a dozen times. They are actually pretty good sailors.”

The twins perked up.

“Or,” Dominus thought some more, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, either. We could also find a void mirror, travel through the Undercroft, and wait until Teshin sets out his beacon. Has it been two weeks yet?”

“To the day.” Brimon said, like he'd been counting every hour he couldn't race. “I vote for the void mirror idea. So kids, why don't you curl up and nap until evening.”

Mathila II said, “It's mid-afternoon! I vote “No Naps.””

Brimon muttered, “I’m going to regret bringing up voting, aren’t I.”

So a vote was held. The kids didn’t nap. At least they rested for an hour. They might have rested until darkness fell, except there was a metallic clatter at the entrance, like a sword clashing against rock.

Someone shouted inside. “Come out, miscreants, and give an account for yourselves to the King's Dax!”

They froze at the harsh voice.

Drifter leapt to his feet. Shit, how quickly peace made him forget that this always happened on the Envy Spirals. When the Dax couldn’t find him on land, they’d extend their search underground. “I’ll go.”

He shushed their protests. “Bombastine is looking for me and Dominus, not your family. I’ll use those acting lessons he gave me to lie and stall for time for you to find a void mirror.”

Brimon didn’t let him pass. “I’ll be the one to bullshit the Dax.”

Drifter argued, “This isn’t the time for your “Anything you can do, I can do better,” shit.”

“Ha, ha, Drifter swore.”

“Hush,” Brimon scolded Garmi Jr. “Drifter, this isn’t about being better. This is me buying enough time for you to pull another minor miracle from your ass, since you have an apparently inexhaustible supply.”

Then he sauntered out toward the entrance with his usual swagger and a cheery, “My brave Dax, is there any word on when the Good King Bombastine will bring back kaithe racing?”

Drifter racked his brain for another way. “I’m out of ideas.”

Outside, the Dax Herald said curtly, “His Majesty has better ideas for his subjects’ entertainment. Have you seen either of these persons of interest?” 

There was the sound of a vellum scroll unfurling.

Brimon answered, “I haven't seen Dominus Thrax. Is that Drifter? You'd think with as many wanted posters as that guy has the artist would do a better likeness. Say, you could hire the guy who does the portraits for the kaithe racers! His artwork of me is,” he paused and presumably flashed them a broad, gleaming smile, “complete accurate, or so Mathila says.”

Down in the cave, Mathila listened to her lover bluff for her safety. Reluctantly, she said, “There is another way. Brimon won't like it, but it's the only way I can carry you to safety.”

Dominus’ eyes widened. “No.”

She offered, “I could become the Orowyrm of Joy.”

Drifter said, “No.”

Garmi Jr. said, “Wait, you mean we could ride on an Orowyrm?”

Mathila II said, “Please, Mom, can we ride an Orowyrm? Ooh, I vote that Mom becomes an Orowyrm!”

“No!” Dominus protested. “Becoming an Orowyrm isn’t a good thing! It's letting your emotions run rampant until they basically destroy your life and you don’t even want to be yourself anymore.”

Dax Herald demanded, “Have you seen them?”

“Of course not,” Brimon denied.

“Then you won't mind moving aside as we search the cave.”

“Uh…”

Mathila flinched. “Yes, Dominus, I know. To save you all, it might be worth it.”

Then Drifter had an epiphany. This minor miracle wasn’t exactly pulled out his ass, since he already knew it was possible for him to give into his rampant guilt and become an Orowyrm. He’d only narrowly avoided it during the Jubilee catastrophe. And if he chose to give in to guilt, all he had to do was listen to Brimon’s increasingly worried denials as the Dax questioned him, think about Mathila on the cusp of ruining her life, or watch Dominus and the twins break into a shouting match that completely blew their cover. That didn’t even take into consideration the way he clearly hadn’t left the Courtiers prepared to rule over Duviri on their own! Lodun was miserable and betrayed by his allies, Acrithis’ grudges only made her grand plans fail, Bombastine was on the throne and probably no happier for it, Sythel was terrified of the king once more, and Luscinia had plenty to weep over. Guilt was easy.

Or, he could control his emotions. 

When extreme emotions met pure Void energy, they could change reality. That was the theory behind Conceptual Embodiment, whereby concepts took form in the Void. 

He said, “Mathila, if this doesn’t work, you’re Plan B.”

“What?”

He’d need more space. Transforming here in these tight quarters was a bad idea. He ran to one of the holes in the floor. His feet dangled over green clouds.

“What are you doing?”

“Remember how I made Duviri? A whole kingdom made from my emotions, given form by the Void. What if I did that to myself, and controlled it?” According to the theories of Conceptual Embodiment, Void plus Consciousness made things. The form that said Consciousness took was infinitely malleable. Incredibly dangerous when uncontrolled, which was why Thrax used the pathos clamps to bind his Orowyrm.

Guilt couldn't save anyone, least of all himself. Only by marshaling the calm of the true warrior could he hope to master himself and control the wild currents of the Void for his own use.

“Uh…” Brimon said, stalling for time as best he could without getting piked or gutted. “I mean, it's just me and my family down there. And it's kind of a mess…”

Drifter pushed off from the cave and fell into the abyss. 

Though he spread his arms and legs out to slow his fall, he still plunged into the wind faster than Kaithe could fly. It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating. The bitter wind whipped through his hair. The tiniest movement changed his course, almost like flying. What would it feel like to soar through the clouds under his own power?

What would it feel like to cast off his frail human frame and become the Orowyrm?

He roared and the skies shook.

It felt like rising up out of the depths towards his cheering friends like a fish swimming to the surface of the sea. The air currents mingled with Void mists were as familiar as the roads he trod underfoot. 

He was an Orowyrm; the most magnificent to ever grace Duviri's skies.

He scraped against the hole he'd leapt from. Just behind his head was a hollow formed from his armored plates where he usually held on to the Orowyrms during transference. Mathila jumped down into that hollow, then helped the twins and Dominus down. Amazed, Dominus said, “You didn’t even need pathos clamps.”

“This is so cool!” the twins gushed. Garmi Jr. tried to lean over the side. Mathila II yanked him back. “Don’t be stupid, dumbass.”

Mathila shouted, “Brimon, come on!” Then she secured her family to his sides with anything that came to hand. A belt, strips from a tunic, even Dominus’ royal sash.

It felt like someone pleasantly scratching his head. If this was what Kaithe felt when he got rubbed down, Drifter saw the appeal.

Mathila said, “Brimon’s coming.”

Brimon arrived at the edge of the hole. He looked over his shoulder at the Dax squad chasing him. Then he looked down and properly registered the strange sight. “What.”

Mathila helped him down. 

“No, seriously, what? Since when can Drifter-? No, nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

Dominus hooked his sash to the bar that went across the back of Drifter's massive head. If the boy’s muscles were sufficient to steer him, he could have. Instead he patted him like the gentle tap of his heel to his kaithe’s flank, a rider communicating with his steed. “We’re all here.”

Drifter roared back, partly to acknowledge he understood, and mostly because when one wasn’t miserable, guilt-stricken, and heart-sick, being an Orowyrm was actually fucking amazing.

Though Dax Arcus lined up at the hole, their silver arrows bounced off his armored flanks. As he rose over the crest of the Agora’s broad basin, more Dax converged towards him led by the Herald. They couldn’t do more than gape upwards. What were they going to do against an unbound Ororwyrm? Bombastine was on the throne, but even if he tried to tether him to the wyrm towers, there were no pathos clamps for the tethers to tie to. The way to the Zariman was open and it was lit by a single shining light of a lanthorn beacon.

“There's Teshin's beacon,” Dominus said, relieved. 

Mathila said. “See, Brimon, Old Teshin’s always three steps ahead of everyone else. That’s how I know he’ll help keep you safe.”

Drifter flew north, over the hamlets where the windmills stuttered fitfully and scarce laborers ran from his path in terror even though he hadn’t even called out a pack of wyrmlings or summoned the elemental powers that the other Orowyrms embodied. When he passed over Upperhaven and past the Archarbor, they soared out over the open Void making for the desolate landscape on which the Zariman was marooned.

Mathila II leaned over, with Brimon’s hand securing her. “Hey look, that’s really cool.”

Dominus looked. “Oh, shit.”

“Ha, ha, Dominus swore.”

Despite himself, Drifter turned to look, which was a fairly lengthy process for a long Orowyrm. Damn it, he was curious.

If the Void was an ocean (which it wasn’t, but since it felt very much like swimming he decided the analogy was apt enough), then he and his precious passengers were in the sunlit upper reaches where it was warm-ish and plankton bloomed, and a few seamounts and reefs attracted bright blossoming life. Duviri was one such island sanctuary.

Underneath that layer, the ocean got deeper and darker. Tendrils of the Void reached out of the cold below up towards Duviri like so many grasping hands. Like so many scraping claws. Despite himself, he shuddered. 

“Oh shit!” They all grabbed on for dear life.

Dominus tried his best to stay calm. “It's just like being in the little boat, isn’t it? We can’t get upset, or we’ll fall off. And we can’t do anything about the void now, before we get to safety.”

Wise words, Drifter thought, and took a moment to steady himself and control his own reactions. Terrifying though it was to know that the Void actively pressed on Duviri’s increasingly tattered defenses, they couldn’t do anything about it right now. He turned slowly enough for their comfort and focused on the lanthorn beacon instead, proof that Teshin was well and waiting for them.

Then, from the Palace, came an answering roar.

Bombastine only just made it outside before finishing his transformation into Envy’s Orowyrm. It wasn’t pretty as he burst through the palace doors, ripped the balcony clean off, scraped himself off the courtyard with a mangled statue hanging off one pathos clamp, and flattened the building across the square in the process. 

“Drifter!” He shrieked. “I see you!”

Every eye in the green sky bored down on Drifter and especially on the people on his back. Back when he’d broken free of the Spirals, however, he’d instinctively known that he must not let the Orowyrms at his unprotected neck. Instead, he’d risen high above them and then struck at their back. So he slowly coiled upwards in a gentle spiral while Bombastine forged towards him, shrieking all the way.

“It's not fair! Why shouldn't I have a turn as king?”

With Mathila and Brimon fully occupied with keeping the wildly cheering twins safely inside, Dominus stroked his neck and whispered to him like he would to Kaithe before a race. “You’re in control of your form, he is not.”

It made a counterpoint to Bombastine’s whining. “I was meant to be the one that was loved!”

“You’re a whole person. He is not.”

“I’ll devour everything that makes you you, Drifter, and then I’ll be the right king!”

“He used to say to me, “If I could just borrow their powers…Lodun’s fire, Sythel’s lightning…then I’d be a Wyrm to reckon with.”

Now there was an idea.

In the past, when Drifter controlled the Orowyrms via transference he could only direct their breath weapons against targets they were already unhappy with. In Lodun’s case, everyone else. Most times, it was just the tethering towers that terrified Sythel or saddened Luscinia. 

Since he was in control of himself and his own emotions, it was only the work of a moment’s focus to summon a halo of elemental energy that coalesced into dense balls. The most prominent was Joy’s pink-tinged Void, followed by a ball of lightning and all the rest including a poison-green ball of toxin as deadly as any that Bombastine gathered between his own horns.

“That’s mine!” Bombastine’s cry hit a new pitch. He hurled his own poisonous ball at a distance so great that even Drifter’s slow spiral got him out of the way in time for it to go sailing harmlessly into the sky beyond.

Dominus parroted Teshin’s advice from his Circuit training. “If you shoot where your enemy is, you'll miss. Shoot where your enemy will be.”

Drifter finished the next part of the lesson to himself. “Do not be satisfied with predicting your enemies’ next move. Restrict their options until they are forced to be where you want them.” He wanted Bombastine below him. He wanted him over Duviri, so that when he forced him to the ground and destroyed his pathos clamps, he did not fall into the Void. He considered using the tether towers, but discarded it as obvious bait. Instead he pelted him with his elements while he stayed high and forged towards the Palace.

Bombastine retreated. He became increasingly frantic as he gave ground. “You wouldn’t take these liberties with any other Wyrm!” 

As Drifter guessed, having taken the throne, Bombastine would not give it up for love or money. Even if it left him at a disadvantage.

When Bombastine fired his poison ball at a distance that Drifter couldn’t avoid it or reliably tank it on his belly, Drifter fired back Sorrow’s ice ball at it. Though the toxin corroded the ice, it was basically diffused. “Oh, that’s not fair,” he lamented. 

Dominus’ hands clenched on the bar. “I wish I had told him that I did love his performances.”

Drifter couldn’t comfort the boy in the middle of battle. Or ask him why.

Mathila could. “Why didn’t you? It would have made him very happy, you know.”

Dominus mumbled something, so ashamed that it came out unintelligible.

Brimon could. “I’m not saying I’ve ever seen eye to eye with Bombastine. He raced me once. He didn’t try that again. But I will say that it took me a long time to learn that the measure of my achievements was in the quality of my competitors.”

Dominus said, with a great deal of self-deprecation, “Maybe if I'd learned the measure of my achievements was in the quality of my Courtiers, we'd all be doing better.”

“You keep on like that and I might just vote for you anyways.” Brimon teased.

“I don't deserve it.”

“You still hold the kingdom's record for your kaithe race,” Brimon reminded him. “Watching you direct Drifter now, I see how you beat me. If you can be calm and controlled in the saddle, then I figure you can figure out how to be calm and controlled on the throne, you know?”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Meanwhile, Bombastine had been driven closer to the palace. Then he seemed to see something else, for he pulled a relatively sharp turn back towards it.

Mathila shouted, “Look, it's Sythel!”

Sythel must have taken her courage in both hands as soon as she saw the Orowyrms battle. The former Fearful Conspirator sprinted across the ruined courtyard, mounted the broken palace steps without ever once looking back at the furious Orowyrm bearing down on her from above, and disappeared inside the burst doors.

Bombastine roared and gathered his poison, not for Drifter who was behind and above him, but to hurl inside and destroy Sythel.

Drifter plunged, aiming to force himself between Bombastine and the Palace.

Dominus shouted, “Hold on!”

If they hadn't tied themselves down, they would've been hurled free by the titanic impact. They were shaken around like peas in a pod. The palace quivered all the way down to its firm foundations as he slammed into Envy and forced him down. They smashed through buildings and trees in a scour that ended at the island's edge.

Pinned down, Bombastine moaned out wretched curses. 

Drifter didn't let him up.

Dominus shouted, “Bombastine, don't let your Envy consume you!”

Mathila stood beside him and yelled, “Think about what makes you truly happy!”

Even the twins got in on it. “You’re still the best Orowyrm besides my mom, Mister Bombastine!”

“Mister Bombastine, who else is gonna teach us to act out our songs and rhymes? We'd miss you!”

With their encouragement, the pathos clamps burst asunder. Drifter lifted free as the Orowyrm Bombastine writhed and shrank, becoming merely a man again, panting and flopping with dramatic despair to the ground.

As they were face to face, the sky changed color from green to the looming darkness of a storm. Thunderheads covered over the staring eyes. 

Sythel was on the throne…but she was terrified.

Drifter lowered his head to the island’s edge. Mathila and Dominus both appealed to Bombastine to join them.

Shoulders slumped, he turned his back and trudged away. If Sythel stayed true to form, they’d find him in a jail cell soon enough.

Dominus patted Drifter's head. “There’s nothing we can do for him now. There’s nothing we can do for her either.” 

Drifter roared acknowledgment. With each internal reactor charged, he sailed towards the Zariman with greater speed. He did not look back, even though he knew why Sythel had ample cause for terror. The void tendrils slowly but surely congealed into a reaching hand with three fingers, reaching out to grasp Duviri.

Chapter Text

The Zariman presided over a desolate wasteland of aggristone. The vibrant rip in reality through which color bled into the sky loomed over everyone. As Drifter flew closer, all conversation ceased as the huge size of the ship became apparent. Orowyrms were big enough to dominate Duviri. The Zariman made him look as insignificant as a tiny bird. He flew to the lanthorn beacon’s light and coiled against the ship so everyone could climb off his back into a docking bay.

Dominus was the last off. He stretched out his hand to the massive Orowyrm’s head and asked, “You’re coming too, right?’

Drifter had always wondered to himself if the orowyrms he battled could even feel his hand through their armored carapaces. Yes, they could, and more besides through nascent transference. Unlike Dominus’ confidence in the saddle, now his touch was featherlight and trembling, suddenly afraid that his father would rather soar through the skies as a majestic Orowyrm than become land-bound and anchored to such a pathetic son once more.

Well, he did miss the freedom and the power of it. But an Orowym couldn’t clasp his son’s hand and say with a grin, “That was really something, wasn’t it?”

With pride, Dominus replied, “You didn’t even need the pathos clamps.”

“And you had some excellent suggestions during the fight. Thank you.”

“Well, I do have some experience controlling wyrms.”

Mathila laughed cheerfully. 

Brimon shook his head in wonder. “Man, it's a good thing I’m staying with Teshin and the twins. I’m not sure how many more of Drifter's minor miracles my heart can take.”

An Orowyrm couldn't lead his friends and family safely through the ruined halls back to the warm golden light spilling out from his dormizone. Teshin's weary smile spoke of two weeks of sleepless nights, ever since the Stalker took Drifter off to the strange new island and he never returned. Two weeks of lonely days, since Sol went looking for Drifter and didn't come back either. Even though he'd guided them in the Undercroft, that effort bore its own strain: that of the Conclave's master forced to watch his pupils risk it all in life or death arenas. Moreover, he’d been forced to keep that all secret from his erstwhile guest, Acrithis, lest she realize that her plots were revealed to his canny, reflective mind until it was time to set out his extra beacon to bring them home.

Acrithis took one look at Drifter coming in the door, slammed her face mask shut, and turned off her projector rather than speak to him.

And good riddance to you too, he thought, but didn’t say it. That would’ve been unkind, especially when Mathila didn’t hold a grudge. That would be hypocritical to boot, when he was trying to teach Dominus to do better. Besides, he couldn’t possibly get a word in edgewise anyway, because the twins immediately and exuberantly explored their new home in Teshin’s cave.

“Kullervo, Kullervo!” They shouted, upon seeing their warframe hero. Acrithis must have brought him here for Teshin’s tutelage as she promised. The void mirror gave him easy access to the Undercroft and Kullervo’s Hold as needed. Here, he sat on a sparse, simple bed that was no more (and no less) comfortable than Teshin or Drifter’s own. He set aside Vaenn and tolerantly allowed Garmi Jr. to swing from his outstretched arm.

Mathila II peeked into another section of the cave. Her eyes got wide. “Whoa, there are weapons!”

Garmi Jr. bounced to the ground. “Like Drifter’s swords? Neat!” He skidded into the practice room. “Mom, he’s got a Sampotes hammer! Like the Malleus use!”

She warned, “Kids, I’m not sure that you should be playing with those.” 

Serenely, Teshin said, “If you can hold them properly, you can join me and Kullervo for practice.”

They tried. Even working together they couldn’t lift the massive hammer. Disappointed, they resorted to kicking the old practice dummy around, which occasionally grumbled at them. “Ooof. Oooo! That stung a little.”

Brimon assured her, “That’ll keep them entertained for a while.” Then he caught sight of the kaithe pens, where Kaithe and their Psyacus pair were stabled during their banishment from Duviri proper. His eyes light up. “Ah, thank you!” He rushed over and checked their feed and water troughs, happy to take on the duties that Teshin had carried on alone.

Mathila smiled as she watched her family settle in. “Thank you, Teshin.”

“I am happy to repay the favor when you sheltered me.”

“Oh, that was nothing much!” Then she laughed, “No, wait, if we’re going to talk about favors, I’m pretty sure I’m going to owe you one by the time the twins get done ruining your peace and quiet.”

“It's nothing much,” Teshin demurred.

“Really?” She asked, eyes twinkling. “Then if you’re still saying that by the time they leave, maybe we’ll see about moving you and your equipment out to my farm. Once Drifter leaves for good, you shouldn’t be alone.”

“...I’ll think about it.”

“The twins would be delighted,” she wheedled.

Drifter thought it was a great idea. “Just think, you could coach their Lunaro teams.”

“I’ll think about it,” Teshin said, but his smile took years off his face.

“You do that.” Mathila said, and went to supervise her kids.

That left just Drifter and Dominus. Teshin pulled out Sun and Moon, bundled together in their sheaths, and handed them back to Drifter with a decidedly unimpressed look. “When you leave Duviri and enter the Real World, you will not find many weapons of this quality. Do you think you can just loot weapons that match your stature from the Grineer or the Corpus, as you did the Azothane?”

Ashamed, Drifter bent his head to the harsh teaching of the Conclave, even as he tried to make light of it. “I figure me shooting a Grineer rifle would end about as me trying to shoot a Tenno Tigris. Flat on my ass. Probably with broken bones to boot.”

Teshin would have none of it. He grasped his shoulder and pulled them close enough that he snarled in his face. “And then you’ll be dead!”

Dominus flinched at the raw anger in Teshin’s voice.

“If you end up on your ass in a real fight, you’ll be shot, captured, butchered, blown up, burned up, dead! You understand? There are no more second chances.”

Underneath the anger, Drifter heard the raw pain. Of course Teshin must’ve felt the Spiral reset at Kullervo's Hold. He’d begun, again, knowing that despite everything he’d taught Drifter to prepare for life in the real world, it hadn’t been enough to keep him alive in Duviri. Just as Drifter had faced despair realizing that he was going to die there and never escape, so too Teshin had faced despair alone because in so many ways, Drifter was his legacy. The last survivor of the Zariman 10-0 he’d ever teach. If he couldn’t even survive Duviri, then helping him escape was just another death sentence.

He grabbed the dear old man in a hug. A hug he hoped said everything that his flippant words hadn’t. Because of course he knew that all battles were deadly and dangerous (he’d only spent the last million spirals or so coming off the worse in fights, and Teshin knew that, because Teshin was the one who’d said that harping on his footwork never accomplished anything). Most of all, he knew again that Teshin loved him. “I understand,” he said, holding that elderly man, so frail within his armor, close and imprinting this moment in his memory for the day when he’d inevitably leave him behind for good. “I don’t regret throwing Moon to save Dominus. I should’ve been smoother with Sun. And I will remember to value my weapons in the future.”

Teshin sighed and rested his wrinkled forehead against Drifter’s. “Thank you. This old man can’t help but worry for you, you know?”

“I know. I love you too.” When he left, love would not go unsaid.

Then Dominus broke in with a plaintive “I don't understand.”

With that, the wind seemed to rush out of Teshin’s sails. “Ah, child,” he sighed, letting go on Drifter and holding out a callused hand to the young boy, who'd shuffled nervously behind Drifter as though he could hide. “You'd think that after all these years I'd have learned not to let my fears curdle into sharp-tongued anger. I'm sorry if I frightened you. I'd like to meet my grandson properly.”

But the damage had already been done. Dominus’ eyes darted between them, wary and worried, uncertain that he really would be welcomed as Drifter promised. After all, he lacked control, not empathy. Even if Teshin forgave him for his own single execution, since Teshin loved Drifter so much, how could he have any love left over for the boy-tyrant who'd executed Drifter over and over? 

Since he was bound to be rejected, surely it would hurt less if he rejected Teshin first. He sneered, “Grandfather? Here I thought you were supposed to be canny and clever. Drifter's oh-so-wise mentor. You’re just a nasty old man in a smelly old cave.”

But Teshin only smiled at Drifter. “He is so like you.”

Drifter smiled back ruefully. “Yeah, it runs in the family.”

“I don't understand.” Dominus said, this time with a familiar pouting posture. “I mean, what do you want from me? I'm really sorry I had you arrested and impaled and all that.”

Teshin said, “Should there be a next time you haul me off for execution, I hope you've learned something about how to do it better.”

“...I don't understand.”

Drifter confided in him, “He's only half-joking. You see, you can take Teshin away from the actual Conclave, but you can’t take the Conclave away from Teshin. The Conclave isn't the sort of thing you ever win or finish learning from. It's like that Spiral upwards we climbed in the Undercroft; through competition and battle, the Conclave teaches us to learn from both every failure and victory to do even better next time. Including executions.”

Dominus’ eyes darted between them and took in their smiles. Shyly, oh so shyly, he allowed himself to be drawn into a hug. First Drifter, then Teshin. They made an odd pair - both of them with armor, mask, metal and flesh intertwined - but they fit well together. 

“Would you like tea?” Teshin asked. “I believe I have some left over from your Jubilee. They say you can taste the wildflower blooms. I don’t know about that, but I do find it rather calming, which I believe I need right now.”

Dominus agreed that he would like some tea and perhaps even a Komi game.

Once Teshin stepped back into the dormizone to get the tea, Dominus sidled over and whispered to Drifter, “He isn't really going to forgive me that easily, right?”

He squeezed Dominus’ small hands. Forgiveness never came that easily to either of them. Their forgiveness was a wrenching sort of thing born from deep knowledge of their own guilt and shared understanding with the other person…so maybe it wasn’t so easy for Teshin after all, which made his graciousness all the more worthy of emulation. “He is. And if I’m half as kind to Acrithis when I see her next, I'll be doing very well indeed. See? We’re all learning from each other.”

“I think I understand.” Dominus allowed himself to be settled down at the Komi table with a cup of tea. His series of opening moves made Teshin pause to reflect, something Drifter never managed.

Drifter busied himself tending to Kaithe. While brushing him down, he murmured, “You know I'm not staying, right?”

Kaithe's response was to immediately plunder his pockets for treats while he could. He made short work of a stale granola cube.

“Hey! Hey…fine. I can't say you haven't earned it. I just want to make sure you're taken care of once I'm gone.” Not that he'd forget Kaithe dishing in a Dax's head with one stomp of his hoof anytime soon. “No one is going to tell you to do anything you don't want to, but if you want my thoughts…”

He bridled his envy for the sake of a young boy's dreams. “Barris was really worried about you. And I know how much he loved racing. Not just because he placed second. Because he loved flying from the first moment he sat astride you.”

Kaithe wuffed.

“Think about it,” he patted him.

Once everyone else was distracted with their own tasks or absorbed in the Komi game, Drifter slipped out of the cave and back to Acrithis’ hallway. He hauled in a chair and set it up across from her projector, fully prepared to wait out her silent treatment. 

A book lay tucked behind her projector: The Palimpsest of Spacetime. It was one of the books they'd reviewed during that distant war council at Sythel's house. He paged through it. Working through the dense text made for a welcome distraction from his own frustration.

Yeah, she'd betrayed him. If she'd had her way, he and Dominus would be cooped up in a little prison cell, even though she knew exactly how he felt about prison.

(But was that really so unforgivable, when he forgave Dominus for countless Spirals ending in prison and worse?)

Yeah, even though she'd intended for Lodun to deal with them justly, the truth was that if her trap worked, then King Bombastine’s Dax would've hauled them off. Judging by how the Envious king reacted to the orowyrm business, it might've gone badly indeed. Drifter couldn't quite forget about those threats so easily. She might not have intended it, but if Bombastine really had devoured all that made them themselves, then that was on her hands too. 

(But was that really so unforgivable, when Drifter himself had been forgiven for a thousand unintended consequences of his own actions?)

Her projector sparked to life.

He closed the Palimpsest with a sigh.

She would not meet his eyes. “So you returned with your prodigal son.”

“No thanks to you,” he observed.

She flinched.

Teshin made gracious acceptance look so damned easy. If Dominus were here to listen to him act like a sarcastic little shit, he'd see just how much his hypocritical father still had to learn. So he should begin again, as Teshin had, with an apology. “You'd think by now I'd have learned that no one likes owing an asshole. I'm sorry. Now, you’re clever enough to have had a plan this whole time. And it probably was a very clever plan, even if it was damned unfortunate for me. Do you want to share it?”

She'd never looked so hopeless. So defeated. “It was a grand gamble, Drifter. One that I lost utterly. Judge for yourself before you credit me with cleverness.” 

According to the Zariman Archives and corroborated by the Palimpsest, reconstruction of the past was possible. Events could be rewritten. Through strong emotions, things could be created and recreated. Kullervo's Hold had proven it to her: The lost islands of Duviri could be recreated, shining and glorious in the light, stretching farther than a kaithe could fly. Though traces of their original losses would persist written on hearts and tombstones, how could such a Merchant of Memory such as herself resist that vision? The work needed only a ruler of Duviri who could carry it out.

“I wasn't that king.” He admitted. Neither was Dominus; even before the coup, no one trusted him at the helm.

“Neither was Lodun. He looked up to you, you know. Not that he’d admit it. Besides, the longer he was on the throne…”

“Yeah?”

“The more I think he never really wanted to be king after all. It would've been nice to know that before I pinned all my hopes on him and betrayed you.”

A long silence descended, in which Drifter wrestled with his conscience. Yeah, it would be so easy to leave her to tend to her grudges in splendid isolation as she had for spirals upon spirals. She'd had plenty of chances to do better. Instead, she'd wronged him.

(But hadn't he wanted a Duviri strong enough to carry on without him and kind enough that there'd be helping hands to haul anyone who needed it out of their downward spirals?)

Maybe the secret to gracious forgiveness, the sort that endured Spirals of hope, loss, and began again the next morning full of hope, wasn't to wrestle with his conscience and questions of whether or not forgiveness was “deserved” or “owed.” Maybe it was just a choice. He would simply forgive, as many times as he must, and hold no grudges.

“I forgive you,” he said. And if he didn't mean it 100% just yet, that would come with practice. 

“You don't mean that,” she sighed.

“I will,” he promised, and he meant that. “While I can't be that king, and Lodun doesn't want to, and Bombastine definitely wasn't, Queen Sythel is on the throne and she won't go quietly into the Void.”

She peered at him. “You're serious.”

“The Void's infecting the herds, coiling out of the depths, and there's a monstrous hand with a thumb and three fingers reaching for what remains of Duviri.” Deadpan, he asked, “What have we got to lose?”

“Quite a lot.” Despite the grim set to her mouth, hope's fire blazed anew in her eyes. 

They agreed to meet at the Palace the next morning. He left her dark hallway and rejoined the happy family in Teshin's cave. 

This was cozy warmth and happiness in the firelight, food eaten with friends, songs and poems sung by three happy children, a bright moment of joy that he just let happen until someone inevitably asked what he’d discussed with Acrithis. He briefly recounted her grand gamble. “I'm going to fly back to Duviri and discuss it with Sythel tomorrow. Who's coming?”

Mathila said, “Of course I’ll come with you. What about you, Dominus?”

“Uh…” The transformation of happy child back to beleaguered former-king was all in the slumped shoulders. Dominus wore his guilt as heavily as a yoke or a millstone around his neck. “No, you're right. I have to warn Queen Sythel about threats from the Void like the Wall, the Jackal, and the hand we saw reaching for Duviri.”

Even though Dominus had made such stunning progress in the last two weeks, Drifter was loathe to drag him back into danger. “I can warn her.” He offered the boy's burdened conscience a way out. “Your responsibility to Duviri can end here, living out your exile and learning from Teshin. That was the original plan, after all. No one expects any more of you.”

“It's my fault that the Undercroft was in such chaos. It's my fault that Duviri is at risk.” Even while he denied it, Dominus looked around at the others, judging whether Drifter's absolving words were true. 

Mathila said, “I would welcome your company. Acrithis won’t. As for the rest of us who she’ll need to pull together to make her grand gamble work, who can say?” She trailed off, apparently not quite ready to face the unhappy reality of reforming the fractured Court with or without their former king. Better to put that off til tomorrow and snuggle closer to Brimon now.

Garmi Jr. said, “I vote you stay here. Brimon’s pretty cool for a dad, I guess, but he’s not like having another kid to hang out with who’s not my sister.”

Mathila II stuck her tongue out at her brother. “I vote he stays because I don’t want to be stuck with you!”

“Kids, some things can’t be decided with voting,” Brimon chided through a smile. He slung his free arm around both of them. “On the racetrack, we say that racers can't have a back-seat jockey, so let Dominus make the choice that seems best to him.”

Dominus turned to Teshin.

“I suppose you expect me to say that you can work off your debts in the Circuit, paying them down with blood,” Teshin said.

Dominus nodded.

Teshin gestured for him to come closer so he could place his hands on his head and shoulder. “Would it surprise you to know that I am tired of training children for war? It is no bad thing to simply enjoy what remains of your childhood. If that is what you truly want. Do you even know what you want?”

Dominus stared down at his shoes. “Is it so bad to say that I want to be king? To try again and do right by everyone this time? Not in a “Begin Again” sort of way, I mean,” he clarified hastily. “More like how during the Jubilee, Drifter fixed everything one step at a time.”

“Mostly fixed everything,” Drifter corrected, thinking about the drenched tents and decorations. 

Mathila said, “My floral centerpieces were ruined.” She didn't sound too upset. 

Dominus said, “Yeah, it wasn't like it never happened. It was still better than if you'd never tried. I still had a good time because you chose to try to fix what went wrong.”

“Ah, choices,” Teshin said. “It always comes down to choices in the end. You were a king. You are a child. You must find comfort in your choices on the road ahead, for you understand the false comfort of resetting the Spiral until you get it perfect.”

Dominus wrestled with understanding.

Drifter sat there, hushing his every Sun urge to weigh in and guide his son. Once again, he felt a whole new appreciation for the many times that Teshin must've quietly stood by as he wrestled with the many decisions that led him to this point. 

On the one side lay the hard responsibility of kingship…and the chance to prove himself, rising up as the right king like a phoenix from the ashes of failure.

On the other side was the promise of sweet freedom, as carefree a childhood as Teshin could give him, and the love of a family like he'd never known.

It must be Dominus’ decision, or else the choice would be made in vain.

Dominus straightened his shoulders and said firmly, “I want both.”

“Oh?” Teshin said, a smile breaking out across his face.

“I owe it to myself and all the people who looked to me to be their king to make the kingdom better than I left it. I made the mess; I shouldn’t leave it for others to clean up. Maybe by the end of it I'll be the right king, or I won't and I'll stand aside for Lodun.” Then he told Mathila and her family, “Even if I'm king, could I still come by for dinner?”

Drifter let out a silent breath filled with relief and no small amount of respect. Truly, ambition braced the soul. Just as he'd decided so long ago that he owed it to the people of Duviri to fix his make-believe kingdom, now Dominus set his own lofty goal: to right the course of his life and live it properly this time.

Mathila and Brimon exchanged glances, communicating silently over their kids' heads in the way of parents everywhere.

“Please?” Garmi Jr. begged.

“He's not so bad once you get to know him,” Mathila II wheedled.

Brimon held out his hand for Dominus. “Every kaithe should have a stable to rest their weary wings. What's good for the kaithe is good for the king.”

Mathila held out hers. “It would make me very happy if you would come for dinner, and lunch, and breakfast-”

“Yay!” The twins promptly interrupted. They jumped up and began to leap around and dance with Dominus. “We have a brother!”

“Finally we have a brother! I've been asking for ages!”

“It's about time, Mom! We have a brother! When can we get another?”

Mathila facepalmed. Brimon looked everywhere but at Drifter and Teshin. Teshin kept a perfectly straight face. Drifter couldn’t quite pull it off.

“Oh for Void's sake,” Dominus huffed, far too happy to sound properly scandalized.

Chapter Text

Drifter woke to shuffling feet and the soft thump of Teshin's staff as he and Dominus snuck past the rest of Mathila's sleeping family and into the kitchen. He pretended to sleep for ten more minutes until it was plausible the whistle of the kettle woke him. 

As he crept down the hallway (because once the twins awakened, no one was getting another wink of sleep), Dominus asked over the sizzle of a pan and soft hiss of the nutricube hydrator, “Are you sure those are eggs?” Dubious, he added, “It's a cube. I don't think it counts.”

Teshin replied, “For all the marvels of my more technologically advanced world, I must admit that Duviri has better food.”

“When this is all over and Duviri's safe, you'll come live on Mathila's Farm, and I'll visit when I’m not being king - the right king - and we'll have tamm milk, cheese, and cress.” 

“I think I'd enjoy that.”

Drifter stepped into the kitchen to find that in addition to managing breakfast, Teshin packed their rucksacks with extra rations and tea. The tea was helpfully labeled with the Spiral of its harvest. His pack held the last of the Jubilee Calm. Then, sounds behind him announced that he hadn't been as quiet as he hoped.

“Good morning, Drifter,” Teshin said. “Set the table for seven, would you?”

Even though Fear's thunder rumbled outside, breakfast was a stolen moment of joy spent passing around dubious cubed eggs, squares of bacon carved from a protein/fat nutricube, and toasted carb cubes slathered in makapa preserves from Duviri's orchards. 

All too soon, it was time for goodbyes. While Mathila and Dominus said goodbye to the twins and Brimon, Teshin drew Drifter aside for a private word.

Teshin held him by the shoulders, looking him over from head to toe. “First, let me say that I am so proud of you.”

Through a suddenly thick throat, he said, “Thanks.”

“Don't thank me yet. I am completely terrified for you.”

Before he watched Dominus run around a battlefield looking for the decrees they needed for a fighting chance, he wouldn't have understood either that bone-deep terror or the courage it took for Teshin to stay steadfast in his cave while they fought in the Circuit. 

Teshin continued, “I know you are a Sun. Your greatest strength is your intuition and your confidence unshaken. Your mind set on action, your commitment complete.”

“...I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me being a Sun. Usually it's more like “Did you look before you leaped?””

“Please tell me you have a plan.”

He did: a grand gamble. The sort of plan that only a Sun could pull off, relying as it did on intuition and his ability to overcome obstacles by either improvisation or bashing his face into them. “Acrithis’ plan is the only way to salvage more of Duviri than whatever flotsam and jetsam is left after the Void takes what it wants. Even if it weren’t worth putting it all on the line to save our kingdom for its own sake, Albrecht Entrati himself said that a time would come when Duviri would be needed for a work of repentance, whatever that means. I’m sure Sythel won’t let us go quietly into the Void.”

Thunder rumbled.

Teshin said, “You don't really think she has what it takes to conceptually re-embody Duviri, do you?”

“Acrithis does.” Then, because Teshin had the right of it, he admitted, “I think it's going to take putting a whole person on the throne.”

Over in Kullervo's alcove, Dominus hugged his Warframe protector carefully so as to not cut himself on any of the daggers. “You know, you could probably take those out if you wanted to.”

Kullervo tilted his head, as though considering it.

Teshin murmured, “You've had worse ideas.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“If defending Duviri from the Void were as simple as orowyrms and emotional regulation, then Dominus would've figured it out long ago.” That was the harsh voice of the Conclave Master, not the doting grandfather. “So, Sun, think ahead for once: what will you do when your conceptual embodiment and your focus and your vaunted emotional control doesn't win the day?”

Despite himself, his eyes widened. Of course he'd assumed that because he was a whole person in control of his emotions, he'd do better than His Emotionally Unregulated Majesty Dominus Thrax, who'd only managed a protracted struggle against the grasping hand of the Void. He snorted at his own hubris. “Alright, so I can't do it alone.”

“Don't rely on your singular power over Duviri,” Teshin suggested, then tapped Drifter's temple and his heart. “Rely on this. When you walk out of Duviri-”, he waved at the very real Zariman beyond the dormizone, “-you'll be as literally powerless as you were before.”

Since it wasn't as simple as orowyrms, emotional regulation, and singular power over Duviri, how was he to save the kingdom?

Dominus’ Histornam kaithe had joined the Psyacus pair and Kaithe. The boy patted him goodbye. “It's just for a little bit. We'll ask Queen Sythel to let you back in the pastures. You'll get to stretch your wings.”

Histornam nuzzled him back. 

Brimon said, “Thanks. I’m not sure what sort of racing I can get up to this close to the ship, but it’ll be nice not to be cooped up the whole time, you know?”

Drifter said his intuition’s answer: “He’s never had his whole court behind him.”

Teshin replied, “Then you'd better get the whole court behind him.”

With a sudden burst of clarity, like a veil of clouds parting to reveal Lua's silver face (okay, fine, maybe there was something to the Moon axiom that “to the reflective mind, all things come in time”), he understood the missing piece of the plan and the key to victory. “No, I can't be the one to do it. I'm leaving Duviri, remember? Dominus has to get his whole court behind him or else I'm just propping him up on a shaky throne.”

Satisfied at last, Teshin sighed, “Finally.”

Torn between exasperation and affection, Drifter complained, “Really? You could've told me “Hey, you really ought to be working with Thrax” ages ago.”

“Yes, I could have.” That was not the harsh face of the Conclave Master. That was the loving face of his second father. “But you know I can't teach you a lesson you haven't learned through your own struggle. Only then is it written too deep in you for any number of Spirals to take it away. I know. I tried.”

Exasperation faded. Only affection remained, and love, and deep respect. “I know. I'll carry these lessons with me far beyond Duviri.”

Dominus shouldered his small rucksack and waited rather impatiently for Mathila and them to finish their last goodbyes.

“As for your son,” Teshin turned to him with a smile. “My grandson-” 

Oh, the affection in that phrase! Dominus stood straighter under his grandfather's careful, caring inspection. 

“Do remember that three are the weaving ways of the Litany of the Dax:

Between sun and moon
Unfolds a winding path;
Not by one Way alone
Is Mastery achieved.”

Dominus said, “I don't understand.”

Teshin explained, “To master oneself is the hardest battle of them all. You will fight it every day of your life. Only the calm of the true warrior can prevail against the ultimate enemy: yourself. I want you to know that you are your own person and so even though your path to victory may not look like mine or like Drifter's, you can find your own way to achieve mastery over yourself.”

Dominus’ eyes darted between them, keen and evaluating. After all, he’d witnessed Drifter’s rise from a sad sack into the man he wanted as his father, not through a single grand epiphany nor an epic redemption quest, but just by placing one foot in front of the other, one slow spiral upward at a time, grasping each offered helping hand in turn. And yet Dominus was not Drifter. He was his own person, precious and loved. He nodded. “Maybe I do understand.”

Though they hadn’t intended to make a show of their reentry into Duviri, it was hard to be subtle when all kaithes were banished and so an absolutely enormous five-elemental Orowyrm with wyrmling escorts forged through the increasingly oppressive mists that marked the boundary between the islands and the Void, curled up next to Castle Town, disembarked two passengers, and then turned into the supposedly exiled Drifter.

Acrithis waited with folded arms. Eyeing Dominus with scant favor, she only said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Mathila asked, “Can we get an audience with Sythel?”

“If you can get through them.” Acrithis waved gloomily towards the palace courtyard. All manner of servants, attendants, and hanger-ons waited outside with the rubble and fallen statues while their betters clustered inside the hastily boarded up doorway with the Queen. Without kaithes, Duviri’s nobility had to walk back to Castle Town to pay homage to the new monarch…which only made them more certain that they had to get their effort’s worth from the trip. “Everyone wants a piece of her. Ironically, if she were still as paranoid as she used to be, they'd never dare take such liberties.”

Drifter thought back to the evacuation of Castle Town and his experience with the nobility then. Unlike the Courtiers who formed the king’s inner circle and assisted with the kingdom’s administration even when the going got tough, these nobles had been the first to flee and apparently the first to come back to pick over what was left behind. They thought themselves the equal of Lodun (with none of his ability). Someone like His Majesty’s Party Planner was only barely qualified to tell them what to do. “I suppose that anyone with a real job is already doing it; working the fields, gathering in grain, crafting what they can. Without a firm hand on the reins, these nobles are like an aimless kaithe, grazing wherever they want to.”

“It's my fault,” Dominus said.

“Oh?”

“When I smashed or exiled islands, who do you think escaped?”

Judging by the earlier evacuation, “Not the peasants.”

Dominus nodded. “The surviving nobility made their way to my court. Eager to avoid my wrath, they flattered me. I never did put them to work on something more productive. Perhaps if I had listened more to those who told me what I needed to know instead of what I wanted to hear, the kingdom would be in better shape today.”

As they talked, the crowd made way for Dominus Thrax. He had the confidence to critique himself and his past actions, so who were they to stop him now? Whispers and pointing fingers followed their progress, but no one challenged them as they ducked under the crisscrossed boards and into the throne room.

Queen Sythel was on her throne. The map table of Duviri had been moved from the war room out in front of her throne so she could survey the whole of the remaining islands and the extent of the Void’s incursions. Aside from that, however, her battle preparations more resembled a siege, with Sythel as the beleaguered castle and the noblemen and women as the armies battering at her gates. Or at least badgering her for what they wanted.

Though Dominus had cut through the servants outside with ease, inside they were behind ranks of nobility in order of importance. There wasn’t much room to manuever, and, as Lequos with his checklist got elbowed back to the third rank by a gowned noblewoman clawing her way forward, they wouldn’t get up to Sythel so easily. 

For the moment, Drifter formed a bulwark for Mathila and Dominus so the back rank wouldn’t crush them against the boards. He’d never asked the name of the nobleman he’d recruited from Primrose Village. That man was up at the front, expounding to Sythel on how the recent wars disrupted food shipments from farms to the towns. “We must ensure that all surplus is drawn out of the countryside and sent to feed our people properly.”

Mathila muttered, “And I suppose he’s going to guarantee the safety of the roads personally-”

“Give me a troop of Dax to force the farmers to bring their produce to market.”

Her jaw dropped. “What an idiot! Who’s going to take in the next day’s harvest if the laborers aren’t in the fields?”

“Therefore you should appoint me the new landlord for Mathila’s Farm after she, ah-”

Her fists clenched. 

With false delicacy, he continued, “-ah, I heard she ran off into the night screaming.”

A few people tittered. There were too many nobles between them for Mathila to just forge her way to the front or to give him a piece of her mind. She settled for hissing through clenched teeth, “That’s why we had tribute wagons and Dax tax collectors, you fool. Let soldiers do soldiering and farmers farm!”

“To be fair,” Dominus said, “Tax collecting was not as high on my priority list as making sure Drifter didn't escape. So, uh, I guess this is my fault too.”

Up on her throne, Sythel wavered between listening to the loudest voice and her friendship with absent Mathila. “I’m sure she’s alright.”

“Be that as it may,” the nobleman first soothed, then struck, “Can Her Majesty really afford for her people to starve in the streets once the grain dole ceases? As you know, unhappy people raise rebellions.”

Another noble, a woman in rich red raiments who Drifter vaguely remembered owning a kaithe herd on Royalstead pastures, scoffed at him. “Are you threatening the Queen?”

Fearful Sythel flinched. 

“Your Majesty,” the noblewoman took over the reins of conversation with all the arrogance of an expert kaithe driver, “No one wants Mathila’s pastures to go unused or her farms to lay fallow. Her children are young and need a noble guardian to ensure their interests are taken care of.”

More titters rose from the second rank of nobles. They might applaud Brimon's racing prowess, but he was evidently not respected otherwise.

Mathila said, “There are inheritance laws!”

Dominus asked rhetorically, “How often did I flaunt those laws to do what I wanted?”

As more nobles raised their voices over more prime pieces of real estate who's owners were absent due to the civil wars, Sythel had the look of a mouse caught between two kexats. 

Drifter reevaluated his first impression. This wasn't a siege. This was a wolf pack of con artists and grifters playing on Sythel's fears so they could snatch the best pieces of the pie for themselves. They even had their own little carved flags that they planted on the map to mark their desired territory.

He felt a deep and abiding compassion for her paralysis. Counterproductive though it was now, she had still stepped up to end Bombastine's tyranny, done her duty, and now found herself saddled with an impossible task that she nonetheless tried to discharge as best she could. He felt none at all for the nobles preying on her.

Dominus said, “I taught them to fear my boot pressing on their neck. My hand seizing what I wanted. I cannot now be surprised how they act under a weaker ruler. They learned the lessons I taught them all too well: to seize what they can while they can. To make sure their boot is on the neck of others.”

Drifter said, “Duviri can't survive this sort of feeding frenzy.” A kingdom in the real world might limp along for a time as it's upper crust plundered the lower classes. The Orokin Empire had certainly outlasted many others, after all. Duviri could not. Not with the Void pressing at its threshold. Like their two-person island or the ferry boat with the twins, everyone must remain calm together or else.

A pair of nobles from Upperhaven, who Drifter did not remember taking a turn at the bucket brigade or pump, loudly requested that a Dax troop be sent to secure the city in case Lodun's peasant militia got any ideas about equality. The noblewoman in red agreed, and added “I'd be much obliged if Your Majesty would un-banish my kaithes.”

A rumble of agreement rose from the whole crowd. Who ever heard of nobles walking like commoners? 

Even Dominus said, “She's got a good point there.”

A few nobles in the lowest rank glanced back at them, nodded in approval, turned back to the Queen…and then snapped back around as they realized just who'd spoken.

At first, it was just glances. Then, like a wave, whispers and nudges rippled forward through the ranks. Heads turned like lodestones towards the former king then back to the Queen. Was that Mathila beside him?

When the nobles at the very front finally realized that Mathila was back and glaring holes through them, they gulped and backed away from the throne. A particularly oblivious nobleman pushed into the gap and started going on about his desire for Farbreeze Hamlet until someone elbowed him in the side and he realized that Dominus Thrax returned from exile, Drifter was with him, and if glares could kill, Acrithis would've obliterated the lot of them in one meteor strike. If ceramic faces could lose their color, he would've been mistaken for a bone-white mask.

One of the back rank dared to take the first leap. “Ah, Sire,” he offered Dominus the kingly title. “You've returned in Duviri’s hour of need!”

Acrithis backed away from them. Her lips set tight in a grim line. “I want no part of this.” But she was the only one who didn't accept the new party line with false smiles, obsequious greetings, and general toadying and currying favor. 

If Sythel had still been in the iron grip of her fears, fear of her would've put steel in their spines. Since she'd mellowed, the nobility feared Dominus Thrax’ vengeance more. 

“I knew you'd come back, Sire.”

“Of course Bombastine never had a chance.”

The whole gravity of the court shifted. A gap opened up around Sythel's throne. They pressed towards Dominus instead. Dominus pressed against Drifter, who made himself stand as a bulwark for them both.

Red Raiments from Royalstead eeled her way through the ranks to say to Dominus, “Lodun was undoubtedly a competent General, which only goes to show your wisdom in making him Primce of Fire. It just goes to show that Duviri needs an experienced king on the throne.”

Nobleman from Primrose was right behind her. He smiled heartily at Mathila. “How do you think we should ensure the grain dole goes out on time?”

How quick they were to follow the changing winds, even to the point of disrespecting the Queen in her own court! 

Sythel noticed them. She breathed her slow four-count, which hadn’t helped her control the demanding rabble, but at least kept her from flying into a panic now.

Drifter felt a deep and abiding pity for her. She was truly doing her best, even though she’d never wanted to be captain of this ship. She didn’t deserve this slap in the face. On the other hand, if she couldn’t control the nobility, then she couldn’t lead Duviri through the troubled times ahead. 

Dominus took a deep, steadying breath himself. He answered the nobleman from Primrose, “I think you should ask Queen Sythel.”

The man blinked. Then he fawned, “Ah, but you have much more experience…”

Dominus looked from the man to the throne. Across the ranks of nobles, expectant gazes followed his every move. He clenched his fists. Then he straightened his shoulders and stood as tall as he could. 

Was he mustering his tattered pride, Drifter wondered, or the calm of a true warrior? When even Drifter felt the urge to take charge and take command away from Sythel, how much more must Dominus?

Dominus ordered, “Stand aside.”

The nobles made way for him. He walked up that aisle straight to the foot of Sythel's throne.

Would he, Drifter wondered, start his new life by seating himself on the throne to the acclaim of nobles who were only unified by their greed?

Her hands clamped on the armrests. Her knees shook under her queenly shift. Her eyes darted from Dominus to Mathila, from Drifter to her Dax guards, expecting that at any moment he'd give the order to haul her away.

Lequos’ voice shook as he announced, sans title, “Dominus Thrax.”

Dominus visibly steeled himself and then, with every eye on him, knelt down in front of Sythel and bowed his proud head.

Acrithis gasped.

Had the resounding silence that followed been any less solemn, Drifter would've punched the air and crowed, “That's my boy!” He settled for a shit-eating grin, which was no less inappropriate, but at least no one was looking at him.

Dominus said, “Your Majesty, Queen Sythel, I have returned from my exile only out of necessity. Drifter and I bring warnings of great danger to all Duviri from the Void. Lady Acrithis,” he graciously beckoned her forward so that she had a clear aisle up to the throne, “informed us of a possible path to victory. I will not dare advise the Queen given my, uh, my many past failures, but I will say that had I listened better to Acrithis, I might not have ended up in exile.”

It was so humbly said and done that Acrithis even patted his shoulder before she bowed to Sythel. 

Sythel straightened herself on the throne. “Very well. No one doubts that both of you care for Duviri in your own ways. Make your reports.”

The nobles greeted reports of the Jackal with protestations about Duviri's military might, but by the time they heard the toll of void infections, the growing mists, the coils creeping from the maelstrom, the reaching hand, and the Wall that awaited lost islands, they were even more subdued than Sythel. She at least seemed to draw some strength from seeing her friend Mathila unbroken. 

Acrithis gave a bold account of her grand gamble, and finally their nerve broke. 

Red Raiments from Royalstead sneered, “You've literally just finished telling us we’re doomed to be consumed by the Void or a Wall of Bone. What can the Queen do about that? Happy feelings and books aren’t going to save us.”

More grumbling and dissent followed, inchoate for now. Drifter nonetheless marked the dark frowns and darker whispers. No one wanted to speak up in public where Queen Sythel's informers would mark dissent and arrest them in the night or they would be crushed by the hard hand of a tyrant. In private though, these seeds of trouble would grow.

A memory of the Zariman stirred; while his classmates whispered rumors to each other, his parents cautioned him to keep his head down and mouth shut. Even before the disastrous leap, people who voiced the loudest doubts disappeared. “Reassigned to another position,” or so the leadership said, but everyone knew that meant the brig or worse. When the leap failed and the familiar space outside the ship was replaced with the limitless void as far as the eye could see and everyone knew they were never making it back home much less to Tau, no wonder fires raged on the lower decks, all order broke down, and he hid himself from the chaos.

The Conclave taught him to learn from every failure. From the Zariman's failure, he saw how to do better. These doubting questions could not be squelched by oppression. They would only be whispered in the dark…or asked openly, boldly in the light for all to hear the answers.

He stepped forward and with his best Party Planner voice, uttered a version of the Conclave's traditional challenge after a string of defeats. “We've lost countless islands to the Void. The Wall consumed our citizens. We've had three coups in less than three weeks and the kingdom wasn't exactly peaceful before that. What have you learned that makes you think we'll do better than before?”

Everyone looked for an answer from the Queen and her advisors.

Acrithis nodded to him and repeated his advice from before. “We’ll be alright as long as we regulate our emotions.”

Every skeptical gaze landed on Dominus. 

Dominus took a deep breath. “The Scholar taught me that void travel is safe as long as we control our emotions.” A wry shrug broke his solemn tone. “Which, uh, I have thus far failed to do.”

A subtle settling swept through the crowd like a wave. Held breaths released in a soft but unanimous sigh.

Dominus now had the confidence to not only nod in acknowledgment that they’d feared Drifter was about to be hauled off and impaled, he even launched into a rallying speech. 

“My island of exile was a two-person ship. Both of us had to stay calm and work together or else we would both join the Wall of Bone.”

“When I sailed on a fragile cockleshell of a ferry boat, all four of us had to stay calm and work together or else we would fall together into the abyss.”

“If we do not work together now, if we tear each other down to enrich ourselves with temporary advantages, if we allow panic and greed to drive us apart, then we will surely all be engulfed by the Void. We will join our lost islands and meet our dead in an eternal necropolis from which none escape.”

“Or…you always told me that Duviri was the most magnificent kingdom to ever flourish under my benevolent reign.” Though he made another wry little shrug, he continued, “I say it's time we prove it. I have much to prove to you. You have much to prove to each other and those who look to you for wise leadership. Let us all prove it to each other, from the highest noble, which I was, to the lowest peasant,” here, he turned again and bowed to Sythel, “Which, uh, I technically am. I'm sorry if I overstepped in speaking for Your Majesty.”

As a rallying cry and a demonstration of humility in practice, it worked wonderfully. Sythel smiled at him now that all her nerves were calmed. “Well said. You are indeed proving yourself as Drifter's son and the Party Planner's apprentice.”

Technically, in the eyes of Duviri's nobility, this was a giant demotion. A repudiation of the Orokin ancestry Thrax always claimed, reducing the former king below someone who was himself only recently elevated above an outlaw.

One had only to see how proudly Dominus stood to understand that this was a promotion.

Mathila generously held out her hands to the nobles who tried to divide her lands and disinterest her children. “Let's prove it, shall we?”

Neither Red Raiments or Primrose Nobleman managed to meet her gaze.

Drifter again spoke up to grease the wheels of cooperation. “I never did reward him for his fine work managing the Dax Equitem.” He winked at the man in conspiratorial fashion, “Unfortunately for you, I'm told the reward for good work is more work.”

Primrose Nobleman puffed up with pride.

As for Red Raiments, he turned to Sythel. “Your Majesty, if you'll accept the advice of your Party Planner and his apprentice, we're going to need the finest kaithes in Duviri to communicate to everyone in the kingdom so we can truly work together.”

Queen Sythel, Duviri’s finest organizational mind, understood immediately. “Of course.”

Thus the worst of the nascent turmoil was diffused.

Actually sorting out the details of the situation took hours, of course. Fortunately for them, Sythel thrived on details and her advisors were behind her to help deal with the larger picture. By the end of it, they had a tentative plan by which the city nobles would prepare evacuation plans to lead their citizens to a defensible camp on the two larger central islands. Mathila and the other noble landowners would prepare their stored surplus to feed all of Duviri’s people who had to retreat from the grasping hand. Kaithe riders would stand ready to carry Queen Sythel’s orders at a moment’s notice.

If they all stayed calm and worked together, though they might not all survive this crisis, at least they would not go quietly into the Void.

Hours later when the whole wolf pack of nobles newly empowered to prove that they deserved their high positions for more than who had the best flattering tongue left them alone, Sythel slumped against the throne. She asked Dominus, “Are you sure you don't want it back?”

Again he made a wry shrug. Seriously, he said, “I terrified you to the point of rebellion for so many Spirals. You've lived so long in fear of me. I'm sorry.”

Sythel, who now took strength from seeing her fears destroyed, asked, “What will you do now?”

Dominus looked to Drifter.

Drifter considered. On the one hand, marshaling the defenses meant plenty of work for a Party Planner and his apprentice. On the other hand, his grand gamble required so much more. It still had to be Dominus’ choice. He advised, “I could not plan your Jubilee alone,” and then shut up and let Dominus make his choice.

Dominus asked urgently. “Where is Bombastine? Luscinia? Lodun?!”

Chapter Text

Once Dominus pledged that he only desired to help his former Courtiers so they could join Acrithis’ plan to remake Duviri, Queen Sythel recounted their unhappy fates. After Bombastine's coup, Lodun chose exile over surrender and thus languished alone at the Amphitheater. Luscinia wisely hid herself and only emerged after Queen Sythel jailed Bombastine at the Citadel for his own protection. The Soprano insisted on standing guard over his cell just in case Her Majesty’s fears got the best of her. 

“The Amphitheater,” Dominus muttered. “I really shouldn’t have broken Lodun's grandmother’s shrine.”

“If you hadn't,” Sythel said, “you still wouldn't be king. But at least I wouldn't have to be Queen. It's so much pressure. I wish someone else would do it.”

Rather than meet her eyes, Mathila said, “Oh, look at the time! I'm off to my farm.”

Drifter bent over the map, tracing out evacuation routes and arranging a tent city campsite at the central Agora basin. 

Dominus said, “You have no idea how much I want to. But I don't deserve it, not yet, and besides, it's rightfully Lodun's.”

Sythel sighed. “Fine. Just don’t blame me when I can't stop the Void's hands from seizing what they want.”

While they'd organized evacuations and arranged for housing, the kingdom's kaithe riders had been busy scouting. They'd brought back dire news: the Void tendrils made not one, but two hands. Models matching the description were added to the war table's map of Duviri.

The right hand with three fingers and a thumb reached for the Chamber of the Muses. Drifter observed, “Maybe it's a good thing that Luscinia’s visiting Bombastine in prison.”

The left hand, with all its fingers, reached for the Amphitheater. 

That put Lodun in the most immediate danger. Dominus said again, “I really shouldn't have broken that shrine. With your permission, Your Majesty, I'd like to start by fixing that like you all fixed my Jubilee, one step at a time.”

“Do bring Lodun back, please. I'm pretty sure the Dax can smell that I'm afraid of them.”

On their way out, Acrithis whispered, “Should we worry about leaving her on her own? It wouldn’t take much for this Queen business to turn nasty.”

Dominus said, “Well, of course she can’t do it without her whole court behind her. I couldn’t, Lodun couldn’t, Bombastine couldn’t, and Luscinia is the only one of us smart enough to not want the job. All the more reason for us to fetch Lodun.”

“I think she'll do better than you fear,” Drifter said. After all, Sythel and Luscinia were the only Courtiers to prove to themselves they could overcome their faults in small ways as well as large. They'd built more resiliency than the rest.

They trooped out to the emptying courtyard and summoned their kaithes. 

Kaithe did not come at Drifter's call. “Hopefully he's with Barris.”

Petting his Histornam, Dominus shot him a sharp, skeptical look.

Yeah, even his own bullshit meter spiked at that. He smiled, not as naturally as he would've liked, and asked, “Can I ride double with you? Acrithis’ carriage doesn't agree with me.”

Many more kaithes winged across Duviri’s sullen sky. Dax Equitem scouted the islands’ edges, messengers raced from the palace to outlying settlements, and most of the riders flew to and from the southern island over the evacuation routes filled with citizens and their wagons. No one else dared fly out to the Amphitheater except for one distant rider far ahead of them. Perhaps it was a familiar kaithe with a boy on his back, perhaps it was Lodun on his histornam, or perhaps just wishful thinking about a stranger.

Everyone else steered clear of the Void's left hand. It was a half-formed shape of billowing mists and metal coils of contamination, like some giant Void Angel's claw conceptualizing into being. It reached towards the Amphitheater like a maestro summoning the thunderous crescendo of his orchestra. While the portion of the island behind the theater had already crumbled into the abyss thanks to Dominus’ meteor strike, the Void now wanted the rest of it.

As a tailwind swept them out to the island, Dominus asked, “Do you think I could fix the shrine using Acrithis’ ideas about the Palimpsest and rewriting events?”

“The Palimpsest also says that traces of the past persist,” Drifter reminded him. “Truth be told, I think this is more like the Jubilee where everyone knew I rained all over everything, but we all pitched in to have a grand time anyway.”

The lone rider flew to meet them. It was definitely Kaithe. Barris steered confidently with his knees as he cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted, "You have to help Milord Lodun!”

Dominus urged Histornam after him. Drifter shouted back, “What’s wrong?”

“He won’t leave.”

While Acrithis secured her carriage at the landing dock, Barris explained, “As soon as Kaithe came, I knew I had to find Milord Lodun. He loves his kaithes. He never wanted to banish them.” Lodun’s prized histornam grazed freely around a dracroot bush near a scenic lake. “Milord Lodun told me to let him fly away.”

“So you got us.” Drifter reassured him, “You did well. Where is he?”

Barris led them to the broken, buckled back of the island where the massive weight of the theater was subtly starting to slide into the abyss. 

Lodun stood at the edge. He stared down the monstrous left hand with clenched fists, a stiff back, and his head held high. He’d use his last bit of power to decide that if Duviri hated him, he hated himself more, and so he’d relieve them of his presence. But when Barris tugged on his sleeve, and Lodun saw the three newcomers, he let out a groan like a great tree that had burned from the inside and now only waited for the next windstorm to blow him over. 

Drifter let out a matching groan. Lodun had been his executioner and eventual friend. Even a brother. He never wanted to see him fall to such a state where he might welcome death by impalement.

Even Dominus pressed his hand to his mask as though he might cry.

“It's over.” Lodun said, as dull as a blade struck repeatedly against rocks. “Acrithis, it's over. Whatever plan you've got, I want no part of it.”

“No more cunning plans,” she said. “Just the hope that it's not too late to let go of my grudges and save what we can.” 

Though she briefly outlined her plan, Lodun was unmoved. Dominus stepped forward next.

Lodun visibly steeled himself. “Say what you must.”

Dominus said, “Thank you.”

“Really?” Lodun asked. The skeptical tone was the first hint of his old spirit they'd heard yet.

“Believe it or not,” Dominus said sincerely, “I think maybe getting dethroned was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. But before that, I hurt you. I destroyed your great-grandmother's shrine and your family's legacy. I shouldn't have done it. If I can help fix it, I will.”

For a moment, a spark of surprise lit Lodun's eyes. Then it was sapped away and replaced by dullness. “Just one more bucket of piss splashed in my face.” He returned to his brooding vigil.

Barris muttered, “I thought you three would be more helpful, you know?”

If Drifter were here alone, he would've simply stood shoulder to shoulder with Lodun watching the grasping hand slowly cohere into menacing reality. He did not expect Lodun to reach out or share his feelings. The Prince of Fire had been burned too many times. Silent companionship would've said more than words or easily broken promises. But he wasn't here alone. Besides, if his plan was to stand any chance of success, Dominus had to be the one to reach out and get his old court behind him.

Dominus rallied. “Well, you didn't fix the Jubilee with apologies. Thanks to Acrithis, I think I know how I can start making this right. The Paradox is the key to reconstructing the past, even if we all know what I did.” 

Much like the now-vanished Lake Verula, the Amphitheater’s scenic lake stocked a variety of native fishes that danced in response to the performance. Or it used to, before the ravenous Golden Maws arrived. Dominus headed right for it, ignoring the ominous ripples that disturbed the leaf-strewn waters.

Barris called after him. “Uh, your majes-, uh, Thrax, uh-”

Even Lodun turned out morbid curiosity to see if Dominus Thrax was about to get his masked head bitten off by Duviri's most dangerous, non-native predator.

“Hey, you,” Barris shouted, and then took off running after him. “That's dangerous!”

With a rumble, a void mirror rose up to block Dominus’ path. He waved cheerfully to the Tenno inside. The hooded Tenno waved back. Were it not for Dominus’ mask and Orokin accouterments, they could have been twins in size and build. They started talking as Barris shook his head.

Lodun heaved a great sigh. “I wish I’d bricked those up.”

Remembering their narrow shave with Captain Vor, Drifter admitted, “It would've worked, unlike the trap at Garmi's grave.” As they had at Thrax Gardens all those months ago, they stood shoulder to shoulder. Unlike then, it was as if a vast gulf lay between them that he could not bridge alone. Probably because he had to keep one eye on Dominus to make sure the fool boy didn’t get his head bitten off. So he turned to Acrithis, who’d remained by their side. “I understand why you did it.”

“Do you?” She asked. 

He'd grown enough to face it squarely and say how it really was: “I am Duviri's creator. It's first caretaker. Your grudges are rightfully against me too, not just Dominus. You've endured since the beginning without even the sometimes sweet bliss of being able to forget what I wrought and then abandoned. The Archarbor's Oblivating Entanglement says, “Strange though it may seem, the mind's tendency to forget is not necessarily a weakness.” I see now why that's a blessing.” 

Memories were all she had, and so those grudges had animated her where pleasant memories could not. Would he become the same once he left Duviri and leapt into the fight to survive in the real world, bitterly grasping after whatever was left, even the bad memories? Perhaps especially the bad memories, because grudges were fuel for anger and, as Teshin's grandfather said, anger was as good in a fight as courage.

She said, “Don’t make excuses for me.”

Understanding made it easier to apply the balm of forgiveness. “It's an explanation, not an excuse. I've already forgiven you; I don't mean to rub salt in your wounds.”

“Maybe you do understand,” she allowed.

Meanwhile, Dominus left the void mirror and knelt on a golden plinth at the lakeside. 

The ravenous Golden Maw leaped out of the water in a burst of spray. Its golden fangs yawned wide to catch, clasp, and rend. 

Dominus merely looked at it. It shivered, like an Orowym submitting to transference, and then dove back into the lake. 

Moments later, the Maw resurfaced. It clasped a long black stone of Lorn in its jaws. 

It arced its sinuous body, and flung the stone ashore in a spray of water. Then it dove back for another.

Acrithis said, “Drifter, your story has been a long, long epic tragedy. It's taken me longer than I like to admit to hope that it might have a happy ending.”

More stones from Lodun's grandmother's shrine landed on the shoreline, one after the other.

Drifter said, “If my story has a happy ending, then it is not by my effort alone. I would not be who I am without all of you.” He included Lodun in that so that he knew that unlike back in the Archarbor, he was no unwitting intruder into their conversation.

Lodun said bitterly, “In hindsight, I wish I'd let it end with us both smashed by the Imp's meteor.”

At the lakeshore, Dominus and Barris tried to move a lornic stone between them and couldn’t. Barris pointed towards the kaithes. Dominus pointed at the adults clustered at the edge. The boys split up to their chosen tasks.

Drifter let the silence that followed that statement stretch on and on. This wasn't just about their grudges against him. He couldn't stay here to mediate whenever Lodun remembered how Acrithis encouraged his short-lived reign or she stewed over how he'd failed to successfully usher in a new era.

Acrithis said, “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” Lodun replied.

She said, “I cannot forget anything. Not the golden light of Calm on the Galleria’s statues nor the thunder of an Orowyrm obliterating the screams of the Calaventi’s farmers. Every day for a million years I have watched grudges and deceit tear apart our kingdom. You'd think I'd have learned something from all those memories, but apparently not. I thought myself above the Spirals and better than you Courtiers. In truth, I only deprived myself of the chance to learn what you had to teach me. Me, who prided myself on the knowledge in my Archives!”

Dominus tugged at Drifter’s hand.

She continued, “So you'd think that after watching Drifter get executed every day for his deeds as the courtiers’ henchman, I'd have thought better of it before I treated you like my cat’s-paw. I am sorry, Lodun. You were an excellent Prince of Fire. You deserved better.”

From anyone else, on any other day, perhaps that might have been the final bucket of piss that sent Lodun careening off the edge into an Orowyrm. On this day, when he admitted that he’d rather have died than become king, that he might have been happier if he’d stayed the Prince of Fire who was respected for himself, it was a measure of understanding that no one else but Drifter ever offered him. 

It was everything Drifter could hope for: that Acrithis could accept his forgiveness, let go of her grudges, and build a bridge out to Lodun that could last beyond him leaving.

Lodun clasped her hand, and said, “Acrithis, I-” and then he caught sight of Dominus. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to fix it. The shrine, I mean. I found most of the pieces thanks to the Paradox, but…well…it's just that the stones are really big and heavy.” Dominus shrugged his scrawny limbs. “Barris thinks we can haul the stones with our kaithes. I haven’t the slightest idea how to hitch one up.”

“Because those are noble steeds, not draft horses,” Lodun snapped. “And here I thought you knew how to treat your kaithes better than you treated me.”

Dominus winced.

Drifter patted him on the back. “I’ll help.”

Barris waited impatiently at the hitching posts. “Does no one except me care that the hand is obviously getting closer?” 

Not only did its looming shadow now cast the already overcast day into outright gloom, the coiling metal gradually solidified into colossal fingers of flesh, complete with rough and ragged fingernails. 

Drifter couldn’t even do anything about it right now, unless he were willing to transform into a free Orowyrm, cast fireballs, and rub Lodun's nose in one more way that he'd never measure up. 

“Look at it, it's getting more solid by the minute!”

“Yeah, we see it,” Drifter said as he dragged the largest, heaviest stone.

Barris looked at him like he’d turned back into the crazy outlaw he’d been back when they first herded tamms together. 

Obviously he wasn’t as reassuring as he intended. In hindsight, he sounded like the people who tried so hard to assure him that of course the Zariman’s void jump would go perfectly and they’d be in Tau before teatime. “Hey, you’re not crazy. It's a little like a big storm rolling in. Scary and dangerous. But if one of your tamms wasn't in your pen and was wandering out lost on the hillside instead, what would you do?”

Barris looked between the reaching hand and Lodun, muttered “Milord Lodun is the stubbornest tamm I ever herded,” and grabbed the other end of the stone.

Instead of hitching up a kaithe, Acrithis brought her carriage over so they could load stones and carry them over to Lodun’s vigil. Stone upon black stone they piled, until they’d mostly reassembled the broken, blasted shrine. Everything Dominus could carry, he did, by himself or with help. All the while, they ignored as best they could that the hand’s fingers reached for the Amphitheater with deceptively slow speed. 

Lodun scoffed. “It’s not the same. And besides, in a few moments, it won’t matter.”

Dominus said, “I can’t undo what I did. Even though you don’t need her to acknowledge your claim over the throne, you can still remember your grandmother.”

“I don’t remember her at all. There’s just a portrait in my house with judgmental eyes. Oh, wait. It burned because of you.”

Dominus winced, then rallied, “All Duviri judged you to be a more worthy king than me.”

“I was king for all of two weeks.” Lodun retorted.

“In your defense,” Dominus said, with an understanding that had never existed between them before, “being the right king kind of sucks. At least you tried to uphold your responsibilities before you got overthrown by Envy, which is more than I can say.”

“Uh, guys?” Barris said. “I thought once the shrine was built, we’d get out of here, not stand around talking while-”

There was nothing deceptively slow about the speed with which the fingers stretched overhead. The whole island shook as the thumb connected with the underside. Trees waved like wheat in a windstorm. The shrine rattled. The lake sloshed like a wine cup held aloft by a drunkard. They held onto each other to keep their footing.

Barris yelped. “Can we please leave, now?”

Lodun planted himself like a tree beside his grandmother’s shrine. A hollow and burned out tree, yes, but nothing less than the great storm that rolled down on them would move him. Not silent companionship, not forgiveness, not a rebuilt shrine, and certainly not any lingering affection for one small shepherd boy whose dreams of becoming a kaithe racer he’d helped make a reality. 

Drifter urged him, “Come with us.”

For the first time, the burning light of anger ignited in Lodun’s eyes. “Why would you want me?” he challenged. “I executed you every day of your long, miserable, epic tragedy of a life.”

Like Dominus, Drifter thought Lodun did not want to hear that he was more than a character, or that he was real. He needed to know that he was loved. “Before the executions, I lost everyone. I do not want to lose the man who has become my brother.”

The anger faded to ashes. It was the true answer, a balm that soothed all grudges between them, but Lodun had been burned too many times. Nothing could move him.

Nothing, except that at that moment, Barris lost all semblance of patience. He shouted, “If you want to be as stubborn as a tamm, too bad! I’m a tammherder!” 

Then he seized hold of Lodun’s hand with no respect for the fact that he was a mere peasant and Lodun a Prince and General. He hauled him toward their kaithes, ranting all the way. “Look, I tried persuasion. I tried bribery. I tried flattery. I brought Drifter here. I even help fish up spooky rocks with a freaking Golden Maw for you! The way I see it, uh, milord, you’re the reason I nearly won the Jubliee race. So if I’m ever going to amount to more than just a tammherder, I need you.”

Unwilling to lash out at his pupil, Lodun suffered the pulling with as much dignity as he could muster.

“So you WILL get back up on your kaithe. And we WILL fly out of here before we all get squished.” Barris glared back over his shoulder at the rest of them as if they’d argue. 

Dominus scrambled after them. Acrithis clambered into her carriage. Drifter took up the rear. He ducked his head to make sure no treacherous smiles escaped. Lodun would never forgive him.

The island rocked again as the palm landed on the edge, then tilted backwards just from the hand's weight alone.

Drifter’s whole sense of balance was upended as the rim of the island rose up and replaced the horizon. He slid backwards on the pavement. He grabbed ahold of an eevani bush’s stem with one hand. Dominus slid past. He grabbed him with his free hand, and prayed the roots would hold. Lodun grabbed Barris.

Acrithis’ kaithes slid towards the rim, trumpeting their distress, and then staggered into the air hauling her carriage like an ungainly flying onion. 

Behind her, the shrine stones rocked and rolled apart, even before a huge index finger smashed them like a child’s fist knocking down a tower. Lodun watched his grandmother’s shrine fall to pieces for the second time. Then he turned away, towards where their kaithes braced themselves with planted hooves and spread wings. He gave Barris a mighty helping throw and pelted after him. “Run!”

They all ran as best they could as the ground shuddered and pavement buckled, until their run more resembled a scrambling crawl grabbing at handholds for stability. The hand wasn’t even trying to pull them down into the Void yet. It was just adjusting its grip on the island.

Lodun slowed. “We won’t make it.” He couldn’t even muster the anger to overcome his profound powerlessness.

Dominus got to Histornam. “Drifter and I felt this before.” He unhitched him, gripping the post. “When we were in the Void.” With Drifter’s help, he got in the saddle. “We can steady our descent, maybe even slow it down-,” he patted Histornam’s heaving flank, “Steady, boy. As long as we stay calm and in control of ourselves.”

Stay calm? What Lodun had not managed as King of Duviri, he did so now in order to get Barris up on Kaithe and mount his own loyal Histornam. 

Drifter waited, watching the fingers close.

Lodun warned, “You'll never make it riding double.”

“I know.” Even though Teshin warned that defending Duviri would not be as simple as orowyrms and emotional regulation, that was all he had right now. “May I borrow your fire?”

Lodun must’ve seen the Orowyrm battle from his exile’s vantage point. He nodded. “Burn it to hell.”

“If I can, I will.” Drifter knelt and focused himself. He did not expect this gambit to work. If defending Duviri were as simple as harnessing righteous anger, Lodun would’ve stayed king.

As the three kaithes took off after Acrithis’ slow carriage, the hand realized that its birds in hand were about to escape and shook the island like a krubie with a stick. 

Drifter focused on the concept of his Orowyrm self. Its majesty and power; its internal reactors spewing fire to propel him soaring through the air with flame as his crowning glory.

He roared.

The island crumbled away beneath him. The fist closed on the rubble, squeezing the oblong notes until they were naught but twisted metal. Stones, trees, water, and one writhing golden maw flailed its way into the swirling mists that hid the long trip to the Wall of Bone.

He circled, searching for his friends. The same wind that carried them out to the Amphitheater so quickly was now a headwind slowing them down. Barris was in the lead. Dominus behind him. Lodun kept looking over his shoulder at the destruction. Acrithis had a head start, but her kaithes labored harder than anyone. Maybe if she’d cut her carriage loose and ridden one instead…ha, like she would ever abandon a reel of books, even to save herself.

The fist opened. It shook off the remnants of what had moments ago been the majestic Amphitheater. Then it reached for the fleeing riders.

Drifter summoned his inner fire. So what if he needed more? This was what he had. His fireball was deceptively slow, but so was the hand. 

Flesh caught alight as if soaked in oil. Fingers recoiled in agony as skin melted and only void metal remained. It smelled acrid, like stale air and smoke filtering up from fires on the lower decks.

Then it went out. The void metal, unharmed, reformed its flesh. The hand reached for Drifter.

“I guess I’m the distraction,” he thought. As long as he stayed calm and in control of himself, he was faster than the groping hand. He could eel through its fingers. But if it ever caught ahold of him, it was far bigger and stronger than himself. Worse, he didn’t see how he could “win.” As soon as he broke free to rejoin the slower riders racing for the mainland, he’d only lead it after them.

He took a chance. The Void wasn’t a tame thing, but it could be controlled. To an extent. He roared, “What do you want?”

It answered, “KU NOMA ELU RA KAH, MARA LOHK?”

For endless moments, his vision fuzzed black and white with each syllable.

His Guiding Hand surged his reactor. “Wake up, Tenno!” She ordered in a voice as accustomed to command as Teshin’s.

He shook himself. In mere moments, or so it seemed, he’d fallen from the sky like a stunned bird. He was in the expanse between the abyss below and the mainland above.

Fortunately, the Void’s hand above him had not seized him during his paroxysm. In fact, it disintegrated back into coiling mists and clouds as though it was satisfied with merely breaking his brain with an unanswerable question he didn’t understand.

No, he couldn’t fight fire with fire, Void with Void. Its concept of itself was stronger than what he, a whole person, could muster. It would not be as simple as orowyrms, emotional control, and a Guiding Hand who’d bailed him out yet again. He'd only driven it off for a time. It'd be back.

But that was a problem for another day, because right now, Acrithis was in trouble. Her kaithes struggled for every wingbeat. Her carriage hung like an anchor dragging her down below the mainland. Though Lodun flew alongside her, she rejected all overtures to leap free or lighten the load with crude gestures.

Drifter forged towards them, too little, too late. He was all out of miracles.

Then Dominus swept back towards him in the tailwind. He held up Sirocco. “Shoot your fire at me!”

Acrithis’ kaithes sank a couple meters, then clawed their way back up.

Surely Dominus did not mean to fight the Orowyrm? Then he remembered - had it been so long since he’d fought an Orowyrm himself? Six months or more - that Lodun’s fire also created updrafts that allowed Kaithe to rise high into the sky and to keep up with the much faster Orowyrms. He gathered a fireball that would either obliterate Acrithis as she dropped or save her. 

Once it sailed below her carriage, Dominus aimed. His shot perfectly diffused the fireball. 

The updraft from the dying flames lifted up her laboring kaithes. With help from a few more fireballs, she struggled over the ridge. Everyone dismounted on shaky legs. Drifter curled up at the island’s edge nearby.

Lodun reached out to Drifter’s massive head. There was something he wanted to say to Drifter, not the others. “I wish I could be your brother.”

Drifter thought fiercely, “I would be honored.”

Lodun sent back regret and a deep sense of self-loathing. He wanted to overcome his anger at Dominus and yet felt powerless to do so. “I cannot. Becoming your brother means accepting that I have a nephew.”

Drifter could not hold that against him. Lodun was the sort of man who’d worked tirelessly even when all he got for it in return was another bucket of piss and humiliation. He would not half-ass such an important obligation as being an uncle. He could not reject his brother's son. So since he felt he could not live up to the role, he would not accept it.

Lodun let go as Drifter reappeared. “I'm sorry.”

Drifter clasped arms. “I'm not. Good talk.”

For the first time in a long while, Lodun laughed. 

Acrithis looked relieved to hear it. “Sorry, I may have given up my grudges, but I will not give up my books.” She said, not sounding particularly sorry at all even as she tended her poor kaithes. “What's life without history to inform it and literature to enlighten it?”

Dominus stared down at his feet. “I'm sorry I made Lodun burn books.”

“You should be,” she said, not sounding particularly angry either.

Next, he apologized to Lodun. “I'm sorry about her shrine.” 

“You should be,” Lodun said, and he sounded like he meant that.

Dominus huddled up next to Drifter, who simply offered him a supportive hand to hold. This was the difference between dealing with people who had already made up their minds to forgive him, like Drifter and Teshin, or those he'd already taken the initiative to help, like Mathila and Sythel. He'd hurt Lodun and no amount of simple apologies were going to paper that over. 

“I wasn't throwing piss on you.” Dominus mumbled. “When we came back to Duviri, we were going to warn you that I'd made a complete mess of the Undercroft, and then I was going to be a tammherder and get out of your hair, and then things just happened.”

Barris interrupted. “You were really going to be a tammherder? Well, if you want to shepherd my tamms, I can be a racer.”

Dominus continued, “I know you weren't king for very long, but I think I've got a lot to learn from you. If you'll let me?” He asked hopefully.

At the hope in those eyes, Lodun shuddered like a tree in the wind. He turned away. “I may be the rightful king, but I think I was a better prince of Fire. I will help Sythel accomplish Acrithis’ plan. She'll surely need me. Barris, come along. I’ll need a speedy messenger.”

While Lodun, Barris, and Acrithis left them behind, Dominus stared up at the looming walls of the Citadel where Luscinia and Bombastine waited in prison. He said, “I guess it's not much like the ruined Jubilee at all. How do I fix this?”

“Some hurts go too deep to heal in a single spiral.” Drifter just hoped his son had the resilience to overcome this first setback. Had he taught him well enough to stay the course?

Chapter Text

By the time Drifter and Dominus climbed up the hill to the Citadel, the garrison town was practically empty. Just like how every kaithe rider was in the sky, every Dax mustered up to make safe the roads and bridges or else set to work building a centrally located camping site for the many refugees flooding in from Netherbarrow's city. Every civilian hurried from house, shop, and home to the tent city now taking shape around the lake in the broad Agora basin. A ribbon of wagons and people stretched across the roads. The Amphitheater's destruction lent urgency to their movements. Everything was clearly done with greater order than the last evacuation during the coup.

Even though Dominus knew the best person for the job was the Prince of Fire winging south at the head of the Dax, he asked, “Should we help them?" 

Drifter said, “Queen Sythel will not let her people go quietly into the Void. Do you want to ask her for a new task before you've finished the one you've agreed to?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” He trudged up the stairs that ran through the city, winding here and there and up to the top of the fort. 

“It could be worse,” Drifter said, partly to cheer up the reluctant boy and partly to distract himself from the all too familiar path to the Citadel prison. “If Bombastine and Luscinia weren't in the prison, we'd never find them in that morass.”

They passed an alley where, many Spirals ago, Drifter made more than a few breaks for it and inevitably got shot in the back. He caught sight of a silhouetted pair of civilians walking down it: a man wearing a black tunic accompanying a masked child. 

Surely they were just another father and child making for safety? Surely it wasn't the Vagabond? Nonsense, that streak of unease up his spine was just his nerves playing tricks on him.

He hadn't cheered up Dominus either. “So, how are you really doing?

Dominus paid the pair no mind because his eyes were firmly on his feet. “I knew I hurt Lodun, okay? Bucket of piss, etc, etc. At least he could fight back. Neither Luscinia nor Bombastine had that sort of power or status when I made her my captive songbird, expelled him from the courtly stage, and set them against each other.”

“Set them against each other?” Drifter repeated. He didn't remember how their feud started. In fact, he was pretty sure even Luscinia and Bombastine didn't remember. Apparently Dominus did.

Each step was slower and more miserable than the next, as if he were the one dragged off to the cells. “He was her teacher, you know? So rather than let them unite in their anger against me, I made sure they blamed each other. It sounds rather awful when I say it that way,” he admitted, because he did not lack empathy. “You'll just have to believe me that it made sense at the time.”

Actually, Drifter had no problem believing their eternal feud had Dominus at the root of it all. It'd begun with a fearful boy plagued by nightmares. Like Sythel on a new placebo, he clung to whatever soothed him with a grip of steel. He'd feared everything that might threaten its efficacy. So of course Luscinia’s sweet soprano must always sing at the king’s command. Of course her teacher (and rival for her attention) must be turned against her so she had nowhere to go. 

If captivity harmed her singing, perhaps he would have moved on to another balm long ago. Unfortunately for everyone involved, she was written to be Sorrow, to weep for ownerless toys and empty chairs, and so her sadness only enhanced her song. 

As for Bombastine, the more he felt humiliated, the more his overweening Envy served the king’s purpose. Maybe Bombastine had loved her once, but that potential romance had been thoroughly poisoned.

As much as learning the truth sated Drifter's curiosity, he advised, “I don’t think I’m the one you need to say this to.”

“I don't understand.”

“Are you really going to let them keep on blaming each other when you started it?”

“Well, I figured they'd forgive each other, and they'd never have to know about me. If they find out, it'll be like Lodun all over again. They'll hate me for what I did.”

They turned down the street to the prison yard. It was empty. Even the prisoners got a chance at surviving the crisis bearing down on Duviri so long as they chipped in to help.

Dominus sighed. “Well, okay, they'll hate me more than they already do. I can't just tell them the truth. You have to believe me that it's for the best.”

He patted him on the shoulder. “I don't believe you. And here's why: I told myself that if only I could ignore my sorrow over the Zariman, surely I could hold it together on the day of your Jubilee.”

Dominus snorted.

“So I lied to myself. I pushed Luscinia away, because she saw right through me. And I papered over the cracks in my facade, upheld the charade…”

“Okay, okay, I understand! It'll come out eventually.”

He advised, “I know it's painful to uncover what you'd rather keep hidden. I threw a torrential tantrum myself, remember? You won't climb out of your Spiral if you keep doing the same things you've always done. Only the truth will set you free.”

“Some freedom,” Dominus scoffed. 

“We're here to unify the court for Acrithis’ grand gamble. Can we really build a new Duviri on a papered-over, cracked foundation?”

“...no.”

Drifter patted him on the back once more as they crossed the prison threshold. “It could be worse. At least Luscinia swore off revenge.”

“Oh, I'm sooo relieved.”

The oppressive stone cut off the dim daylight like a knife. Like the beginning of a recurring nightmare, in his memory the halls echoed with the heavy tramp of soldier's feet. Denphius Dax gripped his bicep with steel fingers, daring him to just try and run for it now. Whether he tried or not, it always ended the same way: marched past the Dax guards, dragged down the stairs, hauled past the row of group cells filled with drunks and dissidents, and dumped into his own personal solitary hell to await the pleasure of meeting His Majesty's executioner.

Now, the halls were empty; every Dax mustered out for duty. The cells were empty; every dissident freed and every drunk working off their hangover to build the campsite. The only sign of life was Luscinia's soft, crooning lament and Denphius Dax, who slumped at the base of the stairs. The once proud Champion sat there unarmed, hands empty, head empty, heart empty. He was the very picture of suffering without meaning.

Drifter never wanted to see his former pursuer brought so low. “What happened?”

“The Queen dismissed me.” His hollow voice came from a hollow chest. “I don’t even have my oaths anymore.”

Dominus fidgeted.

“Why?” Drifter asked.

“She said it was cruel to bind me to three different rulers in as many days.” Denphius sighed. “My oaths were all I had left after I lost my love and my honor.”

Before Drifter could offer any comfort, Dominus pushed ahead into the prison cells beyond. Luscinia was a splash of crimson in the dim hall. She sang a soft lullaby full of sorrows to the man behind bars.

She sang to soothe a nightmare she had no power to end because Bombastine fared no better in prison than Drifter or Kullervo. Though his comedic mask remained eversmiling, his long body lay lank and despairing. He was like a puppet whose strings had been cut and then discarded.

“Drifter, you’re back,” Luscinia’s delight brightened the whole dim jail. Then she saw Dominus and disgust replaced it. “So are you.”

Dominus winced. “Yeah. Drifter saved me.”

Bombastine shuddered. He drew into a fetal curl, hiding his head under his hands. “What a miserable farce. He is saved and I am doomed to be spat upon forever.”

“I wouldn't,” Dominus protested, heading for his cell. “We’re here to get you out.”

Luscinia spread her arms and dared block her former captor's way. “We don’t trust you. You will not move me,” she declared proudly. “Though you kill me, I shall spit curses on you all the way to my grave.”

Dominus stopped, bowed under the weight of fresh evidence of what his cruelty wrought. “I deserve every curse and more.”

“Why?” She probed. Because she was always sensitive to the suffering of others, she saw clearly how some great sorrow had Dominus in its grip. “Why?”

Bombastine moaned, “Why me?”

He answered Bombastine first. “Because of the Tales of Duviri and those tablets from the Zariman.”

Drifter blinked. He had not expected that. He settled back on his heels, loath to leave Denphius alone or to inadvertently interfere with Dominus telling the truth at long last.

“I ordered the tablets scattered thinking that even if Drifter found them, he’d never put them together. Little did I expect he’d bring one back to me just when I most needed to hear it. But there was one tablet you didn’t find, probably because by the time you went looking, none of you were so lonely as to fly over Lonesome Outlook.” Dominus recited from memory: “Why is Bombastine the most dangerous courtier?”

“Why?” Bombastine asked. He sat up and his eyes glittered with a possessive light Drifter remembered all too well from too many Envy spirals. Though “dangerous” was no compliment, he was desperate for acclaim enough to grasp at straws.

Drifter and Dominus answered together: “Envy of another’s station undermines the Empire.”

Bombastine sunk back down into an even greater state of despair. “You know what? I can’t even say you’re wrong. Not after what I did to take the throne.”

Luscinia said sharply, “That’s no excuse for how he's treated you.” 

She rounded on Dominus. “Don’t you dare try to pin all the blame on him.”

“I didn't-”

“Don't you dare tell me “the book told me to.” You chose this. Own it.”

“...you're right. I did choose this and I'm sorry.”

She sniffed. “Is that all you chose to do?”

“Um…” Dominus looked down at his shoes and did not answer. 

So she recounted other painful truths that Dominus would not admit as if she were the king’s executioner reading from a list of crimes.

“My jewelry and countless keepsakes, stolen to pay your Dax-”

“- their mockery of my pain-”

“-the lost fragments of lives ruined by your reign-”

“-the endless purgatory you trapped us all in to “save” Drifter-”

“-I’ve lifted the curtain on my ceaseless feud with Bombastine and found your machinations behind it all. You turned my teacher against me. You set us at each other’s throats for your own gain. You abused us both. And when I finally found something sweet to call my own in Denphius’ arms, you poisoned that too!”

At every pointed barb, Dominus’ head bobbed in a silent nod.

Even Drifter winced, for she succinctly summed up why he'd stood aside during Lodun's coup. As the decidedly wrong king, Dominus had abused all of Duviri.

She said, “You are the source and font of our Sorrow. And yet, I still would forgive you for my own sake. If…”

“If?” Dominus asked hopefully.

“If you can answer me. How do I know that you will break your sad spiral instead of falling back into it as soon as Drifter leaves?”

“Uh…”

She’s right, Drifter thought. Her question echoed the Conclave’s challenge and laid bare how he’d failed to answer it. What had he learned that led him to believe that as soon as he left for good, Dominus would not fall back into bad habits just like Lodun, Bombastine, and Acrithis? His son’s faltering resilience was not enough to last for eternity. What could he do differently?

Denphius whispered. “She asked me that. I could not answer.”

No wonder he was in such despair. No wonder Bombastine hung his head.

Dominus mumbled, “Do you think I could work on figuring that out after you and Bombastine help me save Duviri from the Void?”

If looks could kill, she'd have frozen him solid. “Help you? All I hear is that once again you intend to use us to save yourself.”

“But the Void is going to destroy another island!”

She retorted, “Do not use my caring nature against me. I remember how you clung to the throne by playing on our fears for Drifter on Kullervo’s Hold. I am done with letting you pull on my heartstrings only to drag me down in the Spiral with you. I see you've learned nothing and refuse to change. This ends here.”

In a flurry of red silk, she tore a hairpin from her upswept locs. Long, golden, and very sharp; she rushed at Dominus with hairpin in hand. “If you will not repent, then I shall ensure you never harm another!”

Dominus whispered, “I deserve this.”

“Stop!” Drifter barked.

She stopped after only a few steps.

“You promised,” Drifter reminded her. He hadn’t even had to move from his post to rebuke her for her momentary lapse. Her heart wasn’t really in it. “No more revenge. Not even once. That's how this all fell apart. Isn't it? Everyone thinking “just this once” until it happened again and again.” 

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Dominus scrubbed tears from his mask.

Drifter patted him on the back, guiding him away from the two performers. He said, “She’s right, you know.”

“Yeah, I know I deserve it, okay?”

“No, I mean that she’s right that we’ve all got to think of a better way forward. Let’s say we gather the whole court together and remake a brand new Duviri, shining and glorious. What happens next?”