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Belux - The Star of Zacharias

October 11, 2021
By Anonymous

Author's note:

My family and I travel fulltime across America, so seeing different landscapes and people has contributed to the inspiration of this story’s themes. I believe that experience is the best teacher, and I attempt to write purely in order to strike the base of human emotions and individuality in their raw and natural form, which is enthralling when merged with the flexible, glowing worlds of fantasy. Fictional worlds draw from real ones, and we all have a story to tell. This is the first novel of a completely drafted trilogy, and the themes evolve and change as the story progresses throughout each book, each with a different meaning that connects, inspires, and finally bursts into the fully flaming flower of truth, significance, and colliding ideas by the third novel.

Mom always says that I’m a loner. She tells me it’s good to be different. It’s good to be smart, studious, and keep my head down and apply myself. She had never been particularly close with many people when she was my age. She never clicked with any group. She never felt a part of anything. She despised all the trends and the cliques. She was never an insider. She says that it’s the same for me, that I must use for the best what I was born with, that I must use my quiet for good. Introvert. Outsider. Invisible. Shy. To many people, these words draw up the same image of a self-conscious nerd destined to sit alone at neighborhood block parties. Yet to Mom, they’ve just been the snobby and exhausting titles of her outlining a successful career. Alone. 


She’d grown up on a farm in the Meridian, a large patch of land centered in Belux covered almost entirely in long waving grasses, along with her two twin sisters and five brothers. Every day they’d work hard, tending to the crops and the cattle and the chickens and the orchard. School was just a small thought in the back of my mom’s mind. But the day came when her parents kicked her off of the farm, and she realized she would have to build a future for herself if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her days in a homestead with many children as her parents had. So, she applied to a decent college in the Hoh Metroplex, and thanks to her hardworking attitude and good grades, she was accepted. She graduated and immediately went to the Center for Government Controls and Legislation (CGCL) building, the most important structure in all of Belux. It’s where all the Enforcers, lawyers, legislators and even the Civil Headship work. She got a job in the Weather Patterns and Regulations Department (WPG) where she now works with a team of others to control the weather all across Belux and study environmental data. It was there that she met the Civil Headship, the most important government worker who guides the attorneys and is the leader of the judges in the judicial courts. They quickly became close friends and acquaintances; Mom looking up to the Civil Headship as an older sophisticated woman, and her in return receiving help and advice in her new career.


Life was going well for my mother. She’d obtained a job that not many born outside of the Tazarabi Wall would even dream of. She had a mentor; someone she could finally call a friend. She thought she was satisfied with the way things were going, and maybe she was right. But then she fell in love, and everything changed. 


It had been a long day at work. As soon as it was time to leave my mom went right out to a café directly across from the Workplace, as the CGCL is known informally. She bought a sandwich and was sitting down at one of the outdoor tables when a man approached her and struck up a conversation with her. He’d dropped the keys to his transport somewhere in the park and now it was too dark to find them. Mom offered to drive him home despite her doubts, secretly charmed by his soft tone and unruly hair. But then she ended up staying the night. She left the next morning but came back again. And again. And again. 


They married and had two children, including myself, but as time wore on, Mom realized she couldn’t live with our father. She was new to love. Naïve in many respects. They both were, having really never had relationships with other people before, but these issues between them weren’t just from their inexperience. He was the opposite of her more than she could have ever expected. When he’d lost his keys in the park, that wasn’t just an isolated incident. 


At first, it was simple things. He’d forget to send cards to Mom’s family when their birthdays came around. Well, nobody can be expected to remember the birthday of someone you hardly know, right? Or when he’d skip things on the grocery list because they were small, and he didn’t want to have to go all the way across the store to get them. Then there were bigger things that directly affected those around him. He forgot to dry clean his brother’s clothes for his wedding and then sent him a tuxedo several sizes too large. And in one of the worst incidents, he left my brother in his stroller—when he was a baby, of course—tied up to a post outside a shop downtown because he figured the stroller was too wieldy to bring indoors. That was just an ember in the pile of firewood he’d lit, but it started a whole blaze. Each blunder he made was a stick thrown onto the pile, and now it was too hot to keep inadvertently stoking. It had to be put out.


He let secrets slip; he forgot important dates; he was late to everything; he was scatter-brained, oblivious, and needy. 


Mom knew she couldn’t raise two children while having to treat her husband like a third one. He’s dependent and inhibited, traits of which she had worked so hard to refrain from in her reach for self-made success. They divorced when I was six.


I don’t know if it was the divorce or her rough childhood, or plausibly a combination of both, but she’s always taught me that if I ever get stuck in a bad situation, I must work hard until I could find a way out of it. Resilience has been a symbol of the life she’s built for herself and her family, a way to get through adversity and come out better in the end. Even if it means giving up on others and shattering their trust. 


But despite her faith in me, I sometimes wonder if we’re further apart than I’d like to think. Sure, she has set me on a path that will hopefully land me a career even better than the WPG, but sometimes I feel as if my determination is more lacking than hers. It’s true; I’ve had an easier childhood than her and am better prepared. But what if instead of strengthening me, it’s given me less motivation to work hard  and left me reliant on her to tell me about my every next step in the great plan she’s structured? Some days I find myself struggling to keep up with her busybody attitude. And it’s not just her that’s pressuring me. 


Now that I’m old enough, it seems like the Civil Headship is always over at our apartment. She works in the CGO, which stands for Color Governing Officials, it being one of the four sectors of our government. The Civil Headship hardly ever goes to any employee’s home, but when she does, it’s most often to ours. And Mom takes advantage of that time to show me how important it is that I follow the ‘higher’ path. But how can I compare myself to either of them when I’m always feeling so doubtful? Or am I doubtful because I’m always comparing myself to them?

As I stare up at the ceiling in the blue darkness of early morning, I try to push away my troubled thoughts, feeling a faint headache begin to pound at my brain. I get those quite often, considering how uptight I can be. Squinting at my alarm clock, I see I still have a few more minutes before I’m supposed to start getting ready for the day. It should be a win, but it just makes me feel more tired, as if these few minutes are only an extension to a day that’s long enough already. I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes, willing myself to gather energy for the harsh lights and sounds of school.


Just then, my door slams open. I snap my eyes open and see my older brother Brinjal standing in the doorway, his shadow falling across my room as his silhouette is outlined by the hall light. Without a word he raises his arm and throws something at me. I cringe away a second too late. The water balloon hits my hair and drenches me in icy water. I splutter and jump up, my sleepiness forgotten. Grabbing my pillow, I hit him with it as he laughs and ducks, me yelling at the same time. “Why do you always have to do that? I have an alarm, you know!” I hit the stop button on the clock just as it jumps to life and rings. I turn back to him, fuming, then pause. “Hey. Why do you look so tired?”


He shrugs. He’s still in his pajamas but looks as if he hasn’t slept for hours with his dark eyes and pale skin. Violet hair falls over his brow, straight violet hair just like Mom’s and mine. He brushes it away absentmindedly. To be honest, I think Mom and her job position had something to do with Brinjal and I both being Violets. Other families are more… mixed. “Just up all night doing homework.”


“And we don’t have two suns,” I tell him. Then I change the subject, curious as to why he’s awake so early. He usually doesn’t get up for another half hour. “What are you doing in here?”

He smirks. “I wanted to warn you that Mom found out. She was going through your bag this morning and now she’s just waiting for you to come into the living room.”


My heart jumps in my chest as alarm surges through me. Oh no, not what I think it is… I shoo Brinjal out of my room, him protesting but snickering at my panic, and then lock the door behind me. I throw open the curtains and open my balcony doors, allowing the soft breeze to tumble through my hair as the suns send shafts of warm light into my bedroom. I head to the adjoining bathroom where I quickly brush my teeth and pull my hair back, then I slip into jeans and a soft, well-worn college sweater whose emblem reads Pier University: Creating Rainbows of the Future. On it is the school mascot, a smiling rainbow. It’s the college that Mom and I have been working to get me into since forever. Only the best of the best are taught there. Then I pick up a necklace on my dresser. Made with a thin, delicate chain, it holds a small golden heart on it that shimmers in the light. I gently unclasp it and put it around my neck. With a last look around the room, I sling my bag over my shoulder and race through the hallway Brinjal and I share into the sunny kitchen.


The tile is cool beneath my bare feet as I snatch a slice of toast and an apple from the counter, but I’m practically sweating. I steal a glance at the TV. The news is playing with our regular dull weatherman Turtle Olive, but this time a new face has joined him. The caption underneath the expressionless blue-haired woman reads Ms. Sky Azure, National WPG Representative. She sits primly with her hands on her lap, dress wrinkle-free and posture straighter than a board. “What do you think about the weather changes, Ms. Azure? Is the WPG sector having issues or are the clouds meant to be?” Olive speaks in his self-important voice, throwing looks at the camera, aware that the whole of the Hoh Metroplex is watching him make the daily report while shoveling down breakfast. The temptation to stop and watch tugs at me, but I ignore it, knowing I don’t have the time. 


Brinjal strolls into the kitchen and grins when he sees me. “She’s coming,” he sings. 


I run to the apartment door, thinking I can put my shoes on later, and am about to slip out when I hear a voice behind me. “Aza, I’d like to have a word with you.”


My insides turn to jelly as Mom gestures for me to sit down on the couch. A pretty woman with long violet hair, snowy skin, and an angular face, she’s striking but formidable. Now is no exception, as her sharp brown eyes rake over the holographic paper she’s gripping in her hand as she struggles to understand. She lifts her gaze and shakes her head slowly. “A B minus. And of all things, in Advanced Art. What happened? This could affect your report card, you know.” Frustration tinges her voice. 


I shrug, feeling my mouth go dry. Brinjal cuts in before I can speak, obviously taking delight in my situation. “Looks like intellectual Aza is in a situation she can’t spell her way out of.”

“You don’t always have to have a snide remark,” I snap as Mom glares at her oldest kid and says, “This is none of your business, Brinjal. Go to your room and get ready. Do something productive for once in your life.”


He stares at us both in surprise, anger and hurt flickering across his expression. “Fine.”


“Brin!” I call as he stalks away. Mom grabs my arm, her gaze fixed on him.


“Leave it,” she mutters, but Brinjal’s already turned around. 


“What?”


“I didn’t mean to sound like that,” I say quickly, “but do you want to hang out later maybe? We never do anymore.”


He regards me coolly. For a minute, everyone is silent and tense. Then he shrugs. “Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.” He spins on his heel and heads back to his bedroom.


“Why did you not want me to talk to him?” I ask Mom. 


She narrows her eyes. “He’s just been… he’s been acting very rude lately, storming off like that a lot now. I’d prefer it if you let him cool down.”


“Cool down? He’s a teenager, Mom. He needs your guidance. I think you need to talk to him.” I couldn’t believe I’m addressing my mom like that, but recently they’ve both been acting childish, even more than usual. Ever since Dad left… 


She waves a hand as if trying to hide her own uneasiness. “Never mind, Aza. You don’t understand.”


I want to say something to defend Brinjal, but I know it’ll be pointless. My mother can be extremely stubborn when she chooses to be.


She lifts up the paper and once again, I’m reminded of why I’m sitting here. I tense up, preparing for yet another long-winded lecture. “I know you’ve been having a challenging week, with all of your exams and quizzes. It is almost the middle of the school year, after all. I’ll be easy on you this time. You still passed, and although that is never an excuse, you didn’t do terribly. But please, Aza, try to study more—”


I interrupt, irritation washing over me. “I do study! Does it ever occur to you that maybe I’m juggling a lot right now?” I think of all the classes I’m taking. Mom wants me to become a Breeder, one of the most important job selections in all of Belux. Breeders work in the Bureau of Color Creation (BCC) department and decide what color a person will be when born. It requires rigorous study, an efficient mind, and years of experience. I could say I’m just starting to get ready for it. 


“Aza! Never interrupt an adult! Have I taught you nothing?” My cheeks burn and I stare at the ground. Why can’t she just listen to me, for once? She doesn’t understand how difficult that test was, how the class kept fidgeting and whispering, how the teacher would flit throughout the room and glance over your shoulder every other second. She couldn’t understand the pressure. She continues on, her tone dropping back to normal. “You’ll be fine. I got my job from hard work and never giving up. As long as you don’t lapse into idleness, but rather push yourself, you’ll definitely be better prepared than I ever was. Don’t you understand?”


“Yes, Mom,” I say quietly. “I understand. May I go now?”


I stand up. She gets up too and faces me, her expression uncertain as if looking for the right words. “You’re such a smart girl, Aza. Follow this path and you’ll find a great future ahead of you. Listen to what your teachers and government visitors tell you. They know what’s best.”

I look down. “I know that.”


Mom walks back to her corner of the apartment, leaving me standing alone in the living room. I sigh softly, then head to my own bedroom, where I go to the balcony and stand a few stories above the ground floor. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my bubble wand, a long device filled with clear liquid. I snap open the end and allow a good-sized bubble to swallow me up, feeling too lost in my thoughts to care about the liquid I’m wasting. The bubble lifts me into the air and carries me over the flat-roofed, colorfully painted buildings that are the trademark homes of the Lukomo Apartment Complex. The land falls away as I soar higher into the traffic zone, where other bubbles rush past, carrying important people to important places. I look out and see older women still forcing breakfast into their kids while their husbands stand by and message on their Xiefliks; impatient government officials in white coats; and teachers and nurses and other businesspeople chugging coffee to get energy for yet another long, bright day. I allow myself to drift higher into a slower zone, then sit down against the side of the bubble. 


Follow this path and you’ll find a great future ahead of you. My mom’s words echo through my head, but I shake them away. Why does she feel the need to explain this to me again? I know that she cares and that she wants me to be successful in life. I already understand what I have to do. But what does an occasional slip-up, an occasional bad grade mean? I swallow. That I know. For a potential BCC employee, regular bad grades mean the possibility of not even getting to see inside the Floating Halls, the giant bubbles of which the interiors are forbidden to all eyes except for government workers. And that may not even be the worst part. What if I don’t make it as a Breeder and Mom cuts off all contact with me? Where would I be then? 


In the distance, Rossum Secondary School comes into view. It’s a beautiful structure, made partly of glass and standing by a koi-filled pond, but it’s also intimidating if you know what the people are like. I instinctively check my hair as the bubble drops to the ground. Once it pops, I grab my bag and begin walking. 


The front lawns are covered with groups of kids carrying books and chatting, but I walk toward the building alone, at the same time pulling out my Supplier. The device is of a pentagon shape and about the size of a soccer ball. One can select supplies on-screen and it will immediately produce them. Although the supplies are not physical in the sense of the term, they can be manipulated by contact with the hologram. If someone is using a pencil from it on a piece of holographic paper, it will write on it and can be turned into the teacher. It’s the closest any common person will come to magic, although touching the magical source is impossible after it’s been Sealed during the manufacturing process. I produce my journal and some textbooks for my first class, math C—I like to be prepared. I’m supposed to be in Year Nine, but I skipped a year and am among the class of Year Ten. Years don’t really matter though; they’re just a way to track where a student is at in his/her academic journey. In primary school, students can take A, B, C, D, E, and F classes. Almost every single one of my classes are Cs, except for Advanced Art. I could graduate in two years if I keep working hard. 


I reach the set of doors and push one open, but I move back just in time as someone barrels past, nearly colliding with me. At first I think I’m witnessing a fight—they happen a lot at this school—but then I perceive a younger girl sprawling on the floor and—oh, no, not her—Celosia standing over her. A dozen memories from all my school years flash through my mind—being tripped in the halls, notes stuck on my back, mean laughter ringing and ringing—as I stare blankly at my nemesis and her current victim. Celosia flips her hair back and extends a hand to the fallen girl, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh no! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

But the girl doesn’t take her hand. She begins to climb to her feet, brushing back her disheveled pink hair and picking up the little backpack she dropped, but then annoyance darkens Celosia’s expression and she swings her arm toward her, knocking the Pink back down. She lets out a high laugh. “I meant to help you up, but I’m so awfully klutzy.” The girl doesn’t say a word, but stares at her in bothered confusion.


Sudden anger fills me and I pace forward, emboldened by a flaming sense of righteousness. “Leave her alone, Celosia!” 


Celosia turns to me, eyeing me in disgust as if I’m her inferior. She’s an unusually good-looking girl, with honey-colored skin and luxurious mass of long red locks. I quail under her nasty look, realizing the mistake I’ve made by stepping into the matter. But my injured scruples encourage me on, so I meet her gaze and continue. “You’re tripping her on purpose. Just leave her alone. There’s no need to unnecessarily harm other people.”


“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she says coolly. “She accidentally tripped over me and now I am helping her up.”


“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, trembling slightly as I realize who exactly I’m facing. Why I’m doing so I don’t understand exactly. It might be out of morals at wanting to defend an innocent person from injustice, out of anger at her taking advantage of other people and getting away with it, or purely out of exhaustion from seeing myself and others treated this way. “You repeat these lies, yet you continue with this behavior. How many people can trip over you in a day?” 

Celosia stares at me wordlessly. In astonishment I realized I’ve left her silent for maybe the first time in her life. Ideas begin to vibrate through my veins as I stare her down. Over her shoulder, I notice all her friends—not just the ones she was just walking with, but the rest of the members of her gang, including Brinjal—crowding together and observing the scene. If I’m going to confront her, I must do it well and not make a fool of myself. I’ve already started this and now I must finish it. I take a deep breath and begin speaking: 


“Everyone’s witnessed too many of your antics. You think you’re hiding the true character of your actions well enough behind the shade of your pretty words. You think that nobody will ever challenge you because everyone fears you, and maybe it is true. Daily you bully innocent people in this school, people who want nothing to do with you, people too timid and kindhearted to get up and fight back. I’m one of those people, and let me just tell you that I’m getting tired of it. I don’t understand your need for it, but this must be mental. Are you hurting inside? Surely a happy person wouldn’t act this way, especially considering how your maturity ought to align with your age, and how you are clearly lacking reason and decency. But whatever’s going on is your own problem, and you must stop venting your pain on other people. Someday you’ll see that nobody will stand for this pettiness. Everyone’s growing up except for you and nobody’s got the time for your games anymore.” I swing my gaze to the girl who has climbed back up to her feet, expecting the support I need to finish making Celosia look stupid. “What does the situation look like to you, the very victim of her amusements?” 


The girl gazes back at me blankly, but then anger contorts her features. “Did I ask for your help?” she replies sharply. “I don’t remember asking you.”


I stare back, stunned, the exhilaration from my short, inspired speech still washing over me. “What are you talking about?”


“I don’t need your help, and I don’t know why you’re jumping into a situation that doesn’t involve you. I had this.”


“But I thought—”


“It doesn’t matter what you think, it matters that you leave me alone now.” She gives Celosia and me a disgusted look and spins around, slipping back into the crowd and vanishing like a fish into a river. I look back at Celosia who is glaring at me, venomous hatred and disgust in her luminous blue eyes. She won’t forget this easily, I think darkly. I’ve let her prey get away from her. 


“What’s wrong, Cel?” a new voice asks. It’s one of the people that was gathering behind Celosia, an indigo-haired boy called Ribier. 


Celosia jumps at his voice and looks back in alarm, suddenly made aware that they were watching the entire time. She turns white, but she’s not finished with the deceptions just yet. “She just accused me of tripping that girl on purpose,” she says pitifully, gesturing to me with a stiff hand. I’m apparently not close enough to her level to have the decency to be referred to by name.


I bristle with anger but now remain silent, resignedly accepting that it’s done and will do nothing for me to speak the truth and call her out. These people are all on the same side despite the lies they tell to each other’s faces and the knowledge that it’s all lies. They don’t care. They’re just here for the drama. Then a flicker of movement draws my attention over Ribier’s shoulder, and I see Celosia’s boyfriend Sun looking over at us. As his gaze meets mine, I feel myself flush even more to know that he was watching as well. Sun is the second most popular boy in school, after Ribier, despite his bright yellow hair. There’s something in his penetrating gaze that makes me feel even more exposed and longing more to get away from the awkward situation. 


But just as Ribier looks at me, she grabs his arm and looks into his eyes. “But now my ankle hurts. That girl was wearing some sharp boots, and I’m afraid she hurt my ankle, bruised it in the least. That would be awful, especially since I have cheerleading practice this afternoon. Won’t you be a good friend and take me to the nurse?”


Ribier nods immediately. “Of course, math class can wait. I wouldn’t leave you hurt.” He takes her hand and puts her arm over his shoulder. She leans against him as they go to the nurse’s office, Celosia’s girlfriends trailing close behind.  


I swallow and adjust my bag, looking away from Sun and his friends who are now staring at me. That wasn’t a preferable way to start the day. But this isn’t the worst she’s ever done, and maybe everything will go fine later. How many bad things can happen in the next few hours, after all? I slip into the crowd and head for the C-Hall, swimming in a sea of blue and yellow and purple heads. I stare at the ground, hoping nobody will talk to me. But I doubt anyone will. Screens seem to be the only means of communication now.


My homeroom starts off the day with the Pledge of Belux. We all stand up, face the Beluxian flag, and begin to pass around the Morning Ritual Candle, each holding it for a brief second as we recite:


“I pledge to honor the flag of Belux,

To uphold bonds with those who guard the People,

Under faith and welfare for the majority,

Unified,

Good citizenship be commended and kept, 

And freedom will come to all under our government.”


The earlier part of the day passes in a series of ringing bells and furious, scratching pencil. Notes build up in towers, briefly shoved into binders before being carried along as I cross the school. Walls of people take up the hallways, and I stay close to the wall when changing classes. Reading and Writing C. Advanced Art. Geography C. An hour before noon, I steady myself for my least favorite class, history.


Once I enter the classroom, I get the supplies needed from my Supplier and sit down at a desk in the corner, waiting for class to start. Mrs. Dijon, the tall and strict teacher with her brown-yellow hair tied up in a tight bun, sits on a stool and taps the board with her ruler impatiently. The bells rings, and scarcely three seconds pass before Celosia, Ribier, Brinjal, Sun, and two others enter, indifferent to Mrs. Dijon’s hawk-eyed stare. 


“Late again, I see,” Mrs. Dijon says coolly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to write you up, this being the third time.”


Celosia gives the teacher a pleading look, batting her eyelashes. “But Mrs. Dijon, we had to help our science teacher take down old posters. He promised to give us a pass, but you know how forgetful Mr. Cyan can be. He left the class before we could remind him.” While she’s talking, I glance at her ankle. There’s no bandage or anything on it. 


Mrs. Dijon looks surprised and adjusts her glasses. “Oh dear, how very kind of you! Well, I suppose I can excuse you this time. Please take a seat and get your supplies out. We will be learning about the creation of Belux today. I know we had that unit at the beginning of the year, but I know some of you have had questions and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to clarify a bit more on the subject.”


I look around the room, baffled that Mrs. Dijon had just let them off the hook like that, but the rest of the class is staring dully at the board, where Mrs. Dijon is now writing a page number down. She turns around and scans the class, searching hungrily for someone to pick on. She lifts her arm and points to one side of the room. 


“Miss Violet, would you like to read the chapter intro?” The whole class turns back and stares at me. I quickly flip through the pages in my textbook and find the page number she’d written down, the semitransparent paper sliding through my fingers easier than butter. 


“Back in the End, Earth was falling apart, little by little.”


“I can’t hear you,” Celosia says. “Can you, like, speak louder?”


I clear my throat and try to, my palms sweating. So her revenge will take place in the form of embarrassment. It makes sense; I embarrassed her. “Before Belux was created, the planet Earth seemed a paradise. A terrestrial satellite of the sun, Earth had once been a land of oceans and lush continents, but near the End it consisted of little more than massive cities to support the enormous population.” Somebody coughs, but I continue. “Global warming had increased greatly. Whole species of plants and animals were dying off. Forests were torn apart and oxygen was advertised like any other thing. Overall health declined as fresh air and exercise became little more than a memory. The overload of tech and information had led people to the inability to decipher between true and false. People were overstimulated and exhausted.


“As depression took over the human race, people sought to find a way to distract themselves from the real world. One man rose to the occasion. Only twenty-four years old, Gavin Copperwood had a successful career as a scientist working for the United States government. He proposed a theory that alternate universes do exist and can be created with the right technology. Many people doubted him until he introduced Cosmosaria. It was a new type of reality that allowed its user to harness the power of multiple dimensions and create a slight fold in the blanket of the universe. However, people didn’t produce just one; they generated dozens. Eventually, the folds became too numerous and started running into each other. Creatures from the pocket-sized worlds glitched into the Earth dimension. Unusual weather phenomena were an everyday occurrence, such as thunderstorms with constant lightning and snow tornadoes. 

“Everybody realized that the invention was tearing their world apart. Furious and confused, they turned the blame on Gavin Copperwood, whom they had all once idolized. People began to pursue and hunt down Copperwood. This bloodthirsty series of pursuits became known as the Copperwood Hunts. Just when it seemed like Copperwood had vanished completely, a fellow scientist named Joshua Cliffton found him and killed him. 


“Joshua Cliffton had worked beside Copperwood and had known about his invention, but he had hardly expected it to have had such a big impact. Cliffton claimed Copperwood wouldn’t relate the details to many people. He described Copperwood as ‘a genius, but one who could was easily carried away by the tantalizations of scientific fame and honor.’ Indeed, Copperwood had been awarded the Notable Contemporary Inventor award, also informally known as the Noties, amongst many others. He lectured children in classrooms on the science of Gravitational Effects on Multiverses and for a short time was considered one of the greatest men in the field of science. However, his past life was unknown, and he remained a mysterious and aloof figure to many people, including his former acquaintance Cliffton. 


“Cliffton saw the destruction Cosmosaria was wreaking on Earth and vowed to find a solution. At a meeting with all of the most prominent officials of the world’s governments, he was permitted to gather a team of scientists, engineers, and geographers to use Cosmosaria one last time: to build a world which would never be destroyed. This new world would be a haven for all who lived there. Shaped roughly like a croissant, mountains border the back and rivers run through it. The waters surrounding it are filled with fish and all kinds of edible creatures, which the coastal cities have profited off of greatly. Our world is safe and habitable for colors everywhere, with a functional society consisting of every kind of job from farmers to CGO workers and Enforcers. This world became known as Belux.”


“Thank you, Miss Violet,” Mrs. Dijon says tearfully. She stands up. “The WPG was formed first, then the CGO, the BCC, then RANPO. Belux was known to the people of Earth as the daughterland of fire—”


Sun raises his hand. “Why didn’t it collide with the other universes?”


“Please don’t interrupt when I’m talking, Sun,” Mrs. Dijon responds sternly. “But that is a good question. Earth was falling apart at an alarming speed, but people had to hide out in their homes for a little over two weeks before Belux was deemed ready, which shows how much effort was put into perfecting it. It didn’t collide with other universes because the scientists, who were experienced in that matter, created Belux in a secure fold far away from the group of multiverses which had begun to wreak havoc on Earth. Belux also had something that Earth didn’t: magic. The scientists sealed Belux in magic to prevent any other worlds from crashing into it. We may not have mastered everything in science, but since we have magic, we don’t have to worry about such matters like the people on Earth did.”


“Bo-ring,” Sun says, leaning back. Brinjal laughs and high-fives him. I give him a nasty look, trying to tell him to not mess around with the troublemakers of the class, but he ignores me as Sun continues. “Why can’t we have magic? If we did, wouldn’t we all be safe? Would we even need a government?”


“Much as we’d all like that to be true, having magic I mean, it’s far too risky,” Mrs. Dijon replies, looking annoyed. “What if something like that happened again in Belux?” She lowers her voice. “That’s what we suspect happened to the Neon race that nearly took over Belux in the beginning. The only explanation is that they must have got ahold of magic, and look what happened to them! Every single one of them dead after six years—” Then she trails off abruptly, remembering who she’s talking to. She eyes Sun’s glowing yellow hair, coughs, and looks away, her voice now louder than ever. “And even if something extreme and apocalyptic doesn’t occur, imagine how many dangers a whole population with magic could pose. There are bad people out there that would just love to use magic for evil. Holding that kind of power over someone is an awful form of control which could result in tyranny and our world falling apart. Say one person—or one small group of people—took the magic and used it to control others. They could do virtually anything. So only our government, which consists of wise, just colors carefully selected, can use magic. Even then it’s under strict regulations issued by the Articles of Belux. Now, I have printed out some worksheets for you to complete—individually. Make sure to turn them in before lunch.”


The class groans as Mrs. Dijon passes around the papers, also produced by her own Supplier. Everyone quiets down as they receive their work, and soon the classroom is completely silent except for the scratching of pencil. 


About half an hour later, the bell rings, and everyone hurries to turn their papers in. I stay behind, waiting for most of the class to filter out. Mrs. Dijon frowns when Sun hands his paper to her. She murmurs something to him, and he looks frustrated before moving to the side and letting everyone else past. I get up and hand my paper to Mrs. Dijon. She looks it over. “Aza, this is an amazing grade. You’re on a straight-A roll.”


I nod and mumble a thanks, then slip out of the classroom. It’s not unusual for Mrs. Dijon to comment on my work, considering that history is one of my best subjects, despite my vexation with the class itself. I hear Mrs. Dijon talking to Sun and know he must have failed, which surprises me despite the fact that he’s not one of the best students. It was an easy worksheet, all concepts we’ve gone over repeatedly since primary school. I slow my steps and pause to listen, feeling a twinge of guilt. I shouldn’t be so self-righteous when that was me a few hours ago.  


“Sun, this paper covered some of the most basic aspects in our class. What went wrong?”


“I just don’t agree with what it said.”


“Which was?” Irritation tinges her voice.


“On this question, it says, ‘Describe why magic given to the government has been selected as an efficient method of public service.’ And I wrote, ‘It’s not,’ which is true. Isn’t the government just using magic to control us now?”


Mrs. Dijon sighs, and I inwardly sigh with her. “I thought I explained this to you in class. Someone would form a gang which would use magic as a way of force to control the rest of Belux. With selected people to rule over us, we can ensure that everybody is free and has basic rights.”


“But Mrs. Dijon, it’s the same thing. I mean—”


“Sun, all I’m asking is for you to put the answers I give you in class. It’s not hard. You just have to pay attention. I can tell you’re truly a smart kid, but you dumb yourself down because you think it’s cool. And this may be surprising, but nobody in college will care about the numerous ways you told off your teachers. The cold truth is they only want to know that you’ve memorized everything correctly.”


“Yeah, but—”


“Go to lunch. When you next come to this class, I want you to put what I tell you on the sheet. I will return your work until you do. Do you understand?”


Sun is silent.


“I said, do you understand?”


“I’m not going to change my beliefs,” he replies, a hint of anger in his voice.


“Your smart mouth won’t save you now,” Mrs. Dijon says firmly. “I expect to see you in detention after school. You know where. And take this paper to redo the assignment.”


I hear footsteps coming my way and panic. I don’t want them to know I was snooping. I glance around and see an empty classroom off to the side. I quickly run toward it, sliding over the tile, and slip into it, then pause and listen closely. Sun must have headed to the cafeteria by now. Mrs. Dijon would be in the classroom, preparing for her next classes. I wait a second more, then sneak out of the classroom. And walk right into Sun.

Aza jumps back when she sees me. “Oh! What are you doing here?”


“What are you doing here?” I take in her startled expression and guess she wasn’t expecting to see me. Avoiding me, even. I was just loitering in the halls, not wanting to tell my friends about how and why I have detention after school. “Were you eavesdropping?”


“No,” she says defiantly. Then, “Yes.”


“Why?”


“I was just curious. That really was an easy worksheet, you know.”


“I don’t remember asking your opinion,” I retort. Normally I would wince, considering how rude I sound, but after what she said to Celosia I can’t help but be on the defensive. I don’t have anything to prove to this nosy smart aleck. 


“So it’s like that?” she says coolly.


“Like what?”


“All of you just have to gang up on the loners, don’t you?”


I bristle. “I’m not doing anything with them. I’m just protecting myself from one of your tirades. Believe me, I’ve done nothing.” Deep down, some part of me is wondering at what she did. Normally she’s so quiet, one of the least visible people in the class and someone even I’ve failed to really notice… but that was… that was something different.


She doesn’t reply, and for a second we stand there, looking awkwardly at each other and the floor and back again. I scuff the tile with my shoe and realize how little we know each other. I probably wouldn’t even know her name if her brother isn’t my best friend. 


“So you aren’t involved with them?” she eventually questions.


“I’m dating Celosia, but—” I hesitate. Answering her would be confessing my uncertainty on where I belong in the group, and obviously I don’t support what Celosia does. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to openly admit to my own mistakes and let it be known that I don’t know what I’m doing. Either way I’m caught in a dilemma, so I lapse into silence. 


She nods as if knowingly. “Nice talking to you,” she says, ending the tension. 


“Bye,” I respond as she leaves. I watch her as she heads in the other direction, her shoulders hunched over as she clutches her backpack straps like a small child. Then I turn and take the long way to the cafeteria, so I can keep dawdling. 

 

The rest of the school day goes by at a snail’s pace. I spend the rest of the day in the school bathrooms, staring at the penciled graffiti scratched into the stall doors. I scroll through the text messages on my Xieflik, sent by Celosia and about ten other people I barely know asking where I’m at and when I’m going to get to class. I don’t respond, feeling overwhelmed and bored and curious at the same time. 


I’m thinking about that girl Aza and what she said to Celosia. I don’t know why my thoughts keep returning to it, but it was astonishing to see such a normally quiet person make a stand and tell off my girlfriend in everything she does wrong. Instead of angering me, it makes me feel guilty for dating Celosia, for even being associated with such a toxic person. Deep down I feel a longing to prove myself to this girl, to this torch of righteous anger and virtue. She had more courage to stand up to Celosia than I did to Dijon. Hers was a different sort of anger. In all truth, under her trenchant gaze, I wanted to drop to my knees and beseech her to penetrate my soul and see my true character, to see how I’m trapped and unable to flee the deceptions. She intrigued me. She still does. 


When the last bell rings and pulls me out of my distracted thoughts, I get up and drag myself to the detention room, an old classroom used mostly for storage now. When I walk in, about seven people are already sitting down, including Ribier. He raises his eyebrows at me just as Mrs. Dijon spots me. “Take a seat, Sun. You’re going to sort through the files in those boxes today.” She points to one wall, where a tower of boxes lines it on a desk. I groan and go sit next to Ribier.


“The hell you doing here?” I ask him. Although it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Ribier’s always neck-deep in trouble with the teachers. 


“I broke Mrs. Whatsername’s globe when I was making paper airplanes in class. You?”

“Something with the history work,” I say. 


He leans forward and speaks in a low voice. “The others are going to come by and get us out. They know I’m in, but I don’t think they know about you. Just be on alert.”


I nod. Mrs. Dijon’s voice cuts across the silence of the room. “You two. Yellow and Indigo. Separate.”


I grab my bag, get up, and move to a different desk. Once situated, Mrs. Dijon gives us each a box. “These are art pieces from the primary school made for their art showcase. The teachers don’t have time to sort through them, and they know we have plenty of kids in detention, so they sent them to us. You will make piles for each year from one to six. If one piece doesn’t have a label on it, then guess.”


I open my box and am horrified to see how many paintings and drawings are stuffed in there. Everybody in the room groans.


“Great,” Ribier mutters, loud enough for the teacher to hear. “I get to spend my valuable time sorting through crappy art.”


Mrs. Dijon shoots him a dirty look, her thin-lipped expression barely containing her ire. “I should think you wouldn’t be here if you’d used your ‘valuable time’ more responsibly.”


Silence falls across the room as everybody rushes to finish sorting through the boxes and leave, punctuated only by the purposeful loud exhales of Ribier. I scan each holographic piece of paper for where the name, date, and grade are supposed to be, but a few drawings aren’t labeled. Those I chuck into random piles. After a few minutes, I fall into the rhythm of sorting. But just before I finish, a crash makes me jump. A brick is lying on the ground near my feet. I look up and see Sandy and the two Juniper twins, Anole and Clover, peeking in through the window on the side of the classroom, which now has a hole in it and glass scattered all over the floor. Anole is holding a tennis racket and they’re all searching around the classroom. When they spot Ribier and me, they grin and gesture for us to hurry. I drop the painting I was holding, grab my bag and jump over the desks as I run to them, Ribier besides me.


“Get back here!” Mrs. Dijon yells, her face red as she stands up and slams her chair into the wall. She moves towards us at an alarming speed. “You’re going to pay for those windows! Detention for the rest of the year! Detention for the rest of all your school years!” She runs towards the window to block us, but Ribier and I jump onto a desk and hurl ourselves out the shattered window. We land on the grass, panting hard, but barely have time to stop before Sandy and the twins usher us to get up. We take off running, our shirts whipping in the wind as Mrs. Dijon’s shrieks of anger fade behind us.


We cut across the school lawn and cross the street, sprinting across pavement and grass alternatingly until we’re a distance from the building and on the edges of the city. Then we bend over on the sidewalk, gasping for breath and laughing at the same time. “That was great, guys,” Ribier says. “Thanks for breaking us out of there.”


“We didn’t know you got detention, too, Sun,” Sandy says. “We were wondering where you were. Who was it?”


“Dijon.”


“Ah, just as well. She can do her own dirty work. I say we go have some fun. The others said they’ll meet up with us somewhere over here.”


“Where’d you get the racket and the ball?” I ask. 


Anole tosses it in the air and catches its handle expertly. “Dawn is on the tennis team, I guess. She gave them to us when we were tryna figure out how to get you guys.”


“Hey!” We turn and see Fern, Dawn, Chestnut, Celosia, and Brinjal approaching us. Brinjal fist-bumps me. 


“Where were you?”


“Detention.”


“Sucks.”


Celosia grabs my hand forcefully. “C’mon, we’re going to walk around the city.”


I shake my hand to loosen her grip, but she continues to hold me tightly. I give up and allow her to drag me after the others. We begin towards central Pier, the suns slowly beginning their descent towards the horizon. 


As we walk through the city, adults passing by give us disapproving looks. After school ends, it’s an implied rule by pretty much all the grown-ups that that’s when students should go home for the night, but our gang doesn’t listen to anybody. We clump together and head to the ice cream place, one of our regular hangouts, chatting all the way about awful teachers and acts of rebellion we’ve committed today. Ribier and I are the hot topic. 


“So how did you get detention, Sun? We know Mrs. Dijon did it. Is that why you stayed behind after class?” Chestnut asks as the others turn to me, their faces showing anticipation of something purely disobedient. But I just shrug. 


“I got a bad grade and she was wondering why.” Celosia squeezes my hand reassuringly. I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like telling them about what I wrote. I know they just scribble down whatever the teacher says to get a decent grade, but I didn’t agree with what Mrs. Dijon said to put. And it’s not that I’m trying to draw attention to myself. I’m just saying what’s true. The others think they’re being rebellious, but they don’t know why or care why. They just are because they can be. For me, it’s different. I don’t like rules made by old people who think they know what’s best for you. It’s just stupid. Mrs. Dijon hardly knows me, so why should I listen to her? I do what I believe in. But the others are still looking at me expectantly, so I glance up at the sky for an answer, but then I notice how pale clouds are building up in the vast blue. A thin cool wind rushes by. I pause. “Are we supposed to have a rainstorm tonight?”


The others follow my gaze, all except Ribier. He shrugs. “Who cares about the stupid weather schedule?” He continues walking, and everyone else follows. I jog to catch up and am forced to walk on the grass.


We come to the door of the ice cream parlor and enter. A blast of cold air hits me and I shiver. Sandy, Fern, Chestnut and Dawn go to order the usual, and the rest of us sit down at a long red table near the door. Celosia leans against me. “I really hate when we’re not together, Sun.”

“Yeah, me too. Hey Anole, how was the soccer game last night?”


“It was okay. We won. That other school from Hauba really sucked.”


Ribier frowns. “Celosia was talking to you, Sun.”


“I know. I replied, didn’t I?”


“I think she was trying to have a conversation.” Ribier meets my gaze as if challenging me. Although friends, he’s been trying to get Celosia ever since we met in Year Six. Yes, we’ve been together that long. Yet he flirts with her in front of me, and the worst part is, she flirts back. I don’t know if she means to do it, but the truth is, I don’t even really like her. She’s like an over-affectionate cat, always brushing up against me when I’m busy, and then scratching my eyes out if I annoy her even just a little. I guess I'm just still dating her because I know it bothers him. He may be more popular than me, but I’ll always hold that one thing over him.


I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze evenly. “I just don’t think now’s a good time to be all couple-y right now. We’re on a hangout, not a date.”


“Don’t fight over me,” Celosia says, but I can tell she’s enjoying it. Drama is her forte. 


Ribier shakes his head reassuringly. “I would always fight for you, Cel. I believe that if you get a girlfriend, you treat her like royalty. I’m just worried that Sun doesn’t care about you as much as he should.”


The back of my neck hairs prickle as the air fills with tension. I glare at Ribier, wondering why he’s trying to provoke me right now. He smiles back. “What’s your deal? You trying to steal her from me or something? Celosia, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to break us up.”


“That’s not the issue here,” he responds coolly. “I think someone’s just getting over-protective. Insecure people tend to blow up.”


“I’m not blowing up,” I say through gritted teeth. “Or insecure. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”


Anole and Clover exchange looks. Brinjal shifts in his seat. I stare at them. “What? Do you think I do have a problem?”


“You get moody,” Anole explains. 


“And sullen,” Clover adds. “You’re very quiet a lot of the time. And then you get loud and overeager when you want to be. It’s weird.”


Brinjal is silent.


“Well?” I ask, trying to hide my surprise. And hurt. “If I’ve been such a disturbance, then why haven’t you told me this earlier?”


“Because it’s never been a problem then,” Ribier says smoothly. “But now we feel that you’re taking your anger out on us. We’re your friends and are merely making suggestions, but how can we help you when you lash out?”


I swallow. Is it true? Am I really so angry all the time? But then my thoughts turn to Ribier. He’s the one that hates my guts. Of course he’d try to put me in the wrong and cause rifts between me and Celosia. I point to him. “You’re just trying to make me look bad. You’ve wanted to date Celosia ever since you came here. You’re the one that’s insecure. You’re jealous and angry and—”


His nostrils flare as the others turn to look back at him. When he speaks, his voice is dangerously low. “You know that’s not true. I’ve always been nice to you. I was the reason you got out of detention. I’m the reason this group was formed.”


“Just because you forced everybody to either bully or be bullied.”


Ribier slams his chair back and leans over the table, his breath blasting in my face. “Why do you feel the need to keep talking? Nobody would miss you if you left. You’re nothing but a troublemaker to us. You’re nothing. Vivid hair.”


I freeze, feeling as if I’ve been struck.


Just then, Fern, Chestnut, Sandy, and Dawn return, each carrying two or three ice cream cups. They look at us in surprise. Ribier is practically vibrating with anger as he glares at me, and I stare back. Brinjal watches us with a worried expression, and Celosia sits back with a smug face. The Juniper twins whisper behind their hands. I stare back at Ribier, feeling bitter pain wash over me. But I push it away.


“What’s going on here?” Sandy asks.


Nobody replies, but they all look to Ribier and me expectantly. 


Ribier leers at me. “Well, Sun, why don’t you tell them?” 


I stare back at him, feeling the hate for him that’s always dwelt inside of me overflowing. “Ribier has an inferiority complex. If anyone wants to know why—”


Suddenly his fist comes at me. It knocks me in the jaw and my head hits the window behind us. I reel in surprise, then jump up and punch him back. A sudden cluster of voices surrounds us as everybody starts shouting with excitement. 


“Get him, Ribier!” 


“Come on, Sun, knock his teeth out!” 


“Lessgo, Ribier, I’ve seen worse injuries in chess!”


Ribier lunges at me, trying to grab me, but I sidestep him and he crashes into the wall. I stand there, pleased, but barely a second passes before he comes at me again. This time I’m not prepared. He throws himself at me and knocks me to the ground. My head hits the tile and cracks sharply as the punches rain down. I kick him off, adrenaline rushing through my body, and elbow him in the stomach. He gasps for air, and it’s my turn to hit him, but then I feel someone grab me from behind and pull me off of him. I spin around, ready to fight my way back to Ribier, but it’s one of the store associates. He grabs me by the neck of my shirt and heaves me away from the throng and out the door. “What the hell are you doing fighting in my store?” he yells. “Get out! Get out, all of ya! I’m gonna call the Peacekeepers!”


I stand up just as everybody else comes out, still talking rapidly. Ribier tries to barge through to me, his face red and fists pumping, but the twins grab him and hold him. “We’ll take him over here!” Chestnut calls. “You guys talk to Sun!”


Sandy grabs my arm, but I wrench it away. “I’m done,” I snap. 


Fern shoves my bag back into my arms, along with the ice cream cup. “Then you can carry this.”


Celosia touches me, gingerly this time. “You defended me.”


“Not re—”


“You defended me,” she repeats, so I let her have it. She can think whatever she wants. I couldn’t care less. 


“I’m going home,” I say. 

 

“But don’t you want to talk about the fight? You must be feeling a lot right now—”

 

“Of course I am! And I don’t want to talk about it!” I turn away from them and storm away. The orange light of the setting suns casts shadows around me as I walk along, kicking a stone in front of me along the path. I try to kick it again, but then I miss and it sits still on the concrete as if leering at me like Ribier. I grunt and aim my foot at it as hard as I can. It soars into the nearby bushes, but my satisfaction is brief. I walk faster, feeling a cool breeze rush past me. My rage eventually fades as the minutes pass. Obviously I’m upset about the fight, but I should have known it was going to happen sooner or later. Ribier and I have never been great friends, bound more by the fact that we shared a group rather than we actually like each other. It’s also true that he started our high school group when he arrived in Year Six with his cool expression and leather jacket, demanding attention. Brinjal and I were just kids back then, dumb as heck and deciding which girls we’d whistle at that day. When we saw him, our first thought was Cool, but other than that, we didn’t care too much for him. But when all our friends began to side with him and pick on people they’d played with at recess, it was obvious something had changed in the school dynamic. That there actually was a school dynamic. I guess that’s why I’ll always see Brinjal as my only true friend. We know everything about each other and there’s never been any nasty competition. He was the only one that didn’t cheer on Ribier at some point during the fight.

 

I sigh and wrap my jacket around me tighter as the air grows from a light breeze to a discouraging chill. I’ve been walking home slowly for the past twenty minutes, twisting back and climbing hills and throwing rocks into the river. The clouds in the distance are closer now, drooping and gray, and as I look at them I feel an unreasonable prick of fear. I should probably start heading home. 


When I get back up to our floor, the door is unlocked and the apartment is dark and silent. 

“Dad!” I call. No answer. He must still be at work. Or some bar.

 

I flick on the switch and toss my stuff onto the floor, starving. I rummage through the freezer and find a package of lasagna. I stare through the glass and count four seconds ahead, waiting for the timer to ding. Once done, I flop down on the couch and eat, the history assignment I’m supposed to redo staring pointedly at me through the backpack. I ignore it, feeling too low and tired to even touch it, but too upset to fall asleep early. So I eat and watch a little TV, but my mind still feels blank. Rain lashes the windows outside, resounding throughout the quiet apartment. The walls press in on me and the whole atmosphere is heavy and dark. I change the channel, but the mood is still awful. Frustrated, I peel myself off the couch and head through the hallway to my bedroom. Photos line the walls, looming over me, but I’m either too lazy or creeped out to turn the lights on. Drifting a little to the side, my sleeve catches on a photo frame and brings it crashing to the ground. 

 

I wince as the noise echoes throughout the apartment, but of course, no one comes running. I bend down to pick the photo up. The frame is broken, and glass now covers the floor, but my attention is focused on the picture itself. It’s of Dad and me. We’re standing in front of a semi-trailer and both smiling at the camera. I must’ve been only five years old, because I’m a whole lot shorter than him and gap-toothed. This was taken back when Dad was a trucker, making deliveries all across Belux and occasionally bringing me with him. But I don’t remember this photo. It must’ve been put up by a relative since I know Dad wouldn’t have had the emotional strength or motivation to hang them up himself. 

 

I suddenly grip the photo tightly as the familiar waves of nostalgia and pain wash over me, pain I’ve locked up long ago. Why it’s all rushing back now I have no idea. I find myself stumbling to my room, a single thought in my head, a single need. Why did things have to change? I push open my closet door and rummage through the memories, old clothes and books littering the unvacuumed carpet. Why does Dad always have to be gone? My hand reaches into the gloom, and I feel the thick cloth beneath my fingers. Why am I so alone? I pull, and with a spray of dust, the blanket used to conceal it falls to the ground. With shaky fingers, I lift up the item which symbolizes my entire past, of memories of happiness and fullness and a time when the day didn’t hurt. I grasp it, my fingers tracing the smooth wood and familiar curves. My guitar. 


Why did Mom have to die?

 

My fingers hit the strings and I let them tremble, emitting a soft, lonely sound. Memories flash through my head of the time between now and when I’d last touched this guitar all those years ago. My mom had gotten me the guitar for my fifth birthday. I’d loved music, something my friends never did and would know about me. I used to play any instrument I could get my hands on, but guitars were my favorite. I’d fallen in love with it the moment I saw it. Mom had always supported my passion. She encouraged me and let me join courses. Everyone she met loved her, especially me. She’d been my best friend and motivator, the only one who truly understood me. The guitar just brought us closer together even more. But a year later, she lost the battle with cancer, changing our lives forever and shattering the lives we once knew. The government can use magic to keep us in line, but they couldn’t use it to save her. 


Dad and I moved from our home on the coast of the Bay to this crowded apartment complex in the heart of Pier. He’d become a transport dealer, spending the evenings at bars to leave me in daycare after school. I started Year Two in fear and misery, feeling as if I’d never fit in. Only Brinjal understood half my pain, his parents having divorced a few months prior to my arrival. In all the agony and change, I hadn’t touched the guitar since. 


Suddenly, I hear keys jingle and the doorknob rattle. I quickly shove the instrument back into the closet and cover it with the cloth, then rush into the kitchen where I see Dad in his rumpled work clothes. He peers at me suspiciously. “Why do you look so panicked?”


“I—I don’t know, I just didn’t know who was at the door.” I pause, letting my pounding heart slow down. 


He brushes back his green hair and watches me with tired eyes, anger flickering in them. “Just me. Why, you invite one of your friends over? Well, tell them they can’t come tonight. I’m not dealing with those little punks right now. I’m exhausted, today was a long day.”


“I never even have friends over! I always go to their homes when we hang out.” But more often to random stores in the city, I silently add.


He waves his hand. “Then explain why the apartment is always a mess.”


I open my mouth to reply and tell him it’s not my fault—entirely—but I know it’s pointless. I head to my bedroom without another word to him and open my window. We couldn’t afford an apartment with a balcony, and this just faces the side of another building, but at least there’s fresh air from the recent rain. I rest my head on my hand and listen to the sound of transports honking and people yelling on the streets below. But as time passes, I find I’m still thinking about my guitar. 

 

After eight years, why did I touch it now? My passion with music has never been quenched exactly, but I’d never dared to play it since then. It just feels risky. I don’t know how to explain it. But now, all those emotions I’ve locked up so long ago come rushing back, rushing over me like hot ocean waves. I feel pushed down and lost. But I can’t define why. A part of me tells me I can’t stay here in this cramped apartment anymore. Or even on the balcony. The air is heavy and stifling, the world seemingly empty, become blank, anxiety swirling through my mind until I can’t breathe. I groan as my head begins to pound. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. 

And that dream… I remember it now, not what was happening, but the sensation. A couple of years ago it started, and it’s been repeating itself ever since. I’m approaching something, but I don’t know what. And it gets faster and faster and I’m speeding towards whatever it is, and right before I reach it, I wake up. And my mouth tastes bitter. The first time I had this dream I woke up in the pale light of evening and it felt like something was filling my room. I ran out into the living room and sat there, feeling this unidentified panic wash over me. The dream is recurring even more frequently now. Just last night it happened, and I think that’s partly why I provoked Ribier so much today. 


Night draws on and swallows me in darkness, but still I stay out, staring at the brick wall across from me that disappears as the suns set. A few wet drops splatter down on me from above, and when I glance up I see that it’s start raining. Next thing I know it’s pouring. I pull my hood up over my head, but it quickly soaks through. What the frig. It wasn’t supposed to rain again. 

I move back inside and pull off my hood but pause when I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I stare at myself: my dark eyes and pale skin and the corners of my mouth turned down. My hair stands tall on my head. I try to pat it down, but it spikes up even more. Vivid hair. Is that all I am to them? Ribier’s right. Nobody would miss me if I left.


“Who do you think you are?” I whisper to my image, my voice harsh and ragged. I pause, wondering if I’d broken the stillness of the house. But there’s no sign in the next room that Dad heard me. Isolation washes over me, and I begin to feel that I’m actually drowning in my depression and anxiety. I’m a stupid fool who can’t do anything except have self-pity. I need to escape myself, to escape these racing, raging thoughts which swallow my mind. 


I head past the mirror to my dresser. My movements are stiff and automatic as I yank open the top drawer and pull out the black beanie lying among my socks. I pick it up and jerk it down over my head. I need to get somewhere, but there’s nowhere to go. I trip back out to the balcony, feeling sick and restless. 

 

Looking around to make sure nobody’s watching, I stick my hand over the edge of the balcony railing and grip the slick side of the fire escape ladder outside, then climb over the railing until I’m standing at least a dozen stories above the ground. The wind gusts past, stronger at this height and sending heavy raindrops to splatter in my face, but I hold tightly and lower myself down, passing each platform and ladder at an unsteady pace, pausing and then moving intermittently. 


After a couple of minutes, I hit the ground and aim west, not even really aware of where I’m walking through the sheets of rain. I picture the WPG sitting high up in the Floating Halls, the clock striking eight, the employees slowly sliding down the temperature as all the good citizens clamber into bed this very moment. But what about the rain? There isn’t supposed to be any rain right now. But still, a little water won’t stop me from trying to escape my anxiety, and here I am. I push away the thought and inhale deeply, the sidewalks gleaming in the dusky light of evening beneath the streetlights. My uneasiness fades away a little and I calm down a bit, the fresh air that only comes during a storm getting to me.


I’ve always felt more comfortable in the late hours. The day always seems darker than night, if that makes sense. I can see more clearly during the night, whereas during the day I feel as if I am looking through a shadowy prism. Everything is so harsh and immense when the sun’s up; the sky is emptily colored and threateningly blank, a vault I fear falling into. It puts me into this weird existential crisis where I don’t know what anything means, where I’m going, what my purpose in this suburban claustrophobia is. But when the shroud of darkness comes about, I feel more stable and down to earth, not wandering around in my head and thinking about the possibilities and wondering, wondering….


I can see the rest of Pier from where I’m standing, stretching westward until it meets the ocean, a cluster of lights and tall silver buildings. The Lukomo Apartment Complex is only on the edge, and not even close to the densest part of the city, so I can’t see the Workplace from here, but I know it’s a few miles past the skyscrapers. But I’m not heading near there. My feet take me towards the Exgola River, along the main path that runs alongside it. 


I shove my hands into my pockets and stick to the shadows. I could be fined for wearing this beanie, but I guess the whole point of me wearing it is to deliberately defy the law, whether they discover me or not. All day I’m forced to obey the school rules that make no sense whatsoever, and now I’m done. I’m so tired of standing in line and being walked over. I hate being pushed under and not even a single thought given my way, asking what I think about my own life. And it’s not even that the Peacemakers do anything with their magic besides use it to subordinate everybody. I’m just sick. This is my only breath of fresh air that hasn’t been cycled through lies and half-truths. It’s my only way to say what I think, however small an act. It’s my only way to protect myself and remember my individuality.


The path I’m on winds up north to the city, but I keep going straight and cut through the sodden grass along the edge of the river. I come to a line of hills separating me from the rest of Pier. The night is blue and soft and cool around me, the torrents of rain having shifted to a sprinkle, so I sit down in the long grass and look down at the water lapping the bank a few feet away from me. It’s much quieter down here, with only the faint rush of traffic in the distance and the rhythmic slapping of water on dirt. The silence seems to calm my thoughts more, but it can’t help me escape all my worries. I lay down and put my elbows behind my head, staring up at the dark sky above me, troubled. 


Why did I fight Ribier? It was stupid of me, I wasn’t thinking… but maybe the others will think better of me for provoking him, weird as it may sound. The whole lot of them feed off of drama, and this will surely be the new topic up for gossip. I mean, back in the ice cream shop when we were talking, the Juniper twins made it sound like all the group does is talk about me behind my back. Okay, maybe I could be exaggerating, but it feels like there’s something going on with all of them that I don’t know about. I’ve tried so hard to fit in, but it’s done nothing except prove that I’m trying too hard, and for what? I’m a loser and they all know it. So why do I keep trying? I run my hand through my hair underneath the beanie and inhale sharply, but the image of them cheering on Ribier digs deeper. 


And Dad is never here anymore. As much as I try to get his attention, to show him that he still has a son who needs him, nothing’s changed. I still feel blocked out. By him and my friends. There seems to be no way to please them, anybody here, and I’m tired of selling myself out. It’s been too many years, and what have I gotten in return but scorn? 


I climb back up to my feet and direct my steps towards home. The wind pushes me to the side a little, and the rain running down the back of my neck chills me, but I might as well have not been able to feel it. I’m trapped in my mind now, and there’s only one way out. I’m going to pack a bag, and then I’m going to leave the Hoh Metroplex behind forever.

I shift, feeling uncomfortable and rigid in the fancy dress that Mom made me wear. Brinjal and I are sitting next to each other on the couch, the Civil Headship across from us. An older woman in her early forties, she has a cool and imperious air. She’s just come from work along with Mom and looks weary but is still extravagant with her pink hair piled on her head and dressed in her favorite coat, one made from a Matyark hide. Matyarks are large catlike animals with reptilian scales and colorful feathers, known to be found in the Lasij Rainforest. The coat’s a pricey thing, and I can’t help but eye it and wonder about the poor creature that had gone into its making. After a second of goggling too long, her chameleon, known as Shifter, climbs forward from just behind her shoulder and stares at me with its twisting eyes. The mark of the first-class, chameleons are also extremely expensive with their changing colors and the fact that they’re the national animal of Belux, so only the rich and government-employed tend to keep them. 

The Civil Headship is studying our apartment closely, almost as if she’s never been here before, while Mom is in the kitchen prepping dinner. The smell of spiced Grengan drifts from the kitchen, dishes clattering and the faucet running. I notice her stare a second too long at a crooked painting on our wall, then her gaze flicks to us. 

 

“How’s school going, Aza?”

 

I nod. “It’s going well, thank you.”

 

“I heard you received a B minus. Your mother wasn’t very pleased when she told me today. I hope you don’t get another grade like that again.”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

Beside me Brinjal snorts. The Civil Headship and I look at him. He smiles weakly. “Uh, sorry, Pearl. I think I have a little cold.”

 

“Address me as Civil Headship, please,” she responds icily. 

 

“Okay.”

 

We sit in an awkward silence for a couple more minutes. Brinjal had just come back from who-knows-where before Mom and the Civil Headship returned from the Workplace, and he looks a bit sweaty as if he was in a hurry. I want to ask him where he was, but it’s impossible with the Civil Headship eyeing us as if we’re going to bite her. I fumble with my hands and stare at the rug, feeling my nerves spike. 

 

Just then Mom pops her head into the living room. “Dinner’s ready.”

 

We get up, all relieved to be out of the tense situation, and cram into the small but neat kitchen where Mom has laid a delicious spread on the table. She’s even taken the time to bake a chocolate cake. The Civil Headship looks down at it. “Oh, that’s very kind of you Saffron, but you must know I don’t eat cake.”

 

My mom looks startled. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

 

The Civil Headship waves a hand. “No, accept my apology. We’ve been friends all these years and I haven’t taken the time to tell you. Cake is very rich, and I don’t pleasure myself in risking my health like that.”

 

Mom takes the cake from the table and moves to put it in the kitchen. Then she returns and sits down with us. The Civil Headship has already started eating. 

 

“I lectured Aza this morning on her grade,” my mom says. “I wondered if you could—”

 

“I already talked to her.” 

 

“Oh! Well, then…. How is Candy?” Candy is the Civil Headship’s younger sister. She’s been dating my dad, Mom’s ex-husband, for a while now. It’s surprising for two reasons. One, that the Civil Headship’s sister would ever go out with someone like Dad, not that I’m saying anything exactly, but still. If Mom couldn’t tolerate his lack of competency in anything, it’s a wonder she would, considering there’s so many other choices out there because of her sister’s high status. Again, I’m not trying to imply anything. And two, they’ve lasted longer together than Dad has with any girl other than Mom. 

 

The Civil Headship raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you hear? Neptune proposed to Candy two days ago. They’re engaged now.” 

 

Again my mom looks surprised. Brinjal and I exchange looks. That’s definitely new. 

 

“I’m sorry, Neptune didn’t tell me. I’m guessing Candy was excited?” 

 

“Quite.”

 

I force myself to ignore the brief silence that follows and take a bite of my salad. I’m a vegetarian, self-established ever since I read the statistics on how much meat the Hoh Metroplex consumes in a single year. It’s shocking, really. Maybe I’m locking myself in an unnecessary cage by refusing to eat what was made to be eaten, but I still pity the little animals out there. 

 

After dinner and dessert, which was buttered cookies, we—meaning Mom and the Civil Headship—spend a little more time talking about all the same topics, mostly concerning myself and my absolutely awful grades and how I can improve, then the Civil Headship leaves. I help a reluctant Brinjal with dishes and then retreat to my room to study for a little bit, having completed all my assigned homework a few hours ago. Yet as I sit down at my desk, I find my mind is elsewhere.  


I flip through a book on the differing plant species in Belux, but it doesn’t slow my suddenly agitated thoughts. I feel as if I've forgotten something. Could I have left something at school, or have I failed to remember an assignment for one of my classes? But that’s impossible. I jot down practically everything the teachers say in my notebooks, and I’ve gone over them in the bubble on my way home today as usual. Maybe if I go get some fresh air I’ll feel better. The rainstorm from earlier seems to have cleared up to a mere drizzle. When I asked the Civil Headship about it earlier, she had simply replied that an inexperienced worker had pressed the wrong buttons and they were still working on it. It seems to be fixed now, and there are no other signs of more rain, so I opt on a quick outing.

 

I change from my dress into a comfortable purple sweatshirt and black leggings, then grab my bubble wand and some money—just in case—and walk out onto the balcony after scribbling an explanatory note for Mom. I form a bubble around myself and let it carry me up into the sky. The day has been swallowed up in shadow, leaving the sidewalks empty and all the apartment windows black, the illuminating orbs of the street lights being the only things pushing back total darkness. For a second, I wish I’m back in my room instead of going off on an unknown venture like this. I don’t even know where I intended to go in the first place. I imagine the Exgola River must be pretty nice right now.

 

As I climb up into the velvety blackness, I notice some specks of pale light not far off, shrouded in the clouds which still cover the sky. I squint and recognize the lanterns the government sends up weekly. They’re meant to chase off the darkness of night and signify the end of a productive week and the beginning of a recuperating weekend. It’s the RANPO department that launches them. RANPO stands for Representatives of All Non-Primary Occupations. Loosing the lanterns up into the sky every Friday is one of the few tasks they have. That sector mainly consists of retired people from other jobs in the Hoh Metroplex who participate in polls for new laws and engage in similarly useless objectives. Fortunately I’d forgotten about the eventful morning, and although the lanterns bring back the painful reminder that I can never find peace in a single school day, now the usual flicker of pleasure that comes with seeing those lights isn’t even as comforting as usual. Something is still nagging me. 

 

After a few minutes, I drop down to the hills standing by the river. If ever I thought the Hoh Metroplex could be beautiful in a natural way, it would be demonstrated here. The grass is soaked, brushing coldly against my ankles and tickling me. I climb down to the base of the hill and sit there, a few inches away from the rippling black water. Crickets chirp and some kind of pigeon coos off in the distance, but it’s relatively quiet when compared to the other parts of the city. The lanterns hang in the sky far above like fairy lights adorning a tapestry of towering trees and stars. I, exhale, finally having time to let my mind wander.

 

Maybe it’s been so long since I’ve last had time like this to myself, but my thoughts are slow to come, stretched out and analytical in every way, it seems. I recall the events of the day and first think about Mom. I’m frustrated with her being so strict, but I know she just wants to help me out. Sometimes I just wish she’d help a little less. Or at least ask about my social life—not that it’s going well or anything. But sometimes I feel like she pulls me away from the rest of the world until all that matters is trying to please her, yet everything I do has a sense of wrongness about it, even though she approves. I suppose I understand her a little, though. Not everybody is so fortunate as to be on such firsthand terms with the Civil Headship herself. They both just want what’s best for me. But sometimes it hurts, like when I got the best grade in the class on that test in history. My first thought was of how happy Mom would be, but at the jeers of my classmates afterward, led by Celosia, I’d felt just as bad as if I’d gotten a zero. 

 

And I don’t understand why she doesn’t try with Brinjal. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s obviously so unhappy. I’m sure Mom sees it, but she always brushes it off and calls it teenage gloominess. When he was eleven and I was nine, he ran away to Dad’s apartment and stayed there until Mom found him and yelled at Dad and him. He’s never done something like that again, but despite his childish attitude, I’ve come to notice something dark rooted in him, from the way he never meets Mom’s eyes and then breaks curfew to hang out in the city with his friends. Not that Mom cares much about that. It’s as if she forces herself not to notice. 

 

Sometimes I wonder if I’m preoccupying myself too much with the little things. I’m always busy, struggling to live up to such high standards, trying to figure out Brinjal, and enduring school so that I’ve never really taken the time to analyze my own self, at least not in the right way. I have Mom to tell me what to do, and I’ve always trusted her out of instinct. She’s constantly repeating that meddling with society’s hierarchies is a risky thing, and it’s best to rely only on myself. It’s true, I suppose. Society has chosen personality over character, the loud boisterous people over the quieter, more reflective individuals, and it’s been set into its moral codes now. The struggle is either to fit the expected persona or work until you drop. It’s what scares me most now. I can’t imagine altering myself until I don’t even know who I am, just to fit what others expect me to be. I see kids like Sun and Ribier and Celosia being liked by the teachers even though they hardly do any work, just because they’re so extroverted and funny. Yet Sun got told off today by Mrs. Dijon….

 

Then that makes me think of Sun and what happened earlier. He’d practically talked back to Mrs. Dijon, but nobody was watching him. It seemed that the worksheet was more personal for him than a chance to rebel. But why? Why can’t he just put the correct answer like everybody else? What makes him think he’s so special?

 

My thoughts are like ink-formed words when someone pours water over them. Organized thinking never seems to go very well when I’m confronting myself. But I feel compelled to stay because of how beautiful and clean the night is, so I lay back in the grass and stare up at the starry sky with the lanterns drifting through it high above. The minutes pass quickly, and soon I feel that I’m losing myself in a sort of daydream where I can feel the world moving on about me but I have no desire to move. 


Just then, I hear footsteps behind me in the grass. I quickly sit up and look back to where I see a form moving toward me, a black silhouette in the night. I tense up, fear shooting through me, but then I recognize who it is. Shock fills me. “Sun?”

 

He pauses and is quiet for a long second, probably trying to peer through the darkness. “Azalea? What are you doing here?”

 

“Just enjoying the night. Uh, why are you?” I squint at him, the dim night pressing against my eyes. He’s wearing the same outfit as from school, a white t-shirt, jeans, and a dark green jacket. But something else is different. He’s breathing heavily, and his movements are stiff and anguished. “Are you wearing a hat? That’s illegal!”

 

“Calm down. It’s not that big of a crime. And nobody’s out to see it anyways.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still breaking the law. Don’t you have remorse for anything?”

 

“No. Mind if I join you?”

 

“Fine.” He sits down next to me, and I feel hot all of a sudden. Why him? Why now? I was just hoping to get some fresh air, not talk to someone from school I barely know. Especially considering our encounter this morning. I hope he doesn’t mention it.

 

He must be thinking the same thing because he shifts beside me. “Want to take a walk? I know a good path.”

 

“Okay.”


We get up and walk along in silence for a little while, following the bank of the river. The silence is thick between us. “It’s nice out,” I try.


“It’s always nice out when you have someone else to decide the weather for you.”


I stare at him, but he looks serious. “What do you mean?”


“Haven’t you ever considered it?” he presses. “What it was like back on Earth?”


I avoid his gaze and follow the curve of the hill downwards, watching my step. I’d hate to trip and embarrass myself. “It was worse, that’s for sure.”


“But was it? They had different weather, like rain and snow and heat waves.”


“What’s your point?”


“My point is that they had change. Here it’s sunny and warm every day, even when the rest of Belux is in winter. I mean, obviously not right now, but still…”


“Have you ever experienced the temperatures in the other parts of Belux?” I smile faintly, knowing he’ll have to say ‘no.’ It’s a low chance that anyone under the age eighteen will have left the Metroplex. 


“Yes.”


I pause for a second, startled. “Really? When?” 


“My dad used to be a trucker when I was little,” he explains. “When he made deliveries, he’d sneak me out with him. I don’t remember much of the outside… I just remember that it was different. When we passed through the Sukafram Forest, it was freezing. We had to wear multiple coats… and in the desert it was so incredibly dry, even when we were in the truck. But even though it could be uncomfortable, the views were amazing. Even at the base of the mountains you could see so much of Belux. Here your view ends at the Tazarabi Wall.”


“And you miss the weather because of that?” I think of the trucks that go out and across Belux every day. Trucking is a difficult job with the shifty weather outside the Wall. Transports would’ve been more convenient, but they’ve never been able to carry heavy loads and are generally operated more in the cities. I start walking again and he follows. 


He shakes his head. “It’s not the weather that matters. It’s knowing that there’s more out there and that things can come unexpectedly. Life doesn’t always go the way you plan it. That’s what makes it so interesting. Don’t you agree?”


“I like to plan things,” I reply. “Then I know what’s going to happen and I can prepare in advance. I like knowing.”


Sun stops and looks at me. “But don’t you get it? I mean, it’s obvious. You have to know there’s something more out there than what we’re raised to believe in. We can’t all be a bunch of sheep, never looking past the fence. There has to be something out there, something I didn’t understand the first time.”


I laugh lightly, but my stomach squirms. “You’re getting philosophical. What would you even figure to be out there?”


“I don’t know. And that’s the problem. I don’t want to know everything; I just want to know that there is something. You must be able to relate to that. You’re not a sheep like everybody else. You stand apart. You do what you like.”


“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask sharply, recalling how I told off Celosia this morning. 

He gives me a long look. “I saw you talking to Celosia. I watched the entire thing. You called her out on all her wrongs.”


“Well, I’m sorry if I offended you as well, but it had to be done. Even if it didn’t change anything she does.” I pace faster. 


“But you didn’t offend me.” Sun stops in his tracks. I pause and look at him. “No, you made me ashamed.”


“And why would I do that?” I ask dryly. 


“Why were you always so quiet before?” he asks me, not answering my question. “This was practically the first time I’ve heard you talk.” 


“What does it matter?” I ask, growing irritable. 


“Because you stood up for someone else. You don’t feel the need to please others.”


I stare down at the damp grass around my feet, frustration sliding over me. Why is he bringing all this up? He barely knows me. We’re just taking a walk together, not exchanging life stories and beliefs. “But that’s where you’re wrong. I’m trying to please my mom. She wants me to become a Breeder. I can’t have friends if I’m going to try to achieve a goal that big.”


“So you don’t want to be a Breeder?”


“I never said that.”


“But you implied it. What do you really want to do? It doesn’t have to be a career. It can just be a hobby. But you must have a reason to wake up in the morning. You have your own life. So what defines it?” 


I try to get at what he’s trying to do by talking to me, but the reasons seem to fall flat. Is there something deeper going on in his mind? Is he trying to find solace in my company by thinking that I could be someone different from the stereotypical goody two-shoes? Much as I’d like to think it’s possible, I doubt I ever could maintain the outright passion that went into this morning’s confrontation. I doubt that I have a personality besides what I’ve been taught to do, an incessant lesson ingrained in me by my mom: to work hard and be successful. I have no other options. What does he see in me? And what changed it? Didn’t I use to be just Brinjal’s reserved younger sister? The older people in my class still surely view me as that. I’m used to it, or so I tell myself. But what if the reason I’m hoping against hope is because I really am affected by their opinions? What if I’m not the aloof introvert I’ve always aspired to be? What if this morning were my stifled feelings giving vent?


“Look at the lanterns,” he continues. “And look at the night. We’re the lights beating back the darkness which is life. They’re small and insignificant, but they still manage to light up the space around them.”


“But eventually they flicker out,” I say. “Yes, there are more to replace them every week, but still they flicker out. So you see, it’s not the individual that matters, but the entire group of them. If you’re looking for someone to tell you that passion rules everyone and that we’re here to do something special, each and every one of us, then you’ve found the wrong person. I’m a realist, Sun. The sooner everyone realizes it, the sooner they’ll come to accept that everything’s chance and not everyone is made for a purpose. Others are barely scraping by.” I recall my mom and her past. Isn’t that the history of most families? Resilience is the virtue that keeps the human race from giving up.


But Sun gives me a stubborn look. “I refuse to believe that. You think me jaded, but it’s the other way around. You have a passion in you that you just haven’t discovered yet.”


“Why should it matter to you?” I ask him, feeling anger boil in me. “I hardly know you, and yet you come here saying that I’m living my life wrong because I’m not excited about anything. Not everyone can be. Look, I don’t know what kind of life you have, but I have to live up to my family’s name. I do have a purpose, and even if I don’t like it, it’s still there.”


Sun clenches his fists. “That’s what I hate about this whole situation. Everybody’s always got some responsibility now. Why worry about this stuff now, when we have our whole depressing adulthood ahead of us? Can’t we just enjoy ourselves while we’re still young and stupid?”


How crazy is he? “Now you know why I have to prove myself to my mom. Because of people like you. Our generation is falling apart because everybody’s special and everybody has some amazing talent they just have to share. What makes you so different?”


He winks at me. “The fact that I believe I am.”


“If you’re going to interrogate me, then you must have answers of your own. What’s your passion? What do you want to do?”


He clears his throat. “I’d prefer not to answer.”


“Come on. What is it?”


“Promise you won’t laugh?”


I fold my arms across my chest. “I promise.”


“I want to be a guitarist.”


I can’t help smiling. “You have a guitar?”


“Yes.”


“Do you play it?”

 

“I mean… sometimes.”


“Then how do you expect to become a musician if you never practice?”


“I listen to other bands,” he offers. 


“That’s not enough. If you really want to do something, then you have to practice.”


He grins. “Are you supporting me then?”


I look away, hiding my own involuntary smile. We continue walking again, growing closer to the city. I can see occasional glimpses of the Floating Halls from here, lit up from within, glowing like giant round lamps towering over the city. Once again, I am reminded that I can’t listen to Sun. What does he know about anything? The Workplace is reality, and he’s just an obstacle that must be overcome, an inquirer that must be answered, thus helping me understand why I do what I do. 


“Aza, I know you think I’m reckless and you probably hate me. But can’t we all just have a little bit of hope, even if it’s no good? It makes us look at things differently. Life is hard. People come and go—” He pauses, looking older and tired for just a brief second. Then the light in his eyes returns and he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to go through life taking everything for granted and passing up every opportunity. I want to look in every corner and push myself to do things I’m afraid to do. Life’s such a tragedy that everything’s a joke. Because we’d all be depressed if we didn’t laugh at how lonely we are.”


I swallow. A part of me wants to accept the truth in his words, but the rationalist part of me ignores him. He must see the conflict in my face because his expression softens. “Can’t you understand?”


I know he’s not really asking if I can understand, but rather if I can accept his beliefs. He should know that I don’t change easily. Yes, I may be open-minded, but I hold true to my own principles that everyone has responsibilities and those matter over being idle and having a good time all the time. No one ever benefited from having fun, at least not in the long run. Not that I know of. “I don’t know.” 


Sun doesn’t reply but keeps walking. I don’t know why, but his silence makes me uneasy even more than his words did. The weird feeling in me is gone, but now it’s replaced by something else: a spark of curiosity. Maybe it’s because he was challenging me to look at things differently. I’ve always lived life knowing what’s around the corner. I like having things planned. But something about the idea of not knowing interests me. I used to look at daredevils and adventurists like Sun as reckless people, people who are entitled and think the world was made for them. And I still do. Yet there’s something about Sun that shifts my perspective a little, makes me look at things in a slightly less critical view. This path I walk on, it’s the path that hundreds, maybe even thousands, have trod before me in some way or the other. Sun, he’s one of the rare, lonely gems. He’s a bushwhacker.


We’re approaching Pier’s botanical gardens. Dark trees stand in the night as the smell of flowers drifts across the grass, beckoning us. The sky above is filled with millions of faraway suns twinkling in great black emptiness. I sneak a glance at Sun and see he’s staring at me. “You’re beautiful.”

 

My heart jumps in my chest as I stare back, unable to break away from his clear gaze. His eyes are dark, darker than the night sky, but twinkling as if they too contain stars. He really thinks so? The flutter in my chest tells me I feel something too. But… why him? Why him out of all the people in the Hoh Metroplex, in the whole world? And better yet, why me? 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I finally manage. 

 

“Let’s run away,” he whispers. He swallows, looking as if he’d like to tear it back, but he’s caught my attention. I bite my lip and back away. 

 

“Run away?”

 

“Yes,” he says, the words tumbling out now, a river unleashed. “We could do so much. We’re trapped here. We can see the world, we can go anywhere, anytime. It’d—it’d all be up to us. We won’t ever have to please anybody but ourselves!”


I shake my head. “Sun, you’re talking crazy. I don’t even know you that well…”


“Why not?” he asks. A fire burns in his eyes. “Aza, you’re different. You’re different from anyone else I’ve ever met before. You’re stunning and gorgeous. You’re amazing and clever and you have something I didn’t know existed anymore: virtue. I feel like I already know you. You must feel something as well. You have to.”


“I—I do, but—”


“Consider it, just consider it.”


When I look at him, I’m tempted to as well. But I know I can’t. I possibly couldn’t. This thing between us, it can’t go on any longer. “Sun, we both have responsibilities. Yours is Celosia. Mine is my job as a Breeder. I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you, but I should go now.” I turn away, feeling shadows swallow me once more as I go under the trees where the moonlight can’t reach me.


“No, this can’t be it,” I hear Sun say. “Aza, just give me another chance.”

 

I start walking. 

 

“Aza, come back here, please. I didn’t mean to—” I hear a sharp gasp and multiple small splashes. I glance back and scream. 


The bank has given way. Sun is sliding down towards the river, the dirt crumbling into the eagerly lapping waters. I lunge towards Sun, my heart banging against my chest. Will I get there in time? The land trembles beneath my feet the closer I draw to him. I jump over the rocks cascading into the river and reach out, trying not to fall, not like Sun, but it’s too late. Just as I lean, my weight suddenly over-balances, and Sun slips backwards. With a splash we both fall into the churning river.

 

The water crashes over my head, frothing and bubbling as if aggravated. I strike upwards, the bubbles streaming past me, but an undertow hooks me, dragging me down into the black depths of the river. 


No!

 

I reach up and swallow a mouthful of water as I strain against the hidden current. I instinctively cough and feel dizzy as I choke on more water. My clothes are heavy, an anchor tugging me down… my muscles tired… but still I fight, aiming to reach the lighter shades above.

 

I need air…

 

I’m sucked down into the murkiness, the water rushing past, the darkness boring into my eyes. I shut them, open them, but no difference. Night, space, time, seem compressed in the waters which trap me. I feel myself graze the plants at the bottom of the river, feel myself torn past. My lungs scream for air, to reach the surface… I can no longer tell which way is up or down.

 

Then, just before I run out of air, I’m jerked out of the current. My head hits something hard with a crack that jolts my brain, and I feel myself fade into blackness.

At first, all I can do is breathe. In, out. Inhale, exhale. In my foggy state, I am content to stay here forever. In, out. Inhale, exhale. The darkness is all around me, soft and friendly, wrapped around everything, in everything it belongs, moving slowly, but not that far from stillness, alive and awake, but never not sleeping. It is the beginning of time and the end of time. No feeling except utter tranquility. A strand of music runs through, wordless, voiceless, tuneless. Then the darkness shifts, and colors begin to pulsate at the edges of my closed eyes. 

 

I open my eyes. I’m lying on some sort of rock, looking up at a rocky ceiling above me, where flickers of cold blue and green light flash across. My breathing is surprisingly easy and not irregular from all the water I must have swallowed. My body feels sore and cold, yet as I prop myself up on my elbows, no water streams from my clothing. How long was I unconscious? It would’ve taken days for the water to dry in this damp place. I glance around, feeling confused, my mind still slow from whatever weird unconsciousness I emerged from.

 

But to my surprise, I’m in a sort of massive underground cavern. The shadowed edges are hardly discernible from the rest of the cave; it’s so dark. Water drips from the yellow stalactites hanging from the ceiling and falls into pools which have been carved out into the rock over time. Torches in rusty metal brackets line the outer walls and the occasional rock formation, but instead of casting a warm yellow light which is expected, the fire is green and blue. The whole place has an eerie feel to it. 

 

But just then I turn back to examine the other side of the cave, and my jaw drops. Instead of flowing past or being separated by a wall of rock, the Exgola River from where we came is right there, a wall of water which stands against our edge of the cavern, held up by some kind of invisible force. As if compelled, I slowly stand up, my bones cracking from the damp rock, and walk over to touch it. Where my fingers contact it, water spurts out in a little stream, but the rest of the wall continues to flow by. The waters, usually so clear and refreshing in daylight on land, is now so dark it’s almost black. I can see the occasional fish flash by, silvery scales and cold eyes glinting in the cold light of the torches. I shudder, feeling terror pulse through me like a separate heartbeat.

 

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck raise. The damp air has suddenly been charged with static, an overcharged energy that fills the cavern like a separate entity. I whirl around, feeling exposed even in the shadows. The air is thick and crackling now, coming down on me. My breath comes quick, harsh, ragged. Black spots dance before my eyes. What’s happening?  

 

I crouch down, unable to see or hear the drips of water. Pain is scorching my mind, burning, rending my brain until I can’t think through the haze. White-hot, infuriating pain. I want to scream, to voice the agony that’s cascading through my mind, but no sound comes. Then the pain changes, narrows down into intense emotions. Anger. Hatred. Sorrow. Fear. Guilt. They’re not just feelings anymore, they’ve turned into a sort of tangible torture, flooding my senses and overwhelming me. 


A voice breaks through it all. “Sun. Sun, what are you doing? What’s wrong?” Alarm taints it. 

I blink and shake my head, my mind beginning to clear up. I barely have time to see Aza standing over me before a primal feeling of closeness knocks me over, throwing me under the waves again. I don’t think; I grab Aza’s arm and drag her behind a stalagmite, feeling heat and cold wash over me, a headache centered in my brain. I slump against the rock, letting it fade away, confusion and fear rushing through me. I can only understand one thing. “We can’t stay here.”


“Sun, what was that?” Aza’s eyes are meeting mine, concern glimmering in them. “It was like something else had taken you over.”

 

I’m about to answer, but then a voice cuts through the relative silence of the cavern. It’s filled with panic and terror. “Master, I—I don’t know what could’ve happened! I didn’t read it wrong—the magic must have made a mistake!”

 

Then a second voice speaks, deep and low, a boiling rage hidden beneath it. The sound sends shivers up my spine and chills my heart. Somehow I know its owner is associated with whatever had just happened to me. “Aguaje, you have wasted my time. And time is valuable now, very valuable. Do you know what I do to slaves who fail me?”

 

Aza grabs my arm, her expression horrified. I put my finger to my lips, then, pressing my back to the stalagmite, slowly peek out from behind the rock until I can see the conversers. Well, one of them.


A red-headed young man stands on the sharp line between the darkness and light. He is tall, but his thin figure and hunched shoulders make him seem small. His eyes are wide, his dark complexion slick with sweat. He’s looking at something across from him, but it’s in the pitch-black shadows where the light from the torches stops. The man takes a step back every second, and soon I can see what is threatening him. 

 

An awful figure stalks forward. He’s wearing a black cloak that swishes with a threatening grace. His footsteps echo across the cavern as he strides forward, his icy gaze fixated on the young man in front of him. But what makes me inhale sharply—but quietly—is his hair. It’s black. Shaggy and dark, it hangs around his inexpressive face like a fog of darkness solidified. Shivers run through me as I stare at him. What kind of person could he be to have no color?


“I’ll start all over, please, Master!” the young man yelps.

 

The figure hisses angrily. “No, Aguaje. I think I have gotten enough use out of you.” The black-haired man lifts his hand and he trips, falling to his knees and coughing. The evil man draws closer.

 

He raises the dagger. I feel myself freeze in fear, unable to look away as Aza draws back behind the rock, her teeth chattering so loud it’s a wonder the creature doesn’t look our way…. The dagger comes swooping down, carving an arc through the air as it whistles downwards, lower, lower. Then… stops. A sudden cracking noise splits the silence, then comes a splash. I glance down at my outstretched hand, my braced position as I stand just behind the rock formation. My hand is still opened up above one of the pools, where a stalactite tip slowly sinks to the bottom, the jagged edge showing where I’d snapped it off the end of one of the limestone towers. Silence fills the cavern, the only sound being the ragged breathing of Aguaje. A horrible moment slowly passes, then the figure turns away and slips the dagger back into his cloak, probably assuming the cause of the noise had been a mere bit of rock falling. 

 

“What did you do that for?” Aza whispers at me furiously.

 

“I couldn’t just let him die.” The words slip from my mouth without my thinking. I’d done that without thinking.


“What do you think we are now in danger of doing?”

 

I ignore her, then look back at them who’s coldly staring down at Aguaje, who is still crouched on the floor, shaking.


“One more chance. One more chance to prove yourself, Aguaje. I’ve had countless slaves…. To put it mildly, they didn’t fit my needs. You’re lucky you’re still alive,” he hisses.


“I’ll do anything, Master, I will,” the unfortunate slave stutters. 


The figure waves his hand. “That was a mistake, typical of you colors, and I suppose I won’t gain anything by ridding myself of my last slave. You can repay me later, but rest assured I will not forget.


“Now, back to more… pleasant matters. Despite this plan failing, we must move on to our next few priorities. Thus, our first and foremost issue is to find the Star of Zacharias and connect all the pieces. This map I have, it doesn’t show the locations. So while I study the literature I have collected in expectation of this kind of thing, you can examine the map itself, if you are as skilled in terrain as you claim to be.”


“I did grow up in the rainforest,” Aguaje says quietly. 


The dark man grins. “But you’re not there, are you? Now, you’ve been with me for a while. You know of the moniker they gave to me, yet you remain unaware of the exact reasons of the self-inflicted influence. Black, they call me. Black. The color abhorred by all precisely because it is not a color, but the absence of any. Tonight they sent up their lanterns in the sky like they always do because they fear blackness. They only keep night because the mind can’t sleep without it, because there is a primitive instinct in them which yearns for the covering of darkness. So in the end, they all need the very thing they run from.” 


Aguaje is silent, shuddering slightly. Black continues, his voice smooth and self-assured. “Not only for confidential reasons do I keep it, but also because of something else. A weapon, if you may. Fear. Fear is the weapon of a knowledgeable man, and when wielded correctly, can instill a permanent terror in the mind of the sufferer, thus raising the villain on a sort of psychological pedestal. Every color is weak and knows this in the back of their mind, but still follows the inevitable path.”


“Yes, Master, they will learn, they will see and fear you—”


“Shut up, Aguaje! You stammer like an imbecile. You really ought to collect yourself if you see yourself fit to become my faithful servant. Now, go make the plans for our journey and don’t dawdle. The time is approaching. I feel it.”


Black flicks his cloak and strides off into a yawning hole in the wall of the cave. Aguaje swallows, then heads off to another side cave, this one smaller than Black’s. Silence falls over the cavern, broken only by the steady pinging of the limestone water droplets falling. And the sound of Aza’s heart and my own thudding. 


“How are we going to get out now?” Aza asks me quietly, fear in her voice. “What if they hear us?”


I’m not listening to her, however. A sense of adrenaline is coursing through my blood, driving out any sense of fear or risk. A million opportunities have opened up, and the last thing on my mind is how to get out. Well, that’s not true. I know how to get out now. For years, I’ve sought a way to escape all the things I’ve known and am sick of. I’ve needed change. And I’ve found it. All I needed was the opportunity to present itself. 


I look at her. “Aza, listen to me. We can stop Black and rescue Aguaje! If the pieces of the Star of Zacharias are really located all over Belux, then we have to go find them before Black can.”


She stares at me and looks like she wants to yell at me. Instead, she opts for the quieter and much safer task of whispering furiously at me. “Are you crazy?! We’re stuck in a cave underground with two crazy men, sucked up by the river, and you want to go on a wild-goose chase to find whatever the Star of Zacharias is? I don’t even know you that well!”


“Only Black is the crazy one. Aguaje is just trapped here, and he’s sick and in pain.” 


She shakes her head. “It’s clearly dangerous. Black—or whatever his name is—is obviously not sane. And I think whatever happened to you is related to Black. It would be better to just leave.”

I’ve already considered it, and I tell myself I understand it, but I shrug. “We can’t just let him get away with those plans. No one will believe us if we tell them what happened.”


“You believe that he means them? I think he’s just insane.”


I shake my head and recall the pain I had experienced, whatever it was. “Something tells me that he will follow through, or at least try to.”


She gives me a doubtful look. “Sun, I don’t know what happened to you before, but he can’t really have magic. He can’t…” Her voice trails off. 


“I know it’s hard for you to accept it,” I say softly, “but there were defects when Belux was created, even though the teachers told us they were meant to be. I’m sure Black is one of them. Nobody in his right mind would give this person magic.”


Aza hesitates, thinking. I can tell she knows I must be right in some way, but the logical part of her mind denies it. But that’s the only obstacle, really. There’s something different about her. She sees there is something beyond conformity. She sees the opportunities even if she refuses to accept them. She is a victim to the game and its process and operations; she supplies the inaction that is the only reason she’s a part of the system—but she is not a blind victim. 

But then she shakes her head. “No.”


“No? Why?”


“I’m not going to go all over Belux with you, Sun! Face reality. Maybe you’ve been outside the Wall when you were little, but I’ve never left the Hoh Metroplex. This is my life. I can’t just leave now and go after something that’s probably a myth. What will my mom think?!” She’s practically hysterical. 


“Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh, knowing that I won’t change her mind by talking to her now. “Just at least admit you want to rescue Aguaje as well. We can’t just leave him here. He’s obviously sick and in need of a doctor or something.”


“I wish we could help him, Sun, I really do. But don’t you think we aren’t capable enough of getting him out of here? We don’t even know how we’re going to get out.”


I glance at the river wall. “Well, if it’s the current that Black used that accidentally brought us here, then maybe it’s turned off right now. All we need to do is plunge back in and swim upwards. Come on, let’s at least try to get him out of here. You’d feel awful about just leaving him behind, wouldn’t you? And it’s not like the Peacemakers will believe us if we tell them what happened. None of this is believable, really.”


She shakes her head, hesitation flickering in her eyes. “I can’t do it. What if Black catches us?”

“Okay, then let me do it. I’ll be back with him before you can say ‘Breeder’.”

 

“No, Sun, this guy might detect you with his magic or something. I can’t let you do this. We both can’t do this. We have to leave now, before they find us. Aguaje might panic and call out to Black if he sees you.”

 

I nod. “That is a risk.”


“Yeah.”


“So you’re saying I shouldn’t go.”


“Yes.”


“Aza, let me say one thing.”


“What?”


“I’m sorry.” And without a glance back, I spring out from behind the stalagmite and begin to zigzag through the limestone formations to Aguaje’s cave. 

I stare after him, fuming. He’s just going to leave me here? I glance towards the river wall, seeing that the current has indeed disappeared, and I could just swim up if I pleased, leaving Sun to suffer from his own idiocy. But deep down I know I can’t just leave him alone down here. Yes, he’s a fool to think he can talk to Aguaje without getting caught by Black, and I know it’s stupid to follow him….


I slip out from behind the stalagmite, trying to stay in the shadows. Sun glances behind me when he hears my soft footsteps, then we both creep on, zigzagging behind stalagmites and stalactites as we cross the massive cavern. Finally, we stop by the cavernous hole which leads to Aguaje’s quarters. 


Sun enters first, giving me a crooked grin as he meets my gaze. I stare back icily, knowing he must be secretly relieved that I came. He is far too reckless for his own safety. Yet I have to admire his confidence and trust that everything will be fine. After all, you don’t meet too many colors in the Hoh Metroplex like that.


The stone floor rings out as we walk along in a short tunnel, which then opens up into a sort of room. Aguaje is sitting on the rough stone floor, surrounded by parchments. A single lamp beside him lights up only the immediate area closest to him, so the rest of the cave is flooded with blackness. When he hears us enter, he jumps up.


“Master, what is wrong? Have the plans changed?”


I give Sun a startled look, but then realize he can’t see us past the brightness of the light. Sun must realize this too, for he moves into his view. 


“You are not my master,” Aguaje says, looking even more afraid. “Other slaves, perhaps, he has not told me about?”


“Er, no,” Sun says. “We’re normal people. From the outside.”


Aguaje picks up a heavy book and holds it over his head. His arms tremble from the weight.

“We’re not here to harm you!” I exclaim. “We just need to talk.”

 

“How’d you get here?” Aguaje asks. Then his eyes widen. “So people did come through the current… I was right.” He freezes. “Was it you that broke the stalactite? That distracted Black and saved me?”


“Yes,” Sun says, waving his hand impatiently. “We wanted to know… who is Black? Why are you here? How did all of this happen?”


“He’ll find you if you stay any longer,” the red-head warns.


“Then make our time shorter and tell us,” Sun demands. I cast him a sharp look and shake my head. Force isn’t the way to get him to cooperate. If anything, he needs a soft tone, considering what he’s been through.


The young man nods silently, looking stressed. “It… It all started when I was working at my restaurant, at the edge of the Lasij Rainforest. I needed to go get some more water, so I went to the coastline with a bucket. Just as I was drawing the water, filtering it, I heard a noise behind me and turned to see a massive wave towering over me…” Here his voice shook. “I—it swallowed me up and brought me here, to the Drowned Cave as he calls it.”


“It sounds like Black has a thing with water,” I mutter to Sun, who nods in agreement. Aguaje, however, shakes his head. 


“No, water is only a small part of the things he can control with his magic. Whatever you’ve seen so far, it’s only the tip of the iceberg.” He shivers. “It’s awful.”


Sun looks surprised, despite his firm belief earlier. “So he really does have magic.”


“What are his plans?” I ask. 


Aguaje gulps. “I don’t know much; he doesn’t talk much about his past or reasons. But it sounds like he wants revenge against someone, or a group of people. He wants to take over Belux by finding the Star of Zacharias—”


“What is it? We heard him mentioning it.” 


“It’s a sort of weapon, I don’t know exactly what form it takes…. All I know is that the six pieces are scattered around Belux and that they benefit the wielder in some sort of way. All around Belux, people say it’s a legend. But the refugees, they think it’s real.”


“Refugees?”


Aguaje lowers his gaze. His voice rises a little. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you two. Black might find you and that wouldn’t be good.”


Sun shakes his head stubbornly. “No, tell us.”


He looks nervous but continues. “The refugees are the people who escaped from Black. A few did pass through our restaurant. They spoke about someone called Black, but all kinds of eccentric colors come through anyways and I didn’t think much about it, until I was captured of course. The weird thing was that they always went into the Lasij Rainforest beyond our small village. And they never came back out.”


I furrow my brow. “Wouldn’t they have their own village in there? I thought tribes had taken over all of Belux.”


“Not in there. Nobody goes into the Lasij Rainforest unless they’re armed and have a good reason. There are all kinds of dangerous creatures there.”


I shiver, then change the subject. “The Star. What were you saying about it?”


“Many people think it’s a legend, except the refugees. Black is convinced it’s real. I don’t know how he obtained the map, though. All I know is that he’ll do anything to get to it if he’s truly seeking power. His magic may be strong, but it’s not enough to control the entirety of Belux. Even though he’s evil, he’s not foolish. Individual magic doesn’t allow for much control.”


Sun nods. “So you have a map then? Can we look at it?”


Aguaje shrugs. “The map shows no signs of revealing the locations of the pieces of the Star. But you can look quickly.”


He bends down and searches amongst the parchment, then lifts up a scroll, tied with frayed red ribbon. He unravels it, then holds the large paper in front of us, which is a delicate artwork depicting the croissant shape of Belux, the mountains in the back, and the occasional river twisting through it. “I don’t know how or where Black got it, but he keeps telling me to see if it changes. The points could be disguised on it—” Here his voice drops, “—hidden by magic maybe even Black cannot uncover. But who am I to know, when he scarcely tells me anything?”

“Can I take it for a minute?” I ask. He hands it to me gently. 


I run my hand along the softened paper, examining it closely. It resembles any history map, only on a big sheet of parchment and not in the translucent pages of a textbook. “If only we could keep it,” I mutter to myself.


“Well, you could.”


“What?” I glance up at Aguaje, who looks nervous but meets my gaze. 


“It would be risky, but if you hurry, you can take the map and leave without Black knowing for a short while.” 


“You’d do that for us?” Sun asks in an intrigued voice. 


Aguaje shrugs. “If you’re really going to save the world.”


I stare at him. “Save the world?”


“Yeah, isn’t that why you’re both so curious about all this?” He gives us a suspicious look. “You don’t expect anyone to believe you, do you?” 


A million questions rush through my head, the same ones that I had for Sun who seemed to comprehend such a mission while I was still swamped in speechless fear. I choose one. “What do you mean, save the world?”


“You’ll have to find the Star of Zacharias, of course. Before Black.” He looks at us with shining eyes. “Then you can defeat Black and save everybody. I can see my father again!”


“We can’t just leave our families and go cross-country across Belux!” I object. “I’ve never even left the Hoh Metroplex in my entire life! How would we know where to look?”


“The map will tell you, once you uncover the magic.”


“That’s delusional and—”


“Aza, look at me.” Sun speaks softly, but it catches my attention immediately. He pulls me over to the side, a couple feet away from Aguaje. “Aza, I know you feel it too. You know there’s something between us. We have a connection. We both don’t fit in. We can try to all we want, but it’s never going to happen. Everyone here is just worried about the drama they create in their limited world. Why should we have to end up the same way? Why can’t we just see the world, see what’s really out there? Besides this. Even if it’s just while we’re young.”


I look away and bite the inside of my cheek. Anything to avoid his gaze. This is just the old argument between us, the one that would’ve ended had we just left through the river. And that’s where he’s wrong. I’ve never tried to fit in. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Sun, but I can’t. I can’t abandon my mom and Brinjal, I can’t just run off when school is most important. And this is all too out there. I may be book smart, but I honestly know nothing when it comes to the real world…” Could it be true? All this time I’ve told myself that school is the number one object essential to my future, but what about the real world? Visiting different places, doing new things, meeting new people… things I’ve never experienced, things even my prized future career cannot promise me. Is it true that I’m so lacking?


Yet I can’t join Sun simply because we feel we have something in common. I hardly know him, but what little information I do have is mostly based on his school face, the tough mask he wears in order to stay ‘friends’ with the people he is. Trust is something I value, but with the act he puts on and the people he associates with, I can’t tell who he really is. 


Then that forces me to question myself. Don’t I pretend to look forward to my future, the future that’s laid out for me by my mom? I lie even to myself, deluding myself by repeating that this is the best and only future for me, but ironically, Sun’s the one who knows what he wants. He wants to explore. He wants to see and understand things. He wants a difference in his life. 

“You know I’m right, though,” he says. “Please. If all of this somehow turns out to be a sham, we’ll turn back. You can go back to your math tests and repetitive school days, and I’ll go back to fake friends and all the insecurity. But just think of all those people Black had enslaved, people like Aguaje. We are the only ones who can prevent more of that from happening. We’ll save everyone else from whatever fate Black has planned. And we’ll be able to discover ourselves more. We can see who we really are, not what others have tried to make us.”


“But what if the rest of Belux is really as awful as everyone says it is?”


“Awful in what way?” he questions. “It’s just land that was never ripped apart to make cities. There is stuff out there, stuff we just have to see to believe.”


“I just—not everyone can afford to have the dreams you do, Sun.”


“Not everyone can follow through with them, but everyone can dream. You have both opportunities here in front of you. Are you going to take them or turn them away?”


As I look at him, I’m reminded yet again of all the things I don’t know. The things I may never know unless I do something. Sun’s right. There are some things school just doesn’t teach you, and those things turn out to be the most important of all. Whether these things concern my future or not, I don’t know. But I’m not going to wait to find out. I’ve made mistakes before, yet I’m not going to make the biggest one of all and give up on a chance like this, a chance to look beyond my future and see who I am underneath. I may not be a worshipper of fate, but considering the ways things have come together, I’m also not going to choose to be ignorant when such a rare opportunity comes up. So I take a deep breath. 


“Fine.”


A smile breaks out over his face, lighting up his features. “Really?”


I nod, feeling warm myself. “It might not be so bad after all.”


“Aguaje,” Sun says, “we’re going to save the world!”


Aguaje grins, then suddenly darts off into the deep recesses of the cave and rummages around for a minute. Sun and I stand patiently until he slips back into the light, clutching a small brown satchel. “I hoped someday that I myself might escape, so I saved up some food… But since you are going instead, you may have it.” He offers it to us.


I back away, startled by the generosity of a man we’d known for such a short period of time. 


“Aguaje, we couldn’t accept that. Keep it for yourself.”


“Ubuosa. I suppose you don’t know what that means?”


My mind flicks back to history class, to Mrs. Dijon lecturing us. “Isn’t that a Lifa’ru term? It means that kindness is meant to be spread around and shared with all other colors.”

 

Aguaje’s smile flickers. “No. Perhaps it is just because your language translates differently, but that is not what it means in our tongue. It translates to: Pass on a kindness which has been done unto you.”

 

“How’s that different?” I ask, feeling myself heat up. It’s the first time I’ve ever answered a simple question like that incorrectly. If I had been in school, Mrs. Dijon would’ve been beaming.


“What you said implied that kindness should be spread throughout all actions. The true definition means that when someone performs a wonderful act just for you, it is your natural duty and honor to reciprocate and return the kindness to them. Ours is a special bond between giver and the one who repays, not just a generic artificial manner towards all other colors.” Again, he holds the satchel up to me.

 

“I think I understand,” I say, slowly taking it from him. I look inside and see a few apples and crackers and a flask of water. “But those two have extremely different meanings. How did one change to another?”

 

“It could just be translation mistakes,” Aguaje says, shrugging.

 

“Or another public misconception,” Sun mutters. 

 

“You should go,” Aguaje says, nervously glancing out to the tunnel entrance. “Black could come check on me any second.”

 

“Can’t you come with us?” Sun asks.

 

Aguaje shakes his head, sorrow in his gaze. “He’s set magic on the tunnels so that I can never leave unless he permits me to or unless his magic is destroyed.”

 

Sun hisses between his teeth. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here, then?”

 

Aguaje nods reluctantly, obviously upset to see his only company in a long time disappear. “I can’t risk your safety anymore, especially since you’re going on such a wild journey.”

 

He’s right, I think, shivering. I reach forward and hug him. “Thank you.”

 

Sun shakes hands with him, then rolls up the map and sticks it into the leather satchel. “Once we defeat Black, we’ll come and rescue you. And even… even if the journey fails, we’ll make sure someone will.”

 

“Wait,” I say. “What was Black looking for in the river? Why did he create the current?”

 

Aguaje opens his mouth, but just then a noise comes from outside the tunnel. All three of us jump. Aguaje shakes his head. “No time! That was just another stalactite tip breaking off, but you must leave!”


Sun and I slip back out through the tunnel and through the forest of limestone, our strides suddenly quick and purposeful, unlike the trembling steps we’d taken before. We stand by the river wall. I watch the water rushing past with unease, remembering how the river had swallowed us up and left us unable to fight against it. What if it does it again?

 

“Let’s make this quick,” Sun says, then jumps into the current. I take a deep breath and follow him, although I seem to fall rather than dive. The black water rushes at me, entangled all around me, trying to drag me back down, but I aim upwards. Time seems to slow once more as I struggle past the murky weeds of the river bottom, bubbles gushing past me as I flail. The hellish light of the cave disappears, then we splash out onto the bank, gasping for air. I pat down my clothes, expecting to be soaked, but no. Sun exchanges a look with me. We’re both completely dry.

 

The morning is cool and bright. Dawn had arrived since we had been in the Drowned Cave, and now its soft rosy rays lit up the Exgola River, which looks calm and peaceful when contrasted with the turmoil that lies underneath. I shiver. If the river can be such an illusion, then what else in the Metroplex could be? Maybe Sun isn’t pulling at threads in the air when he talks about ‘public misconceptions.’ 


Sun immediately opens the satchel and checks that the map is still dry.

 

“We can’t stay out in the open,” I murmur.

 

“There’s some trees over there,” he suggests and points out a nearby copse. We climb up the grassy hill, then make our way into the densest area. We sit under the rustling leaves where Sun spreads out the map, the paper dappled in the rising suns’ light. He bats away a low-hanging branch as I move the paper closer to me and study it.

 

Now that we have more time to examine it, I can make out the cursive and comprehend the meaning of the various sketches on the paper. The croissant shape of Belux fills most of the parchment, but I can see a little legend in the bottom right-hand corner. I follow the marks and begin to read the map.

 

It’s a typical depiction just like any other in history class, except older-looking and sketched on parchment. In the bottom right-hand corner is the Hoh Metroplex, the capital and the control center of Belux. Above that is the Kihono Desert. To the west of the desert is the Meridian, which is in a sort of grassy bowl. In the center of it is Lake Suncross, where both suns, Alekanekelo and Clarimonde, come together at Suncross. The Cerca-Elio River, known more informally as the Cercelio River, runs into the lake and separates the high, snowy Sukafram Forest with Lake Rocky from its southern parallel, the sunny Austorina Woods. Those trees then slope down to the Lasij Rainforest, which climbs up to Wingspread. Wingspread, the most stunning part of Belux, is a field of glorious white flowers stretching for miles to curve along the Bay and end in red cliffs. 

 

But despite the intricate work of the map, I can’t see anything unusual. “It must be a strong work of magic protecting the location of the pieces,” I say, hoping Sun would refute me with something I hadn’t detected before. But he looks equally puzzled, tilting his head slightly and frowning, his dark brow sloping like the gentle hillocks of the Metroplex. His eyes glimmer in concentration as he stares at the paper. I shake my head. What’s wrong with me? “Are you sure this map will even show anything?” I ask, attempting to distract myself.

 

“It should,” he says, a trace of doubt in his voice. “I have a feeling that something’s there. This has all been weird, but there’s something very real about it.” He looks up and meets my eyes. “Are you truly willing to do this?” 

 

It’s the question I’ve been asking myself ever since we left the cave. I suppose I’m fantasizing more about the breathtaking scenes of nature out there than actually preparing myself for the dangerous things that could happen, but his querying tone just makes the last few hours seem even more bizarre. Here I am, about to set out on a journey across the country with someone I barely know. And not just any someone, but a boy who is friends with my enemies—in fact, dating my nemesis. This should bring up more than a small sense of caution. Yet an unfamiliar spark of excitement quivers within me. What could happen? Will I learn more about myself that I ever could’ve in the city? Sun probably mistakes my shifting expressions as a second weighing of the dilemma, because he gives me a worried look. But before he can talk, I speak.

 

“Sun, let’s be honest. What are your reasons for doing this? And why with me?” I pick up the map and rub my fingers against the thick paper, its weightiness reassuring. Although I am looking forward to this journey, I can’t help but be unnerved at the same time. Sun reaches out and touches my hand, freezing me in place. Our eyes lock once more, and I shift. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, quickly pulling his hand away. He traces Belux. “I’ve just never met anyone like you. And I think that we can do this together if we put our minds to it. The truth is, I really want to see Belux. My memories of it are hazy, but now we can go practically anywhere we want. For once we can be free.” 

 

That sounds like something he’d say, I think to myself. But wouldn’t I like to be free, too? If only for a short while, just to throw off the pressure from my mom and school before more weight gets added? Secondary school will only last so long. And I’m planning to graduate early. I look down at the map, the soft twisting colors, and say, “I said I’ll do it, and I’m doing it.”

 

“Great,” he says, and I can hear clear relief in his voice. “Hey. What’s that?”

 

I follow his gaze to the map, where the paper is blackening at a rapid speed, until the blackness seems to emanate from the paper itself. It seems like storm clouds as it condenses and then creeps over the paper, swallowing paper Belux in darkness. Sun looks alarmed. “That can’t be good!” He reaches out to pick it up and presumably shake the blackness away, but I stop him. 

 

“Wait! Look at it.” The blackness is dissipating, as if evaporating, then it vanishes completely, leaving the map clear and shining. But now there are six dark blue points covering the paper. 

 

“The pieces,” he murmurs. “How’d that happen? I thought it was magically protected or something.”


“It must be a defect in its protection.” I lean in closer and examine the spots. The first piece is in the Hoh Metroplex. The second is in the Kihono Desert, in some kind of oasis that I didn’t notice there before. The Oknamu Oasis, it reads. It’s located in the middle of the desert, a depicted spring shaded by palm trees. The third piece is to be found in the territory of the Buwa-Kifer tribe in the Cayorka Mountains. The fourth is in the Sukafram Forest, and the fifth is located in the Lasij Rainforest. The sixth piece is in Wingspread. They’re all over Belux.

 

“What’s this?” Sun points to a small splotch in the upper left-hand corner which wasn’t there before. It’s the same color as the points and the Oknamu Oasis.

 

“Probably just a smudge,” I say dismissively. It isn’t that big and is in the ocean anyway. 

 

“I guess we’re going to be using your bubble wand a lot, then,” he says. 

 

“Er. You know that bubble wands don’t work outside the Metroplex, right?”

 

“They don’t?”

 

“No. The government disables them as people could use them to get over the Wall illegally.”

 

“Oh. Of course they do. Well, we’ll figure something out. The first piece is supposed to be in the Workplace. Let’s go.” 


I pause and glance down at the map again. Sure enough, the first piece is placed over the CGCL building. “Why would it be there? The CGO workers have to know about it. And I can’t go there! My mom works there. What if she sees us?”


He throws me an exasperated look. “Then we’ll run. But if we overthink every step of the way, we’re never going to get started. Now come on, let’s get this done.”

I roll up the map and stick it into the satchel, then duck from under the leaf cover and brush myself off. Aza gives me an irritated look, but I ignore it. “Bubble wand?”

 

She sighs, pulls her out, waves it, and produces a bubble around us both. It lifts us into the clear azure space above. The coast sparkles nearby, blinding under the light of the suns. We drift towards Downtown Park at a steady speed. Aza leans against the filmy wall, looking down at the bustling city below us. 

 

I try to break the silence. “It’s amazing how busy the Metroplex is during the day, huh?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“We don’t really know it because we’re in school.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I grit my teeth. She’s being frustrating on purpose, and we both know it. “I know you don’t want to go to the Workplace, but we have to if we’re really going to get the Star of Zacharias.”

 

“Okay.”

 

I sigh, knowing she’s just trying to get on my nerves now. But what can I do? If the Star is there, the Star is there. We can’t just skip that piece, and she knows that. 

 

The bubble hits the grass of the park and pops. We stand there, looking up at the Workplace, which is actually more like two structures than a single building. The ground floor consists of the check-in counter and a museum, for the government headquarters were originally on the first level. Directly above that is the current coercion center, known as the Floating Halls, and for a reason. The Floating Halls are made up of five massive, oblong bubbles. The four outer each represent one of the four government departments. The bubble in the center is the Central Workplace, the main office and lounge of the place. The whole structure is connected by tinted skywalks. Elevators are the only way to get to the Floating Halls, although the Halls themselves are held in place simply through magic. The length of the rectangular building faces us. 

 

I hear a squeak next to me and turn to see Aza staring at the Workplace. She looks at me, anguished. “I can’t do this. Not when my mom is in there. Not when I have to break the rules. I can’t risk losing my job when I haven’t even started it. Can you go in alone? I’ll wait out here on the grass—”

 

“What are you talking about?” I ask in astonishment. “I know nothing about this building. You do. You’re going to have to go. I’m sorry, Aza, but you have to go in.”

 

“You’re not understanding,” she says desperately. “This is something I can’t do. They’ll catch me before we’re even at the elevators. I’ll be questioned, and they’ll never let me return.”

 

“You’ll be fine,” I tell her. “If we hurry, we can—Hey! Where are you going?”

 

Aza is walking swiftly across the grass towards the opposite end of the park. I sigh and follow her, speeding up to match her pace. What does she think she’s doing? “Come back, Aza!” But she ignores me and breaks into a sprint. Just then I notice the phone booth at the other end. I begin to run after her, panic lending me speed. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Would she? 

 

As we race across the park, passersby step out of our way and shoot us irate glances. I push myself to move faster, but just as I catch up with Aza, she’s reached the door of the booth. She meets my gaze defiantly and shuts herself inside. I pull open the door, shut myself in with her, and lunge for the phone as she picks it up and dials. I open the door and shut myself in with her and try to grab the phone as she picks it up and dials. “Aza, you don’t want to do this. Stop!”

 

“Leave me alone!” she yells. Surprised, I slacken my grip for a moment but it’s enough. She yanks the device from me and finishes dialing, then holds it to her ear. Before I can grab it again, a smooth voice emanates from the speaker.

 

“This is a prerecorded voice message. Please state the government branch you would like to contact after the beep.”

 

There’s a quick beep. Aza stares at the phone as if it’s on fire. “CGO!” she yells. I curse her silently, knowing they have her voice on their records now. But even stronger than that is the fear that she’ll continue all the way with the call. 

 

“Please select one of the following branches: administration, public relations, employ—” 

 

“Public relations!”

 

There’s an even longer click. “Your call is about to be transferred. Please hold on the line.”

Soft elevator music plays from the speaker. I stare Aza down, my hands sweating. 

 

“You can’t do this!” I whisper quickly. “Do you know what you’re about to do? Nobody will believe you. They might even take you in for questioning if they doubt your sanity.” She doesn’t reply. 

 

The elevator music stops. Then a voice speaks, not prerecorded, but an actual live employee. “Hello, this is Mauve from the Central Workplace. How may I assist you?”

 

Aza presses the phone to her ear and stares at me. I shake my head at her, having nothing more to say, and not being able to say it even if I did. This is her choice now. “Hello? Are you there?” I can see Aza thinking, see the creases of worry on her forehead as she thinks. She looks at me. I look back silently. Then she sighs and puts the phone back, hanging up. 

 

“You’re not going to do it, then?”

 

She shakes her head uncertainly. “No. I just panicked… I don’t know.”

 

“Just relax. I promise we’ll find a way.”

 

“But you can’t promise! You don’t know where it’s at. You don’t know if guards will catch us. I just think it’s too soon to go into the Workplace, of all places. This is supposed to be the place where I spend my entire week all year every year when I’m an adult, and if they catch me there, they’ll never let me back again. How are we going to do this, Sun? The piece could be anywhere, and we don’t have a plan….”

 

I exhale, realizing hopeful promises won’t convince her. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about what could happen. But I know we can always try to figure it out. You’re smart. Problem-solving is one of your best skills. I’m going to help you with the Outer Divisions, but I need you to help me with this.”

 

She steadies her shaking, breathing slower and looking as if she’s calming down. “I don’t know you that well, Sun, and maybe your argument isn’t as true as we’d like it to be, but I suppose this is just one of those things you can’t prepare for in any way. Okay. I won’t panic like that again.” 

 

We walk back across the park, avoiding the bemused looks of people who saw Aza’s frantic race to the phone booth. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as we cross the grass, but she shows no signs of bolting again. We finally make it back to the Workplace and step onto the concrete, standing on the official property of the CGO now. As we pace closer, I’m able to perceive more detail than ever, having never been so close to the Workplace before. 

The entrance itself is vast and admittedly impressive. A few fountains in the front spout glittering arcs of water above the path, not a single drop falling down off its course and dampening anybody. Lush bushes, blossoming trees, and bright flowers stand alongside the building, lending a fragrant scent to the air. Raised right before the doors is a massive sculpture of Joshua Cliffton, the creator of Belux and the ‘savior of humanity.’ The likeness stands in a pool of clear water, where Kummins—one of the three types of currency in Belux—litter the bottom of the shallow depths.


I give Aza a long sideways look. “Are you ready?” 


She gives a single nod, looking resolute yet as if in pain at the same time. 

 

We push our way to the set of spinning doors and slip through one of them into the building. At once I’m nearly overwhelmed with how crowded and distracting the place is. The lobby is a massive cavern with detailed carvings decorating the ceiling and walls. People cover the floor, but only fill a minuscule fraction of the entire volume itself. They pace by with straight faces, white suit jackets and skirts flaring as they approach the spinning doors—white is the national color because it consists of all colors. Opposite them, a row of desks is pushed against the wall with a line of receptionists checking employees in and directing visitors to the museum nearby. Noise permeates every hidden corner, suffusing and charging the room like a separate energy. Above the ordered chaos, a chandelier dangles from the ceiling, a massive work of icy golden glass, reflecting the sunbeams and sending shafts of dazzling light all over the room; surveying the room like a small sun. I whistle. 

 

“You’ve never been here before?” Aza asks. Even she looks awestruck, and I’m sure she’s visited the Workplace thousands of times. 

 

“Never had to be.”

 

“If we want to go up to the Floating Halls, we’ll need a key card. And they’ll check our identification. How do you plan—Any ideas for how to do this?”

 

“We’ll just borrow a key card. And we’ll figure out the rest,” I repeat.

 

She casts me a suspicious glance. “By borrow, do you mean steal?”

 

“Possibly.” I raise my eyebrows. She snorts disapprovingly, and I shrug helplessly, moving to the side as a group of chatting businessmen push past, casting us superior glances. I stare back evenly, suddenly wishing we could just get this done and leave. “What else can we do?”


“Alright, but you’re the one doing it. I’m going to try and stay out of this as much as possible.” 

I look around the lobby. We have a whole roomful of employees to choose from, but if we make one mistake, we could be reported and turned in before we could say ‘Star.’ I eye everybody closely, but all seem suspicious of each other and grip their belongings like we’re in the apocalypse. Just when I’m beginning to wonder if I should just snatch the first card I see and immediately conceal myself in the crowd, I spot someone. 


A young woman is shifting her way through the throng, her long hair flying everywhere, devoid of the trademark tight hairstyle. Her key card hangs off of her purse, loosely tied to the handle. She slips past everyone, wide blue eyes searching, brimming with frustrated tears. Everybody casts her dirty looks, irritated that their morning is being disrupted by such an obvious newbie. I prod Aza, whose eyes widen when she sees her. “Sun, that’s horrible. Can’t you tell she’s having an awful day?”


I cross my arms over my chest, pleased with my discovery. “Exactly. She won’t notice if we take her badge, not until she needs it.”


“I guess. Let’s make this quick and see if we can return it to her later.”


I creep closer to the blue-haired girl, gradually reaching out in a way as to not draw attention. I grasp it, struggling with the loose knot for a second before it slides into my hands. The young woman jogs away, unaware of the committed theft. I return to Aza, stuffing the key card in my pocket. “Hurry,” she mutters, her gaze flicking around the lobby to make sure no one saw us.

We push our way to the desks where everyone is being checked in. Some of the desks have been marked for visitors and fees for the museum, while others are reserved for employees. Aza pulls me behind a large group of people all arriving together. Many more flood behind them and start to complain loudly. The front desk workers begin to panic and wave everyone off. “Just make sure no visitors get mixed in with you!” they shout. Nobody heeds the words. I grin at Aza. “Genius.”


We follow them to a hallway in the corner of the lobby, walking hunched over so as to not be detected. Two heavy doors at the end of the hall are held open by stiffly standing guards. A whole row of cameras glares down at us, a red blinking light on each of them letting us know we’re being taped. Aza and I duck even lower and are efficiently hidden by the crowd, past the view of the guards but still under the exposure of the recordings.


Once inside, we straighten up. A line of glass elevators stands on one side of the room. Aza leads me to one of them, where we climb inside with about six other people. The surfaces are all crystal, shining brightly as they reflect the incoming sunlight. With a whoosh, we are sent upwards smoothly. I look down at the clear floor, watching the ground shrink below us as we shoot up through the tube and draw closer to the Central Workplace. Then the elevator dings and the doors slide open, allowing us to exit. We step out and look around. 


This floor is even more interesting than the lobby, the full calm unfamiliar when compared with the chaotic atmospheres of other workplaces. The large circular room is calm, the quiet sound of people talking and phones ringing filling up the silence. Brilliant paintings line the walls, splashes of color which make no sense but look cool anyways. One long receptionist desk follows the curve of the room closest to the ocean, which is a deep shade of blue as it laps at the white-sand beach below. On the opposite end, five different small restaurants look out over the city, numerous chairs and tables standing in front of them. Delicious smells drift across from them, making my stomach rumble. Four entrances to halls are equally distanced from each other in the bubble, each leading to a government sector. The ceiling is completely glass, as clear as the elevator, so when I look up I see the deep blue sky and the faint twinkling of sleepy stars far away. A fountain stands in the middle, a rainbow arching across the glittering water. It’s beautiful, all right.


It feels forced. 


From the tension in the receptionist’s glance to the whispers floating around the room, an air of suspicion and secrets taints it, even more so than the ground floor’s lobby. Here there are actually secrets to be kept and rumors barely suppressed. 


“I thought it would be at least three more years before I came here,” Aza says softly. “But here I am.”


I look back at her. She doesn’t look as uneasy as I feel, but rather amazed, except for the nervous tapping of her fingers together on her left hand which seems to be done subconsciously. “I’m sure the last person you’d have expected to come here with you is me, right?”


“Yeah, I’d have thought my mom or some kind of college teacher. Speaking of my mom, she’s going to be in the WPG department.” She nods to the hall entrance in the south-east. “We’ll have to look out for her.”


I open my mouth to reply but am interrupted by a sharp voice. “What are you children doing up here?” I look up to see a man of about forty, with emotionless steely eyes and salt-and-peppered teal hair. He’s tall, but a sloping posture, probably from years of working at desks, gives him a rather ridiculous look. He’s wearing the white coat that all Peacemakers wear. He stares at Aza and I, looking suspicious. Words dry in my mouth.


“Well?” he demands, stepping closer to us. Over his shoulder I notice the front desk lady glaring at us, pointing two broad-shouldered guards with golden-yellow hair our way. They meet our gazes and scowl, marching across the smooth tile floor towards us. 


“Uh-oh,” I mutter and elbow Aza. “Run!” I shove her towards one of the hallways, but she skids to a halt.


“That’s the WPG office!”


“Oh, sorry. This way!” We cut across the floor, forcing the guards to double back. We flee through the entrance and break out into the sunlight shining down in the catwalk. Adrenaline pumps through me as I put on an extra burst of speed. I throw a glance behind us. The few businessmen and -women walking by had given us wary looks, but they jump out of the way as the two burly guards barrel past. I gulp and turn back around to face the front. 


We burst into the bubble. “Oh no no no,” Aza gasps, and I realize why. We’re in the BCC department. I can tell it’s that because of the charts of colors hanging on the walls and the long conference desks like I’ve seen in textbook photos. Except these people aren’t smiling like the ones in the textbooks. They look up as we burst into the massive bubble. Some stand up. 

But we can’t stop. We rush past the desks. I crash into some and send them skidding to the side, the materials on them sliding off onto the floor. We pass all the bewildered employees then enter another hallway, this one lined with doors. “Get back here!” the guards yell. We ignore them and continue running down the hall.


“What now?” Aza asks desperately.


“I got this!” I fumble with the satchel as we spring along, managing to pull the key card out, then I slam it into the first security check pad we come to. The door next to it clicks as it unlocks, and we race inside. I bang it shut and lock it. It may not be for long, but it’s bought us a couple of minutes before the guards break it down. I hadn’t seen them carrying key cards. 


As they start throwing themselves against the door, I glance around the room. It looks like just a spare office, cluttered with broken desks and extra chairs and other nonfunctional daily office objects. There seems to be no way out other from the way we came. But Aza pokes me. “The vents.”


“Huh?”


She points directly above us to where a small grate sits in the wall. “That’s our only way out. I know it looks tight, but—”


The guards thump again, louder this time. 


“Yeah, let’s go,” I say. “Here, help me!”


We begin to push chairs and desks together until we have a somewhat sturdy foundation. I climb up it first and try to pull on the vent. It’s firmly stuck. “Do we have a screwdriver or something?!”


“Yeah, because there’s screwdrivers lying all over the place in here,” Aza responds sarcastically. I shoot her an exasperated look.


“Okay, what do we have?” The door splinters. 


She pulls open a desk drawer and hands me a pair of scissors. I stick one blade into each nail slit and twist, popping out the screws. They clatter to the floor. I offer my hand to Aza. She takes it, climbs onto the pile, grabs the edges of the vent, and pulls herself up into it. I wait until she’s up, then follow suit. Just as I climb into the cold metal passage, the door bursts open and the guards explode into the room. 


They try to grab me, but it’s too late. We’re both up in the vents, and they’re too big to follow. One pulls out a tranquilizer gun and shoots it, but the darts just bounce against the metal and fall harmlessly to the ground. I grin. “It must be embarrassing to be outsmarted by a couple of kids, huh?”


“Sun!” Aza says, tugging me away from them. But the two guards just look up at us resentfully. And with a little surprise. 


“You got to come out sometime,” the taller one says with a knowing sneer.


“Yeah,” the other adds. “Can’t live up there. It gets awfully cold, ‘specially at night.”


I smile even bigger, ignoring their failed attempts at deterring us. “Can’t have a couple of kids running wild in the ventilation systems of the government, can we?” And before Aza can reprimand me again, I begin crawling along the vents, away from the unused office. She sighs and follows me. 


The metal is ice beneath my palms, creaking deafeningly in the tiny space as we move along. I hear the guards yelling after us, but I only picture their faces and keep moving, feeling my nerves tingle as hot excitement rushes through me. We haven’t been caught yet. But Aza seems to think otherwise. 


“You shouldn’t make fun of the guards,” she grouses.


“They don’t do anything for us. I owe them nothing.”


“How do you plan to get out? This is only going to lead us in circles.”


“We’ll have to find another empty room,” I reply. A few more minutes pass in silence, except for the groaning of the metal tube around us. Then I feel something tugging at my mind stronger than ever, as if it had always been there but just out of comprehension, an irresistible pull that draws me along even though I suspect we’re crossing above more empty offices. Then I pause, feeling it stronger than ever as if it is right below us. “Hey, this should work.”


As we peer down through the vent before us, I can just make out the office. It’s a spare room, like the one we were just in. The blinds are closed, leaving the space dim and blue. A desk sits in one corner, but it’s pretty empty except for a few paintings on the walls, the same color artworks as displayed in the Central Workplace. Not a single living thing is in there, except for maybe spiders. Perfect.


I smash the vent with my elbow until it breaks, and we slowly lower ourselves down. “Well, we’re out. And safe for now, I think. We just need to figure out how we’re going to find the first piece of the Star.”


“We’re still going to look here?”


“We kind of have to.” 


Aza looks a little embarrassed, probably thinking of the phone booth incident, and lapses into silence. Meanwhile, I pull the map out from the satchel and study it. “It’s near here, it has to be.” I lean against the wall, deep in thought. My shoulder hits one of the paintings. I move to catch it, but it falls to the ground with a loud clatter. I wince and turn back to Aza. “Shoot. We might have to go back up into the vents.”


But she’s not listening. Instead, her gaze is fixated on the wall behind me. “Aza?” She doesn’t reply. Puzzled, I slowly turn around and then freeze. 


There are pulsing, blinding, twisting colors that emanate from the wall—like magic, I think in awe and confusion, but then I notice there’s something more behind them, glowing through the diffusion. The pulsing in my head grows louder, drowning out my thoughts. I squint hard, my eyes straining past the brightness. And then my jaw drops as I recognize what’s sitting in the indent of the wall where the painting had hung: the Star of Zacharias.

The first piece of the Star of Zacharias is only a sixth of the real thing, yet it holds captivating beauty. It’s small enough to be held firmly in the palm of my hand. This must be one of the vertices of the entire Star, because it’s roughly shaped like a triangle. Its facets are translucent, clearer than the clearest glass. It seems to hold more color than a rainbow itself: the brightest blues, deepest greens, flashiest purples, clearest yellows, and rosiest reds. Sparks of color fly off it, practically scorching the indented box that holds it, filling the room, glowing and twisting and burning and chilling. It’s liquid light. It’s a crystallized breeze. It’s magic. 

 

“It’s real,” Sun whispers, and even he sounds surprised. 

 

Without a word, I move forward and lift it up carefully. The surface of the diamond is cool against my skin, yet I can also detect a warmth blazing inside. Magic thrums in the Star, one that pulses through me as I hold it, a soft and calming energy.

 

Sun approaches me, and I gently drop it into his palms. “I wonder what it can do,” he says, almost reverently. I notice a new glimmer in his gaze, one that’s almost hungry. 

 

“Only time will tell,” I respond, then stoop to pick up the picture he had knocked off the wall. It’s a painting with all sorts of colorful paint thrown on, almost carelessly, but as I look at it closer, I can see a vaguely-formed heart in the middle, defined by shadowy outlines and faint shifts in the hues. It’s a surprise we didn’t notice this earlier. It would’ve been an obvious clue. Wouldn’t it?

 

“We’ll have to keep it in the satchel,” Sun says. “It won’t burn through or anything, right?”

 

“I don’t think so,” I say doubtfully. “We have to find a way out now. I’m sure they alerted the whole building by now.” I swallow. Does Mom know? If so, does she know that it’s me here? 

 

“Vents again?”

 

“Yep.”


Sun slips the Star into the satchel and then pulls the desk in the corner to below the vent. He helps me up again, this time it being harder to reach the vent because of the low desk. I climb back up, then pull him up. We crawl through the vents again, taking our time to not disturb any rooms beneath us. Now that we have the Star, we’re trying even harder to not get caught.

 

We come back above the office where the guards had broken down the door. It's empty now, but the light is still on and the vent is hanging down as we left it. We drop down quietly, then head to the door, where we glance around the hallway and then turn to the side.

And run right into the guards. 

 

I instinctively duck, sliding beneath one’s outstretched arms as Sun dodges the other. The moment seems to slow as I catch sight of their furious expressions, but then we’re past them and charging down the hall. “Hey!” one shouts, but then we’re finally at the skywalk, pushing people out of our way as we race past. My heart pounds in my chest. What if we get caught? Wouldn’t it be better to just give up now and have less severe consequences? But then I think of Mom and how upset she’d be when she’d hear. I couldn’t stand to see that disappointed look of which I’m so familiar with. And of course the world won’t save itself. So I keep running. 

 

We come to the end of the skywalk and burst into the Central Workplace. Everyone stares at us as we throw ourselves in one of the open elevators, the guards shoving their way through the small crowds of people as they tail us. 

 

“Sun! The key card!”

 

He pulls it out of the satchel and tosses it onto the smooth tile before the crystal doors close around us. The elevator lowers itself smoothly. Once it hits the ground floor and slides open, we waste no time in racing back across the grand floor of the lobby, dodging clumps of businesspeople, to the spinning glass doors. We push through them and run underneath the towering fountains, past the statue of Joshua Cliffton, by the flower beds, across the concrete. We run all the way across to the park, into the park, until the trees shroud us amongst their whispering and we can finally fall at their roots, gasping for breath. For a long moment we say nothing. I suddenly notice how much I’m shivering. 

 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Sun pants. He pulls open the satchel and sneaks a glimpse at the Star. Its brilliant colors flash out for a brief second, then he snaps it shut. We look around, but luckily no one appears to have seen it. 


Sudden fear sits like a stone in my stomach as I reflect on what we’ve just done. “So our quest has begun.”


“What next?”


“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who was so sure about this journey.”


He shrugs. “You’re the brains.”


“Well, we both don’t seem to have any ideas for how to get past the Tazarabi Wall, so why don’t we go there and mull it over?” I point to a café along the edge of the park. A sign near it reads Downtown Park Café. It’s where Mom had met my dad so long ago. Once upon a time we used to go there all the time to celebrate the birthplace of their relationship. Now Mom just walks faster to pass it whenever we come by. “I haven’t been there in forever. I have some money. Plus, I’m sure the government won’t go around asking for whoever stole the Star.”


Sun shrugs. “Yeah, or they just don’t want to admit we trespassed in their private government area without being caught. If you ask me, something seems fishy about the whole setup. That felt too easy, almost. Wouldn’t they have hid it somewhere even safer?”


I ponder the question for a minute. It did feel too easy, but that’s because we got past the guards. The Floating Halls have the highest level of security in all of Belux. They surely weren’t expecting us to get in and take the Star of Zacharias. But that wouldn’t explain how we got past with such ease. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter if we got what we needed, right? Let’s just take this one step at a time. I still can’t believe we did that and got away.”


We cut across the park, each lost in our own thoughts and unable to communicate due to all of the people around. The cafe is right at the edge of the green, delicious smells wafting on the light wind. It’s little more than a hut, with small tables scattered around outside. One of the workers, a yellow-haired man, sees us coming and smiles down at us. I don’t know if I’m just being paranoid, but it seems he looks down at our satchel for one long moment before meeting my eyes. “What would you like to order?”


“I’d like an Aquellia Leaf sandwich, please.” I turn to Sun and speak in a low voice. “Keep it kind of cheap. We want to save money.”


“I’ll get a Lasij-Grengan sandwich, toasted.”


I hand the waiter two Sterz and we go to wait at a table. “I feel like he was looking at the Star,” I confess to Sun once we’re seated, wondering if he shares my concerns.


But he just shrugs. “There’s no way he could know. You’re just freaking out, that’s all. Now that we have the Star, it seems that anybody could suspect us. But this is also a weird bag. Not many people use satchels.”


I nod, and we both fall into a slightly awkward silence. Now that all the action’s over, we really have nothing to say, which just reminds me of how little we know each other. Even though we may each have our reasons for going on the journey, other than saving the world, we haven’t discussed them. But just as the tension peaks, he speaks first. “So. Exactly how surprised are you that we got the Star?”


“A lot,” I reply in all honesty. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really expecting it to be there. It’s just so… different.” Which is also true. We grow up believing only the government can ever have magic, but when someone as irrational as Black proves himself to match that level of intimidation and to also be searching for a weapon powerful enough to give complete supremacy to those who wield it, it jolts you out of your adopted shell of convenient obliviousness. It’s uncomfortable. But isn’t it a basic virtue to want to know the truth rather than to choose to be ignorant?


Sun smiles briefly. “It is different. But if—when—we get all six pieces, just think of what we can do! We can make life better than it ever was before.”


“What do you mean?”


“Well. Say we prove ourselves to the government by getting the Star of Zacharias. Say they forgive us for breaking the law and give us magic.”


I snort. “Dream on. Our journey would just give the government even more reasons why magic is dangerous. Don’t you pay attention in history class?”


He pauses. “Yeah. So eavesdropping is a pleasure to you, huh?” 


I wince, remembering the allegedly private conversation between Mrs. Dijon and him. “I was just curious as to how someone could fail the worksheet.”


“Not everybody is an intellectual like you. I get it.”


“You know it’s not that reason. You wanted to cause trouble.”


“Not trouble. I just had an issue with what it said.”


I roll my eyes lightly, but the words I say seem to twist in my brain and grate out through my mouth. “All of you popular kids do it just because it brings you attention. Even if you get a bad grade, the teachers still like you. Others think it’s funny and humor you. But Mrs. Dijon was right when she said nobody in the future will care for what you think is cool now.”


“That’s not why I did it! Believe me, Aza, those were genuinely my thoughts. Magic given to the government hasn’t made our world better. They just use it to control us! I’m sick and tired of all the rules and laws we’re subject to. I feel—I feel as if I can’t breathe, I feel as if I’m being choked—”


“If you live in the Hoh Metroplex,” I respond tightly, “there are going to be laws, especially because there are so many people condensed in one area. We’d be in chaos and anarchy if we didn’t have any guidelines of civilization. If you don’t like it, then move elsewhere.”


He shakes his head in frustration and looks like he’s going to argue, but just then a waiter comes up with a platter of our food. He sets it down on the table and leaves. I pick at my sandwich, having lost my appetite.


“You can’t just move,” Sun says when the waiter is out of earshot. “It’s everywhere, the debt and slavery and repetition. Their selective magic isn’t there for the ‘benefit of society.’ They use it for power. They are the highest class in society, made so by the outright lie by claiming to be our ‘servants.’ There is no escape from the injustice—”


“I don’t want to talk about politics right now, Sun. I’m just worried about finding the Star. It’s our first priority, is it not?”


“You’re just upset because we almost got caught, aren’t you?” he says sharply. “You’re worried about your career, not the Star!”


I twist my napkin, feeling confusion and worry and anger tumble through me. I’d tried to distract myself, but now the emotions flow. “A lot has happened in the past few hours, and it’s all new to me. Don’t I have a right to be upset? Thanks to you, I might never become a Breeder! What if my mom hears about this?”


“‘What if my mom hears about this? What if I never become a Breeder? What if you’ve put my future at stake?’ Do you know how incredibly selfish you sound right now? The world is in danger, and you’re worried about your job?” 


I’ve passed the point of talking to him in a calm, reasonable manner. I stand up, almost screaming with the frenzied frustration welling up inside of me, but just barely remembering to restrain myself in a public place. “The world isn’t in danger, Sun! It never was, and it never will be. It was designed to never be put on the brink of extinction like Earth was. Accept it! YOU JUST WANT TO GET OUT.” 


There’s a heavy silence. 


“You’re denying it,” he eventually says with a small laugh, his shoulders shaking with silent pained laughter. “You’re denying that maybe not everything’s about you, you’re denying what was just in front of your eyes. Do you—do you know how insane you sound right now? You sound crazier than I do! Go look at yourself in the mirror. You’re just like them.”


Now it’s my turn to ridicule him. “Just like them? Just like them?! Who is ‘them’? Why must everything be black or white? Why does everything have to be a conspiracy with you?”

“I’m more truthful than many of the people here,” he says emphatically. “If I appear two-faced to you, it is because I have tried to survive. I can’t be like you. I can’t be quiet. I can’t be still. I can’t hide in the shadows. I have to let people see me, know me, feel me. It’s not in my ability to not make an imprint.” He stops, struggling for breath. And as I look at him, I can see the vitalized, incessant energy in his eyes, the forceful, shifting shades and gradations flickering like sunlight over water, the rage that runs rampant in his blood, the proliferating need to always be doing something. And I feel a flicker of understanding. 


But it’s not my responsibility to accommodate these fiery passions. 


“I believe you,” I say. “But we can’t continue like this, fighting every which way over our differences. I’ll admit that I’ve been acting a bit excessively as well. But we have to end this. Let the change begin now.” 


He nods, and his shoulders slope as he relaxes. It is then that some kind of weird peace settles over us both. I nod as if affirming this. “Any ideas of how we are going to get past the Tazarabi Wall?”


He gives me a furtive look, one which I don’t understand. Then he gets up and throws his trash into a nearby garbage and gestures. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

Aza looks puzzled but gets up and walks behind me. I lead her back up across the park in the direction of the Workplace, but we continue past it. The sidewalk directs us through a collection of little shops and cafés as we work our way up north. We cross a few streets, most designated for transports and general city traffic, the rest for trucks and the heavier vehicles that don’t float. Right before we reach the border between Pier and Keera, the city right above ours, we come to a row of long buildings with multiple trucks at their backs. I duck behind some bushes that are between us and the loading area and point. “See that?”

 

She looks. “The semi-trucks?” I wait a second and she makes an ohhh sound. “You want us to sneak on a truck and ride out of Belux that way.”


“Yeah.” I recall the days when Dad was a trucker, and although some parts are hazy, I can pull back most of the procedures for shipping out. If we can get on a truck, then the CGO won’t be able to catch us because if they are still looking for us, they’d hardly think to check there. Then we’ll be out in the Outer Divisions, free the first time in forever. The idea is so appealing, I barely stop myself from jumping out from behind the bushes and climbing into one of the trucks right this moment.


“But won’t they find us?”


“They do check the trucks before they leave, but if we hide in the actual cargo they won’t see us.”


“What are they packing down there?”


“Those are factories, so practically everything. Food, agricultural tools, toiletries, clothing, furniture, woodwork. Some stuff came from other parts of Belux, but they’re being sent out now that they’ve gone through processing and packaging.”


“You know a lot.” 


“I’ve had experience. Now, are you ready?”


She raises her eyebrows. “We’re going right now?”


“We have to. Most of the trucks are going to be gone by evening.” I look up and see the suns are almost at Suncross. We wait a couple of minutes, then most of the workers head away as if called to. “Okay. They’re taking their lunch break and only a couple of guys should be watching the trucks. Let’s go.”


We push past the bushes, jog across the grass, and sneak behind the trucks to where the three guys left behind can’t see us. I look into each truck and see one with blankets in it. “That one!” I whisper. 


Aza climbs into it. “Wool blankets. Let me guess, it’s heading to the Cayorka Mountains?” 


“Correct,” I tell her. I clamber in behind her. We head to the shadowy back where we each climb into a box, taking care to tread lightly so we don’t shake the truck and draw attention to ourselves. “This’ll pass through the Kihono Desert, which is where we need to be. The driver should hopefully stop somewhere in the middle for a break, considering how big the desert is, but I guess we’ll be within sight of the oasis.”


Voices outside the truck startle me. Aza presses her finger to her lips and we sink down into the blankets, pulling the lids over our heads. The voices pass by, but we stay under the blankets. For another ten minutes. Then an hour. Then that turns into maybe two or three hours. My mind wanders as I sweat in the small space, trying to avoid thoughts of claustrophobia, and I think I doze off a couple of times, but then I hear someone climb into the trailer and start clomping throughout. I come fully awake, feeling myself tense up. Despite my assurances to Aza, what if they find us? What if we’re not able to get out, to stay stuck in the Hoh Metroplex and never get the Star, and it’s all thanks to me? But a second later, whoever it is climbs out and I hear the back of the rig close. The engine starts and the truck begins to move forward, picking up speed. It must have turned onto the main road next to the floating transports one. This road is rougher and made specifically for trucks such as this one heading past the Tazarabi Wall.


“Sun, are you there?” Aza speaks, her voice muffled and a little scared. 


“Yes. Stay in the box until we get past the Tazarabi Wall. We just have to get past inspection.” A few more minutes pass. I feel us turn and slow down, then inch forward. The truck must be at the security checkpoint by now, waiting in line. We come to a complete halt and stay there for about a minute, then move forward again, this time faster. I feel us hit a bump without warning. My head jerks up and cracks sharply against the lid of the box. I curse under my breath, but it doesn’t stop me from being excited. That was the customary speed bump right before the exit, right before the Wall. 


Then the road becomes bumpier, jolting me from side to side. We’ve just left the Hoh Metroplex behind and are now out in the Kihono Desert, on the road to the mountains.


I throw the lid off of my box and stand up, swaying as the truck bounces along. Aza also climbs out, nearly tripping. But she catches herself and sits down on top of a box. “Are we out?”

“We’re in the Kihono Desert now. What do you think?”


She blinks and steadies herself as the truck hits another bump. “Wow. My first time out of the Metroplex. I mean, I think I’ll be more enthused when we get out of the truck. What time do you suppose he’ll stop?”

 

I climb over the boxes and peek out the vent in the side of the truck. Outside I can see the sea of white sand that makes up the desert, and the horizon above, the deep blue tinted with orange. The truck casts a long pale shadow that flickers as we race along. Cold wind gusts through the vent, slapping me in the face and rocking the truck. It’s late winter out in Belux. “In a few hours, I’m sure. There’s the occasional gas station here, but I don’t know exactly where.”

She’s silent for a moment, then speaks as if uncertain. “Uh, Sun?”


“Yeah?”


“It’s going to be cold where we’re going… all of these blankets… do you think…?”


“Oh!” I glance around at all the boxes. “They won’t miss a couple.” I pick up one, a soft, brown one that looks as if it was made from mountain goat fur. Next to it is another just like it, except it’s white. I toss it to Aza, who holds it tentatively. “What’s wrong?”


“I’m a vegan,” she admits. “But this is going to be our only source of warmth, so…” She wraps it around her shoulders. I stare at her. It should’ve been obvious, considering the type of person she is, but she just keeps surprising me. I’ve never met someone who’s tried.  


“Did your mom want you to become one?”


“No, it was actually my idea. It’s astonishing how much we depend on animals nowadays.”


“That’s thoughtful.”


She shrugs. “I don’t know about that.”


“Well. Sorry you’ll have to use it, but maybe you’re actually saving the animals. Black might just wipe out all other species if he chooses to.”


She smiles faintly. I don’t know why, but I feel my heart tug. At the end of this adventure, if we really do succeed, is there a chance Aza and I might have gotten close? Maybe a little further than friendship close?


We sit on the boxes in a more comfortable silence for a couple of hours, me glancing out the vent occasionally while Aza examines our surroundings. After a while the truck turns and runs over a divot. Several boxes are sent sliding across the floor. Then the engine shuts off. I climb up and look out the vent. Night has fallen and the desert is dark and silent. We’re at a gas station in the middle of a small and run-down town, the other buildings faded and barely holding up against the wind. Their shadows loom, but the neon lights of the station we’re at beat back the mouth of the darkness, at least for a few yards. Two other trucks are parked near it, but their engines are cut and their drivers sleeping. The driver of our rig, a burly man with green hair, climbs out and walks into the store with his wallet. 


I step back down off the boxes and turn to Aza. “I’m going to open the back and we’re going to run away as fast as we can, okay? He’s in the store but will be out any minute.”

She nods and gets up. I scramble past the cargo and head to the door where I grab the lever and pull. The truck door lowers itself slowly, but before it can touch the ground, Aza and I jump off the back and are off running.


A minute later I hear an angry yell, but we just try to speed up, although it’s difficult with the thick sand cascading through my shoes. I glance back and see the semi’s door closing again as the trucker stands, squinting through the darkness at us and shaking his hand furiously, his other hand clutching a grocery bag. The other two drivers wake up and peer out of their windows, watching the commotion with slightly bemused looks. But then the green-haired man climbs back in his truck and drives it away. His backlights wink in the distance as the truck fades from sight. A frosty breeze gusts over me.


And it hits me that there’s no turning back. 


“I feel bad about taking advantage of people like that,” Aza says, almost sadly. 


I shrug. “Get used to it. There will probably be more times like this to come.” I pull out the map. “We should be close to the Oasis. Do you see anything?”


We both scan the desert for a moment, but to no avail. Nothing but sand and sky and the little gas station. Far away, the Cayorka Mountains loom, jet-black with white patches of snow glowing under the sunlight. A sudden excitement hits me, as wild as the night, rolling throughout me and igniting a fire in me I didn’t know existed anymore. I stoop and sift the white sand through my fingers, enjoying the granular texture. A cold wind whips across, sending the sand spinning like a flurry. I take a deep breath. I’m free again. I’m free. 


“Sun?”


I start and look back at Aza. Her hair flutters loose from its bun and she absentmindedly tucks it back. She shifts from foot to foot and holds the blanket tightly around herself. I realize now that even though she’s the book-smart one, I’m the one with the most experience, little though it may be. It’s a big responsibility, the likes of which I’ve never had before. “I’m wiped,” I say. “And hungry. Why don’t we just sleep out here and see if we can locate the Oknamu Oasis tomorrow? We’ll just climb a dune and should be able to see it from here.”


She nods, looking relieved. “Let’s put some space between us and this gas station, though. It looks kind of creepy.”


We walk for a little bit, the sand shifting under our feet as we climb the dunes. The night sky pulses with millions of glittering stars above us, and I struggle to watch my step as my gaze keeps wandering up. Straight ahead of us are the mountains, perfect peaks outlined against the brilliant sky. Behind us is the Tazarabi Wall, nothing more than a shadow now. 


The dunes only rise as we go further in. Suddenly determined to not trip and fall back, I begin to run up the shifting surface. Aza gives me a confused look, but then laughs and races up the sand dunes as well. I wear out quickly, not having run so much in a while, but I push myself. We finally reach the top of it and flop down, exhausted and laughing. Then suddenly the dark landscape is lit up with white light. Confused, I sit up, then gasp as wonder courses through me.

The moon has climbed the horizon and just sailed past the tip of one of the mountain peaks, spilling its pure light into Belux. It’s a full white moon and about three times bigger than I’ve ever seen it. It seems to shimmer like a Sterz coin, blocking out nearly half of the stars that had been visible a mere moment before. “How’s it so big?” I gasp. 


“The atmosphere,” Aza breathes out. “It’s cleaner out here.”


For maybe five minutes we do nothing but stare at the moon as it climbs the horizon, then I look over at Aza. Her eyes are wide with amazement, then she looks at me and I feel my heart skip a beat. “This is something you can’t put into words,” she says. “It’s an experience. You have to be there.”


“That’s exactly it,” I say, although I’m too filled with energy to fully comprehend the moment. But Aza’s soothing tone catches me by surprise and calms me down, and I get a grip on myself. I can be calm for her, I tell myself. 


There’s no noise up here except for the wind rushing through the dunes. And then the aching hits me, the aching for all the things I dream of in moments like this and which I don’t have. I want to tell Aza how I feel for her, to confess my purity, to confess everything, but reality still lurks at the edge of my mind and threatens that she won’t return the feelings. So I hold my tongue and tremble. 


She’s the first to get up. She gestures for me to follow, and she heads down the side of the dune to where there’s a wide dip in the ground, deep enough to protect us from the brunt of the wind. She passes me a couple of crackers. “We’ll have more food tomorrow,” she promises, “but I want to ration our food as much as possible. Who knows when we’ll next be able to get more.” We each take a quick swig of water, then I lay down and pull my blanket over me, feeling exhaustion tug at my eyelids. Aza takes a spot opposite from me. “Good night,” she murmurs.

“’Night,” I respond in a low voice. But I’m not able to fall asleep immediately. I stare up at the stars above me stretching endlessly in the deep black of the desert night, the gritty sand blowing past and catching in my throat if I open my mouth even for a moment. I’m cold and tired and uncomfortable as the dune shifts beneath me often.


And I’m happy.

I’m roused by the bright colors tugging at my closed eyes. For a second I forget where I am, and I wonder why I’m looking up at a pale blue sky instead of my creamy bedroom ceiling. Then a whistling song cuts through the warming air, and I turn my head to see a desert wren perched on a cactus before me, cocking its head curiously as it watches me with dark eyes. The suns are climbing the horizon, brilliant colors shifting over the landscape: tones of pink, orange, yellow, and blue. The air is slightly warmer, but a chill still proves itself as my breath billows out in a small cloud.

 

I sit up. Sun’s still asleep on his side, snoring gently. I prod him. “Wake up!”

 

He pulls his jacket up to block out the light, but after a few more nudges he allows himself to be fully woken up. To my annoyance, he’s still wearing that beanie. Why won’t he take it off, even if it’s just to stop getting on my nerves? “I’m starved,” he yawns by way of good morning. 


I rummage through the satchel, pushing past the piece of the Star which glimmers as if greeting me. I hand him a few crackers and an apple and take a serving for myself, but as I bite into the dry cracker, my mouth feels parched. Aguaje only gave us one small flask. Sun and I are going to have to ration water. We might not get anymore for who knows how long. I take a couple of sips and then hand him the bottle. “Only a little. I’m hoping we can get more in the mountains. They have lots of snow to melt.”


“Let’s just be glad we’re not out here in the summer,” he says. I swallow as I recall the texts I’ve read on the desert, picturing the hot suns beating down relentlessly, the parched sucking air, the land crinkled and white like a piece of paper crumpled up and then messily unfolded. If books can make it sound so horrible, then I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to be here during such a time.  


Sun shoulders the satchel after we finish packing up, then we begin walking, the blankets from the truck wrapped around our shoulders. We bend our heads against the wind and trek up a moderately tall dune not far from our starting point, the wind flowing down and batting us around as if we’re fish in a river. The hike takes us longer than I would have liked, considering the long ways we still have to go, so I make a hefty effort to pick up my feet from the sinking, consuming sand, but to little effect. Eventually we reach the top, and I shield my eyes with my hand and study the desert that unfurls before us. All the way to the base of the mountains, golden-white dunes roll around us like the shifting backs of the fabled whales that once inhabited Earth’s oceans. But there seems to be no sign of the Oknamu Oasis, or any source of water for that matter. The desert is as dry as a bone. 


I take the satchel from Sun and pull out the map. I stare at it for a long moment, thinking. “I think we need to go back to the town where the gas station was and see if someone can tell us where we are,” I finally say. But he shakes his head and takes the map from me. He glances it over briefly, then looks up at me.


“We know where the Oasis is. Why can’t we just start walking?”

 

I move closer to him and point to the blue dot on the map that signifies the location of the second piece of the Star. “It’s relative. We may know where we’re supposed to be, but this map is older and doesn’t show the town on it. It’s such a tiny establishment I doubt it’s of any significance in relation to Belux anyway.”

 

He sighs impatiently. “I have a bad feeling about this town.”

 

“We won’t mention the Star or anything. I’ll just ask if there are any oases around here and if so, where.”

 

“No, Aza… I don’t think you understand. You remember how the Drowned Cave made me feel weird when we first arrived? It feels like that, only milder of course. It’s this throbbing pain in my head.”

 

“Are you sure you just don’t have a headache?”

 

“No, it has to be because of that town. There’s something in it. It’s something that wasn’t there before, because I didn’t feel this last night. I don’t know why it would be anything but that, because that’s the only thing for miles around. I don’t want to go back there.”

 

I stare at him. “How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

 

“I didn’t want to worry you, because now you’re getting all frantic like I was afraid of, and it was going away anyways.” 

 

“Frantic? Who said I was getting frantic?” 

 

He sighs and continues walking straight. I stand firm, sharp irritation flaming through me. “Well? You can’t just walk off now. If you’re going to say something like that to me, then explain it. Because I’m sure not letting us just walk off to get lost in the middle of the desert.”

 

He turns back to me. “But don’t you understand? I’m not saying this lightly. There’s something going on here and it makes me uncomfortable.”

 

I nod. “There you go. That’s all you had to say.”

 

“That’s all I did say.”


“Maybe, but you’re not making a point when you insult me and then stalk off.” 

 

He huffs. “Calling you ‘frantic’ is not an insult, it’s me being honest. And what are we doing? Are we continuing into the desert? I told you I don’t want to go back.”

 

I hesitate. It’s moments like these where I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know why Sun feels the need to rule me out completely because of an unreliable notion. I’m the one trying here, I remind myself. Yet I can’t help but believe him, believe that there may be a spark of truth in what he’s saying, because he himself seems to believe it very much. But his sharp tone deters me from surrendering immediately. “Then where do you expect to go?” 

 

“We’ll continue walking where we were originally going. We can turn back around and retrace our steps if we have to.” 

 

“And what if we get lost out there?” I challenge him. “It’s not quite as simple as ‘retracing our steps.’”

 

“I don’t know. But it sure seems a lot safer than returning to that town.”

 

“Getting lost in the middle of the desert, running out of water, and possibly dying sounds safer to you than going to a place of civilization that only feels bad to you?”


He meets my gaze evenly. “In the state of things, yes. But I should hardly think you would understand. This is your first time leaving the nest, after all.” There’s a note of biting sarcasm in his voice. “You can only see things in black and white. It may not occur to you that this ‘place of civilization’ you talk of isn’t nearly as safe as you think it to be. It might not occur to you that every town is not like the Hoh Metroplex, not so clean and white.”


“Who are you to be so high and mighty when you were a child and have only foggy memories of the Outside?” I question him, my frustration spiking with his defiant evasiveness. 


“It’s common sense,” he retorts. “That place just doesn’t feel safe, and I’m going to trust my instinct. It’s less of a liar than habit.”


“It’s an impulse. It’ll do whatever it’s inclined to.”


He throws up his arms. “I don’t know, Aza. I’m just telling you what I think. You can go back if you want, but I’m continuing on.” 


“You’re going to ditch me now? After I agreed to help you? I didn’t have to go on this mission, Sun, and I’m really starting to think I should turn around and leave you to chase your own tail. You’re more dependent than you think. Reality will hit you as soon as you’re left alone to your devices.”


“Left alone? And when have you ever—”


A sudden voice interrupts us. “What are you two doing out here alone?”


Sun and I spin around to see the speaker. Watching us is a Kihonian with mauve hair, hooded eyes, and a long, remarkably straight nose. He swings a little knapsack over his shoulder, adjusting a rope in his hand that is attached to a mule standing behind him with a lowered head.  

“Who are you?” Sun demands, apparently still in his defensive mood. I feel my arm hairs prickle as I gaze at the stranger, flushed with shock that we’re quite a distance from the closest town and yet this man has managed to come out of nowhere. And deep down, I concede that maybe Sun had a right to be suspicious.


“My name is Dusk,” the stranger says, and now that the original blow of surprise has subsided, I am surprised to hear that his voice is kind and warm, thick with the inflection of the Kihono Desert. “I am transporting goods from the upper region of the desert to the Hoh Metroplex.”


“That’s a small load,” Sun says with a distrustful look at the mule. “Why are you alone?” 


“It is a rare product I must deliver and does not require more than one person to convey it,” the Kihonian says vaguely. I feel a prickle of suspicion but stay silent, wanting to see how Sun will handle the situation to accordingly fit his misgivings. It would prove how determined and independent he is, confirming that maybe he’s not just saying things to discourage me. But Sun stays silent, eyeing the man, and I can tell he is feeling him out first. “Where are you two going?”


“It’s none of your business,” Sun says coolly. But never one to let a conversation lapse, he says, “Were you following us?”


“I did not see you until a few moments before I spoke. There are no adults with you, I see. You do not seem as prepared as you ought to be in such a destitute environment. Possibly you need help redirecting yourselves to whatever destination it is that you seek.” 


Sun starts shaking his head violently, but I grab his arm and pull him aside. “He could help us,” I say in a low whisper. 


“I don’t trust him,” Sun insists. “Or anything here, for that matter. Can’t you see how strange it is that he would creep up on us like that?”


I sigh, secretly deciding that I can’t let Sun take hold of the situation. He’s going to get us lost or do something stupid, and although this man may be rather shady, we can at least see what information he might know or be willing to share. I turn to him. “Sorry, we were talking. We don’t feel comfortable telling a stranger where we plan to go, but we have a question. Do you know if there are any oases close to this area?”


Dusk dips his head. “I know of one. It’s not far from here, but a little to the northeast. Don’t you need supplies? I can offer some; I have plenty.”


“No, thank you,” I say, backing away and following Sun as he steps away with a quick glance thrown over his shoulder. But the man has already taken off his knapsack and is removing some of its contents, pushing some packets of food into our arms. I pass it all off to Sun, who shoves it into our satchel. “Thank you, you didn’t have to,” I say awkwardly. I expect him to try to engage in some other form of conversation, but he’s already tugging his mule down the dune. 


Sun and I immediately set off in the other direction, preoccupied with the strange encounter. 


“That was… odd,” Sun says, voicing my confused thoughts. 


“It was,” I say cautiously. “I’m sorry, and I think you’re right. Let’s get away from here. Although I don’t think he’s lying about the oasis at least.”


Sun gives me a short nod, one that speaks of forgiveness and apology in his own turn.


We begin to traverse the desert, a given direction giving us an extra bounce in our step. The desert stretches out around us, endlessly rolling and shifting. Now that we’re distancing ourselves from the strange town and the even stranger man, my anxiety is fading and being replaced with fresh excitement despite my telling myself I should have apprehensions. It’s a side of me I’ve never seen before, the eager challenge to test my capabilities and expand my horizons. 


We continue straight for an hour, the landscape never changing, the desert unrolling before us. The wind nips at us and pushes us to the side occasionally, but our path stays the same. If I look to the north, where the mountains stand, I can see trees crowding their base on the western side where the forests are. We can’t be that far from the oasis, if it really is here. I still feel the flickering doubt of its existence, but considering that the Star is real, maybe I won’t be so surprised to see it. I can only hope that the Kihonian didn’t lie about its location, although I’d see no reason for him to do when there was no apparent aim in the conversation. I’m about to open my mouth and ask Sun more about what he thinks when a faint thrumming reaches my hearing. I glance around, expecting to see some sort of insect, but the air is clear. Sun grabs my arm and points behind us, his voice hushed. “Trouble’s headed our way.”


In the distance, three transports are racing through the desert toward us, their shiny exteriors blinding in the sunlight. They’re the reason for the humming noise, which has now become a roar as they speed closer. Sun and I wordlessly break into a sprint, knowing without saying anything that they’ve come for us. Fear shoots like ice through my veins, awakening my senses and pushing me on. 


My shoes burrow themselves in the sand as we race up a slight hill, the incline made worse by our frantic flee from our pursuers. The wind gusts from behind us, pushing us onward, but no matter how fast we run, the transports are almost here. My calves scream at me to stop, but I continue, knowing the only other option would be to get caught. That thought surprises me so much I nearly halt. It’s true. I don’t want to get caught. I want to continue this journey for some inexplicable reason rooted deep in myself. So I run faster. 


The dunes, which had once seemed conquerable after first seeing them, suddenly loom out of the ground, piercing the sky and swallowing us in their great shadows. Ruffle after ruffle, unfolding layer after layer, all climb to the peak of a single dune. We are trapped in an ever-shifting, constantly changing mountain range that surrounds us on all sides. The desert, I now realize, is a true monument to nature’s silent wrath in its coldest form, testing the weak yet fervent human aptitude. Even the layers that contribute to the height of each dune seem suddenly full of little dips and rises which spray sand as we force our way up. I will myself not to turn around and see the transports zooming toward us, yet I can hear their humming growing steadily louder as they come closer. Dread bubbles up in me. We can’t keep this up much longer. They’re so much faster than us. 


In front of me I can see nothing but what I’m directly looking at. I’m in a sort of focused tunnel. I lift my gaze and take in the sky above me, an expanse of hazy blue, glittering like glass in the heat waves as the suns begins to strike down their relentless rays. I hear the first ping! cut through the air and dully realize they’re shooting at us. I instinctively duck as a tranquilizer dart spins through the air, right where I had been a second ago. Sun drops to the ground beside me and quickly jumps up, having just dodged another one. 

 

The air around us is eerily silenced of human voices. Nothing but the whizzing of the darts, our heavy breathing, and the thrumming engines of the transports fills the air. I look back down the hill. Those aren’t ordinary transports. They’re government ones, sleek and efficient, with smooth white sides and a speedy linear drift. CGO Peacemakers, one side reads. These people are the ones that deal with issues outside of the Hoh Metroplex, not just the daily come-ups that regular Peacekeepers are to fix. I swallow. This has become something bigger than I’d have expected.

 

Then I hear something else. A thud and something whipping in the wind. I twist around again for a brief moment and catch sight of a net, connected between two of the vehicles. The transports, the net twisting in the wind they create. They’re trying to scoop us up like we’re some kind of wild animal. 

 

We’re going to be caught. The thought is heavy in the back of my mind, inevitable, but not accepted. We can’t give up now. No. If we did, then we’d know that we had never fully visualized ourselves on this journey, that it had never been in our hearts. If we got caught with the dry wind ripping through our breathless heaving lungs, at least we’d know we had tried.


We race downward, sand spraying beneath our feet. Just then, I feel myself brush against something. They’ve got us now, I think, and now they’re going to pull the net back towards them. But no, it’s not the net that touched me. A plant. A small tree. Trees don’t belong in the desert. Unless, unless they’re in an—


Oasis. The sudden rock slabs beneath my feet jar me to a painful stop, preventing me from crashing into the bushes ahead of us. The smell of flowers and water fills the air, but I hardly have time to look around before I turn to see the transports skidding to a halt at the top of the dip. “We’re trapped,” I say, gasping for breath, the finality slamming into me. 


Sun doesn’t answer, but bends over, his hands on his knees. 


As I look back up at the ridge, expecting the transports to start racing down toward the Oknamu Oasis, I’m surprised to see the drivers in their white suits and dark glasses getting out of the vehicles and peering down into the bowl. They don’t move toward us; instead, they talk amongst themselves. I finally catch my breath, staring up at them with awful anticipation surging down my spine in the form of chills. But then they do something surprising; instead of working their way down the hill, they climb back into their vehicles and drive away, deeper into the desert, but now slower. Astounded, I stare after them. “What are they doing?”


Sun shrugs. “Maybe the transports can’t come down here. This is a pretty deep spot.”


“But why’d they leave?”


“I dunno. But hey, we’re at the Oasis!” He straightens up and heads deeper into the foliage. I look behind us, finally having a chance to observe our surroundings. 


Immediately, I am struck with wonder by the lushness. The Oasis is bordered by slabs of dark rock with thick springy moss growing on them. Tall trees with dark wide trunks and interlocked branches rustle with draperies of massive leaves. Bushes with berries the size of tomatoes crouch at their roots, and broad-bladed grasses with brilliant, waxy flowers rustle in the wind like clattering sticks. A natural pool of water in the center of the oasis is a luminous, beautiful shade of green-blue. A bubbling spring pours into the pond from over the shoulder of a tall boulder, most likely supplied by an underground reservoir. Shade is abundant, and the whole place feels calm and cool, but without the chilly slap of wind that runs throughout the rest of the desert. It makes me almost forget I’m in the middle of nowhere being pursued by government personnel. 

I move to sit down on a slab of rock. Realizing how thirsty I am, I cup my hands and take scoopfuls of water from the pool. The water is clean and cold and streams through the tiny gaps in my fingers, flashing in the sunlight like crystal liquid. I fold my knees up, looking toward where Sun walks through the greenery brushing past the leaves with a contented expression. He circles back and sirs by me, dropping the satchel on the rock.


“Have you figured out why the Peacemakers might have left us?” I ask him, but he shakes his head, looking unconcerned. 


“I don’t know why they did, but I’m just glad to have them off my mind now.” 


We fall into a hush. There’s a sort of spell that the Oasis seems to have in its atmosphere, one commanding silence and awe. I lean back, feeling safe for the first time since we began the quest, but then I sit back up almost straightaway. 


A white spot is dancing on the canopy above us, a refraction of some sort. I glance back down at the pool where a flash catches my eye, the cause of the light. I move to the edge and peer down into the cool waters. Could it be? I keep my voice low, feeling wonder course through me, but caution overtakes it.


“Sun, I think I’ve found the second piece.”


He joins me, his palms almost sliding off the rock as his momentum carries him forward a little too much. He quickly regains his posture and looks down. I can’t see much, but I can make out a pale shape at the bottom, about the size of my fist. An unsuspecting eye would think it’s merely a shiny rock or some pond material, but we know better. “It must be it,” he says and jumps up. “I’ll get it.”


“Wait,” I say and examine the water. The back of my neck hairs prickle. “It couldn’t be that easy. The pond may be remote, but that doesn’t stop other people from coming to it. 


“Was the government chasing us not enough?” he asks sardonically. 


“That wasn’t the hitch,” I say, shaking my head. “That was more personal. I mean, colors from places other than the Metroplex must’ve come here before we did, and something would have stopped them from going after what might look like a treasure.” I lean over the water. All of a sudden, a large shadow flits beneath the surface and lunges up at me, breaking the surface of the water with its smooth body. I leap back and scream. 


“Zaratikas,” Sun says grimly. “That’s what.” Just as he speaks, a whole swarm of them darts around the Star. They’re brutal fish, colored dark blue and black with red stripes lashed on their backs like ugly wounds. Each one must be around three feet long, yet their considerable width makes them seem that much more monstrous. Their jaws are heavy and jutting, edged with massive yellow teeth. They have black eyes, eyes that hold no emotion and seem dead. 


“How are we going to get it?” I murmur, half to myself. I was putting my hands in the same water as those beasts? But Sun’s gaze lights up. 


“Couldn’t we use the three pieces we already have to attract it?”


“Magic doesn’t work that way,” I reply, pushing away my perturbed thoughts. “From what we did learn in class on the topic, you can’t use magic to attract magic. That’s like trying to mix water and fire, except these are of the same essence. One will just quench the other.”


He frowns. “That’s the only thing I can think of.” 


“What if we transformed something into a net?” I suggest. “Like a leaf or something?” 


“That’ll work?” 


“Yeah. Matter cannot be created or destroyed, and magic follows that same law of science. It can be transferred and transformed, however.” I look around and spot a bush with decently sized leaves. I pull one from it and hold it up. “This should work.”


Sun removes the Star from the satchel. He looks as if he’s about to hand it to me, but then, gazing down at it searchingly as if hoping to get something from it, he pulls it back close to himself. He looks up at me. “Can I use it?”


I look back at him, confused by the sudden urgency in his gaze; but having no good reason to refuse him, I shrug. “Do you know how to transform things?”

 

“No, but I doubt you do either,” he says bluntly. 


I watch him as he holds the Star, but then sudden caution overtakes me. I hold out a hand, gazing at it uncertainly. Something about it unnerves me, but maybe I’m just uncomfortable with magic, knowing that it’s illegal for non-government employees to work it. Even for them it’s under strict conditions. “Wait. Are you sure you’ll be able to use it safely?” 


“Why wouldn’t I be?” 


“What if you burn the Oasis down or something?”


“I won’t. Just trust me, Aza. I’ve got this.” 


“Are you sure—”


“It can’t be that hard to work this thing,” he argues. “The Peacemakers use their magic all the time.” 


“But they’ve had experience. We’ve never had anything to do with magic before.”


Sun tosses the Star from hand to hand, then meets my eyes confidently. “Please, Aza. This may be our only way to get the second piece. There’s no way we can swim down there with those things.” He points to the fish which are still staring up at us with ravenous eyes and parted jaws. I sigh. 


“Fine. Just… be careful, okay?” I back away as he holds the Star of Zacharias out in front of him and aims it at the trembling leaf, which I had dropped in front of the pool. The Star begins to vibrate, and its colors glow even more brilliantly. I watch it in anticipation, half tensed up. A sudden beam of light shoots forth from it and strikes the leaf. A dozen different shades of green erupt from its surface and flare up like a million points of fire. I step back, alarmed, but it seems to be working well. And then Sun drops it. 


The colors flash up and then fizzle out. The leaf curls up, scorched by its own green fire. 


“It burned me!” 


I rub my fingers against my temples. “But why would you drop it?” I ask in a pained voice. 

“It grew super hot, I don’t know…” He trails off, looking embarrassed. 


“Let me try.” The Star proved him wrong, and although it should be a win for me in our argument, I’m only hoping I don’t embarrass myself. Sun gives me the Star, looking confused and bothered. First I put down a new leaf, and then I grip it tightly and hold it in front of the waters as its magic begins to pulsate again. I shiver a little as a tingling sensation runs through me like a wave, slowing my senses until I’m hardly aware of anything around me except for the Star in my hands. The beam of lights bursts out again. And then I feel the energy moving under my hands, steady but gradually increasing in power, and the Star grows hotter and hotter. But I keep calm, remembering to breathe regularly, and then… it softens and grows cool, still flowing out like a stream of water. I shift my gaze to the leaf, which I had nearly forgotten about despite it being the whole purpose for using the Star. It’s burning in the fire again, but as I picture a net, I can feel the leaf under my hands as if I am touching it, and netlike lines begin to appear on its surface. Then it’s no longer a leaf but a net. 


The magic cuts off and the Star fades back to its normal glow. I lean forward and gingerly pick up the net, expecting it to be hot from the magic, but it’s perfectly cool as if it had always been a net. I turn to Sun, who is watching me with stunned awe in his gaze, and I offer it to him. “Would you like to do the honors?” 


He takes it, looking reluctant and humiliated at the same time. “What do I do, just swing it in the water?” But before I can answer, he throws it into the water, grasping one edge, struggling with all the folds of it as he tries to work it down to the bottom. 


“You need to tie a stone to it to make it reach the bottom,” I say pointedly, watching his vain efforts with pity. He gives me an exasperated look, one that seems meant to be sarcastic, but truly does have an edge on it. He hauls the net back out of the water, then scoops up a big rock nearby and fixes it into one of the smaller gaps. He then does the same with another rock for good measure and also for evenly distributed floating of the mesh. But before he can throw the net back in, I raise my hand, a little timidly because of how he’s being: 


“Shouldn’t we put a spell on it so the fish don’t tear it apart?”


“You can,” he says, and he shoves the net toward me. I lift the Star back up again, and the energy comes surging through easier than the first time. I take a deep breath and direct the power back to the net. The magic thrums through the Star into my veins and through the beam, unfolding outwards in all directions like a blossoming flower. This time there isn’t fire but bright yellow light streaming around the net. But this spell takes less work than transforming a leaf into a net, and soon the magic fades away. The net looks normal again, as if it had never been touched. I stare at it, wondering how to tell if it worked. But really the only thing to do is test it, so I move it back over to Sun. 


He heaves it back into the pool. The fish now have enough time to examine it and decide whether they’ll rip it to pieces. Sun and I look over into the water cautiously, expectantly. As the Zaratikas dart at the mesh, they flash back away from it as if it shocked them with some invisible extended force. Sun smiles a little, then he begins to manipulate the net to surround the Star. I move forward to help him, and together we shift the net around in the still waters to catch the second piece of the Star in the folds of the mesh. I give a quiet exclamation of triumph as it hooks, and we begin to pull it up and toward us. 


But just then there’s a flash of black as a Zaratika jumps out of the water and lunges at us. Caught off guard, I drop the net, then horror immediately strikes me as I realize Sun did the same thing. “No!” I shout as the fish plunges back into the water and the net flies out past our reach, following it back down to the depths. 


But then there’s a deafening crack. A beam of light shoots past me and freezes the net in midair. Astonished, I whip around to see Sun with both hands extended. He looks at his hands as if surprised by what he did. I don’t give it a second thought but lean forward as far as I can go without falling in and pluck the net out of the air. “Sun, help me!” I say as it goes limp as the magic channel is cut off. It falls slack in all its drenched weight into my trembling hands, and my fear of jumping Zaratikas peaks again as I struggle to heave it back onto the rock. Sun moves forward and grabs the other corner, and together we both drag it out. 


Sun works the second piece of the Star out from the mesh as I brush myself off, shivering a little from the high-action encounter with the Zaratikas. He then silently hands it to me. I hold the new piece up to the first where they match up. A golden light shines in the crack where they connect, then grows fainter as they lock together, becoming a single, larger piece. I slip it in the satchel, then turn to Sun.   


“What was that?” 


“I don’t know,” he says truthfully, looking just as bewildered as I feel. “It happened naturally.”

“Maybe the Star was connected to you or something. Maybe it felt what you were trying to do and did it.” 


“It came out of my hands.” 


I shake my head, not knowing what to say. Then I feel a twinge of guilt. “We could be arrested for this.”


“We could be arrested for all of this,” he replies, giving me a grin. I can tell the reality of his successful act is finally hitting him. “Those transports weren’t here to take us for a joyride.”


I shrug, still not understanding why they left. Of course I’m grateful for it. But weren’t they trying to catch us? I yawn and push away my confused thoughts. Suncross has passed and the suns are beginning to sink in the ether, the approach of evening lengthening the shadows and rattling the ferns around us. “How about we spend the night here?” 


Sun puts the Star into the satchel and hands me an apple and some crackers for our dinner. As I eat, the light streams through the branches and transforms the oasis into a glowing paradise, deepening the shadows and penetrating and emphasizing the greenery. As the dust motes turn to floating fiery sparks, I begin to realize how alone we are now, how distant I am from the life I once knew. It should make me more than a little afraid, yet as I close my eyes and inhale the silence, I feel the perpetual stress which I hadn’t been aware of seeping away and blowing away in the wind like the sand, the sand stretching for miles and isolating me in a bubble of peace. I find a comfortable nook between a couple of trees which block out most of the wind and stretch out there. 


Despite the hard ground and the chill that manages to creep past my blanket anyway, I find myself sleepy in a comfortable way. I have really no reason to be anxious about the next morning: no school; no trying to prove myself over and over and yet still failing; no being surrounded by judgmental, disapproving gazes, whether it be from my family, the Civil Headship, or my classmates. Sun’s chill attitude must be taking its toll on me, because I’m feeling less uptight. Sure, I still have to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid, but most of my inhibitions seem to have vanished. For the first time ever I can let the tension flow away.

The next morning, we wake up early and down a quick breakfast, then set our course for the Cayorka Mountains. I pick up the satchel, shaking off a small black beetle trying to crawl under the flap, and swing it over my shoulder. The Peacemakers have been long gone now, a few lines etched in the sand showing where the transports blew past and curved off into the distance into what looks like the Meridian. I’m just as puzzled as Aza as to why they left, but it doesn’t really bother me in the way it seems to affect her. Just as long as they’re out of sight and out of mind, I’m happy. Peacemakers always give me the creeps with their penetrating stares and constant supply of weapons.


We spend the entire day walking, not talking too much. I guess there’s a bit of awkwardness between Aza and I on the level of many different things. We still don’t know each other too well, and there’s been some conflict. But despite the silence, the static tensions that once prickled between us seem to have been smoothed over by a reluctant unity from understanding the necessities of the journey. We both have come to understand that we can’t keep arguing if we’re going to do this right. 


By the time evening rolls around, we’re a good distance closer to the mountains than we were in the morning. As we take some food on the top of a sand dune, I gaze across the distance we still have to cross to the dark pinnacles of rock. 


“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Aza asks all of a sudden, breaking the silence. I look at her, but she’s staring at the mountains thoughtfully. “We’ve just left the Wall behind, yet already we’ve come so far.” She turns and glances over her shoulder. “It’s long gone now.”


I look behind me as well. Indeed, there are only the yellow dunes stretching away under a hazy sky, running on for what could be forever, if we hadn’t come from that direction and didn’t know better. And it is just then that I realize the Wall is small in the state of things. From the Metroplex, we would see the Cayorka Mountains and know that’s the edge of the country. But here, we are lost in an ocean of sand, prevented from seeing the Wall and the ocean by distance and the height of other dunes. 


“The Metroplex was never the only thing in the world,” I reply after a moment. “And this desert is only a part of Belux as well. We still have so much to see before we’re through with this mission.”


“I wonder how and where we’ll end up.”


“Who knows? Nobody knows anything until it’s over. That’s why I love it out here. It’s so… vast, and also full at the same time. People talk of freedom, but they’ve never been out here. This is true freedom.” 


She gives me a long, searching look, and I begin to wonder. 


We hike late into the blue evening, working our way along the smaller dunes as the wind picks up and spits sand in our faces. When the sky is studded with all its stars, we find a spot to stop for the night. I’m slowly getting used to spending all my time, including nighttime, outside. As I lay down, I look up at the stars which resemble spilled milk in their infinitesimal clusters, and the aching hunger of the night which touched me so sorely back in the Metroplex fills me once more. But now it’s as if I can sleep for the first time in forever, and my muscles relax with my mind. Before I know it I’m asleep. 


We rise before dawn the next day and set off again after a quick breakfast. My step is full of bursting, tireless energy; even though I’ve been getting less sleep, I feel more awake and ready to move out here. 


As I walk along, I stare down at the ground, making sure I don’t trip or slide over the sand. After a few hours I lift my gaze, and shock darts through me. The mountains, which had been so distant this morning, now seem so close I think I can make out the sharp edges of the double shadows at the base of each tree. We’re at the top of another dune, so my view is panoramic. Clouds trail soft gray shadows over the land that bump up over and slide down the sandy mounds. The suns filter through the clouds shafts of watery light. Yet in the north where the mountains are, there are no clouds, so they’re completely lit up with sunshine and practically glowing. 


From where I last took them in, they appeared to be jagged black peaks topped with white, but here I can make out the details. The rock is a shade of deep blue-gray. Dark pines paint the base of the mountains, but they dwindle out near the summit and are replaced with large patches of pure white snow. It’s like a painting or a photo, but so real and close, so there. It’s something I’ve always dreamt of in the back of my mind, escaping and seeing what’s out there, and already I’ve been presented with a natural castle of rock. My old self would smirk if someone tried to describe the sight before me, the tranquility and overwhelming feeling of smallness, and I’d just think it’s corny stuff, but it’s really not. It’s something different to be there in real life and see it for yourself. 

 

Our steps are quicker now that we see how close we are. It’s noon, but the wind carried across from the mountains is cool and refreshing. I open my mouth and inhale it, imagining I can taste the light snow blowing off the flanks of the mountains. I’ve heard of the powdery white stuff, but while trucking the most I’ve ever experienced were small flurries. What would Dad think if he could see me now, trekking across the desert, remembering what he’d taught me? The thought makes me sad for a brief second, but I push it away angrily. I don’t need him. I’ve grown up without his help, and I can do this by myself as well. 

 

It’s Suncross when we come to stand in the shadow of the mountain range. The dunes had flattened out and turned grittier before giving way to the base of the sierra. We crane our necks as we look up at the steep vertical slabs of rock above us. “How are we supposed to get up there?” I ask Aza.

 

She paces along the base, looking up and in front and behind. “There has to be a route somewhere. A few tribes live in the mountains, and they must have some way of getting up and down.” But as more time passes and we see nothing, Aza shakes her head. “Maybe they just climb. They’d be like mountain goats living up here.”

 

I glance around and spot a tumble of boulders at the bottom. “We could climb up using that.”

 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She can’t keep the doubt out of her voice. 

 

“It’s the best we can do for now.” I take the blankets that we’re using and stuff them into the satchel, then I head to the pile first. I clamber up the boulders, placing my feet carefully and reaching upwards with my hands. The rocks shift beneath my weight and I quickly jump upwards. I hear the rocks move behind me and know Aza is following me. We come to the top of the heap. Above us, I can see the rock split apart and allow a sloping path to cut through. I place my hands in the tiny crimps of the rock, now forcing my whole body to depend on the small cracks that hold me. It’ll have to work until we can get up to the path… and whatever comes after that is beyond me. Literally. 

 

The suns beat down and I grow hot from the exertion, glad I put the blankets away, but as I toil upwards I can feel the chill of the mountains descending down on me like a lightweight scarf. I outstretch my arm and grab a scrawny bush that holds onto the mountainside, and I temporarily use it as a grip as I pull myself up. My knees hit a little slanted path on the side, and I balance myself out before turning to help Aza. Once she joins me, we rest a second before continuing. Even from here the view is incredible, but Aza looks distressed as she looks out. “I have a fear of heights,” she mutters to me. 

 

“We’re almost there,” I promise. “Or somewhere flatter.” 

 

We begin moving again and creep forward with our knees bent so we don’t risk falling. The trail—which must have been eroded due to rainfall—is weak and sometimes crumbles under our footsteps, so Aza and I hold on to rocks and firmly-rooted plants as we work our way up. The path twists around into the mountain and slopes up even more, but at least we’re not in danger of falling directly back anymore. We follow it, then it curves again. By now, we’re surrounded by rock on both sides, the occasional grass clump growing out. We turn a corner—and are confronted with a wall.

 

“What?” I mutter. “That can’t be…” I run my hands along the smooth glassy surface and look up to see a shred of blue sky hanging above us tantalizingly. But there seems to be no other way past it. I pull the Star out and stare at it, then glance at Aza. She leans against the wall and breathes out slowly. 

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“Blast it down?” I remember catching the net in midair yesterday. If I could do that out of instinct, why wouldn’t this work? 

 

She looks nervous. “But what if that brings the mountain down on us? It’s dangerous enough here as it is. Come on. I say we just look for another path. This one can’t continue if there’s rock right here.”

 

I feel a flash of irritation. Now she’s turning on me, just like everyone else. “Look, if we’re going to be successful on this journey, we need to have some kind of trust in each other,” I tell her. “Your ideas may have… more logic, and I know you think mine aren’t, but what if this works?”


“But what if it doesn’t? And this time we get something much worse than a splashing?”

 

“It won’t be like that,” I say firmly. Before she can argue with me again, I hold up the Star and face it towards the wall. I know I should have let her do this instead, but in the back of my mind, there’s a vague notion that imposes itself on my mind, drowning out my other thoughts and telling me it must be me using the Star. I swallow and grip the crystal tightly, then try to focus on it as it begins to vibrate, but sudden doubt worms itself into my mind. What if I make the mountain come down on us? I think, the Star slick in my sweating palms. No. I’m just being paranoid. But what if it doesn’t work, and we have to turn around? Will the Peacemakers catch us just because I failed?

 

The light thrums and glows brighter, then continues to hum like an electric generator. I feel fear washing over me as time passes and still nothing happens. Did I break it? “Aza…”

 

Just then, a dozen beams of light shoot out of the sides of the Heart and shine intensely, blinding me. Startled—and scorched by the exploding gem, I lose my grip on the Star and drop it. The light disappears as it leaves my hand, and I watch in horror as it slowly falls to the ground. Then there’s an explosion, and I’m thrown backwards by the force. My head cracks against the rock and I lose consciousness.

 

A faint ringing in my ears brings me back to reality. I lift my head up and immediately freeze. A spear is at my throat. 

 

“Sun—” I hear Aza say, then break off. I assume she must be in the same predicament. 

 

We’re surrounded by a group of six or seven colors, but colors unlike any I’ve ever seen before. They’re dressed in thick furs and have pale faces that gaze down at us with contemptful expressions. Most of them hold spears or other weapons of the sort. If I crane my neck a little away from the spear pointed at me, I can make out what had once been the wall behind them. It had been blasted clear away, leaving shards of rock scattered around the place. The tribe must have climbed down from there. 

 

One of the tribespeople, a man with braided green hair, looks down at us. He holds up something, which I recognize to be the Star. Thankfully, it’s still intact. He says something, but it just sounds like gibberish to me, although he sounds half-fearful, half-angry. 

 

“It’s ours. Give it back!” I struggle up, but another man pushes me back down with the butt of his spear.

 

The green-haired man growls something at me.  

 

“Sun, they speak Seipalorn,” Aza says from where she’s lying. “I think this is the Buwa-Kifer tribe, the one we’re looking for!”


“How are we supposed to communicate with them, then?”


Aza doesn’t answer. Just then, the tribespeople poke us to our feet with their spears. I want to protest, but I just dodge them angrily and walk by Aza as they fan out around us. “Where are they taking us?”


“To their camp, I think. If we’re lucky, we’ll meet their chief.”


“Lucky?”


“We need to find this piece, remember? And their leader should speak more languages than just Seipalorn.”


“Should?” 


She shrugs and doesn’t reply. The tribespeople lead us past the remains of the wall and up the mountainside, past scraggly bushes and cracked boulders. As we ascend, the air grows colder and soon both Aza and I are shivering, but we can’t bring out the blankets because the leader has also taken our satchel. The men in front look back at us and wordlessly remove some of their furs. They hand them to us. I almost push them back, feeling bitter that I’ve messed up again, but I know it’s just going to get colder. I pull on a fur coat and some kind of hat.  


A dense fog comes to surround us and ice crystals hang in the air. The visibility is poor and the slopes steep, but the tribesmen are extremely agile and keep us moving forward at a steady pace. But mountains aren’t easy to climb, and I know that we wouldn’t have reached the top until at least nightfall. How did they get down to us so quickly, then? But my question is soon answered when we come to a narrow crevice hidden between two rocks. I wouldn’t even have noticed it because of the shadows amassing near it and the cluster of pines blocking it. They push back the spiky branches and lead us up. 


The pathway is long and narrow. It looks as if it had been carved out by nature and detailed by man, with a sort of stony staircase leading up for a few hundred feet or so. We start to climb up the steps slowly, an icy draft whipping down at us. A mist hangs in the air, shrouding the view ahead until we can see nothing except the silver, ice-lined rock and our breaths billowing out. On we walk, for what feels like hours, our legs aching and breathing coming quick and sharp. I’ve never been so cold in my life, even though I have the furs tightly wrapped around me. The tribesmen around us trod on with grave expressions, as cold as the mountain chill itself. I’m more than a little bothered, especially since I don’t know exactly where we’re going. But I keep walking and hope I look bored if anything. 


We finally emerge out of the fissure on the top of the cloudy mountain. Something crunches under my foot and I look down in surprise. Snow. I crouch down, ignoring the annoyed looks from our captors and run my hands through it. It’s soft and cold and thick, better than I’ve ever imagined. 


I get back up and am even more startled. The white stuff surrounds us on all sides, spread across the whole mountaintop and contrasting sharply with the black summit that peeks from underneath. My gaze swings to the right, and I’m presented with the view of a whole village. A cluster of cabins sit circled around a great bonfire. The huts are made out of logs and hung with long furs for insulation. A few people sit around the bonfire, and as we approach they stand up quickly. 

 

The man with braided green hair says something to them in Seipalorn. A little boy of about six years old runs to one of the cabins and disappears behind its strong wooden door. We stand out in the snow, waiting. I eye the fire, but our captors make no move towards it.

 

A couple of minutes later, the door of the cabin opens again and this time the boy emerges with a young yet authoritative-looking woman behind him. She has icy blue hair draped down her back in an elegant braid and wears a soft white fur dress. Around her neck is a blue-green feather on a necklace. As her gaze sweeps the snowy expanse and comes to rest on us, I get the same shivers as I do whenever I’m around the Peacemakers and -keepers. She glides across the village and says something to the leader of our captors.


The green-haired man bows his head and responds to her. She waves her hand, and they all disperse to their cabins or the fire. She turns to us, her blue eyes cool and regardful. “I am Chief Lilac, the leader of the Buwa-Kifer tribe. What have you come to our territory for?”


“We’re looking for the Star of Zacharias,” I explain. “Do you have it?”


She touches the feather around her neck briefly. Her gaze flicks to the people by the fire, who are eyeing us curiously. “Come with me. You must be hungry and tired.”


Aza and I exchange glances as Chief Lilac leads us to a cabin at the end of the circle and pushes open the door. It creaks open with a groan, as though it hasn’t been used in a while. Snow flurries in, and she quickly closes it behind us. We’re shut in darkness for an uneasy moment, but then we hear a striking sound and a light flickers in the darkness. The chief pushes the match into a lantern and the room comes aglow with the wavering light. 

 

She shows us some blankets folded in the corner. “Set these out. You can stay the night. You will be comfortable enough. Your dinner will be coming along in a few minutes.” Then she rapidly turns on her heel and leaves. 

 

“That’s odd,” I say, taking off the furs they gave us. “She was so…” 

 

“Assertive. It’s as if she didn’t want to talk about the Star.”

 

We sit in silence until Chief Lilac returns, carrying two bowls. Inside is a sort of steaming mash of brown stuff and some kind of spice. “It is reindeer meat,” she explains at our incredulous looks. “With Faifhorn spices. It is a native dish here.” We nod our thanks. Aza holds the bowl in her lap awkwardly as if she’d like to throw it outside but is too polite to.

 

Chief Lilac sits down on a wooden stool in the corner. “Who sent you?”

 

“What do you mean?” I ask. 


“Well, surely children as young as you aren’t wandering around the mountains all by yourselves.”


“We kind of are,” I say. “So do you have the Star?”


“Why are you on these mountains all alone? Where are your parents?”


Even Aza looks irritated. “Ms. Chief Lilac, we understand you’re worried about two teens from clearly different parts in your territory, but if you don’t mind, we’d prefer to keep our business our own. All I can say is this is of great importance to us. Is there anything you can tell us about the Star?”


Again she looks uncomfortable and clears her throat as if blocking us out. “I can see that you are comfortable now. If you change into these furs, we can have your clothes cleaned by tomorrow. Leave them on the doorstep. There is a divider against that wall. Our tribe is hospitable. We are happy to provide you with this cabin for the night, and a morning meal, but I ask that you leave tomorrow before the suns have fully risen. Good night.” She stands up and leaves, a bit of snow flying in before the door slams shut. 

 

Aza sets her bowl to the side. “She really didn’t want to talk.”

 

“No,” I agree. “Should we try again tomorrow?”

 

“I suppose. She has to know something.” Aza sets up the divider and changes, then I take my turn. The furs she gave us are lighter than the ones from our captives but still warm. Aza looks sickened when she finishes putting them on, and she opens the window and dumps her reindeer stew into the snow outside when the tribe’s gazes are turned. 


“It is dawn now. Breakfast is being served outside.”


Aza and I get up, still sleepy, and Chief Lilac hands us our newly-cleaned clothes. I pull on my jeans—which feel like cardboard now—and my jacket and my shoes, then tug my beanie back on my head. We wrap blankets around our shoulders before stumbling outside. The clouds had dissipated overnight, leaving the sky clear and stunning. Alekanekelo sets the snow on fire as he rises into the pink sky from the north, casting blue shadows on the snow hummocks. The bonfire from the night before has been put out, but a smaller one stands next to a house where a table with wooden bowls and spoons resides. I can see a big pot of oatmeal bubbling over the fire. A young woman stands by the six-year-old boy from the night before, gently helping him dish out the oatmeal. We each take a bowl and sloppily receive our share. I mumble a “thanks” and yawn. 


Aza and I go to sit on a log bench next to each other and eat our breakfast. Chief Lilac gets her own bowl and comes to join us. Her pale eyes glimmer. “The cold bites most in late winter, but the spring shall come to chase it away soon.”


“What’s it like here in spring?” Aza asks. 


Chief Lilac thinks a moment, then gets up and signals for us to follow her. We leave the ring of huts behind and climb a small rise a little to the west, behind the village. My feet sink into the snow, and I try to hop around and find patches of rock to stand on. Eventually, we come up at the top of the rise and halt. I shake the snow from my shoes, then look up. And nearly fall over.

We’re at the back of the mountain range, the edge of the continent. Below us, the mountain drops away steeply, black rocks at the bottom stabbing the air amidst heaps of snow. Waves crash along the base, sending up spray that half-freezes and glitters like diamonds tossed up from the hand of Mother Nature. A few white birds coast along down there, bobbing in the wind without twitching their wings. The ocean stretches before us, glittering and breathing and blinding, colored pink and blue and green. A salty breeze is carried up to us, harsh and frosty, a tang that sticks in my nose but isn’t wholly unpleasant. 


There are no words to describe the view, the feeling of thereness. The immersion in this whole new world is incredible. Here I stand, at the edge of all I know, inches from being carried away on the high winds that blasts over the precipice as if we aren’t there. And in a corner of my mind, I wonder what would happen if I jumped. If I just decided to throw it all away. And normally the thought would terrify me, make me wonder if I’m going insane, but here on the sill of the world, I’m literally too high to care. But then the logical part of my brain kicks in and shoos the thought back into the dark recesses of my mind. 


“The ocean goes on forever,” Chief Lilac says, her calm voice breaking the silence. I jump a little, startled by her voice, then find myself leaning towards the edge perilously. Chief Lilac grabs my shirt collar and pulls me back. I straighten myself and clear my throat, a little embarrassed by letting my thoughts slip here.  


As we head back to the village, I feel sedate but fluid in my movements, as if the tranquility of those few moments has sharpened my senses and slowed time. I move over the snow as easily as Chief Lilac, but my thoughts are preoccupied and I flinch when we approach the noise of the village. Chief Lilac lays her hands on our shoulders. “Are you ready to go?”


I stiffen under her touch. “Can’t you tell us where the rest of the Star is? I mean, you have to know. And we need our satchel back.”


Chief Lilac pulls away, her expression turning stony and cold like the mountains. “I said I would not tell you about the Star. This is something personal, between me and the tribe. It is of no matter concerning you.”


“That may be,” Aza says pleadingly. “But this is the whole reason for our journey. You have to help us.”


“I don’t have to do anything.” Her harsh tone startles us. Her eyes flicker with anger as she glares at us. She inhales, her furs knotted up around her shoulders as she tenses.


“Where’s the satchel then?” I give her a challenging look as I repeat my question. Aza gives me a warning look. 


Chief Lilac purses her lips, then calls out in Seipalorn to a young man walking nearby. He springs into movement at her command and darts off into one of the cabins, then reemerging with our satchel clutched in his hands. He passes it to his chief, who reluctantly hands it back to us. I sling it over my shoulder, holding it tightly as if it might get away again. 


“Thanks for everything,” Aza says. I imagine I hear a tinge of sarcasm even in her own voice. Then her and I turn and walk quickly, our nerves pumping. As soon as the village is out of view, I let out a sigh of relief.


“What a kook,” I mutter. I check the satchel and see that nothing was taken. “She’s not telling us something.”


“I think she’s just trying to protect her tribe. I doubt they get many visitors. Or something happened with the Star and it scared them.”


“You think it went off?” I imagine the primitive tribe crowding around the glowing Star, their gazes alight with fascination, then the Star shooting beams out and terrifying them. Perhaps that’s why they’d engaged in trade with whoever we’re about to meet. “Do you think there’s really someone down there? Maybe she was just trying to get rid of us and they threw the Star over the edge of the cliff.”


But she only shrugs. “We’ll see.” A moment of silence passes in which we both stand uncertainly in the snow. “Although I have a feeling she was truthful when she said they didn’t have it, though. Someone else must. But who?” She pauses and looks back to the way Chief Lilac had returned. “The way she was standing, slightly to her left. Like she was trying to hide something.”


I follow her gaze. “So our answer is over there?”


“I think so. I’d hate to stay on their territory even longer, but we can’t leave without getting the third piece.” She sighs. “I can’t believe you brought the mountain down on us. That could’ve been so bad.”


“I didn’t mean to,” I say, irritated that she’s bringing this up now. 


“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” she says bitterly, “but that you went through with it anyway. And here we are crawling along the mountainside, looking for something we’re not sure is there.”


“Why are you doing this now?” I ask her. “You’re delaying us. If you’re so regretful, then go home.”


Here she turns on me, her gaze flashing. “But it’s not that simple! We’re stuck in a mess now with no way out except forward, and you don’t care even though we’re surrounded by danger on all sides. You’re the one that got me into all this.”


“You agreed to come,” I shoot back. “I don’t understand why you’re starting this argument now. We have to go before the Cayorkians kick us off their mountain.”


“It needs to be acknowledged,” she argues.


“Not now. I don’t know what you want to hear. Are you panicking again? What is this?” 


“I don’t know, I’m just tired of running everywhere like this,” she says despairingly, throwing her hands up. Then she takes a deep breath, looks down, then up, and at once her whole countenance is changed. “Well, let’s go check. This could be it.” 


Confused and annoyed by her moody attitude, I plod on after her. On the west side of the mountain, opposite the tribe’s village, a deep trench runs, only visible because of the slight shift in the height of the snow. Aza and I crouch down and crawl on our hands and knees through it, able to avoid the view of the cabins and make our way back to where we had come. We come to the slanting jagged side, where we lower ourselves along the faint path with great care, aware that any misstep could plunge us over the edge. The wind over here seems to howl resentfully, whipping up the untouched snow in our faces as if to show us no footsteps should ever mar it. I spit when a flurry of icy flakes spins into my mouth. We hug the mountainside when we come to a narrow pathway, the cold etching itself into our bones through the contact we make with the rock. Just when I’m beginning to wonder if maybe our guesses are wrong after all and we’re just going to do something stupid, which is really a rare thought for me, Aza points ahead of us. “Look. I think the tribe aren’t the only ones around here.” In front of us, a fresh set of footprints has cut through the snow until it’s out of view. We follow it around the curve of the mountain, the path gradually widening out. 


We come to a series of outcroppings, behind which a plume of smoke is rising, lashed into the wind like a single gray banner. We edge past the rocks and then emerge into a completely shadowed little fold in the mountain, walls on two sides and a breathtaking view of the desert before it. The wind funnels through the area, glancing off the walls and rushing at us with a frigid touch. And right in the corner of the fold is a hut. 


It doesn’t compare to the cabins of the Buwa-Kifer village and could be better described as a shack, hunched over enduringly through the harsh weather. It’s built out of thin logs and draped with furs for insulation, resembling the tribe’s cabins, but behind it sits a sort of livestock pen, although it’s empty and only a few weeds thrust up through the gritty soil. 


We approach it slowly. Aza gives me an affirmative glance. I hesitantly raise my fist and knock, and for a long minute the only sound is the wind whipping through the fissure. Then the door creaks open and something barrels through, hitting me in the stomach and knocking me to the ground.

I giggle and go help Sun up. His eyes are wide as he brushes dirt off of himself, but I point to the culprit. A young reindeer female, bouncing around us, with moist dark eyes and velvety antlers. He laughs and reaches out to pet her, but she nimbly dodges his reach and runs to me. I stroke her soft head. 


“Holly,” a voice says, then speaks in Seipalorn. I look up and see an agitated face poke out from the doorway. It’s a young woman with pale blue hair and steely eyes. She ushers the calf back inside, then turns her cold gaze on us. “Who are you and what do you need? Can you not leave a single woman on a mountainside with her reindeer alone?”


“Hello,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “I hope you don’t mind that I petted your reindeer.”


“Most people here just eat the reindeer,” she replies tersely. I remember the broth that Chief Lilac tried to serve us and shudder. She sees me. “Why do you look so repulsed?”

 

“I am a vegetarian and abhor eating meat,” I reply, hoping I’m saying the right thing. What if the reindeer calf Holly is just one among more that she might keep in her home for cooking? But the woman smiles. 


Sun peers around her into her home. “Do you have the Star of Zacharias?”


“The Star?” she questions, moving to block his intrusive view. “Yes, I have the Star. But explain your presence. Who are you? What are your reasons for coming here?”


“We came to the Buwa-Kifer tribe in search of the Star,” I explain. “Their leader, Chief Lilac, wasn’t very… polite. We thought you might know.” Although we weren’t even aware someone lived over here, I silently add. 


The woman looks suspicious, but as the wind gusts past and rattles her walls, her expression softens a bit. “Come inside. I don’t know how foolish you could be to be out here on the mountaintop by yourselves, but you could do worse than catch a cold.” She moves to the side. Sun and I step forward and enter her forlorn dwelling. 


Although it may seem unstable and unwelcoming on the outside, I am pleasantly surprised to find the interior is very cozy and warm. My earlier assumption was wrong: the only reindeer in there is Holly, who settles down in a pile of furs, watching us. A cot stands in the corner with a few blankets like our goat-fur ones laid neatly on it. In the opposite corner, a fireplace sends off waves of heat and light, but I give it a second glance when I notice that there’s no wood to keep it burning and that it has a violet tint. I usually try to refrain from prejudice, but suspicion flickers through my mind. Who is this woman? Why does she live alone on the mountainside and not with other people like the Buwa-Kifer tribe?


Our host gestures for us to sit down on the splintery wooden floor, then begins to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, throwing questions at us with each turn, ones she already asked. “Who are you? Why are you here? What do you want?”


Sun and I exchange glances. She seems trustworthy, I think. Unlike Chief Lilac. So I tell her. “I’m Aza and this is Sun. We are on a journey to find the Star of Zacharias. We came to the Cayorka Mountains in search of the third piece because there is an evil at work in the world and this may be the only way to defeat him.” The words seem sudden and blatant even before I’m finished saying them, but there’s no way to sugarcoat such dark news. 


“An evil? What kind of evil?”


“His name is Black,” Sun says. “We don’t know much about him except that he’s been capturing innocent people and forcing them to work for him. He plans to take over the world and take ‘revenge,’ although we don’t know who on.”


“How’d you get the Star from the tribe anyway?” I ask her. “I don’t mean to be intruding on your privacy, but our map said it would be in their territory.”


“It wasn’t lying,” she tells us, wearing the same expression that Chief Lilac had when we mentioned it. Whatever had happened between them and her had obviously not been a preferable interaction. “This mountainside is part of their territory. The Buwa-Kifer tribe and I engaged in a trade a few years ago, but I would prefer it if you did not ask why.”


“Fine with me,” Sun says. Then, “Hey, how do you speak our language so well? I thought Aza said only the leaders of the mountain tribes were fluent in more than Seipalorn. Did you use to belong to one of the mountain tribes?”


I shrug. The reindeer woman sighs. “It’s a long story.”


“We’ve got time.”


She stands in front of us, still for a moment as she thinks. “You don’t have to tell us anything that makes you uncomfortable,” I tell her, embarrassed by Sun’s thoughtlessness. 


She dips her head. “I just think you ought to know who you’re addressing. Obviously she didn’t tell you…” She pauses, looking anguished. Then she resumes her pacing for a long moment, not saying anything but looking anxious and grieving. Holly rests her head on her hooves, looking melancholy. Sun and I exchange glances. What have we gotten ourselves into now? I wonder, the air prickling from the tense situation. Then the woman begins to speak, suddenly looking much older, her voice low and flat. A heavy despondency has fallen over the room, one that seems to have always been there, but pushed into the shadowy corners and just now made noticeable.


“My name is Floret Periwinkle,” she begins, “and Chief Lilac is my sister. Our mother died when I was four years old, so Lilac and I grew up together as best friends, having only each other. I am the older one, so it was customary that when our father the chief retired, I would take my place as leader of the tribe. I was given the education of a chief-to-be, so that’s how I am fluent in your tongue and other languages. But there’s something else you should know. 


“I have magic. It is fire magic. I was born with it. We don’t know where it came from.” 


“Can you show us?” Sun asks eagerly. 


Floret nods reluctantly. She rubs her hands together, then slowly spreads them apart. Between them a long stream of fire hangs, burning in the open air. It’s tinted with violet. I look back at her fireplace and understand. We stare at the fire in awe and a little fear, then she slaps her palms back together. She sees our expression and turns away.


“The tribe accepted it as just one of my abilities, unique though it was. They thought I would never hurt anybody. Mother taught me how to contain it when I was little. But when I was fourteen and Lilac was thirteen, we went on our first reindeer-hunt. It was how Mother had died when we were younger. Those hunts are risky. Spears were hurtled through the air. The herd tried to charge us. I was terrified, but it was as if Lilac was made for this. She was quick and had good aim. She brought down two with spears before I could set my arrow straight. Then she killed another reindeer. It was a mother that had a calf. She was calling for someone to shoot the baby. I was reminded of Mother when I saw that helpless calf and I understood how she felt.” She takes a deep breath, shuddering and closing her eyes as if reliving it.  


“I saw the reindeer calf and I was terrified. I panicked. So I threw fire.” She speaks slowly, her speech grating out as if every word is a brick dropped from a great height. “The fire burned the arrow. It was reduced to ash before it hit the ground. But it kept going. I couldn’t stop it. It hit the person who had shot it.” Her voice breaks and she hides her face from us. I see her form outlined against the fireplace, an eclipse of the room, the darkness blotting out the light with quivering uncertainty. “I didn’t know him that well. He was only a few years older than me, a simple but kind green-haired orphan who had been found in the snow as a baby before I was born.” She descends into sobs, shaking even more violently. 


“I was the one supposed to protect the tribe. I was the one to become the chief. I was the one they all looked up to, and I failed them. Father died shortly after from an awful sickness, probably exacerbated by heartbreak and disappointment. They banished me from the tribe forever and titled me a murderer. Lilac had held a trial for me. She was aghast. I can still picture the disappointment in her eyes. We didn’t talk… not in that easy familiar way we used to have. She became the new chief. She was kind enough to permit me to live out here in my homeland, and she provided me with wood to build a house. Out of all the devastating emotions I’ve undergone since then, my regret at betraying her and dissolving our sisterhood has pierced me like an arrow. I tell myself I could’ve saved our relationship, but then I look at Holly, for that’s who the calf was, and…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. It was the life of him or her, and what’s done has been done and cannot be changed now. The choices presented then now lie as cold dead forms in the blackness of the past.


“Holly has never left my side since that day. Sometimes the rest of her herd comes by here, but she always stays with me. What I did for her is a speechless act, lost beyond any attempts at gratitude and debt. But it was also for myself, and therein lies the true vein of guilt I pierce daily, and it bleeds openly all the time and yet never runs dry.” She bows her head, finally finished. 

I feel horror wash through me at her story. But I force myself to murmur soothingly to her. “You couldn’t have meant to do it.”


Floret runs her fingers through her braid, loosening the careful twists and pulling out strands to stand wildly on her head. “It gets worse every day. Wilder. I can’t bear it. Can only control it so much.” 


Then Sun does something very surprising. He stands up and hugs her, stilling her trembling frame. She cries into his shoulder. “I know how you feel,” he says softly. “My mom died when I was six. It hurts like hell. I used to blame myself. But you didn’t mean to do what you did.”

She hugs him tighter, blinking the tears from her eyes. “Oh, where did you kindhearted people come from? I’ve never met such shining souls.”


I sit on the floor awkwardly, watching Floret and Sun share their pain. Usually I am one to sympathize and soothe, but this is something only they can understand, a bond issued by loss, winding two strangers together. It’s as beautiful as it is tragic.


Floret pulls away and wipes her eyes. “Are you honest when you say that your purpose with the Star is to defeat this horrible evil?”


“More than anything, ma’am,” Sun says, nodding. For once his tone isn’t sarcastic. 


I stand up. “We desire to use it only for good. We wouldn’t know about the existence of this crystal if not for the evil at work here.”


“I can tell you’re being truthful,” Floret murmurs. She goes over to her cot in the corner and lifts up the blankets. Underneath it the Star sits, glowing as if awakened. She picks it up and holds it for a long moment in her hand. “I obtained this early on in efforts to feed myself. But now I garden and store throughout the winter, and I have a number of other self-sufficient methods. Alas.” She gives it to Sun, who is standing closest. “Just promise me you will not use it for things evil. If my curse has taught me anything, it is that magic used wrongly is like a stone thrown into a pool. It will send ripples long after it has sunk. Perhaps it is better for me to be rid of as most magic as possible. And how have you been feeding yourselves if you’ve managed to come so far?”


I pick up the satchel from the floor and show her the apples and crackers. She shakes her head. “That will not last for much longer, and you must not use the Star for hunting. Take this.” She picks up a bow that had been standing in one shadowy corner which I had not noticed, along with a quiver of arrows. She hands them to me. Her eyes are still wet and her face tearstained, but she inhales shakily and steadies herself.


“Thank you,” I ask, feeling tentative about such a weapon but grateful nonetheless. I sling it over my shoulder.


“Stay safe out there,” Floret says. She moves to the door and pushes it open, battling against the brunt of the wind that slams into the fold. Holly follows us and gives us each an affectionate nose-bump, even to Sun. Before we step out, he connects the third piece, enlarging the Star, and slips the glowing half into the satchel. I feel astonishment flood me when I see how almost complete it is, but I force myself to wave good-bye along with Sun and then head back out into the snow and brutal wind. 


But the cold can’t thaw my warmed heart. As I trek through the snow, I think about how Floret’s story had filled me with shock and pity, and how her honest soul and deep guilt had touched me in unimaginable ways. I look back at the cabin, sorrowful for this kind woman isolated from the rest of the world for the rest of her life because of an awful mistake from years ago. Even more fear fills me in reflection on the Star of Zacharias and its capabilities, most of which we aren’t aware of yet. What can magic do but cause pain? Are we wrong to meddle in things we don’t understand? Would this have been better left to the Peacemakers? But then, they wouldn’t do anything about it because they wouldn’t believe us. 


Sun and I move past the outcroppings and edge along the wall once more, then head back to the fissure that the tribe brought us up on. Once we’re past the trees that block it, we begin the last stage of our descent. We hike down through the winding pathways and scramble over some ridges and through drifts of snow. We turn a corner and I almost fall forward as I step into an especially deep accumulation. Sun laughs and helps me right myself, then we continue. We scramble past the shattered rock wall and down the angled path, then drop down to the base of the mountain, but not before I stop to fill our flask with clean white snow scraped off the topmost layers on the mountain’s flanks.


Once we reach the rocky ground, we trudge along for a couple of hours in the gritty dirt that is formed from the desert’s sand mingled with loose rock cascaded from the mountains. Even though we may not be on the peaks anymore, the elevation is still high. From this vantage point I can see the land give way to the verdant bowl of the Meridian with its shimmering lake in the center. The lake is Lake Suncross, where both of Belux’s suns intersect at noon, hence the name. But we’re not heading down south to the water; rather, we’re keeping north and continuing straight until we reach the Sukafram Forest, where I can see the thickly clustered pines climbing the foot of the mountains far off. As we continue walking, the land slopes down more until we’re immersed in the long green grasses that make up the Meridian. It’s Suncross now, and the suns unfold a wavy light along with their high warmth, although the air is still chill with the breeze flowing down the mountains. Spring is on its way. 


Sun and I each have an apple and some crackers, meanwhile pushing our way through the faint sandy trails formed by animals passing by continuously. The air over here is milder, and as the suns set, we continue walking along in the blue gloom comfortably.


After a while we come to a clearing in the grass and decide to camp there for the night. Sun gathers sticks and dry brush, and we make a fire to warm ourselves for a little while, not talking much. What little we say is only about the Star of Zacharias. After we put the flames out and stretch out under the stars, I look up at the sky and admire the twinkling lights so far away, swimming in a sea of black velvet. The moon, which is always full, is a pale milky white. A soft splashing nearby hints of a stream winding its way through. A cool breeze rustles the grass, making a calming sound, yet as I shut my eyes I find I can’t sleep. I just have too much energy left over from the day. I turn over, but I’m still restless. My mind is full of thoughts about the Star of Zacharias and the Buwa-Kifer tribe and Floret and Sun and the Kihono Desert and the Peacemakers. Except I’m not afraid anymore; my fears of the day seemed to have eased away with the approach of night, and I’m able to say I regret putting my troubles on Sun. We both had no idea what the journey would bring, after all. 


A sudden pulsating light tugs at the corners of my closed eyes, and I open them to see several tiny yellow orbs floating next to me. I sit up and shriek. 


“What’s wrong?” Sun sounds sleepy as he sits up as well, and I guess I just woke him up. But I’m too petrified to care.


“Look!”


He follows my outstretched finger to the flickering globes and to my surprise, laughs. “Those are just fireflies.”


“Fireflies?”


“Yeah, haven’t you heard of them? They’re these little bugs, sort of like flying crickets, that can glow. They’re harmless.”


“Oh.” I put down my arm and laugh nervously. “Well, I’ve never seen anything like that before. They’re really beautiful, though.” And they are. They dance among the grasses like minuscule lanterns, adding even more light to the already bright night.


Sun climbs to his feet and sits down by me. Together we watch the spiraling fireflies and listen to the wind and the stream. And then I feel something stirring at the edge of my mind; a memory, a feeling, a primitive impression, of sleeping and being a rock in the river of a bed with the moonlight coming down, or maybe curled up in a grassy bowl like an animal settled down for the night on the moors, protected from the wind. “You don’t get nights like this in the Metroplex,” he murmurs. “Everything’s so loud there. The roads, the people… you can’t even see the stars because of the light pollution. This is true magic.”


I can’t relate to that, I think. Usually my evenings were just spent studying in an attempt to appease my mom. But I can tell that Sun is troubled all the same by thoughts of home, so I take his hand as a sign of reassurance.


“Why aren’t you talking?” he asks me. 


“There’s nothing much to say.” 


“That’s what I like about you,” he says. “You don’t do stuff to please others—well, sometimes you do, but then you do things like staying silent when people expect you to talk. No, that doesn’t make sense, I—” He pauses, looking abashed from tripping over his tongue, then shakes his head. “You’re amazing, Aza. I’ve never met anyone like you.”


I lift my head up and meet his gaze. My heart begins to beat faster. I’ve never felt like this before. A hurricane rushes through my stomach, then dissolves into cotton candy. Everything seems brighter and the shadows shrink away. His hair pokes out from under his beanie and glows in the moonlight as he stares at me with dark eyes, eyes that seem to reflect the night sky until they too, are filled with millions of stars. I lean into him, feeling as if I’m falling into the darkness, but I don’t feel lost. I feel found.


“Can I tell you something?” he asks into my hair. “Something you promise you won’t to tell to anyone else?”


“Okay.” I pull away and look at him. He sounds serious, which is unusual for him.


He inhales, then speaks in a low voice, as if afraid of being heard. “Back in the Hoh Metroplex, before we met by the Exgola River, I was planning to run away. I wasn’t happy there, Aza. I was miserable. And I was scared. I know I seem bold and outgoing, but it’s not really who I am, or at least what I feel like. Living in that apartment with my father, I always felt suffocated and unsatisfied. I didn’t know what I was looking for, and it made me afraid of everything. I’d have these panic attacks and it… I was more different than I’d ever been before. I was thinking too much and the world felt too tight. But out here, I see that the world’s so much bigger than I thought. It’s like I can breathe for the first time.” He takes off his beanie. His hair spills out like a brilliant cloud shining bright in the moonlight. “This was always my comfort object,” he says, holding it up as if to examine it. “It’s what I pulled on when I was the most terrified, when I felt like I was standing out too much and needed to hide away. But now that I have this experience, now that I know a world like this exists, now that I know people like you exist, I don’t need it. I don’t have to prove myself worthy of existing.” He bends his arm back and throws it into the grass, where it soars far, far away, landing out of sight and out of mind.


“You were so kind to Floret,” I whisper. “You knew what to say more than I could.”


“Only what was in my heart,” he replies quietly. “What goes on in yours? What are you feeling right now?”


“Nervous. But I’m also happy. I’ve never had a connection like this before. I feel like I can tell you anything and you’d understand.” The pressure I once felt to stick to the principles laid down by my mom, to never completely trust someone, to always think of the job that needs to be done first and foremost, vanishes.


“Maybe I would.” The distance between us shrinks as our lips almost touch, and I can feel the moment slowing. There’s a bond between us now, an electric connection which thrums beneath the surface of my skin and feels just like the Star did when I held it, soft and energy-giving at the same time. But just before our lips touch, the grass on my left rustles. I pull away and look to the source of the noise, feeling myself tense up. What could be out at this hour? But a second later the grass shakes again, and out hops a little gray bunny, its pink nose quivering. My heart melts. “Aw, Sun, look at it—”


But as I look back at him, he’s watching me. I feel myself flush. Would we have kissed? Did I just ruin the chance of something happening?


He shakes his head at my expression, looking equally embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”


“No. No, it’s fine—” I trail off, unable to think of anything to say. The silence between us stretches, unfurling like a rope that gets tighter the further it’s pulled.


“Well, guess we should get some rest for tomorrow,” he says eventually. I nod a bit too eagerly.


“Yeah. Yeah.”


I go back to laying under my blanket, listening to the sounds of the night. I don’t fall asleep for another hour.

Sunlight falling across my eyelids wakes me. I stir and sit up, feeling weird for some reason that I don’t understand at first. It’s morning now, and the air is already warm even though we’re up north. But in the distance I can make out the Sukafram Forest, dark and seemingly impenetrable with its dense sea of pines. That’s where we’re headed, and the weird feeling in my stomach twists even more. Then I remember. 


Aza is also beginning to wake up. We exchange shifting glances, remembering the night before. I feel awkward as I recall those few moments. Had she been planning to kiss me, or was it just an impulse of the moment, with the stars and the mountain air flowing down over us? Or could there be something in her that really cares? But now, as she greets me with a cool look, I see that it’s either hidden or gone completely. As for me, I try to push away my feelings. If she can’t reciprocate what I feel, then maybe I am better bottling my emotions. In the harsh light of day, the night seems like another world, lost and distant in reflection.


Aza takes the satchel and looks through it. “We only have a bit of food left, and we’re only halfway through the journey. Unfortunately, we might be using Floret’s bow and arrows sooner than we think. Why didn’t we tell her we don’t know how to shoot?”


I shrug. She continues to hold the satchel, so I take the bow and quiver. We begin to make our way along the rest of the Meridian, chewing our breakfast as we walk along in silence. The grass is bent in the wind, still sparkling with dew. The air is still chill, but I can feel the day’s warmth beginning to creep on. After a time, the suns have floated above the horizon and now swim upwards in the hazy blue expanse. It’s still early morning when we come to the Cercelio River, the dividing marker between the Meridian and the western side of Belux. 


The river is broad and clear blue-green, frothing like milk as it dashes under the bridge with breathtaking rapidity. We walk a little way south along the bank until we come to a bridge, a wide concrete one designated for truck drivers and people on foot. As we stand and look at it, a few trucks roar past on it. A couple of yellow-haired Kihonians walk to us on the side of the bridge, carrying large brown paper bags. They stop a few feet away from us. “From Hoh Metroplex?” one man inquires. He’s must be around seventy years old, but he still retains a youthful height and a careful but warm amicability in his eyes. He looks curiously at our satchel and bow.  


“Yes,” Aza replies. “What are in those bags?”


The other person, a teen barely older than us and most likely his son, holds one open. Inside is an assortment of fruits and vegetables ranging from Ujuka berries to sunwater roots. “They opened The Exchange again. Closed for long ‘fore. Nobody know why. Much people today. Good deals though.”


Aza gives me a look. “What do you say, Sun? We might be able to meet some people from the Outer Divisions.”


I raise my eyebrows at her, not getting whatever she’s trying to say. Then it hits me. “Oh! Yeah, we should go.”


“Thanks for telling us,” Aza says to the Kihonians, then lowers her voice. “By chance, have you seen any transports around here?”


Both nod, their eyes wide. “Many at The Exchange. All Peacekeepers. Some Peacemakers too we think.”


Aza looks surprised, but she just smiles at them. “We’ll be on our way then. Thanks.”


They continue walking past us in the opposite direction. Aza and I move to the side of the bridge closest to us and cross it, sticking as close to the edge as possible. A truck drives by just then and its wind pushes us to the side. I glance over the low railing and see the river below us, churning and foaming violently, the white water spinning out over the rocks lining the banks. Then I turn to Aza and whisper loudly: “Why exactly did you tell them we’re going to The Exchange?”


“If we find some people there they might be able to tell us about the Star,” she explains. “The map only shows it as being located in the Sukafram Forest, which is all good and well, but we have no other idea as to where. I’m just worried about the Peacemakers.”


“Why’d they shut it down?” The Exchange is a trade center right where the Double Greenwood Tributary branches off of the main Cercelio River and where the Sukafram Forest, the Meridian, and the Austorina Woods meet at an angle. I’ve only visited it once before with my dad and my memory is faint, but I remember there being lots of colors from the tri-division area, shopping and exchanging brief snatches of conversation. My dad had held my hand tightly… he was afraid, or cautious at least. But I guess that’s why I remember it so clearly. When was the last time our relationship was ever so warm?


Aza furrows her brow and looks puzzled as well, but she shrugs. “It’s a weird area. Colors don’t often mix together well in large groups. They probably had more than a bit of light conflict. Also, we took the wrong bridge and made this harder for ourselves. We have to head south now through the woods. The southern bridge would have kept us in the Meridian on the way down, which would have been safer.”


“Oops.”


“Yeah.”


We come to the end of the bridge and head off of the road to our left, heading in the opposite direction of Lake Rocky which can’t be too far. As we enter the woods, the whole place is eerily quiet, muffled by all the trees and the pine needle carpet. The only sound is the wind rushing through the trees and our footfalls on the thin layer of snow on the ground. A light mist swathes around our feet, swirling, icy, and white like the ghosts of ghosts. I can almost feel eyes on the back of my neck, but when I glance back, nothing is there except shadows. As I look up, I can see a patch of blue sky far above, seeming to be caught on the topmost branches. An eagle swoops through it, its beady gaze searching the forest floor for prey. It shrieks, then vanishes. The heavy silence that threads its way through the trees seems packed with tension, as if it’s about to spring into action at any given moment. 


A sudden crack makes us both jump. But it’s just me. I’ve stepped on a stick. Aza gives me a long, silently reproaching look. I lift my foot off of the twig slowly, afraid to shatter the silence even more. 

 

 

We walk further down south, keeping our eyes peeled for any signs of the Star of Zacharias or anything that might hint of danger. I don’t know if it’s just the twilight-like darkness and complete quiet, but this place sends shivers down my spine. Probably only a couple of hours pass, but despite the fact that it must be around Suncross, there’s almost no light among the trees. The gloom hangs around us like a fog until the trees’ shadows seem to make the trunks wider than they really are. 

 

After a while I hear something: a cluster of voices, bouncing off of the trees and seeming to surround us like a swarm. We traverse the forest for a few more minutes, then the trees open up to a clearing. Sunlight streams down into it, blinding me briefly as my eyes adjust. Then I’m able to take in the scene before me. 

 

Before us is a sort of marketplace. The Cercelio River flows by on our left and the Double Greenwood Tributary is in front of us. Two bridges are located above each waterway, and people and trucks flow over them into The Exchange. The marketplace is bustling with colors of all kinds, mainly from the tri-division area: the feathered and beaded tribal Lasijians, the pale-skinned Sukafreys, and the grass-stained Meridianfolk. There are dozens of stands selling crops and leather and rope and beads. The whole place is packed, but all the people seem to be avoiding each other and sticking to their own groups. Some colors exchange quick words when making their purchases, but other than that they shift from foot to foot and look down at the ground. There’s a strange heavy silence, so thick and prickly it’s as if someone left the place on mute. And then I notice the transports parked around the edges of the tri-area and the Enforcers standing near them, their dark glasses hiding their eyes as they scan the marketplace. 

 

“Who should we talk to?” I ask Aza. Something in me is bitter to see everybody distancing themselves from each other with the Peacemakers hovering around them. Something’s up.

 

“We need to see one of the Sukafreys, because they’ll hopefully know something about the Star. We have to bring it up discreetly, though. Everyone seems awkward, though…” 

 

“How about them?” I point to a group of three adult colors with fur-lined clothes. They’re off to the side of one of the shops, murmuring to each other and holding several lengths of leather. We leave the trees behind and walk up to them. They turn and eye us coldly, their gazes flicking to the transports. 

 

“It’s a nice day out,” Aza observes. “The weather’s really beginning to warm up.” I nod in agreement, adjusting the blanket wrapped around my shoulders as the biting wind pushes shunts me back. 

 

“From whence you came you shall return,” a cloaked woman says, her flinty gray eyes peeking out like sun through cloud from beneath the shadow of her hood. 

 

I stare at her. “What?” 

 

The young man next to her leans forward and speaks in a low quick voice. “Now is not the time for you to talk to us! Can you not see everybody watching us out of the corners of their eyes? The Peacemakers seek any excuse to jump on us and impose some sort of nonsensical tax only to us or to take us away. You aren’t like the other Metroplexians. Learn to exercise the same caution. The colors from the Outer Divisions permit themselves to take pity on us, but they fear us also for the shadow we endure. 

We are a tough people, for we have suffered much. But someday they shall see—” 

 

“Be silent!” the hooded woman urges him, gripping his arm firmly and casting her gaze around the clearing, her eyes rolling with bound affliction. She addresses us, still glancing around: “You do best to leave now. Suffer another people, any but our own! Nay, we wield a darkness too great for our own sanity, thus we live like pale withdrawn creatures on the edge of madness.”


“What?” I repeat, but they’ve turned away. As they walk back to the Sukafram Forest, the people standing in their path move out of their way as if on instinct. I jog after them. 

 

“Wait!” 

 

My voice rings out in the silent market. All chatter quiets, and baleful eyes turn on us. I ignore Aza’s sharp intake of breath and grab the arm of the third Sukafrey, a short woman with hard eyes. She turns on me in an instant, a sudden dagger at my throat. I raise my hands. The Enforcers watch us but make no move. The clearing is silent, even across the river. Everybody is turned towards us, their gazes unwaveringly, menacingly blank. 

 

“Leave us be,” she growls. “We have no desire to make any form of conversation with you. All we desire is to trade and bargain for what we need, and then we’ll leave in as quiet a manner as we can, neglecting your pity and endless speech. Remember, we were not the ones to start this dialog, so you cannot accuse us of scaring you.”

 

“What are you talking about?” I ask in confusion. “Why would you scare us? What’s with the Peacemakers here? Don’t they just belong in the Metroplex?” I feel Aza tugging my arm. But I can’t stop with the questions now. There’s something strange about this place. 

 

The Sukafrey’s eyes narrow. “You are as ignorant as you are heedless. Let me inform you that we accept only transporters from there here in our Exchange. It is well known that the barrier of the Sukafreys has been held for years, our strength never diminished but rather strengthened by our troubles, and your running mouth is the last thing we need.”

 

“Look, I just wanted to ask if you know about the Star of Zach—” Suddenly I’m cut off by a loud scream shattering the tense silence of The Exchange. I glance in the direction of the sound, the hairs on the back of my neck rising before I even know why.

 

Then the whole clearing erupts into cries of terror. “The Magimahord pack!” someone yells. People start running back over the bridges, dropping their purchases and shoving past each other. The three colors we’re talking to don’t say a single word but turn and race away. Aza and I are left standing in the midst of the chaos, trying to back away from everything. I’m knocked to the side by someone, but I regain my balance and turn back. “We have to get out of here!” I yell to Aza. 

 

She opens her mouth to reply, but then stands gaping. I look to where the crowd is splitting in half and flowing away from the center. Standing right at the other end are massive beasts with pointed ears, lunging at the colors and snapping threateningly. One flicks its tail and without contact sends a whole row of pines crashing to the ground, crackling red electricity running through their branches.

 

Wolves. And not the normal kind. 

 

Just then the one in front, an especially big brute, turns his piercing gaze on us. I feel a shiver when I meet his icy eyes, but then he looks away at the other colors and barks something. All the wolves bound forward and race across the clearing to where some people are still clustered, trying to run but stuck in the tight crowd. Aza and I are pushed into the small area and unable to move. “Oh great, now we’re done for,” I say and shrug. 

 

“Don’t assume so yet!” Aza says. “Look. The Peacemakers will help us!”

 

The transports at the edge of The Exchange have begun to hum and have risen up into the air. They turn and drift towards the wolves, speeding up until they’re roaring straight at them. The wolves move back when they see them. One opens its mouth and shoots out ice, narrowly missing the transports, but they don’t stop and instead swerve slightly to avoid them. They head towards the crowd, so everybody jumps out of the way as the vehicles shoot past into the woods, leaving the colors to flee from the wolves. 

 

“What were they doing here if not to protect?” I ask scornfully. The crowd begins to surge forward as the wolves rush at us. Aza and I push through until we’re out of the thick and running. We dart into the trees, the wolves crashing through the undergrowth behind us loudly, their stride faltering through there but speeding up when they come to open areas. Other people run past us, much faster and better adept at weaving their way through the undergrowth. 

The trees start to close in on me. Every bramble reaches out to trip; every branch comes low and forces me to duck. We race through the forest, sliding between narrow gaps between trees and thick bushes and leaping over deep drifts of snow. The air is bitingly cold, but there’s no time to bring our blankets out right now. Behind us the wolves dive through the trees with ease, their fur sliding past and paws barely touching the snow before sending them flying up again. Snow begins to fall as they race after us, growing thicker and thicker. Where in Belux did those clouds from, filling the sky like that? And how did that fog come about? 


I watch the wolves out of the corner of my eye, then feel fear wash me as they start to close in on the colors closest by. I glance around, hoping to find some sort of place to hide. Then I spot a towering pine tree with wide boughs and thick bristles. Wolves can’t climb, can they? I don’t know about these magic wolves, but I hope it’ll work. 

 

“Aza, over there!”


We slide to a halt at the base of it. I lock my fingers together and give Aza a boost. I scramble up after her, then I’m on the first branch and climbing quicker than I would’ve thought possible, the wolves snapping close behind us. We both aim for the highest, sturdiest branch the tree offers, our cold fear giving us a squirrel-like competency. We sit down on the branch, our breath puffing out in white clouds as we struggle for breath. A blackbird near us squawks indignantly as we’re a little too close for comfort to her nest. 


I lean over a little, breathing hard. But Aza shakes my shoulder. “Sun—they have the Star!”


“What?” I follow her outstretched finger to where the wolves have stopped running and are pacing back and forth, looking pleased with themselves. I notice one wolf, shorter than the rest, has a small burlap sack hanging around his neck, and the top is open only very slightly, but we’re high enough to see a glimmer shining from within. The snow begins to thin out just then, and the clouds break up. A strand of sunshine cuts down and lights up the Star. The wolf holding it whimpers as its light flares up and blinds him for a brief moment, but he shakes his head and moves out of the sunlight. 


Their leader steps forward and growls at them. “You did well, but it would’ve been better if you’d caught someone.”


The other wolves nod. They nod. “Those brainless Peacemakers are cowards,” another wolf says, baring his teeth. “You’re right, Master. We should have carried off one of them to prove that we aren’t afraid of them and their dirty ways. They expect us to run when they come at us with their transports, as if we could ever be startled into action so easily.” 


I turn back to Aza. She looks as shocked as I feel. “The wolves rule the forest and the Peacemakers here flee instead of protecting the people,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “What kind of world do we live in?” 


“One that hasn’t learned,” I tell her. “Maybe now you can understand why I am the way I am.”


“Maybe,” she replies, and this time she doesn’t sound so doubtful. “Any ideas on how we could get the Star?” 


“However they got a hold of it, we need a plan. What if we make a deal to come back down if the leader wolf gives us the Star?”


She stares at me. “Are you crazy? We’ll be killed for sure and won’t even have a chance to touch the Star. He’ll obviously agree to that. He probably won’t even keep his end of the deal!”


“Don’t be so sure,” I say, but I’m just as anxious. All my plans have been going wrong so far. If this fails as well, it’ll result in much more disastrous consequences. But it seems to be our only hope. “Do you have any ideas as to how we can get back up here once we get the Star? Because we will.”


She sighs, but her gaze flickers around the tree as if plotting something. After a moment she speaks. “There’s a quick and easy move that can get us back up safely,” she replies in a low voice, so the wolves don’t hear. “It’s risky to be sure, but it may work. We’ll offer to both come down if they give us the Star of Zacharias, and when they do—see those bushes right there, to your left? We’ll both duck in there. It’ll be so small the wolves can’t get at us. Haven’t you noticed how they avoid going through the thickets? Anyway, I’ll take the Star, and once we’re in, I’ll pass it to you. You’ll go around the back and climb back up the tree while I distract them. Then I’ll climb back up after you.”


The plan seems full of faults, but I ignore it and just nod. “Okay.” I lean over to where the wolf pack is. “Hey!” I call. “We want to talk to you.” 


The wolves look around in surprise. When they don’t see anybody, they twist and turn, growling dangerously. “Show yourself!” the lead wolf barks. 


“We’re up here!”


The wolf pack glances up. Their leader stalks forward to the foot of the tree and licks his lips. “Seems like a couple of young colors got left behind,” he remarks to his pack. They slaver and yelp hungrily. 


“We have a deal we’re willing to make with you,” I call down to him, barely concealing my nerves at having their attention directed to us.


“Spill it!”


“If we come down,” I say loudly, “then you give us the Star of Zacharias. But first you must show it to us to prove you have it.”


“Beastly children,” the wolf mutters. “However you found out about it… Eh, sure. Lopo, bring forth the sparkly rock.”


The short wolf trots forward and drops it at the pack leader’s feet. Epatosh noses through it and takes the Star in his teeth, not taking mind on the drool dripping down on it. His eyes glitter with craving and it only hardens my belief that we’re going to lose to him. But with resolved movements, we reluctantly slide down the tree, my heart whiplashing against my chest. We had left the satchel tucked high in the branches, so if we made it back up it’d be safe. And if we didn’t make it back up… then it would all be pointless anyways. I swallow as my feet touch the ground and the wolves look down on us, even ‘short’ Lopo.


Epatosh approaches us. His shadow swallows us in darkness, and my heart pounds in fear as I look up at him. He must be as tall as a horse. Drool drips from his cruel fangs, for his mouth is parted slightly as he stares at us hungrily. His pelt is a rumpled mess of gray and black, snagged with thorns and smeared with dirt. His eyes are small and yellow, glittering as he smiles down at us. Above one eye is a long scar, white and fur-bare. 


He drops the slobber-soaked diamond into Aza’s shaking hands. The second it hits her outstretched palm, the wolves lunge for us.


We immediately twist back and dive into the bushes, their teeth inches behind. Thorns tear at me without relent as I push myself further into the undergrowth. Aza passes the Star off to me in a swift motion. So far, so good. She blocks me as I wriggle through the brambles as silently and quickly as I can. I stumble out of the bushes, having reached the back of the pine, and crouch down low to avoid the wolves’ searching gazes as they try to snap at Aza through the thicket. Guilt washes me. I wish I hadn’t left her behind, but with any luck she’ll come after me soon. The bushes are too thick for the wolves to pounce through, at least for now.


I look for a place to scale the tree, but unlike the front, the branches are few and thin. 


Desperate, I grip the strongest one I see and try to climb up it, but it snaps under my weight. I freeze, my heart thudding loudly. The commotion on the other side of the tree pauses and silence falls. I press myself into the tree and try to hide myself in the shadows. I hear slow footsteps, then Epatosh pokes his head around from the tree’s side opposite the bushes. His eyes light up when he sees me. I can see Aza staring at me in horror from the undergrowth. 

“Give me that Star, boy,” Epatosh growls. His shoulder bones shift as he slowly prowls towards me. Just then the bushes where Aza is crouched shake wildly as a few others in the pack jump down into them. She rushes out, panicked and pale. The wolf grins.


“How delicious. I’ve eaten deer and sparrows and rabbits and lost, lonely men in the woods, but I’ve never seen such a tragic demise like that of a young couple.”


I would normally protest, but considering our situation, I take Aza’s hand, not caring how sweaty mine is. I want to say something, but the words dry in my mouth and leave me speechless. I can feel her shaking like a leaf next to me. 


Epatosh slinks closer, his breath blasting in our faces. He’s past the point of talking now; instead, drool drips from his jaws as he stares at us, luxuriating in the moment. I stare back, not allowing myself to bend to his will to break us. He looks as if he’s going to turn away, then spins back and snaps the air near my face. The wolves behind him yip and slaver in excitement. I pull back, instinctive terror kicking in. He grins. He pulls back and tenses up his muscles… his jaws open, displaying two rows of massive teeth… and he lunges.

Suddenly, something flashes between us and the wolves. Sun and I step back but can go no further because of the pine against our backs. Epatosh springs back in surprise as well, then snaps at it, but it’s already zoomed away. I tear my gaze away from the wolf and see a black orb, about the size of a soccer ball, shooting through the tree branches. It halts in midair then comes speeding back toward us. 

 

Comprehension blazes through my mind as it dives towards the Star. On nothing more than faith and instinct, I shine the piece of the Star Epatosh gave us up at it. The light dazzles it and temporarily startles the globe into retreating once more.

 

Meanwhile, Epatosh paces back and forth and glares at it. He turns his cold gaze back on us. “What is this? Did you get this thing to come?” But we don’t have time to answer, because it’s swooping down once more. Epatosh bares his teeth and springs up at it. He jumps incredibly high, twisting as he snaps at the orb, but it dodges his jaws and continues racing toward me. Toward the Star.


I leap back as it flies past, but I hit the tree. The Star jumps from my grip as I absorb the impact and soars upwards. I gasp and watch as if in slow motion, the Star climbs higher and higher and the black orb comes streaking to it. But before it can grab it, I leap up and close my hands around it. But it’s still coming, flashing, zooming, all I can see. Before I hit the ground, it slashes across my leg and I feel a searing pain above my knee. I cry out and fall to the ground. “Aza!” Sun rushes to me. 

 

Through the haze of pain that now crowds my vision, I can see the Magimahord wolf pack yelp and gallop away in a tangle of spiked tails and whimpers. Epatosh, however, holds his ground and growls at the orb. He says something, but the pain in my thigh is blinding and makes it inaudible. I see the orb rush up through the pine, lashing the branches back as its force shoots through, it tries to grab the satchel, Sun picks up the Star I dropped and aims it, a flash of shattered white light, the orb is attacking Epatosh, I look down at my knee and see red, red flowing everywhere… and then blackness consumes me. 


 

“Aza! Aza, are you okay?”

 

I stir, then weakly open my eyes. Sun is standing above me, his face fearful. An overexcited smile flits across his expression when he sees me return to consciousness. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

 

I nod, unable to speak. He kneels down. “What happened?”

 

“The orb, it slashed my leg. The area above my knee.” I mumble the words, feeling exhausted and limp. Heat pervades my body, dulling my senses and making the world dark. 

 

He looks serious, knowing that I don’t exaggerate often. “Can you walk? Epatosh and his pack left, and so did the orb thing, but they might come back. Something—something weird happened.” He runs his hand through his hair, a gesture that reminds me of Brinjal. I suddenly feel sick for home. I want to go home. 

 

But I steel myself. “Yeah. I can walk. Do you have the satchel? The Star?”

 

“Yes, don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re okay? Shouldn’t we look at that?” 

 

I feel queasiness squirm in me at at his words, but I know we have to check my leg. I have a horrible fear of blood, which is probably why, ashamedly, I passed out. Yet the wound could get infected otherwise. “Yeah…” I gingerly roll up my reddened pant leg past my knee, the blood having soaked through the fabric with alarming rapidity, and then wince in horror. The injury on my thigh is swollen and streaked with blood, but it’s difficult to make out the actual wound considering how messy it is. I feel myself grow dizzy at the sight, but Sun grabs my arm and steadies me. He tears a shred off the blanket and passes it to me. 

 

“Use this to staunch it. Then you can clean it up with some snow.” I press the blanket to my leg, then lean down and scoop up a handful of the powdery white stuff. I quickly remove the blanket fabric and press the snow to my leg. A numbing chill comes over me, and my shoulders slope as I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The snow melts away after a second and I’m able to examine my injury better. The area is about the size of my fist but not as deep as I’d expected. Relief fills me at that, yet as the blood comes up again, not having stopped with the snow, I press the blanket back to my leg. I fight the urge to sit down, feeling exhausted just from standing and the minimal movements. 

 

“It’s not so bad, you see?” Sun says, his voice encouraging. He wraps the second, still whole blanket around my shoulders and lets me lean on his shoulder. We then begin our painfully long, dangerous journey across the forest. 


“Where are we going?”

 

“I’m hoping to find a decently warm area for the night,” he replies and gives me a concerned look. “You don’t need to sit down or anything?” 

“No. I’m fine for now.” I try to look straight ahead so I don’t worry him. But with every step I take, the pain flashes red across my vision. I hobble on, Sun guiding me through the snowy pines.  

 

Twilight is falling across the landscape, lengthening the shadows and lending the world a purple, star-filled dusk. The suns slouch on the horizon, their last yawn for the day. I can see the mountains blotting out the sky ahead of us, and an idea pops into my brain, or rather stumbles wearily. “We should go to Lake Rocky. It’ll have water and we might be able to find a temporary shelter for the night. Or however long.” 

 

“You sure you can make it all the way there?” he asks me, doubt clear in his voice. I nod, wanting more than anything to sit down here in the cold but knowing the lake will give us water and a source of food, such as fish. Many animals go there also, but I’m hoping we can just find roots instead of hunting. I would’ve bought something from The Exchange, but they’re definitely closed down now. Most likely the Magimahord pack had been the reason for their continuous shutdowns, now that I think of it. Why didn’t the Kihonians warn us about them? Maybe they weren’t aware. Ignorance seems the only decent excuse for encouraging two not-quite adults to go into a dangerous area. 

 

We walk a little faster, racing the setting suns. As night draws nearer, a howl echoes across the forest. Whether it’s the Magimahord pack, a regular pack, or even a lone wolf, we’re still vulnerable in this state. We climb over the soft pine-covered floor, the land sharply sloping upwards. Shadows devour the woods, seeming to be etched into the air itself until we’re blindly peering around. Then the darkness grows even denser, and I know we’re looking right at the mountains. The moon faintly lights up its smooth dark rock, patches of snow on the lower parts glowing. The lapping of water sounds close by, and I can tell we’re close. We come to the edge of the trees, then I gasp in amazement. 

 

Where the lake begins, the sky opens up above it, revealing the canopy of glittering stars spun like a cobweb high above. Everything around us is glinting with silver under the pale light of the moon, from the blades of grass to the pines and firs, which shimmer as if cloaked with some kind of hoary gilding. I soon realize why: the forest has succumbed to frost. Even the lake’s waves are tipped with white, rolling up against the crunchy dirt. This must have happened after the suns set, when light was scarce and chill was high, some kind of nightly phenomenon. We pace along the shore, looking for somewhere to go, but everything seems to be swallowed up in the glittering ice. 

 

I step forward, then trip and land hard. I gasp as jagged pain shoots up through my leg. Sun drops beside me. “What happened?” 

 

“I stepped into some sort of hole,” I say, catching my breath. I sit up and look to where I’d fallen. The earth seems to have caved in, leaving a big gap in the ground. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it, but most of it was hidden under the draping tendrils of the bushes. 

 

“Hey, I think this is a sort of tunnel,” Sun says, leaning over and looking into it. “I don’t know how far it goes on, though.”

 

“It might be shelter,” I say hopefully. Sun picks up a stick from the ground and pokes it into the hole. It goes in all the way and his arm keeps reaching in. He flips the lid of the satchel and pulls the Star from it, then locks the fourth piece into place with the other three. The Star glows brighter, and he uses it as a light to probe around the dark space. 

 

“Don’t leave me out here,” I say, suddenly afraid. He pulls back out.

 

“Let’s both go in together. I think it’s empty.” 

 

I move over to the cave and we both get on our hands and knees before being swallowed up in the darkness, the Star being our only source of light. As soon as we enter I realize this is more than just a cave-in. Instead of roots and dirt hanging around us, the walls are made of rock that seems to have been put there purposely and smoothed over to hold the ceiling up—more like concrete than rock, in fact. The tunnel widens more as we go in, then opens up into a sort of cave, big enough to where we can sit on our knees. Sun sets the Star down, and its sparkling glow lights up the cave and chases away the shadows. The cave itself is surprisingly warm, only letting a small chill seep down from the tunnel.  

 

“We can stay here,” Sun says. He stretches out the blankets on the rough ground. “Is your injury okay for now? It might close up a bit by tomorrow. It wasn’t a terrible amount of blood.” 

 

“Yeah, it’s fine. But… Sun?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What are we going to do? The Star and everything—that can’t wait.”

 

“Don’t worry about the Star,” he assures me, sitting down on the rock. I can see his eyes glimmer in the dark, reflecting his worry. But something stronger shines past. There’s a reason why he’s being so kind, but I can’t figure out why. “We’ll stay as long as we need to until you’re better.”

 

I want to protest, but I know we won’t be able to do anything until it does heal a bit. If the walk across the forest was that hard, then it won’t compare to the miles we still have ahead of us.


 

The suns’ cool gray light shining down into our cave rouses me. I push back my blanket and sit up, immediately wincing as pain twists through my leg. I’d almost forgotten about yesterday…. I glance around the little cave, expecting to see Sun sleeping by me. But I’m all alone. Beside me is the bow, the quiver of arrows, and the contents of the satchel: the Star, one apple, and a few old crackers. Maybe he just went to refill the flask, I think as fear washes through me. But it doesn’t explain why he took the satchel along with the flask. Now’s not the time to get lost in the woods or be discovered by some savage animal. 

 

I crawl out of the tunnel of the cave, glancing around as I do so for Sun or any signs of danger. But the lake is empty, and the only noise is the wind rushing through the pines and a crow’s caw echoing through the forest, coming from all directions because of the otherwise absolute silence. 

 

Just then I hear footsteps crunching over the pine needle-covered ground, and I turn to see Sun come through the trees. He’s carrying the satchel, which now has dark green leaves poking through. He grins when he sees me and pushes back the flap of the bag, revealing several Mathar plants. I recognize them from history class. It’s a kind of vegetation well known for their edible roots. Maybe Sun had paid our teacher some attention, after all. 

 

“You shouldn’t have left me alone,” I scold him as he drops the bag onto the rock. He shrugs. 

 

“Well, the food we do have isn’t going to last forever. I figured I would surprise you, but seeing that you’re already awake…”

 

“Thanks,” I tell him, feeling too harsh now. Maybe I’ve been too stern on him. He tried, after all.  “That was sweet.”

 

His gaze flicks down to my knee. “What’d you do to it?”

 

“I cleaned it up. I’m worried, Sun, about our journey. We—”

 

“—discussed this yesterday,” he finishes. “Look, just let it heal, okay? You can’t defeat Black if you’re hopping around on one leg. Here, have some roots.”

 

I pick up one of the Mathar plants and rub it in snow to cleanse it. Then I bite the tip of its root off. It's thick and bland, tasting of earth still. I want to spit it out, but I force myself to swallow it. Sun does the same. “This is awful.”

 

“It’s temporary. We’ll be home soon.”

 

“Yeah, home.” He’s silent for a moment. “Aza, something weird happened yesterday, after you were unconscious. I didn’t want to tell you last night because everything was happening all at once, but it’s coming back to me now.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“After the orb slashed you, it started attacking Epatosh as if it’d completely forgotten about the Star. He used his magic to snap off a tree branch and tried to throw it at the orb, but it dodged it and kept coming at him. And then Epatosh said something even stranger. He said, ‘This is stupid. Leave me alone. It’s him you’re looking for.’ But the orb was getting more and more aggressive so he fled with it after him. They weren’t looking at us anymore. I had pulled you into the bushes as best as I could. I climbed back up and got the satchel right after they left. Then I pulled you back out to check on you. It was horrible, Aza. I thought I had lost you.”

 

“Do you think the orb was Black?” I ask him.

 

He nods. “I’m sure it’s Black. I got that same feeling as I did when we were in the Drowned Cave. But what was Epatosh talking to him about? Who is ‘he’?” 

 

“Well, I’m sure he was talking about the Star of Zacharias when he said he didn’t have it,” I reply, feeling puzzled. “But maybe Epatosh was confused. I thought Black was just looking for the Star, not for anybody. Well, I can’t explain that, but I know that wolf doesn’t seem to be right in the head.”

 

“This means that Black must be close then,” he says darkly. “If that was his orb.” 

 

I shrug, feeling even more tired. “We’re still new to this whole thing. We don’t understand what everything means, except for one thing. Black is evil, and we have to make sure he doesn’t take over Belux. Hasn’t that been our mission since the beginning?”

 

“I guess you’re right.” He sets down the root and sits beside me. “Maybe I’m overthinking it and we just need to focus on the present. Shouldn’t we try to go hunting?”

 

“Of all things…”

 

“I know, I know. But we need protein, Aza. Floret gave us that bow and those arrows for a reason. I’ll do it. You’ll stay here.”

 

“I just don’t feel comfortable killing innocent animals, even if it is you doing it.”

 

He gives me a pleading look. “Just let me. If you change your mind, then you’ll have the option of deciding whether you will eat it or not. But I need meat.”

 

I sigh, knowing it’s better to have something than nothing. “How long will it take? I don’t want you out in those woods for long.”

 

“A few hours. Probably most of the day.” He stands up and picks up the bow and quiver.

“Well, good luck then.”

 

“Thanks. I’ll leave the Star with you. If there’s trouble, just try to use it the best you can. You’re probably better at it then me.” He swings the bow over his shoulder more comfortably and heads away into the trees. I watch him go, feeling concern and confusion run through me. So much has changed since we began. Everything’s happening so fast now, sped up as our journey draws closer to its end.

I leave the lake behind and follow a little path snaking through the undergrowth, most likely formed by rabbits regularly passing through or something. As I walk through the pines and the dense undergrowth, I’m disappointed there’s nothing to show for any signs of life except my own footsteps crunching over the frosty ground. I press onwards, allowing the forest to swallow me up in its white mist. The shrill calls of a bird ring through the woods, echoing throughout until it’s impossible to tell where the noise came from. 


Having never hunted before, I naturally stick to the clearest areas, but I soon realize that’s going to be a problem. The woods appear to be empty—but that’s only an appearance. When I do head deeper into the brush, I can hear the chitter of squirrels and the clatter of wings through the stiff branches that signal birds. But every time I try to get closer, the noises fade and my noisy tramp is the only sound. I try to tread more quietly, but then the bow crashes against the bushes, being large and unwieldy. After maybe half an hour of this, I pull back out in frustration, wishing I had the Star with me to flush out something, anything.


Then I try a different tactic: waiting for the prey to come to me. I sit with my back to one of the trees, sitting as still as possible, with an arrow in the bow. After a good ten minutes, the first bird flutters past, then perches on a branch, eyeing me and chirping occasionally. Then a couple more birds join it, but they’re too far away for me to make a good move and not send them scattering. I wait for another half-hour, but they don’t move closer, only eventually flying away. I scratch my back against the trunk of the tree, feeling itchy and irritable. Patience is not my forte. 

 

Just when I think I’ll get up and go scrounge for some more roots or something, then the bushes shiver and a rabbit emerges, but it’s still too close to the bushes for me to even dare to breathe. It hops forward a couple of steps and nibbles on a tuft of grass, its body posed to run at a moment’s notice. Seeing my chance, I jerk up the bow and attempt to shoot the arrow, but it just jumps out and buries itself into the ground, its end wiggling madly. The rabbit springs away, its hind legs carrying it into the bushes in two quick jumps. I jump up and throw the bow down, all attempts at silence and stealth lost in my frustration. “Aza would be much better at this patience thing,” I mutter, “not that she would ever use it to hunt.”

 

Just then, the bushes rattle again. I look up, expecting to see the rabbit again, or at least some new prey. But it’s a fox, with a rust-colored coat and a rabbit dangling from its jaws. My rabbit. I lunge at the predator, but it dodges my grip and plunges into the bushes opposite from where it came from. I grab the arrow I shot from the ground, stick it in the quiver and grip the bow, then squeeze through the bushes after the fox, feeling fury boil in me. That’s my catch! 

 

The fox has long disappeared, its narrow body able to squeeze through the brambles with much more ease than me. I follow the direction where I think it went, wincing as thorns snag in my clothes, but then I come to the end of the bush where I crouch down in the shadows and peer out, holding the branch down with my hand.

 

The thief has joined a circle of five other foxes. They stand in a small clearing with their tails swishing as they anxiously look at each other. The fox I saw—who I realize must actually be not much older than a cub—skids to a halt in the middle. The older foxes look down at him with disapproval in their keen gazes. “Miro, you must learn to control yourself,” an elderly graying fox scolds. “We are too busy discussing important matters of the forest right now to involve ourselves in your silly games. Go read Nietzsche or something.”

 

My jaw drops. Did the fox just talk? I know the wolf pack could, but foxes are of such an inconspicuous species, I’d never suspect them of sharing the same ability. And he told him to read. What else can these forest animals do that I’m not aware of? Cook? Surf?


Miro shakes his head excitedly. “No, Chirop, this isn’t a game! I saw the boy.”


Silence falls over the circle. The foxes stare down at Miro. “The boy? What do you mean, the boy?”


“You know, the one everyone is talking about.” Miro stands still, looking at his father expectantly. But the foxes have fallen silent again, deliberating mutely. Most people would be moved to words, I realize as I gaze at them. Something compels me to stay back, as if my petty matter of a stolen catch would only interrupt the wise thoughts at work here concerning their land and lives. 


Then Paha speaks. “The stars warned against one, someone with hair like the suns. We have already attributed this identity to one of the two young ones crossing Belux. Yet the fact that they are here in our scape of territory is unprecedented news.”

 

“Oh, I knew it was a bad idea meeting out in the open like this,” a female with big ears frets. 

 

“Hush, Gina dear,” Paha says to the female, presumably his mate. He curls his tail over her back reassuringly, then looks down at Miro. “Son, tell us what you saw. No fibbing!”

 

“Of course, Pater,” the cub says, sitting down with his tail curled over his paws and chest puffed out importantly. “I was out going hunting like Mater told me to, and at first all was going well. I caught a rabbit! But just as I was headed back here, I caught sight of him and recognized him by his bright hair. I immediately fled, but he tried to chase me. And he had a bow! So I ran back here, although he pursued me me, and I don’t know where he is now. In reflection, I ought to have turned in a different direction, hidden for a time, and then returned. I may have led him here. I’m sorry, Pater.” The cub bows his head.

 

The others break into mutterings at the little one’s words. But Miro’s father raises a paw and silences them. He turns back to his son, his tone serious. “Thank you for being truthful. Indeed it was a potentially consequential error in judgement, and you would have done better to exercise caution. We will leave it to the hands of fate and see how it bodes for us. Now, in address to the rest of you, I bear a weighty topic on my mind. I was withholding it for I was planning to disclose the news later when things may have calmed down, but the present must suffice. I’ve been talking to Theresa the blackbird, who lives up north near the Double Greenwood Tributary. She informed me that yesterday the two wild adolescents ran into Epatosh. The girl was injured, but if you saw the boy, they must still be roaming this area.” He shakes his head. “Back in the olden days, our ancestors would never have tolerated this. But now our forest is run-down with savage beasts and selfish colors.” 

 

Gina, the noisiest fox—which is saying a lot—gasps. “Paha, what are we to do? With them both here, we’re all at risk!”


Paha shrugs. “Something happened with them and the wolf. Theresa didn’t clearly understand what they were doing as she does not speak the tongues of the humans, but judging by their actions, they assumes they were trying to partake in a trade. Epatosh was facing them off when a black orb, Black’s orb, came shooting past and wounded the girl. The whole pack bolted except for Epatosh, who attempted to ward the orb off and destroy it with his magic. The orb started coming at him, so he broke off his attacks and raced after his pack. All I know is that he’s angry now. Epatosh doesn’t flee. He’s afraid we saw him, and he’s attacking anyone he sees to get back his esteem. An angry Epatosh will endanger us all, and we’ve been terrorized enough. Did you hear about what happened at The Exchange? We need to split up into smaller groups, otherwise we’ll receive unwanted attention from the Magimahord.”

 

“We ought to go now,” Chirop says. 

 

Paha nods. “Chirop, Aron, and Ziggy, you’ll take the den under Bent Tree. Gina, Miro, and I will conceal ourselves in Raincatcher Thicket. Don’t come out unless I send a bird saying it’s safe.”

 

Chirop joins Ziggy and another fox, presumably Aron, and they all turn tails and dive into the bushes with practiced ease. Paha and Gina exchange hushed whispers above their son’s head, then they fade into the dense pines in the opposite direction of the others.


I drop my hand and the branch swings back up, throwing me into darkness, but I might as well not have seen it. My mind is racing as I think about the conversation between the six foxes. What did they mean, the stars had a warning against someone with ‘hair like the suns’? My hair fits that description, but why would the signs warn against me? What could it mean? Too preoccupied to think about anything else, I gather my stuff and move out from the bush, heading back to the cave with nothing to show for my time and efforts.


Aza looks up in surprise when I come back down through the tunnel empty-handed, my movements jerky as I sit down. “What happened? You look worried.” 


I sit down and explain to her what had happened. She looks just as confused as I feel, but just shrugs. “If Black’s looking for us, he’s looking for us.”

 

I stare at her. “You’re not worried at all?” 


She laughs. “Oh Sun, if this journey has taught me anything, it’s that if I keep worrying, things will only get worse. We’ve pretty much figured out that he was looking for us when he sent that orb.”


“Yeah, but I thought you’d be… I dunno, scared. You’re usually so cautious with everything.”


“It’s been one of my greatest faults,” she admits. “But I do feel awful about our presence here. They don’t seem to know that we’re here to defeat Black. They probably think we’ve just brought Epatosh’s wrath down on them, which we have.” She sighs. “I feel like we’re just making things worse for everyone now by staying here. We should leave.”

 

“I told you, we can’t leave until you’re better. We’re way up north, and it might take all day to get down to the Austorina Woods. It’s too risky.”

 

She huffs, then changes the subject. “Anyways, what are we planning to do with the Star when we get it? How are we going to use it against Black? I don’t believe in reciprocating the violence he uses.” 

 

“We’ll just have to figure it out as we go along,” I say after a minute. “There’s nothing we can do to plan ahead. We don’t know what could happen. And you said you’re going to stop worrying, so…”

 

“But still. Shouldn’t we at least have an idea?” 

 

I open my mouth, but no words come. She shrugs. 

 

“If you’re so sure. Maybe something will happen and we won’t end up using the Star against him.”

 

I look away in silence, knowing I can’t crush her weak optimism now. Chances are we’ll end up face-to-face with Black before all this ends. I feel it in my bones, just like I felt his presence and emotions. And one side will be ultimately crushed, but as to which one is impossible to tell right now. 

We eat some more of the Mathar roots, having nothing else as the food Aguaje gave us is gone now. Sun spends the rest of the day trying to shoot fish in the icy lake, but to no avail. I watch him from the tunnel entrance, keeping an eye out for wolves and other predators that may be lurking in this forest. It’s dead silent all around, broken only by the sound of arrows splashing in the water and Sun’s huffs of irritation, but I feel like there are creatures sneaking around the edges. Once a deer comes to drink from the water, but when Sun looks at me, I shake my head. There’s no way we’re killing something as innocent as that.


A couple of days pass in this routine: I wake up, eat some roots and berries from the bushes surrounding the lake, check my injury for any signs of healing, wash up with melted snow, look over the map, and hang out with Sun. But most of the time I spend in the little cave, resting and willing my leg to heal. I can tell Sun is getting restless, his gaze flicking off to the distance where the Austorina Woods lie, but there’s nothing I can do for now. Each time I suggest leaving, he turns my suggestion down with a shake of the head.

 

Our conversations have also grown a bit more profound, focused not just on our journey, but we also talk about our lives back home. I tell him about the various classes and extracurricular activities I’m taking, but I can tell they bore him. So I ask him questions. 

 

“Why do you play the guitar?”

 

He looks surprised at the question. He’s just returned from picking berries and is now leaning against the mountain, relaxing in the weak sunlight. I’m sitting on the edge of the cave, watching him. He thinks for a moment. “The guitar is something special to me. And it’s something I’m not horrible at.”

 

“Why’s it special? You just like music?”

 

He shrugs and looks a little distant, his gaze clouding over. “My mom got me my guitar when I was five years old. She had always supported me, and when she bought me that instrument, I fell in love with it. How could I not? But I haven’t played anything on it since she died.”

 

I watch his expression, the faint trace of sadness stirring like ash stirred in the wind, and I feel my heart ache for him. But there’s a persisting need to know him as he truly is, not as he lets himself be known. “So you’re afraid to play it because it would be invoking old memories.”

 

He looks up. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve never had someone who’s defined it like that. But I guess I’ve never told anybody else. Um. What about you? I know we talked about this, but… we’re alone now, and I want to know the truth. Don’t you have a passion?” 

 

I swallow, my mouth dry all of a sudden. But something in me tells me to relax. I’ve grown comfortable around Sun and knowing that he’d confess his deep thoughts to me eases my anxiety that comes every time I open my mouth. He’s the first person I’m not uptight around. “That’s my problem. I don’t know if I have one. I’m afraid… I’m afraid I couldn’t amount to anything if it weren’t for my mom.”

 

“I don’t agree with that.”

 

“But you don’t understand,” I say desperately, suddenly feeling the urgent voice in my head, the self-criticizing pang that’s constantly reminding me to prove myself to everyone, including him. I thought I’d dropped the voice away with his presence, but it comes churning up again more intensely than ever. I suppose I’ve always had that need to prove myself because I’ve never been able to efficiently do it for myself. As a result, I’ve been left feeling empty inside, trying to fill a hole that nobody else would ever pull me out of. Nobody ever knew. I did too good a job of hiding it. But he’s insane. Nobody could ever match him or satisfy him, and he’s insane. But I can’t help feeling shame next to him, the mortifying knowledge that he’s better than me because he’s gone so far and tried everything in his ability to find that satisfaction. All my life I’ve been the one to do best, but I’ve always been punished because of it, and now I know why. It’s in the natural state of things. I was going against the flow. He’s swept his arm across the table like me, and he’s yet caused less harm than what I’ve done to myself and to others by pushing them away. But when I look back up at him after these agonizing thoughts, he’s giving me a strange look.

 

“I think I do understand,” he says softly. Then it hits me that he’s analyzing me in the same way I’ve been trying to do to him. And I know he understands and we’ve both been trying to do this all along and we just didn’t know. But instead of feeling peace with recognition, I find my anger flaring up that he thinks he could get inside my head so easily when my defenses have been up for so long. 

 

“No, you don’t. I’m not the most popular girl. I’m not the loudest one in class. I’m not even the friendly, quiet one that everyone likes. No. I’m inhibited, I’m anxious, and I’m a jerk. I can’t even talk to other people my age comfortably.”


“You’re talking to me just fine.” 

 

I turn on him, speaking steadily but with rising anger at his prying calmness. “Sun, I don’t know what you hope to get out of a conversation with me, but you have to realize I’m not giving myself up this easily. You don’t know me, and you never will.” 

 

“What in Belux are you talking about?” he asks, looking bewildered. 

 

“I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work with me. Can we just accept that we were never meant to be together? Our differences are too great, and this thing between us? It won’t last, it can’t last. You don’t know who I really am. I don’t know who you are.” I inhale sharply, not wanting to meet his gaze, feeling some silent pleading within me. But I can’t allow for that. “We’re lying to each other like this, and it’s bad. We’re trying to create and maintain something that wasn’t meant for us. You think I’m just trying to make divisions because I’m shy or something, but it’s for a reason. You think I’m someone special, but you’re talking to a loser, someone worse than yourself.” I pause, feeling myself grow hot. Did I really just say all that out loud?


Sun stares at me, and my cheeks burn. I probably just destroyed the last shreds of friendship between us. But I should have learned by now; the only acceptance I can seek is for colleges. So I do what I always do and lower my head, waiting for the numbness to tingle over my body like another layer of protective skin. But I can still feel the heat of his gaze. Then he speaks in a quiet voice. “That’s not how I see you at all.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re shy and beautiful and stunning,” he tells me. “You’re fiery and soft, like fire wrapped in rose petals. You’re sweet, caring, and generous. Why don’t you see it? I’m not blind to the wonders of this world, and I know you’re one of them.”


I’m touched, astonished, by his words. But it’s not enough to change my mind. “I have to survive,” I whisper, “even if it means cutting off this connection with you.”

 

“No,” he murmurs back, his eyes sparkling with that consistent good humor. But the rest of his expression is serious. “No, this is not how this works. You can’t just survive. You have to live.” 

 

“What does it mean to live?” I ask him.

 

“I don’t know, and I don’t expect to know right away. But I know you’re a resister, if you’re so stubborn with me, and I think that’s what the world needs right now.”

 

I laugh. “That’s a bit narcissistic. We both know you’re the true rebel here.”

 

“No,” he says, then, “no. I’m dumb and cocky and all I’ve ever gotten out of life are some crappy friends who aren’t afraid to tell me they think I’m a loser who can’t hold his own. Well, you know what? I couldn’t care less about what they think or do, and I’m so sick and tired of being caught up in this whole mess.” He stops, breathing hard. I’ve never seen him look so intense.

 

“Sun, when the Magimahord pack was surrounding us and Epatosh was about to attack us, right before the orb came through, what were you thinking?”

 

He bites the inside of his cheek and is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks softly. “I was thinking about how much I want to see Belux. And how I wouldn’t get that chance. Aza, it made me realize something. I want to live, not just to exist, but to live. I used to go through each day thinking, well, what happens today doesn’t matter and I couldn’t care less.” He pauses. “But then I realized how much I do. Life may try to suck in every way possible, and it can try all it wants, but there’s always going to be good things. Like the silent midnight hours. Or the smell of rain. Or loud music. All these things I want to enjoy while I still can. Never mind. I sound gushy.”

 

I slowly move down from my perch on the rock and sit down next to him. I lean my head on his shoulder, and he grips my cold hand in his warm one. We sit like that for a couple of silent minutes, then he leans down and tries to kiss me. I move away instinctively. He draws back. “Did I do something?”

 

My heart taps in my mouth. “No, I just don’t… I don’t—” I hesitate. There’s something about him I’ve been struggling to analyze from the moment I saw him, a charismatic darkness which seems bent on self-destruction, ebbing and flowing, being very unpredictable, dragging me into its own inconsistency. I’m just not ready to confront something like that yet. 

 

His breath ruffles my hair as he murmurs into it. “No kissing just yet, then.”

 

“I’m sorry I doubted you so much when we first met,” I tell him. 

 

“We held too many prejudices,” he agrees. 

 

“You were just too different. I didn’t know how to comprehend it.”

 

“That’s why I was attracted to you.” 

 

I lean back on him again, bemused by his easy agreement, and he wraps me in his arms. “What about Celosia?”

 

“I don’t care about Celosia anymore. I never liked her. As soon as we get back, I’m breaking up with her. This, I mean us, we’re real now.”

 

I want to ask him more. Does this mean I’ll be his new girlfriend? But how could that be when I doubt Mom will approve of him? I’ve never dated anyone before, and I’ve also never felt this way before. How can our lives in the Metroplex ever return to normal after this? But it’s too much, all too concerning in this soft moment where we’re together but alone under the sky in the woods, so I let my worries go. Who knows when—or if—this’ll ever happen again? 


After a couple of nights here, howls in the distance rouse me. I lay awake, staring at the rock above me. The howls grow louder, closer, and footsteps race by our cave. Then they slow and a snuffling comes as one of the awful creatures checks out our tunnel. My spine prickles as fear trickles through my veins like cold water, but I don’t dare move a muscle. Then leaves crunch as the wolf moves away and joins its pack, their cries whipping away in the wind as they draw away. The forest is silent once more. I don’t fall asleep for another half hour or so. I hear Sun’s uneven breathing beside me and know he’s awake as well. 


A few more days pass in that slow routine, until we’ve spent a total of five days in these terrible woods. The longer we spend here, the cold seems to seep into my bones, but we’re unable to make a fire for fear of attracting unwanted attention. My wound begins to close up and soon I’m able to walk back and forth without it bothering me. So one chilly day, when the sun is slicing through the branches of the pines and dissolving the mist on the forest floor, I find Sun and tell him I’m ready to leave. Although some small part of me suspects I’m rushing myself more because I’m terrified to stay here any longer. 

 

We’re both stir-crazy and fed up with the dark forest, so we pack up as quickly as possible and then leave our little cave behind. Sun carries both the pack and the bow, refusing to let me take a single thing. For a good part of the morning we half-jog through the trees, eager to escape the territory of the wolf packs. It’s mostly silent in the woods, except for the occasional screech of some bird. Our feet crunch the pine needles at a steady pace as we make our way out of the woods.

 

All of a sudden, a spine-chilling howl cuts through the air. My heart crashes against my rib cage, urging me on. Please don’t be Epatosh. Sun and I exchange a look. We start sprinting, the trees whipping by, their branches reaching out to slow us. The howl sounds again, but this time a series of others join it. We race faster and faster, our feet sinking into the snow as we just barely keep ahead of the wolves. 

 

Then I feel a pang in my leg where my injury was. I gasp and lose my balance as the pain shoots through me. Sun doubles back when he sees me fall and helps me up. “Hurry!” I stumble forward, pushing past the pain, my legs aching as I push myself on. How close could the wolves be now? But I don’t dare to glance back for fear I’ll fall again. 

 

We run through a thick cluster of firs, our clothes catching on the branches, but we tear past desperately. I can hear the excited yipping of the wolves now; they could only be a few yards away. I twist my head to the left and inhale sharply as I see them racing alongside us gleefully, flashing through the trees, their muscles stretching in time as they lengthen each massive stride. They gradually veer to the right, their jaws dripping with saliva. Toward us. At the front of the pack, a little way ahead of us, is Epatosh. He looks back and sees us, his lips twisted into a cruel smile. 

 

Nevertheless, we keep going, bounding over fallen trees and dodging thickets and trying—in vain—to keep to the right.

 

I feel as if my body has succumbed to instinct. Every jump I make is a move I don’t even think about. I dodge a low branch without knowing it’s there. But even though I may be trying my hardest, the wolves’ pace is fluid and almost lazy as they draw closer.

 

The land slopes down and the pines thin out, giving way to the Double Green Tributary below. The wolves thunder down the hill alongside us, their gazes fixed on ours. Epatosh looks down to the creek below us and snarls something to the pack. Whatever he said makes them run faster, their expressions almost desperate. 

 

Our feet hit the bottom of the slope, and cold water splashes around my ankles as we wade into the tributary. The clear black waters are churning and frothing around Sun and I, like a creature waiting to swallow anything that tries to cross it. I glance up and down the bank, but there’s nothing that’ll safely—and dryly—bring us to the other side. 

 

“We have to swim across!” Sun shouts to me. 

 

“But my leg!”

 

“No time!” He dives into the water. I throw a glance back to where I see the wolves rushing towards us, their jowls slavering and eyes mad with hunger. I slosh into the river after him, the icy water slapping against me. When it’s deep enough, I lean forward and plunge into the freezing waves, setting a quick stroke that’s stiff with terror. But the current pushes at me and carries me in a different direction, until all I can see are the dark waves towering around me, blocking my vision. I splash upward, confusion and terror rushing through me. What if I’m swimming back toward the wolves?

 

But when my head breaks the surface I can see I’m nearing the opposite bank. I’m utterly exhausted from the chase and now the water drags me down, but I toil on until I feel myself bump the opposite bank. I crawl out and stretch out on the soil, allowing myself to rest as the suns beat down, shedding their warmth. The blanket I’m wearing is heavy and claustrophobic on me. Wait. I lift my head up and peel it away from me, but it’s still decently warm here when compared to the frigid chill of the Sukafram Forest. I turn to Sun, who also looks surprised. He squints at all the sudden sunlight blearily. 

 

“Is it just me, or does it feel like the temperature went up twenty degrees?”

 

“We’re in the Austorina Woods now. There’s a considerable diff—” I trail off as my gaze lands on the bank from where we had just come. “What are the wolves doing?”

 

Across the river, the Magimahord wolf pack is pacing at the edge. Epatosh stands behind them with his legs braced, snapping at wolves and forcing them to wade into the river. But every time they touch the surface, they jump back and yelp as a white spark fizzles up at them. This continues for several minutes. One wolf flicks his tail at the water, sending a sort of blue flame into it, but the white spark jumps up and stings him. “Could it be more magic?” I murmur, half to myself. Sun shrugs.

 

“Anything is possible. I’m just glad we got across. Now, let’s get out of here before those beasts figure out how to cross the river.”

 

Now freed from the wolves, we observe our surroundings. The trees here must be oaks and birches, because although they have no leaves, the bark is paper-gray and sunlight filters through the branches, lighting up the clearing. Animals roam through without fear of wolves. A couple of Winderloppers, tall birds with horns, are drinking from a pond, watching us with their bright eyes. Bash-birds shove each other off branches and flap ungracefully to the ground. A Slunder dozes in a tree nearby, its great body coiled around the branch as it watches us with one slitted blue-and-green eye.

 

“This is beautiful,” I whisper. I gaze at the spiraling swarm of Leafins flapping around us. One of the brightly colored insects lands on my shoulder and flaps its brilliant wings. I stroke it lightly with my fingertip. Although it’s late winter and still cool out here, it doesn’t stop the animals from coming out and enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. 

 

We walk slowly, allowing our clothes to dry in the beaming sunlight. I sigh in contentment, relieved to be out of the eerie, wolf-filled forest. 

 

Sun paces by me, his yellow hair glowing like fire. “Ready for the Lasij Rainforest?”

 

“Mm. Aren’t you worried?” I’m a little surprised by his confident voice. After all, who knows what kind of animals the jungle will contain if the Sukafram Forest had magical wolves? Even though I may be trying to stop concerning myself with every little thing, the jungle is no small matter. 

 

“Not really,” he replies. “We got out of the Metroplex illegally. We ran from Peacemakers in the desert. We went up into the mountains and met a wild tribe. We escaped from the wolves. We’ve gotten all the pieces we need so far. What can’t we do?”

 

“But what if that’s all just luck? What if it’s going to get harder?”

 

“And what if it doesn’t? Stop stressing, Aza. We’ll be fine.”

 

I want to believe him but worry still nags at me. The Lasij Rainforest is known for its dangerous animals and tangled foliage that one can easily get lost in. How could we get through if we don’t have a compass? But maybe he is right, and we will come out okay. Belux isn’t exactly easy to cross, but we’ve done it. I should be proud, not fearful. Then why do I feel so troubled? We walk on in silence, but another thought disturbs me. “Sun, why was everyone so afraid of the Sukafreys? Why were they talking to you like that?”

 

“Rudely, you mean?”

 

“Well, I guess so. But don’t you find it weird? I think it has something to do with the Magimahord, although I’m not sure what. It’s almost as if they were afraid of talking to us. Like they didn’t want to be blamed for the conversation. I don’t understand it exactly.”

 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I mean, I’d be curious if it was another kind of people acting like that, but I think it’s just them. Sukafreys are weird people. Now that I think of it I can remember my dad telling me to stay away from them. They’re reclusive.”

 

“Reclusive isn’t an excuse,” I say hotly. “Many people can be called ‘reclusive’. But there’s something more specific going on.”

 

He shoulders the pack and avoids my gaze. Or maybe he’s just too busy looking at the path. I don’t know. There seems to be no way to discern what he’s thinking right now. Then he twitches suddenly and moves the satchel over. He flicks something off of it. I see a small black shape fly through the air and soar into the bushes.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Some kind of bug,” he mutters. “They seem to be everywhere out here.”

 

“Oh.”


We continue walking until gentle yellow light falls across the trees and the shadows grow long. Then when night comes and darkness creeps on, we find a clearing deep in the trees. Feathery soft grass grows there, covering the sun-warmed earth. Paper-gray birches turn orange from Clarimonde’s setting in the northwest, and all the light birdsong which had filled the day quiets down until the only sound are crickets chirping and a breeze tiptoeing through. Where the night in the Sukafram Forest had felt stifling and ominous, here it feels much calmer and lulling. It’s hard to believe we’re only a few miles away from the dark pines and the Magimahord pack.

 

We lay out our blankets and instead of eating from our current supply of food, we pick blackberries off of the bushes nearby. It’s not too cold, so Sun and I agree on no fire for tonight. As I lay down, staring up at the starlight shining through the branches, I can’t help but feel content despite all of my previous worries. Maybe Sun is right. Maybe we will be fine. After all, how can a world so beautiful hold any more evil than that of what it’s already shown, when such scenes like this exist?


I wake up before the suns rise, when the morning is still cool and when the world is still sleeping. For a second, I lay there, confused why I’m looking up at leaves framed against a pale blue-gray sky. I’ve forgotten what I’m doing, where I am, who I am. I feel nothing but tranquility and a mild puzzlement. Then I remember, and my first thought is: We’re almost done.


Our journey is almost over. Everything that’s happened now will be lost when we return. No, not lost. But to become a memory. Nothing will change. 


Nothing will change. 


I roll over and look at Sun, whose brow is slightly furrowed, his face troubled as he dreams. About what? I feel the thoughts plague me again, ones I’ve only tucked away since the beginning of the journey only to surface now. Why’d he really ask me to go on that walk with him? What was he thinking in choosing me? It all feels like we started a million years ago, as if time has slowed but also been sped up at the same time. I’ve come to do something I’ve secretly desired forever: to understand a soul other than mine, to know what someone else is truly thinking. I’ve only known myself, but even then not that well. I meet so many people in my daily life, yet I only get to know what they choose to reveal. At first, I wondered if I truly wanted to exchange my thoughts, and it wasn’t just me deceiving myself and underestimating the risk of getting hurt. Then I realized I do. Throughout this whole experience, Sun and I have come to acknowledge our beliefs and emotions on a deeper level. And it feels amazing.


Yet there are even more questions the further I come to connecting to him. What are his motives? Why does he feel the need to be so rebellious? What does he think about his friends and school? What does he think about me? Does he ever get lonely like I do?


Sun stirs. I quickly turn away and close my eyes, afraid he’ll think I’m a creep for watching him. He pushes away the blanket and stands up. I open my eyes and ‘wake up.’


“Morning,” he says. “Ready to enter the jungle?”


“Yeah,” I reply. “You?” I’m wondering if he’ll show some flickering sign of lapse in nerve, but he just nods and looks calm and collected as he starts packing up. We eat a quick breakfast, then begin to hike through the woods to the Lasij Rainforest. 


As we draw closer to our destination, the air becomes warmer, and soon I find I’m sweating, and not just from exertion. The air is heavier and moist, like a damp cloth pressing down on us. The birches and oaks that surround us thin out and soon we’re standing on the top of a hill before Suncross comes around. Below us is a stretch of grass, covered with a handful of huts. Cooking fires stand outside, and colors with dark skin and bright hair are walking around barefoot, dressed in intricate leathers and beads. Some people carry monkeys and parrots on their shoulders, but other animals, like dogs and goats, run wild around the camp. Butterflies and Leafins flutter past us and fill the sticky air. And behind all of this is the jungle, rising tall and hot and verdant, with its tangled vines and screeching birds. 


“This must be one of the Lifa’ru-speaking villages right outside the rainforest,” I tell Sun, feeling fascinated with the bright colors and prospering life. He nods, silent as he takes in the amazing view with an expression of awe.


We descend the hill, almost slipping in the mud at the base. The colors turn to us as we approach. A man with hair even more vivid than Sun’s steps forward from one of the huts and offers us a bowl of honey. He says something in the language Lifa’ru, but I can’t make it out. I take the bowl. “Gratiti te,” I say, it being the only words I know in Lifa’ru, meaning ‘thank you.’


“That man was unusually nice,” Sun remarks to me in a slightly suspicious tone. “Not tense, like everyone in The Exchange was.”


I shrug. “Maybe it’s because there’s only two of us. There were three different groups at The Exchange, all mostly equal in number. We’re also just kids, and so raggedy now I don’t think they’d have any reason to fear us.”


Sun and I move through the village, taking turns sipping from the honey. It’s rich and warm, but not too sugary like the kind we’re supplied with in the Metroplex. We had planned to immediately head to the Lasij Rainforest to make up for the lost time, but it’s been a little while since we’ve been among people and I can’t help but slow down to study the village and admire how it functions, so different from the Hoh Metroplex where everything is quick and frenetic. Here it’s slow and calm. I see people walking by carrying baskets and exchanging amicable greetings. A little stream runs by the village, and children splash in it as older colors do laundry in the clear running water. 


It reminds me of our lessons in history class back at school. Mrs. Dijon had always described the other parts of Belux as poor and miserable, created merely for crops and agriculture. In our class, the cultures have always been discussed in a factual, sometimes pitiful way, as if they aren’t ‘civilized’ enough. Yet as we walk throughout the village, the natives giving us friendly smiles, I see a whole other way of living. I see a whole culture with its own meaning and its own traditions. I’m reminded of Aguaje and the word he said: Ubuosa, and how it means that there’s a special bond between the giver and the repayer, not just the typical fluff you get when meeting somebody in the city. Here there’s a heart-to-heart connection, even between the obvious extroverts and the introverts, one that I admire. From the simplest word to the most complex action there seems to be kindness and well-meaning behind it. It’s beautiful, and somewhere in me I feel that the whole world isn’t falling to pieces and that there still is hope to be had. 


“Hey, I know we planned to go directly into the jungle,” Sun says, “but I’m hungry. Shouldn’t we eat here?”


I wonder why I hadn’t thought of it first, but I guess I was too distracted by the new sights. I nod. “Good idea. What’s that place over there?”


Near the tangle of jungle is one hut which has only one wall and a sloping roof with dry grass draping over the edge. A sign above reads Dessa Fabre Juntagke. I am clueless as to what it means, but it looks like a restaurant with several little tables outside just below the roof. We approach it. 


A man behind the counter looks up from stirring a pot when we walk in. He has rumpled, flaming red hair and a muted expression. He says something in Lifa’ru. 


“Do you speak English?” Sun asks him. The man looks confused and shakes his head. 


“I guess we’ll just have to communicate through gestures,” I tell Sun, then point to the pot he’s stirring, which has a kind of thick soup boiling in it. I nod at that and hold up two fingers. The red-haired man takes two bowls from a stack beside him and ladles the soup into them, then sprinkles some leaves onto it. He sets the bowls on a plate, then puts a small lump of bread on the side. He shoves them to me, holds up two fingers like I did, and says, “Sterz.”


“Get two Sterz out of the satchel,” I tell Sun. 


“Two Sterz?” he says. “He’s ripping us off.”

 

“Just get it,” I say tightly, surprising myself. However, something seems wrong about this man, from his tired eyes to the slow and forceful way he moves. “I don’t want to get into a fight.”

 

“No,” Sun says fiercely. “This is too much for that.” He jabs a finger at the mini platter, and the worker looks puzzled and angry.

 

“Excuse me, is there a problem?” a curious voice from behind us asks. We spin around and see a man watching us. He must be in his early thirties. His pale skin contrasts sharply with that of the Lasijians, yet he seems to fit in with his kind, inquisitive smile that is the trademark adoption of the village people. He has a strong build which would appear threatening if it isn’t for the warmth in his eyes. He has purple hair as lush as the surrounding vegetation and a faint beard. He’s holding a pan. 

 

“He’s asking us to pay two Sterz for a couple of bowls of soup,” Sun replies, but his voice falters at the sight of this newcomer with a pan in his hand. 

 

“Flame Red?” the man asks, frowning slightly, putting the pan on the counter. “Yes… Flame has reason to raise the price so high, although he shouldn’t.” He sighs deeply. “His son disappeared eight weeks ago while working here. We don’t know where he is, but… we’re afraid he got lost in the jungle and was killed.”


I look at Sun. His face is drained of color.


“I’m—I’m so sorry to hear about that,” he stutters.


I swallow. So something is wrong. 


The man nods and turns his gaze to the dirt floor. “It’s been hard on Flame. He was his only son. They were very close.”


He looks at Flame and says something to him in Lifa’ru so rapidly that I can’t discern a single word. Flame looks at us angrily then throws his hands down on the counter. He speaks loudly, directing his anger at us. The purple-bearded man winces. “He says he will either have you pay the two Sterz or leave.”


Sun lifts his head up and down slowly and opens the bag. He shakily hands Flame not two Sterz, but four, the rest of my money. “I’m sorry. I did not know,” he says, and the man translates for him. Flame’s expression is still pained, but he shakes his head and tries to push the extra money back. Sun backs away, his hands up. Flame then tries to give the Sterz to me, but I gently push it back to him. He gives us both a half-smile. “Gratiti te.”


Sun and I take our food and walk to one of the little rickety tables. “Thank you for translating,” I tell Flame’s friend as we walk by. 


He gives us a half-smile. “I’m Gladiolus Purple, but all of my friends call me Gus. Who are you and what brings you to the Karponlei Village?” He follows us as we take a seat. 


I dip my bread into my soup and take a bite, not to be rude, but to think of a way to reply as Sun is staring at me pointedly. “We’re here to meet a friend of our school. He’s a photographer of birds and he loves the rainforest. He wanted to take us with him when he found out we love them too.” The words stick in my throat, but I’m surprised how quickly I made that up. When did I become good at lying? 


But Gus just nods. “I also love birds. Perhaps he might come by and show me photos sometime. Although, I’m sorry you had trouble here with Flame, but you must understand how despairing he is. He and his son were very close. In fact, we all loved him. Everybody did.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sun says awkwardly. “I’m really sorry.” He looks down at his food, and I wonder if he’s thinking of his mom. 

 

“How do you know our language?” I ask curiously, feeling a bit too eager to change the subject. “I thought most people here speak just Lifa’ru.”

 

“Many do, but I was actually born in the Hoh Metroplex. I came here when I was thirteen years old. It’s very peaceful and there’s a lot to learn from the jungle. I particularly have taken an interest in the Jamas. They are very interesting creatures.”

 

“Jamas?” I repeat, picturing the monkey-like creatures with gray-brown fur and dark googly eyes. They’re known for their amazing climbing skills and how they can go without touching the ground for years at a time. They’re cute creatures, yet as common as Grengans, and it surprises me that Gladiolus would take so much interest in them.


“Do you ever go into the rainforest?” Sun asks him, sounding confused. “I thought that the Lasijian tribes lived among the trees, not just outside.”


Gus gives us a stern look. “The jungle is a dangerous place, not to be meddled with. The disappearance of Flame’s son was only one of the many other disappearances which have occurred in there. We get many people passing through, but although we warn them, they never come back out. Only older and more experienced adults, like me, can enter for essential purposes, and even then they don’t venture into the heart. When I’m studying the Jamas, I only hang around the edges.”


Sun puts down his bowl, which he had been sipping from. He looks unusually interested. “What’s in the heart?”


Of course, I think to myself. The center of the rainforest is where we need to be in order to find the fifth piece of the Star. But what could be there that’s so dangerous that even the natives avoid it? 


Gus exhales. “Matyarks.” At our blank expressions, he expounds further. “Surely you’ve heard of them in school.”


“Of course,” I reply. “They’re the big animals with the colorful scales and feathers, and the long tails with spikes at the end. Their pelts are prized in our city, unfortunately. But what about them?”


“You may know them as solitary creatures,” he says, “but in the center of the jungle there is a central camp where they all go to meet up with others. Some stay temporarily, others for their whole lives. It’s a place of refuge. It’s where the Matyark mothers stay when they have cubs and it’s too risky to roam the rainforest. Matyarks have predators too, like giant eagles, which don’t come down from the mountains often but still do for mating season. You’d just have to be suicidal to walk in there.”


“Yeah, our friend just goes around the edge,” I say uneasily. “Can you offer Flame our condolences?”


Gus smiles. “Of course. Well, I’m going to let you two enjoy your meal. It was a pleasure talking to you.” He turns and heads back to the counter to help Flame.

 

A sudden thought strikes my mind. “Um, wait!” Gus turns around curiously. I hesitate for a second, a light in my head going off so rapidly I’m surprised I didn’t think about this before. “Flame’s son. What was his name?”

 

He watches me closely, looking bemused by my expression. “Aguaje.”

I stare at Aza, whose expression is one of shock. Gus goes back behind the counter to help out Aguaje’s father, who doles out some more food for incoming village workers on their lunch break. Aguaje’s father.

 

“How’d you know that was his dad?” I ask Aza. She shakes her head, looking just as disbelieving as I feel. 

 

“Aguaje told us he worked at a restaurant by the rainforest, remember?”

 

I think back to our conversation with the ill slave and recall him talking about when he was captured by Black. And the red hair… how could I have not thought about it before?

“He was gone for eight weeks? No wonder he looked so sick…” 

 

Aza nods gravely. “That’s awful. I’m glad we talked to him, though.”

 

“We have to do something,” I tell her in a low voice. “They need to know he’s alive.”

 

“We can’t. They’ll just press us for more information.”

 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey,” I say slowly, “it’s that people are suffering everywhere. We’ve seen amazing things out here, but we’ve also seen pain. And if we’re able to ease that pain, just a little, then I’ll know this journey hasn’t been in vain, even if we don’t succeed.”

 

Aza swallows at my words. “Maybe you’re right. But just this one time.”

 

“It’ll be the last,” I promise. “Hey, Gus!”

 

Gladiolus looks back at us, not a single hint of irritation in his eyes. “Yes?”

 

“Can you bring Flame over here?” 

 

Gus murmurs something to Flame, and they both walk over to us. Flame says something in Lifa’ru and Gus translates for him. “Is there something wrong with the food?”

 

“Oh no, it’s great,” Aza assures him, then looks at me uncertainly. “Sun, you tell them.”

 

I nod and address them both. “Flame, your son Aguaje is alive. He’s going to be rescued soon and—” I pause mid-sentence. “What’s that noise?”

 

A sudden buzzing is starting, growing louder and louder at a rapid pace. It thrums in the air itself. I look down and see the rocks on the ground skipping up and down. This is all familiar, but I can’t figure out how or why. But while Aza and I are looking around for the cause of the noise, Flame and Gus are exchanging words, hope glimmering on their faces as they turn to us for further explanation. “What do you mean?” Gus asks. “Tell us more!”

 

But we don’t have time to. At the top of the hill from where we had come, the three transports that had pursued us across the Kihono Desert climb to the top and then come racing down toward the village, gliding down over the rise smoother than an arrow’s flight, kicking up dirt into the faces of the unsuspecting natives. They’ve come for us.

 

As they whir closer to the restaurant where the four of us stand, Gus and Flame look down at us in surprise. Without a word I grab the satchel and Aza and I take off into the trees. “No!” Gus calls after a silent moment, recovering his ability to speak for the appearance of the high-tech machines. “Come back! It’s too dangerous!” 

 

But we ignore him and continue running. The trees tower above us, the branches and undergrowth intertwining so tightly that at first I’m afraid it’s impenetrable. Then Aza points to a sort of path leading in, probably used by the villagers here, and we both bend down and crawl through it, vines having snaked over like a canopy. Once the path ends, we straighten up and sprint away from the transports and the villagers, whose calls echo behind us. 

 

I push through the bushes ahead of me, heedless of my clothes catching on the branches, tearing past nevertheless, ducking under the giant leaves of the giant trees and dodging past tangles of the greenery. The heat here is incredible, hot and moist and heavy. It presses down on me as everything else passes by in a green blur. My breath catches in my chest, and I wonder if the transports have found a way into the jungle. If so, would they know where we’d gone? How did they find us in the first place? Something’s wrong here, but I’m too preoccupied with darting through the brush to think much. 

 

We run for half an hour before slowing down. We then alternate between jogging and walking, not talking much as we try to catch our breath. 

 

“Do you think we’ve left them behind?” I ask Aza. We’re fully immersed in the rainforest now. The trees block out much of the sky, but shafts of warm yellow light stream in through the mossy branches. Frogs croak and crickets chirp and all kinds of other animals hoot and holler and shriek and yelp and squeak and warble. Mosquitoes and gnats hover in great swarms in the air. We bat them away as we walk along. 

 

“I think so,” she replies. “But where are we?”

 

I pull out the map and study it. The Lasij Rainforest takes up much of the bottom left-hand side of the paper, but there’s nothing there but drawings of the trees and flowers to use as a landmark to find out where we are. We’re lost. 

 

I show Aza this, and she raises her hands as if trying to push down the air. Or the heat. Or both. Here they’re practically the same thing. “Okay. We’ll just keep walking until we figure out where we are.”

 

We continue moving through the jungle, pushing past foliage and putting more distance between ourselves and the village. Or so I hope. As the suns begin to sink, shadows creep across the forest floor. However, the various noises of the forest don’t seem to die down; they only grow louder with the oncoming darkness. As night swallows us up in its gloom, we walk faster, searching for a place to stop. But there’s nothing except the dense, endless rows of trees and bushes and fronds and flowers. And if my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, I can see eyes glowing through the duskiness, nocturnal animals which have come out to roam the jungle now that sunlight has gone.

 

As more time passes, the air seems to grow hotter, if that’s possible, and the jungle sounds become sharper and more pronounced, etching their way into my ears and crawling into my brain. As we walk I’m aware of every that crunches underfoot, as if my senses have been heightened to make up for my lack of ability to see. It’s as if the forest has swallowed us up in darkness, trapping up in this thick heat. We’re lost. The jungle closes in on me, and my thoughts begin to spiral in the loud silence. The bugs rattling through the bushes. The glowing eyes. Our footsteps ringing out. The stifling heat. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t see. And beneath it all, the same feeling I got when I went to the Drowned Cave. He is near.

 

I stop abruptly and bend over with my hands on my knees. I feel Aza pause beside me, nothing more than a shadow. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t take this anymore,” I gasp, feeling shaky. “What do we even plan to do with the Star once we have it? How can we keep going when it’s obvious that we’ll have to confront him sooner or later, and it’ll have to end badly for us?” I don’t need to say any more. We already know who I’m talking about. 

 

“You’re the one that encouraged us to go on this journey and said everything would be fine,” she says, although I can detect a note of concern in her voice. Has it hit her already? “Have some water. I think the heat is getting to you.”

 

I push the flask she’s offering away. “No. Listen, Aza, I’m serious. I can feel him. I—”

 

She shakes her head. “You’re just getting nervous. We’re going to be fine. You said so yourself.” But her tone falters in the last sentence. 

 

“You’re worried too,” I accuse her, sounding angrier than I would’ve liked. “What haven’t you been telling me?”

 

Aza glances away, her violet hair shining in the moonlight. I remember earlier during our journey and how much I admired it. I still do. But a pang runs through me. Something’s off. “Look,” she says and almost sounds choked up, “do you think we’re going to be friends after this?”

 

“What do you mean?” I ask, surprised by such a simple question. But then, I reflect, what if it’s not so simple? What if we’ve grown apart, and the Aza I have gotten to know will never show herself to me again? “Are you saying that things will go back to normal? But they can’t!”

 

“Lots of things have happened to us. To us and between us. But how can society not separate us eventually? Out here it’s so pure and simple, but in the Metroplex we have responsibilities and people who have expectations of us… and we just don’t go together, do we?”

 

“This isn’t just something that becomes a small memory,” I tell her firmly. “When we started, we knew we’d be different people after this. This is just part of the process. But I’m worried about now, not later. What are we going to do about the Matyarks?”

 

“Stop brushing me off!” she says loudly. I nearly jump back in surprise. Then she speaks again, sounding near to tears. “I’ve already realized the threats we’re truly facing even though you’re just now acknowledging it, and it’s been in my mind all along. But during our entire journey, you just keep ignoring what I think. It only matters what’s going on with you. And I think—no, I know—that you don’t take anything seriously. You’re not thinking about the future and what’s going to happen. I’m the one who’s had to do that my entire life and I haven’t stopped. I’m the one with the future as a Breeder. It’s what I’ve been working for my whole life. And now that you’re confessing your fears, maybe this has all just been one big mistake, a spur of the moment journey that fell into the wrong hands. I can’t afford to be unpredictable like you. It’s going to end up hurting me later on. But you, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

“You still don’t understand,” I say tightly. I kick a rock and send it crashing into the nearby fronds, and the memory of me doing that after the fight in the Metroplex, the night before our journey began, flashes back into my mind. How much has changed since then. “I came on this journey not because I find pleasure in risking my life, but I wanted to see if anyone would care. I am a nobody. I’ve been a nobody all my life, and this is my way of fading out from a city that’s already dead. I want to be nowhere and everywhere by accepting that I am dead, dead to these people and in the true state of things, from the viewpoint of the future and the universe that saw Earth vanish. The people I once called my friends told me to my face that I get too ‘emotional’ sometimes, and then other times I’m just full of apathy. I’m either jaded or crushing myself with thoughts no one wants to hear. Why can’t I be happy, even if it’s just before I’m an adult? You’re not the only one with problems just because you think you’re so important. You don’t even want to be a Breeder, yet you put so much effort into it, and why? Because your mom said to. You’re not going to voice your opinions because you’re afraid.”


“You’re afraid too,” she retorts, pushing past some fronds. “It’s why you wanted to run away. You’re scared of living a normal life and being like everybody else. But guess what? You’re not special, I’m not special. Nobody is special! The only thing that matters as an individual is stability, that you have a reliable career and a good home. The world doesn’t care if you’re denying it of yourself. It will just crush you, and everyone is crushed at some point.”


“So why care then?” I challenge her, feeling the blood rush hotly through my veins. I clench my fists. She’s hit a bad spot, one right underneath the hide I’ve formed. I’ve told her I’m afraid, but she seems to understand why more than I ever have. Yet it’s as if she’s trying to antagonize me by sharing the thoughts of my enemies. It’s as if she’s trying to scare me into realizing what we’re about to do, but it’s running along the space in between the parallel of that and of an insult against my beliefs and principles. And now it’s my turn to say something equally stinging. “You’re just a tool. You’re selfish. Haven’t you learned anything? Are you so blind that you can’t see how awful this world is? We are no different from Earth, but we have been born and raised on even more deadly lies. We are blindly sliding towards oblivion. There’s pain everywhere. The Sukafreys are terrorized by the Magimahord. Floret was banished from her tribe, her home, to live alone on the mountainside because of a terrible accident she made in her teens. The Peacemakers watch and sit around and grow richer. People are dying, forced apart, and made subject to the system that grinds and crushes individuals. It’s a wonder we don’t all kill ourselves out of guilt and conscience for the sufferings of humanity. Being out here isn’t relieving my mind from feeling trapped so much as forcing me to see the true nature of the world. People live in fear and uncertainty, and you’re not even going to try to change that in some small way, but instead go on living a ‘normal’ life? I thought you cared.” 

 

She stares at me for a minute, then when she speaks, her voice is dangerously low. “Don’t tell me what to think or do when you don’t know what you’re saying. Being a Breeder is the best I can do in this new world. You try to go above that, you get crushed. You’re right about that. There’s always going to be someone better than you who puts you back in your place.”

 

“And who is that for you?”

 

“What?”

 

“Who’s the person that holds you down?”

 

Aza shakes her head. “I never said—”

 

“Always. You said always.”

 

Her eyes flash. “I mean… the Civil Headship. It’s always been her. But it doesn’t matter. My mom just wants her to show me what a good future looks like.”

 

“And does it look like a good future to you? What’s ideal for you? Does repetition and the same old thing every day, every year, for the rest of your life satisfy you? Why don’t you go do something beneficial to everybody instead of freaking out about how much even stepping off your path will—”

 

“Just stop!” she yells, and this time she’s crying. She sits down on a nearby rock and buries her face in her arms. I feel guilt flash through me, so I stop. For the moment. I go to sit by her, but she lifts her head up, anger glimmering in her gaze. “Nothing makes you different, Sun. You just like to think there’s some higher purpose in life, but you’re wrong. What I’m doing isn’t for me, it’s because I have to. My only other option would be to end contact with my mom and work at some lower-level job. I have no other options beside what’s been planned for me. Can’t you understand?!” She’s practically hysterical. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, mostly to get her to shut up. I hate it when girls cry. But she just gets worse.

 

“It’s people like you that think you’re entitled to a perfect world. What do you have planned for your future? What are you going to do when you grow up, if that ever happens?” 


I stare at her, feeling shocked. I’ve never seen Aza this heated up. She glares back. “Well? What are your dreams, Sun? What makes you think the rules don’t apply to you?”


“Rules shouldn’t apply to anyone! We’re all a bunch of sheep and I’m sick of doing what’s right! Can’t anyone trust me to follow my own morals? Why does everything have to have limitations? Why should I have to do what someone else who’s now dead decides for me? Let me tell you a story, Aza, one nobody else will damn tell you. My mom had cancer. The government had magic that was capable of curing that stuff, but they said it was too risky. As if she could get any sicker. They only use their magic for controlling everybody in the Hoh Metroplex. No, they couldn’t make her better. They let her die. And they don’t care. The next day they came to our house demanding we pay the bills. My mom’s job had supported our family so much, and my dad had to quit his job as a trucker to be with her. We had no money. So we had to move. My dad’s still swimming in debt. All the government cares about is reaping in their money. Only then will they leave you alone. Why do you think they left when the wolves were attacking in The Exchange? Because they’re cowards.”


For a second there’s complete silence between us. I bury my hands in my hair. Heavy shame washes over me. Am I cursed to always embarrass myself? “I’m sorry. I just—”

But she interrupts me, her voice resolved. “No, Sun. I can’t do this right now. I need to know. Are we going to be friends after this, or will it all disappear? Will everything that’s passed between us be lost?”

 

I open my mouth to reply, but no words come. At my expression, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. We have no choice now but to finish what we started, but from now on, we’re nothing more than traveling companions.” She stands up and begins walking once more, and as I stare after her, my heart throbs in my throat. What have I done?


 

We finally decide on passing the night up in the wide branches of a tree, although I don’t get much sleep, and not only due to the bark digging into my back. I don’t think Aza does either, but during those dark hours we don’t exchange a single word. Overwhelmed and confused by our situation, I don’t know whether to hate or admire Aza for her choice in stopping us from continuing our friendship, or even just the amicability of shared company. It’s a shattering fall when I think of how much hope I had that we’d further our relationship, but now that’s impossible. But maybe she was right. Maybe we have too many differences, ones which were forgotten only when it was just us come together to roam an unfamiliar world. But back in the Metroplex, we’ll have the same friends and family and the same duties. Have we been defined of who we are supposed to be forever already? I’d always thought that secondary school was a chance to mess around and see what kind of person I wanted to be, but had the past few years turned into chains dragging us down instead of opportunities?

 

When the rainforest grows lighter we eat some fruit from the trees—Payakis, I think they’re called, sort of like a cross between an apple and a banana with a round shape and a thin red skin, but with pale mush on the inside. We head south, at least in the direction we think is south, only talking when talking is necessary. There’s a horribly thick, tangible tension between us, not sparking with the connection once wound between us, but substantial like water, impenetrable like a veil. 

 

After a couple of hours of walking the jungle falls silent around us. No bird calls ring through the dew-ridden plants, no animals chirp and growl from the bushes. Our footsteps crunching on the leafy floor are the only noise. Then we come to a row of bushes, tangled with thick green vines and wide leaves. I slowly push down the fronds. We look beyond them, and Aza inhales sharply.  

In front of us is a large clearing with Matyarks scattered all throughout. They slouch in the tree branches, their long, spiked tails flicking as they drowse. They prowl through the grass at the edges, jumping after bugs and snapping at them. The cubs roll around with each other, a blur of rainbow-colored feathers and scales. The mothers watch from nearby, and the fathers stalk around the camp, growling softly. There must be at least two dozen. 

 

I glance around for any sign of the Star, but there’s none. Then Aza points and speaks tersely. “There.”

 

At the end of the clearing opposite from us is one tree which towers above the rest. Only one Matyark sits in it, a great beast with shining scales and massive yellow teeth it shows when it yawns. It watches the others below it with one eye open as it naps. Besides it is a wooden chest with a golden lock. And the key is on a cord around the Matyark’s neck.

 

“How in Belux are we going to get that?” I whisper.

 

She shrugs and pulls back. The fronds jump back up, rustling. We freeze, but nothing happens. “There’s no way we can go in there,” she says, her teeth chattering. 

 

“We have to,” I reply in frustration. “We’ll have to use the Star.”

 

“No, Sun!” She tries to grab the Star from me as I pull it from the satchel. I hold it away from her. She glares at me, a sullen, hurting rage in her usually mild gaze. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to kill us.” She jumps up again and grabs it. 

 

“Give it back!” I try to wrest it away from her, pain filling my own heart and distorting my thoughts, but she pulls it back. Suddenly, it jumps from our grip and soars into the air, crashing through the bushes and disappearing. Into the Matyark camp. 

 

A roar sounds, shaking the bushes. I dive into the undergrowth and stick my hand out into the clearing, groping for the Star, which must be lying nearby. But Aza pulls me back. “Don’t be stupid!” 

 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” I push through the bushes and roll out into the open, where the Matyarks are climbing to their feet, baring their teeth and stalking towards me. I spot the Star lying in the shade nearby. I have to get it. I lunge, snatch it up, and push through the bushes back to where Aza is. But just when I emerge, a Matyark crashes through the vegetation and skids to a halt in front of us. The rest fan out behind us, sticking their heads out through the fronds and snarling. We’re trapped.

 

“Thanks a lot, idiot,” Aza says through gritted teeth. 

 

I feel panic run through me. “I’ll protect us!” I aim the Star at the Matyark directly in front of us, but Aza pushes me away. 

 

“Don’t you remember what Floret said?” she asks furiously. “Never use magic against an animal or a person if you can help it!” But just when she pushed me away, the Star shot out a beam of light, which has now caught the undergrowth on fire. A violet fire, similar to that of Floret’s.

 

The Matyarks hiss when they see it, then turn back to me with a hungry gleam in their eyes. Just when they’re about to pounce I aim the Star at them again, hoping to make a bubble to get us out of here, but instead a whole stream of little bubbles issues forth, drifting along harmlessly. When one touches a Matyark to the side of us, it pops, sending a blue spark into the air. 

 

“Just give me the Star!” Aza shouts. But I can’t. It’s as if the Star is stuck to my hand. I try to shake it off as the Matyarks close in on us, but more magic streams out. A few rocks on the ground turn into flowers. Patches of dirt around us melt into boiling mud. A silver mist comes creeping out and shrouds us until we can’t even see the Matyarks surrounding us.


Aza, at least I think it’s Aza, grabs my hand and jerks me away from the giant cats, who are now yowling as they panic and run through the fog, then get caught in the mud-holes. We slip through the trees quietly, then break into a run. Once we’re a safe distance away, Aza turns to me with fire in her eyes. “What was that about?” 

 

“The Star, it got stuck to my hand—” I lift up my hand to show her and spread my palm flat, but it just rolls off and hits the ground, emitting a bright flash. She scoffs. I pick it up, adrenaline and exasperation making my head light, and slip it into the satchel. “It’s not my fault.”

 

“But it is! It always is with you, Sun. I’m the one taking this seriously and trying to complete the Star, but you try too hard and end up making a fool of yourself and foiling all my attempts.” She shakes her head. “Maybe you just leave me to finish getting the Star.”

 

I can’t believe my ears. “No! I’m the reason this journey was started, and I’m going to finish it.” 

 

She crosses her arms and looks upset. “I’m not letting you.” 

 

“There’s nothing you can do—” But Aza has already reached inside the satchel and withdrawn the Star. She holds it, closes her eyes, and then… is gone. 

 

“Aza?” I ask, feeling a bit panicked. “Where are you?”

 

“Wow,” her voice says, but I still can’t see her. “I didn’t think that would work!”

 

“Where are you?!”

 

“The Star turned me invisible.” She pauses, then speaks again, this time more seriously. “I need you to let me do this, Sun. So… I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry about what?” I ask. “Sorry about what?” Then I feel something twisting around my wrists and knotting them behind my back. I look behind me and see some kind of silver thread looping themselves continuously around me. I flex my wrists, suddenly panicking. But they won’t snap or even stretch. Then without warning, I’m floating upwards, and I’m up in a tree, looking down at Aza, where a faint shimmer shows where she’s standing. I try to talk, but my mouth has been covered as well. 


“I’m sorry, Sun,” she says softly. “But I need to do this. I’m going to make you invisible too. If someone touches you then the magic will come off. You’ll be safe here. Just try to relax, okay?”


Whatever happened to never using magic against animals and people? I want to ask, rage and helplessness thumping through me as I struggle against the bonds. But she’s gone, leaving me tied to a tree far above the ground, unable to be seen or heard. I slump against the trunk, feeling sick and bitter. I’ve really done it this time. 


And Aza. She’ll be in great danger with the Matyarks. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and neither do I. I need to get her to stop, to come back, but there’s no way to get myself out of this position. Unless someone touches me. But there’s nobody around. 


After a few minutes I begin to nod off, exhausted from our journey, but a rustling in the grass far below rouses me. I peer over the edge of the branch, my heart pounding. I’m a sitting duck here, even if I am invisible. What if it’s a Matyark? But then the grass below me parts and two people walk out. Gus and Flame.


I try to call them, but it’s useless. I pull against the ropes, but they hold fast and don’t even shake the tree. The two Lasijians seem like they’re going to pass by, but then Gus sticks out his hand and whispers something to Flame. Just then I notice how tense and weary both look. Flame lifts up a bow he’s holding and nocks an arrow, standing quietly and swinging it from side to side. I freeze. Now it’s even more dangerous to make noise if he lets loose that arrow. 

Gus creeps forward, his large shadow slipping over the forest floor as he paces noiselessly to the foot of the tree. He looks up, and for a moment his eyes connect with mine, but then they’re looking through me and sliding away. Desperate, I swing my knees against the trunk. The leaves whisper. Gus turns back, then leaps up the trunk and onto my branch with the skill of a big cat. He walks forward, then his foot touches mine. I feel hot energy rush through me, vigorous and burning, and the magic which made me invisible is cast aside. The ropes around my wrists binding me to the tree come loose and fade away. I examine my hands, finally able to see them again, then look up at Gus, whose head is cocked as he gazes at me with an expression of mixed fear and surprise. 


“Sun? What happened? What are you doing here?”


Flame shouts something from below. Gus responds in Lifa’ru, then glances back at me. “Come down the tree.”


I scramble down the trunk after him, slipping just before I hit the ground and landing in the bushes. I stand up and brush leaves off of me, disgruntled. Flame looks at me in shock. 


“We have to rescue Aza,” I say quickly. “She’s in danger. Matyarks. They saw us, almost caught us. Aza tied me up. Left me here. She said she had to get Star by herself.”


“We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on,” Gus says firmly, but looks alarmed. 


“What do you mean, Matyarks?”


“There’s no time to explain,” I insist. “But how’d you know I was up there, Gus?”


He looks startled. “I, uh—” A moment passes. “It was the wind. It was blowing differently, slanting off the bark in a way it shouldn’t have been. We were looking for you, after the Peacemakers left. What about Aguaje?”


“Can’t explain now. Can you guys help me save Aza? You know the jungle better than I do. Please.”


Both exchange glances. “Of course, but you have to promise you won’t go in there again without one of us knowing. You’re lucky you weren’t eaten by some hungry, ferocious animal. The rainforest is a place to be respected, not trodden on like some sidewalk.”


I nod, eager to get going, then follow them as they slip through the bushes to the Matyark camp, the wind and my loud inexperienced footsteps being the only sounds. 

I slip through the trees, treading as quietly as possible. I can feel the magic the Star cast surrounding me, flowing through me like a separate entity. It’s amazing, a little weird, but mostly amazing. I must admit thought, it’s a little weird to invisible. I look down often, expecting to see my feet threading through the undergrowth, but because there’s nothing there, not a single perception availing my senses to guide me, I end up tripping often. But as I begin to get the hang of it, I wonder how Sun’s doing up in that tree. I hadn’t wanted to do that to him, of course, but my frustration with him was turning into genuine fear. I’ve already been injured, and the stakes are only rising. Now it’s all starting to add up. Now is when every single decision matters, when there’s no room for pleasing his ego. I always have the luck for bearing the weight of the consequences of others’ mistakes, anyway, which I know from experience.


But why did I let this go on for so long? Was I trying to please him? Perhaps some part of me had known he was corrupting my efficiency that I usually have when working alone, but maybe I’d tried to push it away because I saw something in him that sparked something new in me. I’ve always been afraid of something bad happening from me letting down my guard, and now it seems that I was right all along. Or maybe I’m just being my anti-social self again, and it wasn’t him that was the issue. I feel a pang of guilt but push it away. He was definitely causing problems. He’ll understand when this journey is over that this was best. 


As I push forward into the undergrowth, it suddenly occurs to me that we’re really in the middle of the Lasij Rainforest. This is no longer a joke. So much action engulfed us as soon as we stepped foot into the trees, including how we were pursued into the rainforest. I feel a twinge of guilt for leaving Sun stuck in a dangerous position, but I reassure myself with the thought that I’ve never failed that badly. But there’s still time for that….

 

When I see the bushes that surround the Matyark home come into view, I slow my steps. The air is practically crackling with tension. The mist has mostly cleared out, all the bubbles are gone, and the dirt is slowly hardening again, but the stones that Sun turned into flowers are still flowers. I aim the Star at them and they return to their original form, then I peer over the bushes. 

 

The Matyarks have resumed their general activities, but this time there are visible signs of anxiety in the clearing. The adults glance around warily and keep their cubs close. I also note that they’re crowded on the opposite side of the clearing, staying away from where all the magic had been. 


The Matyark up alone in the tree—the leader, I’m presuming—is now sitting up, his gaze roving around the clearing. The key on his neck glints in the sunlight, but it’s beyond me as to how I’m going to obtain it. I’m sure the chest is locked, and if the Star’s in there I’m going to need it so I can unlock it. I wonder if the key is ever off him. If not, I’ll have to figure out a way to use the Star to get it, then without directly using it obtain the other piece. The magic won’t work if I use it on the other Star, and it might cause some sort of chaos and disturb all the other cats, even if I am invisible. Thankfully I’d also done a scent smell to conceal myself from their sensitive noses. 

I weigh the diamond in my palm and think hard. I could use the Star to directly draw down the key, but how to use it obliquely for the box containing the fifth piece of the Star? If I manage to get some kind of implement, like a stick, I could make it float up and hook it by its latch to bring it down to me. It’s not a horrible plan, at least in my head, but it’ll take extreme caution. 

I crouch down in the shadows behind the thicket while the suns dip lower and lower. My stomach grumbles, but I just pick a few berries off a nearby bush and hope that it’ll take the edge off my hunger for now. 


As dusk falls over the jungle, the Matyarks begin to curl up and relax. Even their great leader lays down sleepily and begins to heave with loud, jerking snores. I wait until I’m positive they’re all asleep before I slip out and move through the glade, padding past the sleeping beasts and zigzagging through the lengths of fur, claws, and tails as I aim to where the tree with the chest is. The surface of my skin prickles tightly with fear, and I hold my breath with such tension as if I’m expecting to be torn to shreds in a moment’s notice. As I tiptoe through the middle of the clearing, one of the cats stirs and sends its spiked tail crashing into the dirt only a few feet away from me. I freeze, a fierce energy sparking and shooting through my body that commands me to run, but the tail doesn’t move again.


I continue forth, taking extra care to tread quietly. Eventually I come to the foot of the great tree, and standing below its massive boughs, I clutch the Star of Zacharias in my hand, praying this will work. I close my eyes and focus until I can almost picture the shifting colors of the Star in front of me. I grasp hold of them in my mind and will the magic up to the tree. Even though my eyes are still shut, I can ‘see’ the magic; I can see the colors thrumming and twisting as they climb up to where the Matyark leader is. The gentle and tranquil feeling that the magic brings with it settles over me, and I feel confident evenin the midst of these slumbering savages. But then something inside me suddenly coils with chilling alarm, and the calm air surrounding me shatters like a bubble. I open my eyes, confused, then look down in horror. I’m turning visible again.

 

My hands are gradually returning to view. I twist them as the rest of my body appears, then I look around in panic. All it takes is for one Matyark to open its eyes and alert the rest of the clearing. I’m trapped. And if I move back now, their chances of catching me are higher than ever. 

 

Just then the bushes at the other end of the clearing rustle. Sun pokes his head through, and his eyes widen when he sees me. Horror fills me, but I press my finger to my lips and give him an urgent look to not make any noise. My magic connection wavers, but I turn my attention back to it, still watching Sun. Then Gus and Flame look out beside him, I inhale sharply, and the magic dissipates in a moment. “What are you doing here?” I mouth at them, frustrated anger filling me with their appearance. 

 

“Helping you,” Sun mouths back. He whispers something to the two Lasijians. They nod and leap lightly through the tangle of tails and feathers across to me. Gladiolus stands by me protectively as Flame climbs up the tree. He picks up the chest and, after tucking it under his arm, reaches for the key and with a quick motion pulls it off around the great Matyark’s neck. I can’t help but gape. 

 

Flame slithers back down the tree, drops to the ground, and darts back to us, all as if in a single fluid movement. I turn around, ready to head back, but then my heel falls into a little dip and I reel backward. I stumble and try to catch myself, but then I hear a crack underfoot and a sharp hiss. I lurch forward in surprise as the aggravated Matyark draws itself up with its injured tail and towers over me. Gus pushes me out of the way, stands in front of the giant cat, and surrenders the silence to the present danger: “Run!”

 

As all around us the Matyarks rise to their feet, growling and spitting, Flame pushes me past them and we try to move back to Sun. But the beasts surround us on all sides, and Sun’s urgent look of dismay is cut off from my view. As I gaze at the present danger, I hope fervently that he’ll remain where he is. I know Sun. I know he’ll try to play hero or do something else stupid. But the peril at hand is demanding, and my attention turns back to the threat. 

 

“Give me the Star!” I gasp to Flame. He looks confused so I point to the box he’s gripping with pale trembling fingers. He slips the key into the lock and twists it, then opens the lid and withdraws the fifth piece. He tosses it to me. I catch it and lock the fifth piece in with the bigger Star. The line shimmers and I hold it up to the Matyarks. Their ears flatten at the blinding light, but then they pace forward again and bare their long yellow teeth, still undeterred. I silently will it, and after a heartbeat an intense narrow shaft of white light shoots out. It strikes the dirt and cuts deep into it, shoving earth up as it bores into the ground. I swing it up slightly and the Matyarks jump backwards in fear as it cuts through a few blades of grass, running dangerously close to their paws. 

 

I move the Star from side to side, keeping the Matyarks back, and wave for Flame to follow with my other hand. “Gus, come on! Quickly!”

 

Gus steps away from facing off the Matyarks and runs to join us as we slip past them. I fall in last place, keeping the Star along the ground and waving its magic around threateningly. The cats closest to us let a distance fall between us at the sight of it, but as soon as we pass through the clearing the others lunge for us. Sun stands right behind the bushes, his expression full of terror at the sight of the menacing creatures bounding ever closer, but he pulls back the branches for us and helps us through. I let the Star’s connection break off, then, when the others are through, I nod at Sun and bend down. I scramble through the thicket, sticks catching in my clothes, then tumble out onto the ground. I jump back up and we all start running, not a shred of momentum lost. 

 

“Do something, Aza!” Sun pants, catching up with me. 

 

“What?!”

 

“I don’t know, just something! Get us out of here!”

 

“I can’t if I don’t know what to do!”

 

“Just stop fighting, both of you!” Gus yells. He lopes behind us, hurrying us along. We stumble onwards, the undergrowth slapping against us and slowing us down. Thunder echoes behind as the Matyarks race along in pursuit, having not nearly as much trouble as we are. Fear floods me, but then an idea pops into my head. I aim the Star at the brush behind us. The bushes begin to intertwine and lock with each other until a tight wall of vegetation has been raised. The Matyarks skid to a halt behind it and yowl angrily, unable to climb it because of the prickly brambles laced throughout. 

 

We race on, all too well aware the Matyarks can still track us because of the strong scent of our fear. Just when I’m beginning to feel as if I’m about to collapse from lack of air in the crowded undergrowth, Gus halts in a small clearing. I bend over, breathing heavily. Sun exhales loudly. And then I begin to take note of the situation, and shame fills me. But I won’t let Sun be the first one to talk. “Gus, Flame. How’d you get here? And, um, how is Sun… free?”

 

“They stumbled on me,” Sun replies coolly. “Just as a wild beast might have, but luck was on my side. Maybe by now you’ve realized the danger you’ve put me in. You sure don’t look like you have a clear conscience.”


“What’s going on?” Gus asks, his normally kind tone sounding irritable. “And I don’t mean about the petty behaviors between you two. I mean, what are you doing here where I precisely told you not to go?”

 

I raise my eyebrows at Sun. I’m done trying to pull us out of every mess, I think to him. Now it’s your turn, if this really is your journey as well. He meets my gaze and heaves a sigh. “Alright, alright, but listen quick.” He explains to them, Gladiolus translating for Flame, all about Black and the Star of Zacharias and the Matyarks and the Enforcers. When he’s finished, both look slightly confused but nod. 

 

Flame speaks quickly in the rainforest tongue. Gus turns back to us. “What were you saying about Aguaje before the Peacemakers came? We followed you right after the Enforcers came crashing into our village before they could talk to us.”

 

“He’s alive,” I tell them. “I hate to be the one to say this to you, but he’s with Black.” Sun had conveniently left out the part that Aguaje was the color who told us about the Star of Zacharias. “Black’s looking for people to work for him, and he used his magic to capture Aguaje and bring him to his cave. I mean, we think he’s okay, unless…” My voice falters. 

 

“What?” Gus asks, anxiety for his friend clear in his voice. “Do you think he’s alright?!”

 

I exchange glances with Sun. “We talked to him,” he says slowly. “He gave us the map. The map that Black had that told the locations of each piece. They were hidden at first, but we somehow unlocked it. Anyways, we’re not sure if Black found out that Aguaje gave us the map, or what would happen to him if he did.”

 

Gus translates quickly for Flame, who sobs something in Lifa’ru and turns away. I glance at Gus, who looks down when I meet his gaze. He clears his throat. “You can’t continue with this journey.”

 

“We have to,” I tell him. “It’s the only way we can rescue Flame’s son.”

 

“But it’s too dangerous. You were nearly caught by the Enforcers and then the Matyarks. If Black really is trying to hunt you down as well, it’s going to get more dangerous. I can’t let you risk yourselves for that. What would you do with the Star if you see him?”

 

I kick the dirt, then stop, remembering a time when Mom would scold me and tell me that I would ruin my shoes. It makes me homesick. How I miss her and Brinjal and when things were simpler. But despite Gus’s protests and the dangers that surely lie ahead, I know we can’t turn back now. Although Gus is right. How do we expect to use the Star against Black? We couldn’t kill him. But what if we would have to, in defense of ourselves? “We’ll figure it out when we get there.” The excuse is lame, the same one Sun’s been using when answering my own doubts. But now I understand why. It’s a temporary relief from more questions, questions that are now heavy with moral and ethical weights. 

 

“That doesn’t sound very promising.”

 

Sun shrugs. “There is nothing we can do but take this all by the moment. If we planned for the Lasij Rainforest, we’d have been totally unprepared for the Matyarks if you had not told us.”

 

Gus looks concerned and strokes his beard thoughtfully. “That’s a weak plan to abide by. But at least let us accompany you through the rest of the jungle. We can keep you safe until Wingspread.”

 

“That would be very generous,” I say, “but I’m afraid you can’t. If Black comes upon us you’d be in great danger. He wouldn’t stop at anything to get the Star from as much as we can tell. He attacked Epatosh, the leader of the Magimahord wolf pack in the Suka—”

 

“I know who he is. Unfortunately everyone on the west side of Belux does. But… continue.”

 

“Well, he attacked him in his attempts to obtain the pieces we have. It would be pointless for you to join us considering the danger we are already in, and if you stood in his way… he knows us, but you would pose a threat to him. We couldn’t ask you to come along, for it would be for naught. We’ll be fine on our own. Thank you for helping us get the Star, though. I don’t know where we’d be without you.”

 

Gus nods, but worry flickers in his gaze. “Me neither. Although it’s nice to see other Metroplexians that aren’t the Enforcers or Peacekeepers. Just leave the rainforest as soon as possible, okay? And when you come back through, drop by here. We can head back to the Hoh Metroplex together and you can show us where the Drowned Cave is so Flame and I can rescue him. Make speed, if not just for that reason.”

 

I bob my head and hug them both. Sun shakes their hands. They watch us head deeper into the jungle before they leave to go back to their village. “I hope the Peacemakers aren’t close behind us,” I murmur to myself. 


“Well, they might have seen your puffed-up head through the trees,” Sun says sharply. 

 

I glance at him in surprise. “What?”

 

“What I’m saying is I just hope you feel better about yourself, leaving me all alone in the rainforest like that. Some kind of animal could’ve eaten me, and then where would you have been? You’re not as capable as you think. You couldn’t have gotten that Star without Flame’s and Gus’s help.”

 

I laugh dryly. All the care I had planned to use in talking to him vanishes at his angry tone. “So you’re upset because I knew you were incapable of helping me. I hate to break it to you, but your magic failure nearly killed us. I can’t trust you anymore to deal with these problems. Every single decision matters now that we have almost the whole Star.” 

 

“So you’re saying that you felt bad for me and that’s why you let me use the Star.” His eyes flash daringly. We’re running up to the pit of conflict again, and this time it yawns deeper than ever. Neither of us is going to dodge it, either. 

 

“That’s never been the case. No! I always tried to stop you, but you never listen. And each time you didn’t, something more terrible than before happened. I can’t let this go on, so I had to do this by myself, Sun. You must understand! It’s just easier without you…” I trail off. He stares at me and shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” I try. 

 

“You said we can’t even be friends, but I never thought you’d break my trust like that. Any decent person would’ve at least told me the truth, but you somehow felt the need to deceive me. How does that make you feel as a person?”

 

Guilt twinges in me, but I push it away, feeling tired all of a sudden as regret runs through me. But why should there be regret? This is necessary, or so I tell myself. The beginning of our journey had been relatively blissful and simple, but now there’s just too much between us to contend with, things that can never be sorted out even with plenty of time and able effort. It was fun while it lasted. I stay silent to hide my pain. 

 

We keep walking until dawn, pushed on by the fear that the Matyarks will somehow catch up with us. Every so often I catch a glimpse of the star Octonaurus through the trees, guiding our path and keeping us heading south. I’m glad I went through that astronomy phase when I was in late primary school, although back then I never thought it would ever prove to be useful. When the lavender light of morning lends a cool glow to the world around us, we stop, exhausted and with rumbling stomachs. We’re in a small clearing with ferns and green vegetation draping around us, surrounded by taller and sturdier trees. It feels cozy and secure, and a few butterflies fluttering through the streams of sunlight are the only signs of other creatures. This would be even more amazing if there isn’t so much tension between Sun and I.

 

“Let’s spend the day here and then finish walking to Wingspread tomorrow,” I tell Sun. 

 

He nods, his voice flat. “I’m going to go hunt. You’ll have the Star so use that if you need to.” He picks up the bow and quiver of arrows and starts into the trees. 

 

“Wait!” I call after him. He pauses and looks back. 

 

“What?”

 

I look at him, the shadows under his eyes, the twinkle that was pervasive there now vanished. His hair is still fluffy and bright though, a symbol of his uniqueness and rebellion even when he isn’t trying. He is the last of a dead generation. What a random, strange thought. He’s not a Neon. But he’s something else, representing something I long and yearn for with all my heart, something secret, beautiful, treasured, passionate, meaningful. Already I feel as if a space has been rent between us, and I want nothing more than to make it right. But it’s too late. 

 

“Never mind.”

 

He shrugs, bemused, then vanishes into the trees. I stare after the still-trembling branches, unable to force myself to unpack and straighten everything out. My heart aches, as if part of it had been torn away. Which is probably close to the truth. I’ve never been so close to somebody; I’ve never felt so understood in my entire life before. And now that he’s gone it seems I’m emptier than ever.

I push through the bushes back to the clearing, hot frustration and sweat pouring all over me. Any animals nearby had scattered at the noise the bow had made as I crashed through the undergrowth. So I had picked some berries, not wanting to come back empty-handed. But now they’re crushed in my hand and grimy and sticky. I shake them off irritably. I’m upset about the situation with Aza, that’s true, but shouldn’t I at least be able to use my anger to catch something?

 

Aza looks up when I return. Relief flashes over her expression when she sees I haven’t killed any of her precious forest animals, and I feel cross once more. “I’ll go look around for some roots and berries,” she says quickly. 

 

Her and her solutions, I think bitterly and almost mockingly, but I nod without letting my mouth twitch. I’m very good at bottling my emotions up when I want to. “I’ll do that too.” I turn and go the other way. 

 

After a few minutes, we’ve collected enough for breakfast. Aza pours water from the flask over the food to rinse the dirt off. We eat in silence, then, feeling tired from the previous day and night of walking, mutually, glumly, agree on trying to rest. We have until tomorrow to gather strength for the rest of our journey and prepare for Wingspread, but as I lay down, I feel the fire of restlessness burning at the edge of my vision and I know I won’t get any sleep. Maybe it’s just nerves about obtaining the last piece of the Star, but I don’t think it’s as shallow as that. From the way things are going, it’s as if I can sense that we’ll meet Black tomorrow, and in a more drastic predicament than we’d think. We haven’t seen any sign of him since the orb, which is suspicious. And that was the only interaction with him we’ve had. Why wouldn’t he come for us himself?

 

I turn on my side, but it’s useless. I’ve felt his presence and I know he can’t be far off. It’s like he’s stalking us, patiently, slowly, waiting until the last moment to strike like a leopard having gone many long miles in patient pursuit of its prey, the reward only gaining more meaning and a better promise of rich victory as the chase goes on. He is no longer salivating for gaining the completed Star, but for defeating us. I can feel the hunger in my blood, and I know it is directed towards us. I just don’t know exactly what his plans are. 


Confronting him now would be so much worse, because at the beginning we had nothing to lose. Now we have everything. We’ve seen it all, met so many people, experienced the world in ways I wouldn’t have dreamed possible. Only two weeks ago we left the Metroplex—yet so much has elapsed in such a short time. I can feel the change, the fullness, that’s taken me over. I’m no longer burning like an orb shrouded in darkness. When did emptiness become so heavy? I never realized it until now that I’ve dropped it off like crumbling ash on a stick of wood. But now I’m lighter than ever. Yet there’s a part of me that’s not as protestive, deliberating if I’m willing to accept death instead of returning to the Metroplex. Once I’ve had a taste of freedom, it’s irresistible. 


I’ve realized there are grander things out there besides what once choked my mind back in the Metroplex. There was a veil of darkness hanging on the edge of my mind, woven from isolation, grief, restlessness, self-deprecation. I’ve turned to having friends as a solace for these thoughts; I’ve spent years trying to prove myself to them, trying to show them I’m just as good than Ribier. But they don’t care. They’ve told me I’m trying too hard. They’ve told me I’m too flitty. But why did I still go on with it? Thinking of all the time I’ve wasted at their beck-and-call makes me sick. I’ve lost myself in my attempts to find out who I am with them. But that in itself has been a mistake. It’s rather, who am I without them? But then I’m just alone, an orb floating in the folds of space and darkness with no ties to hold me down, burning my way through life and searching for something to call my own. I know I’m not shallow like them; now it’s been affirmed that there’s more out there and I wasn’t just groping about blindly for a spark of hope. 


I’ve given up on my dad long ago. Yet I can’t help but wonder what he would be thinking. Would he be worried? I wonder if he’d care if I came back. All my life I’ve just wanted to be noticed, for my existence to be acknowledged by him, but he’s been locked up in his own mind, spending his free time staring into the depths of a glass. If I can’t look up to even him, who do I have? 

I guess that’s why I’ve always been so uncertain about everything. I can’t trust my friends to not betray me. I can’t hope for my dad to be there when I’m going through those depressions. I’ve been so afraid to touch the guitar and re-open old wounds, but what if that’s the only way I can truly heal? What if hiding my pain has just caused more instead of easing it? With Aza, I feel like I can open up without repelling her by seeming weird and moody. I’m always crawling in my skin with the anxiety to prove myself. There’s a part of her that understands me, a part that she’s unwilling to confess to because it means destroying the reality she’s always taken for granted. Even if she only sees the problematic side of it, she still knows what I’m talking about and how I’m not trying to be deep or anything, just honest. I’m seeking a connection. 


As I stare at the leaves in the bushes, quivering in the wind, I realize something. I rely too much on others. The issue is that I’ve always wanted someone out there to find me because I’ve never considered myself close to anybody that I do know. Nature has taught me that I can survive as an individual braced against society. Aza has taught me I am deserving of love and that’s it’s not just me hating myself and denying myself all such things. Our argument had left me hurting, the words we’d exchanged stinging my heart even though I know they shouldn’t. But they were personal and aimed at penetrating into a deep dark place like an arrow. Although we’ve been forced to communicate since then, the tension is still like thick crackling static between us. I’m angry at her, yes, but I miss the freedom between us. I’ve never felt so relaxed around someone before, like I can actually be myself. 


For her, I’d do it all. I’ve stopped being afraid, and now I’m willing to do all the things I’ve always dreamed of doing but in the past had refused myself because I hadn’t viewed myself as worthy of such high endeavors. But as long as I hold the truth, maybe it’s enough to take a step forward, however small. Isn’t that what this whole journey has been? One giant dare to myself, finally carried out? A chance to pay off all the debts, the times I’d promised myself a better future? I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I know that if fate is real, I have to yield to the opportunities afforded to me. For the first time in my life I am living. Without Aza, I wouldn’t have looked at myself from such a challenging perspective, one as aggrieved as my own because of how the world has messed us both up. 

 

And now I finally have the courage to say that tomorrow we will face Black. I will confront my fears and the darkness that has been lurking in the back of my mind. Something will happen tomorrow, something which will change our lives, for better or for worse. All I know for sure is that we’re going to try our hardest to defeat Black. Even if it’s the last thing we do. 

 

“Aza,” I say. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

I sit up. She’s lying on her back staring up at the sky, but she pulls herself up also and sits across from me, not meeting my gaze. But the words dry up in my mouth as I stare at the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the way she inhales softly and brushes it back. But when I don’t speak, she looks up. 

 

“Yeah?” But there’s a smile perched on the edge of her lips like a bird ready to spread its wings. I pray it does, because I live for that sublime expression of happiness when she is willing to let it free. And I find words again, stuttering words that yearn to express my thoughts even if it is in misshapen form. 

 

“I’m sorry. I know this has been hard for you, and I didn’t mean to say all those things that I did. I just want you to understand how I feel and how I really don’t want for this to end… and I know it has to, our relationship I mean, but it’s been good while it lasted. 

 

She hesitates. When she speaks, she does so slowly. “I never wanted for our relationship to end. I just feel there are greater powers at work here, and even if we thought it opportune to resist them, it’s out of our fate to, and nothing good can come out of it. But know that I meant to hurt you.” 

 

I bob my head in acknowledgement. “So we’re good then?”

 

“Of course,” she says with a small smile. We both lapse into silence, the veil of tension brushed back, allowing for a comfortable silence to flow between us. I lay back down, my mind finally clear. 

 

The day shifts into night, gradual but too quickly at the same time. I must have finally dozed off, because after a while, I wake up and stare at the canopy of leaves above me, where I can see small patches of stars shining coldly in the early morning sky. They vanish as soon as the suns rise, spilling purple and blue across the horizon. Then I realize it’s time. 

 

I sit up and see Aza is also awake. We don’t say anything, the prospect of today speaking for us. We eat the rest of our food supply and pack up. We don’t have much, so it doesn’t take long. “Well, there’s nothing else to do anymore,” I say heavily. 

 

“Yeah,” Aza replies, sounding just as confused as I am. Where did the time go? Already we’re setting off to find the sixth and final piece. “Let’s go.” 

 

We push through the vegetation and begin walking, directing our steps south. We couldn’t be far from Wingspread if we’re already past the Matyark camp, the halfway mark in the rainforest. But after half an hour, the hairs on my arms prickle. “Sun,” Aza whispers, “do you feel that?”

 

I nod grimly. “He must be near.”


She shivers. “I never thought I’d say this, but there’s some sort of dark magic in the air.”

As our first hour of trudging through the rainforest draws to a close, the tingling in my skin suddenly returns, prickling all over my body like little bolts of electricity. Just then, I hear a distant rumble and a breeze picks up. Shreds of cloud begin to drift across the sky over us, blotting out the sun and throwing us into darkness. The rainforest around is eerily silenced of its usual birds calls and bug noises, and even the wind seems subdued. Not a leaf stirs in the leaden air. A strange pressure compresses the atmosphere and pushes down deafeningly on our ears, as thick and crushing as the humidity. 

 

“Aza,” I begin to say, but just then the clouds thicken and rain comes torrenting down around us, interrupting me. 

 

Aza pulls my arm. “There!” She points to a thick tree with draping leaves standing nearby. We run to it and duck under the temporary shelter just as lightning chips the sky. Thunder snarls and shakes the ground. I jump, feeling like electricity is coursing through my blood. Like I got struck. 

 

“At least we’re somewhat dry,” Aza says as if trying to reassure me. But her voice quivers slightly. We don’t get thunderstorms often in the Metroplex. 

 

“It was Black,” I say and tremble involuntarily. “I felt it.”

 

“How? Was it like the cave?

 

“Kind of. But he knows we’re here. And he’s not far from us.” I point outside the tree. “See the lightning? It’s purple.”

 

“Lightning can be purple,” she reasons, but we both know that’s not the case.

 

A sudden wave of dizziness hits me, and I sit down at the root of the tree. Black spots are swarming my vision again, just like when we were in the Drowned Cave. Once more I feel those awful, unfamiliar emotions, but now they’re stronger than ever, mixed together in a chaotic swirl. Anger. Bitterness. And hope. I can sense them, and I can feel them, but it’s as if the real me is watching from a distance, observing. What could it mean? 

 

Then Aza’s voice breaks through the fog. “What’s wrong?”

 

I shake my head and it clears away, nothing more than a dull headache now. “Nothing. I’m just… never mind.”

 

She looks uneasy but doesn’t question me. We stare out at the raging storm. I breathe quickly as I try to calm myself, the sudden anxiety brimming like overflowing rainwater on a leaf as I think. Even if Black caused this, which I’m nearly one hundred percent sure he did, we still have five-sixths of the Star to protect us against him, although I don’t know of how much use it will be. Especially since only Aza is capable of using it without causing complete and utter chaos. 

 

But then it slams into me again. 

 

Thunder bangs around us, making the tree shake. The emotions flood me, now so intense and heightened I can’t push them away. Rage edges them like a razor blade, but the swell of them consists of some fierce determination I can’t define, some unrestrained force that rises like a wave with the stroke of each passing moment. I bow my head, trying to endure it without letting Aza know, but as a brilliant flash of lightning lights up the sky, veins of electricity pouring through space and bleeding light, I feel a sharp explosion of pain and energy in my mind. I gasp out loud, my teeth chattering from the agony rushing through my mind. 

 

Aza presses her back into the bark of the tree, terror flashing across her face, but when she sees me crouched over in tormented confusion she rushes to my side. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing,” I repeat, gasping out involuntarily as Black’s emotions course down my body. 

 

“Is this Black?” she demands, yelling with desperation and to speak over the rolling peals of thunder which drown her out. “Sun, I have to know! He could be right behind us. He could have sent this storm to slow us down so we wouldn’t get the Star first!”

 

“Yes, it’s him! But we already know he’s after us. This changes nothing, but…” I heave a sigh of relief as the pain subsides, allowing me to think freely again. The thunder ceases a little, so I don’t have to raise my voice too much. “We have to carry on. We know he’s close behind. It’s only a matter of time before we meet with him.” 

 

Fear fills her wide eyes, but she simply nods in grim acceptance. I settle down more comfortably, adjusting myself on the spread of roots so I don’t get wet from the drenched ground. 

 

After a couple of restless hours, the storm finally begins to clear up. I’m so lost in a reverie that I in turn zone out of so that at first I don’t notice the hints of blue up above, but then the rain falters and the pattering on the leaves ceases. The subsequent silence is so heavy that it draws my attention away from a dripping branch, and I lift my gaze to observe my surroundings. The main substance of the storm has dissipated, but the clouds remain, although their dark color softens up to an ashy gray. 

 

We pick ourselves up, limbs creaking from being huddled in the same position for so long, and wordlessly continue our nervous advancement through the trees. The jungle scenery doesn’t vary much as we walk along, but an appealing scent catches my attention. It’s warm and sweet, laden with familiarity and pleasing although vague impressions, but I don’t have any clue as to what could be causing it. We press on for a little longer, then the land slopes downwards and I glimpse fragments of white, cut off and divided by the trees still thickly surrounding us. As we come closer, Aza gives a cry of surprise and delight, and even I have to stop for a second, for the sight that is presented to us gives a shock quite unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. 

 

An ocean of white flowers stand in front of us, rippling like luminescent waves in the breeze that rolls off the coast nearby. The suns are setting, Clarimonde behind the woods and jungle, Alekanekelo to our right. They cast a warm golden light over the lengthy field, although I notice a few clouds still occasionally pass over the light. The cool breeze from the Bay blows to the west toward us, carrying the scent of salt from the sea and the fragrance of the flowers themselves and something else… the something we’ve been smelling. Aza leans down and caresses a blossom with her fingertips, taking obvious care with the pristine white petals, then holds something up. A drop of golden liquid sits on her fingertip, trembling slightly. She tastes it, then laughs. 

 

“Sun, this is honey! The most amazing honey I’ve ever tasted!” 

 

“What do you mean?” I ask curiously, then I bend down to sample some of my own. As I touch the honey with the tip of my tongue, a sweet warm flavor fills my mouth, thicker, gooier, and obviously more delectable than the scent. “You’re not lying! But wait. Isn’t this the stuff that Lasijian gave us?”

 

She frowns. “You’re right. But I thought it was illegal to trespass on Wingspread—” I raise my eyebrows at her, and she sighs. “I know, I know. It is a stupid rule when amazing stuff like this is right on the edge of their land. But this must be even that much better because it’s fresh from its source. They must do something to dilute it; it’s rich stuff. And look!” 

 

I follow her outstretched finger to where colorful shapes flit between the flowers, darting up and down and chasing each other playfully. Hummingbirds. But these aren’t ordinary hummingbirds. They have plumage so bright you could see them from quite a distance and are no bigger than your thumb. They’re also friendly. Two of them zip towards us and hover above, watching us curiously. I put some honey on my fingertip and they swoop down to sip it, taking turns before flitting up, twisting their heads to watch us with dark eyes. 

 

We begin to walk through the field, the flowers climbing up to our knees but somehow not spreading the honey on us. Despite the sky hinting at more bad weather, I feel good as we pass by all the flora and fauna. I keep an eye out for shadows, for darkness, for anything that might hint at his immediate presence, but there’s little to nothing. The impending threat of coming face-to-face with Black seems to have disappeared, at least temporarily. How can I have bad thoughts here? A couple of young deer spring past us. Plump bees buzz all around us, too lazy to pursue. Our steps slow as we approach the edge of Wingspread, the exact point where the map said it would be. 

 

Soon we stand near the edge of the cliff. I feel a weird lethargy creep over my limbs as I look out over the churning steel gray-blue ocean, an uncomfortable yet tempting sensation in the back of my mind. The wind pushes me forward a little, but I stand firm, remembering the mission at hand. My gaze sweeps the churning ocean ahead and the red rock of the precipice below us, then I turn back to the endless blaze of blossoms. I lean a little over the edge, wondering if it might be hooked on the side of the cliff somehow, but Aza pulls me back and gives me a warning look. Indeed, the drop is steep and there’s nothing but the hungry Bay below, waiting to swallow up anybody and anything and carry them out to the endless sea to drift along forever. 

 

Then Aza speaks. “There!”

 

In an especially deep cluster of flowers to our side, the final piece of the Star beams through at us as if begging to be saved. I dart towards it and scoop it up, nearly shaking with relief. “Let’s go now.” 

 

“Sun!” Her scream is so sharp and surprised, I feel my heart jump. Then silence falls, and she stands beside me, shaking slightly.  All time seems to slow as the air grows heavy and still, and it feels like the breeze has paused, hung in the air like a frozen moment. I stand up slowly, facing the ocean. A shadow falls over us. I slowly force myself to turn around and face Black.

He smiles at us coldly, his black eyes like pools of reflection filled with shadows lurking about. Just then I feel a flash of familiarity, as if I’d seen those eyes before, but I can’t figure out where. I stand as if transfixed, a shiver running down my spine. “This is quite pleasing,” he murmurs to himself. Then in a voice more saccharine than the honey of the Wingspread flowers, he addresses us and says, “Now, children. I can see you’ve had yourselves quite an adventure by now. Yet that diamond in which you have delighted yourselves in finding is of utmost importance to me. If you just pass it off to me, then I will let you both return safely home. But if not… I’d really hate to hurt children.”

 

My voice vanishes and I struggle to reply. However, Sun speaks before I can, his eyes blazing and his voice mostly steady, although I detect a tremor. “No. We know who you are, Black, and we’re not afraid of you!”

 

“So you say,” he says, his voice hinting at a snarl. I’m unsure if it’s just me, but it seems like a glimmer of scrutinizing recognition is in his eyes when he looks at Sun. Then it vanishes, replaced with spite. “But let me warn you. Whatever you may think you are capable of with the Star is nothing compared to me.” Sun and I exchange glances, knowing Black is just desperately throwing words down a bottomless well now. He sees our look and continues furiously: “I only seek it because it is to be a supplement to my current sum of magic. I suggest you hand it over, for I will get it anyway. I have my methods.” He raises his hand and a beam of light shoots out, thrumming heatedly as it slices a swathe of flowers like a laser. “You see? This will not take long, I assure you.”

 

“But it is not yours to have,” Sun says evenly. “You mean ill will with it.”

 

“What I mean to do with it is none of your concern,” Black replies, taking a step forward. Just then Sun slips the sixth piece of the Star to me and grips the satchel himself firmly. 

 

“Stay separate and he will have a harder time getting the entire Star,” he whispers. 

 

“What is your decision?” Black asks, looking down on the satchel with a gleam in his eye. “For there is no escaping your fate if you keep your hands on what belongs to me. 

 

I reply loudly and clearly. “The Star of Zacharias is not yours. We are not giving it to you.”

 

“Then you will die fools,” Black says and swoops towards us, his shadowy form lean and oppressive. I gasp as he lunges at me, his hands outstretched as he aims his magic at the sixth piece of the Star. Red light flares up from his hands in an attempt to knock it from my grip, but I easily dodge to the side just in time. He’s only playing with us, for now. It’s a matter of time before he gets serious. Black turns on me, his eyes shining fiercely. All of a sudden my mind flashes back to the stranger who came out of nowhere in the Kihono Desert to tell us the location of the Oknamu Oasis. 

 

“I remember you,” I whisper. The eyes are the same. 

 

“Of course,” he says, moving closer threateningly. “If Aguaje confessed correctly, you spied on me from the cave.”

 

“Yes,” I reply, still overwhelmed by confusion. “You were that Kihonian. You talked to us.”

 

Anger flashes in his gaze at that, and he paces forward. “You know nothing of what you say.” 

 

“Aza, throw it to me!” Sun yells, looking panicked as he observes my trapped situation. He runs to the side of Black, who steps closer to me, swaying into my vision like a cobra preparing to strike. Panicking, I grit my teeth and toss the Star to Sun. But Black reaches his hand up and freezes it. He effortlessly plucks it out of midair. I stumble backward and barely catch myself. I recollect my stance and my wits, cursing myself at the same time. 

 

“Why, thank you.” He sneers at me, then turns to Sun. “Now for the other pieces, boy.” 

 

“Never!” 

 

“Have it your way.” Black raises his hand and beams of light flash out, just barely missing Sun on purpose. He laughs, then focuses his gaze on the satchel and in a quick flash of light, knocks it out of Sun’s grips. I lunge toward it as it’s not far from me, but Black turns his attention back to me and sends vines shooting out. They wrap themselves around me and I fall to the ground, frantically twisting around as I struggle to free myself. But while Black is distracted with me, Sun manages to scoop up the satchel. Black approaches him slowly. 

 

“Hand it over,” he growls.

 

Sun gives him a nasty look full of hatred and defiance, but I wince at the helplessness bordering his gaze. He hides the bag behind his back and glances from side to side, desperately looking for an escape. 

 

Black stalks closer and flicks his wrist again, and more tendrils shoot out and wrap themselves around Sun. He takes the backpack from him, then rudely shoves him alongside me just as he topples over as the vines wrap around his legs too. He lifts us both with his magic up into the air. Sudden panic floods me as I think he’s going to throw us over, but he only forces us to sit against an outcropping not far from the cliff’s edge. 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Sun shouts. “We’ve never done anything to you.” I can’t tell if he’s talking about just being tied up or about the whole thing in general. 

 

Black snorts and sits down across from us at the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the edge as he faces away from us. The setting sun on our right turns half his silhouette red, while the other half is dark with the coming night. The gray cover of clouds hangs over us ominously, and a rumble of thunder crashes in the distance.

 

“You’ve been raised on lies and obedience,” he hisses. “But I promised myself a long time ago that I would find my revenge, and now I hold it in the palm of my hand. It’s been a long road—lots of pitfalls and obstacles, but I’ve won. Oh, I’ve won. He weighs the sixth piece of the Star in one hand and the satchel in the other, a sardonic smile creeping onto his features. “Everyone will pay for what they did to me.” 

 

“What are you talking about?” Sun asks, unable to help himself. “What revenge do you mean?”

 

I shoot Sun a warning glance, but Black just laughs. “Your educators are doing an absolutely awful job of teaching, then. Didn’t you hear about what happened eighty years ago?”

 

Sun and I exchange blank glances, and although Black can’t see us from his position, he hears the hesitant silence and speaks coldly, “Of course you don’t. They don’t teach honest history anymore, nor did they ever in the first place. They don’t tell what truly happened but relate the event through a filter of distortion and lies and half-truths, that which fits to their current aim in propaganda. I am going to tell you a story now. It’s not like the bedtime stories fed to you by your teachers and government. This is harder to swallow, for this is the truth. This is something that happened in real life, not in their minds or ideals, with real endings. Horrible endings.


“But I am reassured that you know about Gavin Copperwood. You know about how he invented Cosmosaria and was the one to supposedly push Earth past the brink of destruction. You know about how Joshua Cliffton then claimed to have killed him, thus gaining favor with the human race and becoming a venerated hero. But that is a lie. A lie, so simple yet effective. It’s the thread by which a whole cascade of truths hangs, just barely hidden from public view and concern.

 

“Copperwood wasn’t dead. No, he had fled when people started turning against him and when Cliffton came after him. He hid out at the edges of his home city, Emprarus. He was living in a shack with practically no money, resembling a ragged beggar instead of the highly-esteemed scientist he had once been. Nobody suspected him, which just made it easier for him to sneak along to Belux with everyone else like the coward he was. 

 

“When Cliffton created Belux, he gathered everybody together and transported them to the New World. Copperwood disguised himself and came along with them. He grew a beard and bought new clothes. He wore glasses. When the government issued a law that everybody was to have dyed hair, he did that too. He changed his name to Fire Orange. He began to work in the CGO as an attorney, and it only took two years before he was promoted to Civil Headship. He met a young woman and married her, but it was only after matrimony that she found out who he was. But she couldn’t leave, as she’d quit her prior job and would have to spend years working to get back into her old position. She was also pregnant with his baby.

 

“That baby was me. My father was rich, and we lived in the lap of luxury. We were part of a select race called the Neons, born because the CGO promoted individual colors and showed them off as an example to the rest of the world what a color should be. Eventually the original colors began having children and the race grew in and developed as the others did. Many other people were jealous and thought us self-righteous, which was true for many, if not all, because that was how these people got promoted: through lack of morality and the ability to crush others in order to climb on top, the process which was born through ease and little remorse, and further entrenched into their minds through reward and repetition. The mass of the population tried to overthrow the Neons and raise themselves on the steps of the social hierarchy, but at the stern word from the government—meaning after several vicious attacks had transpired, they let up and settled to ignoring the Neons. 

 

“Born into such a selfish and exclusive people, I had anything I desired materialistically, but the one thing I truly wanted was lacking. My parents were cruel and hard. Copperwood cared only for his work and money, and for concealing his identity and collecting ‘friends’. Ah, but Mother hated him and the whole situation. She had only married him to satisfy the regular cravings of status and wealth, those objects held as irrational motives for marriage in the eyes of society, yet assumed as doomed to happen nevertheless and silently looked after as respectable in both worlds. She wasn’t inherently a hard character like Copperwood, but living with my father turned her bitter and intensified her jealousies. She was not as aloof and silent as Copperwood and was vocal in her complaints, although she never directly referred to the situation. She would tell me to not believe a word he said and to never place my faith in him as a parental figure. Ironically, she herself never provided that guidance I sought for with the small persistent seed of hope that is rooted in all children despite their future, developed dispositions. So I went on with my life, feeling abandoned and miserable. 

 

“When I was of six years of age, my parents desired a break from what they termed ‘the pains of daily life,’ calling this excursion a ‘vacation’. So we ventured to the Sukafram Forest, where I now understand in reflection the reason for that particular place was that they could be separate without looking guilty. After all, not many people go there for pleasure. My mother went to a cabin with three of her girlfriends and Copperwood stayed with a couple of his business associates and me in another. He was very preoccupied with entertaining them and keeping up his artificial facade which he had adapted so well, so he relied on the hired nanny to watch me. But while she was cleaning the cabin, I snuck outside to play and escape the limits of a hostilely resigned household. 

 

“I was playing in the dirt when I heard a noise, a rustle in the undergrowth. I proceeded to get up and follow it. It turned out to be just a rabbit, but I chased after it anyway. I soon got lost and darkness quickly fell. Realizing the vulnerability of my situation, more through childish guilt at remembering that my parents had forbidden me to remain outside past sundown than through true awareness, I ran through the woods, calling for my mother, for anybody. I thought nobody had heard me, but I was wrong. A young wolf, not much older than I, was roaming the woods. 

“Now the wolf packs of the Sukafram Forest are considered a noble race—or so they were then. They have diminished in influence and decency now that the Magimahord have subjected the Sukafram Forest to constant terrorism, thus enacting a persistent state of fear and undermining their aims for morality as the instinct for survival against their stronger counterparts kicked in. These were no regular savages, for unbeknownst to many, they had magical capabilities and, in realizing the power they held, they wanted to preserve their species safely and protect the other forest animals from themselves, so they established a code of honor for future generations to uphold. But this one wolf, my future enemy and the most repugnant and lowly of all creatures, despised the pack rules and wanted to forsake his kin, those whom he deemed weak because of their deferential manner—and for what? They clearly gained nothing from it, at least from his perspective. He was of the sullen, foolish type, with sharp teeth and a reckless manner as his drive. When he came across me, he saw an opportunity to earn himself the official title of an outlaw, to be banished from the pack with no obligation to return, a chance to cut off all ties with his pack and have no reason to report to them anymore. He would break one of the highest laws in the Code and attack a human for no reason, not even for defense. He would attack me. 

“I heard him before I saw him. I picked up a big stick when I heard the twig snap underfoot, but in the dim light under the moon I could see practically nothing. Then he sprang out, teeth bared. He bit me hard on the leg. I panicked and dealt him a blow with the stick, a hard one fueled by intense fear. I opened a wound over his eye which would scar him forever.” 

Sun interrupts, realization dawning on his face. “Epatosh knows you? So that was your orb in the forest… and that’s why you attacked him. Did you know he was there?”

 

“Shut up!” Black says sharply. “Or do you want me to glue your mouths shut as well?”

 

Sun presses his lips together. 

 

“Anyways,” Black continues, “as soon as he bit me, I tried to stab at him even more. I didn’t stop. He was trying to bite me again. But then a flash of light lit up the darkness, erupting from the stick, or perhaps my hands, and hit him. It knocked him unconscious, I remember, so I ran home, suddenly remembering the direction from whence I had come. I fell asleep on the doorstep. My father found me the next morning and tried to conceal the event from Mother, taking me to the nearest hospital immediately, but I told her anyway. She was livid at Father who was supposed to be protecting me, and they were just getting the legal papers for divorce when something happened. 

 

“I was lying in my bedroom back in the Metroplex with a high fever, working on my textbooks just like Mother had forced me to. I wanted my pencil but was too ill to get up. As this helpless situation dragged on from moments into minutes, then I felt a strange prickling. Then the pencil suddenly drifted over to me, hovering in midair right over my books. I was startled by this occurrence and laid quite still for several minutes as the pencil floated above me. An idea struck me, and I took the pencil and returned it to its former position. I climbed back into bed and repeated my desire for the pencil, then it was right there. I think that was around the time that I realized the connection between the flash of light in the woods and the flying pencil, but I didn’t tell my parents for fear they would ask questions and have me analyzed. When I overheard my father talking to Mother about the wolves of the forest and how I should never have been let loose, the fact struck me as a revelation. It was obvious that Epatosh’s bite had transferred his magic into me. 

 

“Over the next few months I delved into my newfound powers and learned how to use them skillfully. I indulged myself in plentiful pranks on my friends and drove my parents crazy by making things disappear. Mother was looking at homes in other cities for her and I to go live in, so I’d often mess with the keys and the locks on the doors to confuse her. It was amusing for a short while, but one night when I was in the kitchen helping Mother cook dinner, I instinctively called the knife to me, and as it floated past my mother she screamed and ran out of the house. That was when my life changed.

 

“From that moment on, I was to be isolated to the most extreme degree. I was homeschooled and forbidden to talk to strangers. I could only go outside to play in the gardens, and that was when the nanny was watching me. I often looked over the wall to see my old friends kicking a ball around, but I could never join them. And the divorce that was supposed to happen between my parents never did. The matter was closed now that I had to be supervised all the time, and one parent wouldn’t be enough to handle me.

 

“I grew to hate my parents who had caused me such pain. I became deprived of sleep, experienced severe bouts of illness frequently, and couldn’t concentrate on my work. After only two years, I was lonely and had fallen into an extreme depression unknown to many my age—including the non-Neons.”

 

“Then something miraculous happened. In the midst of all my torments, my mother gave birth to a little girl, a girl named Poppy.” 

 

“Poppy!” I can’t help but exclaim. I bite my lip, concerned Black heard me, but he stares off into the horizon as if deep in thought. So that’s who he was mumbling about, like Aguaje told us. Poppy is his little sister. 

 

“I suppose it was due to my mother’s misery and her frustration with my father that she decided to have another child to occupy her mind—for I had surely failed in that respect—but I was pleased nonetheless. As soon as she grew up, it became clear that she would change me forever. She was so small and sweet, with flaming hair and an honest smile. I’d spend hours playing with her, even though I wasn’t as keen about playing as I used to be. She’d exhibit grace and kindness in her every move, and it was through her that I saw a small spark of hope. She admired my magic, and I’d do little things with it, like make her toys dance and create small snow clouds in summer. But best of all, she liked me for who I was. She said I was funny because of my brutal honesty.” His voice shakes. From my position, I can see his brow furrow darkly. “But stability had never been a given.

 

“I’ve mentioned how the CGO loved the Neons and how we were made to be models. But the rest of the world hated us and thought us to be arrogant and gloating. For some colors, like my father, that was true. But Poppy and I were just children. We didn’t know how the CGO was plotting to destroy us, how they thought that if they got us out of the way everyone would be ‘equal.’

 

“The genocide had started when Poppy was two years old. It lasted six drawn-out years, as there were only a few Neons and the total population of Belux was still small, and the Peacemakers wanted to make it gradual. Not everybody from Earth had chosen to come to the New World, and most had been rejected. The news told of sudden storms for those Neons on vacation outside of the Metroplex. Inside the Tazarabi Wall, there were rumors of arsonists sneaking around in the dead of night. But no, that was the CGO. So many different things happened. Transport crashes. Floods. Wild animals escaped from the zoos. They didn’t care if they took out a couple of non-Neons while at it, or a hundred dozen. They just cared that the whole regular population supported them. They wanted power, and they would have done anything to get it.

 

“The Neons tried to tell the others what was going on and how the government had turned against us. But they wouldn’t listen. ‘But they favor you,’ they’d say. ‘Why would they want to kill you?’ We were helpless against them. And then it happened to us.

 

“I was fifteen and Poppy was seven. They came in the middle of the night with their torches and flashing eyes and dark clothes. I was upstairs sleeping, but the fire licking my window woke me up. I ran to Poppy’s room, but she was gone, down to my parents I assumed. The flames were creeping up the stairs like a multitude of demons, so I smashed open my window and jumped onto the ledge, where I managed to scramble down. I was on the grass in the backyard, so I ran to my parents’ side of the house. I jumped up and banged on the window. I scorched my hands. I was yelling. But…” Black trails off, his voice throbbing. “I was too late. I stood there, watching as the side of the house collapsed in on itself. They were gone. She was gone.”

 

I close my eyes in horror, silently picturing the house alight. Then one side crumbles down and sends up sparks to the starless sky. A scream pierces my mind, an echoing, haunting wail. I shake my head to clear it.

 

“I tried to escape. I first ran to the front of the house, thinking that there would be firemen who could help me and rescue my parents. And there were firemen, but they were quietly conferring with people in black clothing and masks. The people who had killed my family. They then turned on the hose and sprayed the fire while the Peacemakers slipped back into the bushes and away.

 

“I went to the cities and begged for food and money. At first, I was so numb I didn’t care if the CGO killed me either. For several days I would stay in one spot, immovable, unable to feel or think. Regular colors would walk by and talk loudly about how foolish and vain the Neons were. It was those moments that angered me. But I knew I couldn’t just give up. I wasn’t going to die off like the rest of them. I went into an alley and illegally died my hair a dark shade of green in the hopes that the CGO would never find me. I went around, trying to explain what had happened to me, how the CGO had turned on the Neons. But they all laughed and shook their heads, saying that I couldn’t possibly be a Neon, my hair was dark. As if I didn’t know that. They told me that I was just a regular unfavored color like themselves, a loser, trying to make myself a pariah in their eyes. Some other teens would congratulate me on my ‘prank,’ as if I was just here to entertain those who hated us and would love nothing more than to see something like that happen. People love a fool who jokes around with them, but I wouldn’t stand being seen as a character in such a trivial position. One time I was so fed up that I punched a kid who said that. All his friends beat me up, but I didn’t care. All I could feel was numbness and the occasional rage.

 

“The CGO found me. They’d heard about a kid on the streets blathering on about murders and Neons and the government. They took me up into their private offices and chained me. They questioned me. I spit in their faces. But they calmly made an offer. If I kept quiet about the murders, they would allow me to live and take on a normal life. After a few days, I agreed.

 

“I was back out on the streets, but this time I was quiet and boiling with fury. Everyone who tried to talk to me made me want to hurt them, or myself. But I had nowhere to go and nothing to do except heed the Peacemakers’ wrath, even if I hated them with all my heart. That was when my rage began to slowly boil, hot with the thousand wrongs that had been done me. I became known as the mute homeless kid, angry but helpless. 

 

“Then one day one of the kids who’d made fun of me came over with his friends. He said they wanted to apologize. He gave me a few Jayluu. I wasn’t going to accept it. But he offered it to me anyway, forcing it in my face until all I could do was back away. Finally I was sitting down on the ground, cringing away. The kid came up to me one last time, bent over to hand the money to me, and then he whispered, ‘Loser.’ I lost my control and jumped on him, throwing punches. His friends kicked me and dragged me off him. A few days later, the CGO was back again.

 

“‘Where did you go wrong?’ they asked, as if I was some kind of delinquent. Then they made a different offer. ‘We have somewhere where you can live by yourself, keeping yourself and society safe from each other. We’ll supply you with whatever you need to survive.’ I accepted, knowing I had no choice. 

 

“I lived in that cave for many, many years. But my lifespan is prolonged because of my magic, and it caused me hell. I had no way to occupy myself, no way to mark down the days through productive employment. My rage had simmered over; my depression ran rampant, heightened by grief and isolation. I would stand in the main cavern and scream; then, overwhelmed by the darkness and the thousand echoing voices that were all my own, I would retreat back into the little cave where I slept. 

 

“For a long time I questioned why the Peacemakers made this choice instead of killing me. I acknowledge they were efficient enough in the way of silencing voices, but how was I different from any other Neon? Maybe it was my history of being on the run from them. In the back of my deluded, world-weary mind, I wondered if I intrigued them. Later on I furthered the development of that idea by concluding that they had something to gain from this compromise: a fragment of history. Not just my own, not even only Belux’s, but that of Earth as well. I was a token of the way things used to be. They saw something in me they thought had vanished long ago: a conscience. It wasn’t so much the differentiation between good and evil so much as the effects of it on a mind in pain. Pain is a horrible thing. It can distort an individual’s perceptions and make them do things they would not normally do were they in their right mind. It can destroy morals and break relationships, because it is then that the tortured mind’s thoughts spiral downward into themselves, creating a narcissistic personality that lasts as long as the encroaching discomfort does. No one struggles anymore because they are locked in a state of depressed perfection; I was struggling. I was their lesson, their experiment, their demonstration of the influence they impressed on an individual mind. For whenever they came, they came with younger Peacemakers. Every transaction between us was a training session for these fresh psychopaths.

 

“Yet a long period would elapse between each time they came, and as my mind progressed in its agony, seemingly learning more about the world from the underground, through reflection, I felt myself changing physically as well. I felt myself growing thinner and, I assumed, paler from lack of sun and light at all. There was too much darkness for me to ever completely see myself in the puddles of the cave. I was only a shadow when I looked. But then, I procured a piece of glass from something the Peacemakers brought me, and I found myself to be a real shadow.

 

“It was strange. I didn’t know what I was looking at at first, least of all myself. I might have startled you, but for me to see myself so brutally changed was a shock. It was the hammer that severed the last few links that made up the chain of my brittle, childish faith in humanity. I was left stranded, floating by myself in a desolate space of insignificance and lost identity. Surrounding me were the flitting shadows of my past existence, skimming like reflections in glass, haunting me in the void of space. It was sick to me, but I supposed I should have expected it. I smiled, and the lips curved up like the bottom eighth of the sun obscured in the evening by heavy black storm clouds. 

 

“To be the substance of a shadow… how to describe it? I had changed in mind as well as form, and the darkness that shrouded my mind daily became normal. I stopped analyzing it so much after I discovered my transformation. Magic has a mind of its own, and it knows what your essence comprises, no matter how successfully you may conceal its nature from other people and even yourself. My name obviously wasn’t always Black; before it was Sun Orange, but the title the refugees gave me seemed more fitting. Why should I care? It’s just a name, a title others hold to judge you by. But before my change was fully complete—for it was always progressing; I was always growing darker—I began to seek a way to bring myself to power, to get revenge. My anger was darkening into a desire for vengeance. Once a few generations had passed, the new set of CGO employees proved themselves to be even more careless, stupid, and hateful than their predecessors. They easily forgot about me. After all, why should they have to keep a promise their grandfathers made?” His voice is thick with scorn.

 

“I made a plan. I would take vengeance on all of those who had ever caused me wrong. Not for me, not for the other Neons, not even for Mother and Father, but for Poppy. Isn’t it ironic that the most innocent people turn out to be the most helpless, while the most manipulative and the cruelest go on to lead us?” He bows his head for a moment, then lifts it again and turns to us, his gaze clear and piercing. “And that’s why I sent the river current to get you, Sun. You’re my great grandson, and now you will use the magic you inherited from me to help me rule this new world, to wreak revenge on our enemies, to destroy those who destroyed us, to make things right for the first time in history.”

I stare at him blankly. The clouds above us have turned darker and are swooping closer to the ground. A light drizzle begins to fall, seeping through my shirt and chilling me. But I might as well not be able to feel it. Disbelief crackles like electricity through my brain, and doubt surges over it, so much that at first I think he’s joking. But it all makes sense. Why would the river randomly swallow me up? Why would that man in the Kihono Desert redirect us and then disappear just as quickly as he had come? Why would I be prone to feeling his emotions so strongly? He’s either deluded, or we are linked by blood. The first explanation which would only justify two of those main three situations, but the last one would vouch for all of them, and all of the other questions that had only existed as smudges on a picture made for clarity as well as the purpose of saving the world. I finally manage a few clumsy words: “Why didn’t Dad ever tell me?” 


“Your own father doesn’t even know,” Black replies smoothly. 


“Shortly after the government brought me to the cave, I started to ask for simple things; for instance a change in the same old food they kept giving. But this was a new generation of Enforcers who were let in on only the bare facts of the secret of my existence. They couldn’t understand why the original Peacemakers had kept such a compromise with me, so they neglected me and refused to even allow me a few breaths of air above land. To them I was pushing the limits merely by talking. I was a pest; I wouldn’t die off and now they had to deal with me even though it was the former generation that had started all the trouble. My transformation was like a mysterious bug growing wings; it intrigued them and frightened them, but they didn’t care an awful lot, so they just kept away and occasionally remembered to feed the nonhuman thing living under the river.


“But then I grew tired of trying to work out a compromise with these people, so I used my magic to break out from my prison of darkness and isolation. In the first step of my revenge, I went around the city in my original disguise of green hair—although of course now that I was a Black, I had to use magic to conceal my true essence. I spread the news of everything I knew, from the murders to how the Neons were innocent. Yet again nobody believed me. They were all simply relieved the Neons were gone and they didn’t care for any rumors as long as the CGO wasn’t picking on them. So I returned to the Drowned Cave and killed any Peacemaker who descended into my lair. Because of that they stopped checking on me and eventually left me alone. 


“After a few more years, I escaped again with my disguise and a new plan. I hung around the city and met a young woman with ice-blue hair. She fell in love with me and bore me a child. I played the role of father for a decent time, but I was getting impatient again. A few days after he was born, I abandoned her and came back to the cave, satisfied. This child would ensure that my revenge would be fulfilled no matter what, for I had placed a spell on him which would draw him back to me when he turned sixteen. If he found a way to ignore it, then the spell would be passed down through his descendants until one came to fulfill this purpose. However, my son refused to join me and left to go his own way once I conversed with him. He later on found the map that would tell where the Star of Zacharias is, and in a trade I obtained it. He himself had a son, your father, who proved to be too subdued a character to ever join me. Then, when you came along, I watched over your birth and earliest years hungrily. I could see even then, especially after your seventh year, that your thoughts are rageful and impassioned. You have followed only this path ever since you first embarked on the trail of development, I am pleased to say. 


“I understand you are not sixteen yet, but things are changing. Now is when I must take action; now is when you must affirm that you’re taking your rightful place at my side. I have much to teach you, but I expect you will catch on quickly. This is an excellent opportunity for one so wily and restless as yourself. I see you have already committed a few questionable acts, such as falling in love with this CGO tool, but those can be cleansed out of your system with impending maturity and the scrub of time.” He lapses into silence, looking at me expectantly, hungrily. 


“No,” I say, shaking my hand. “It can’t be. You can’t be related to me.” 


“Don’t you ever wonder why your hair is so bright? Or how the Oknamu Oasis concealed you? The Oasis is only visible to those who have the right genes, magical genes. It’s because you’re a Neon and you always will be. The Star only works for those with magic, as is how every magical implement functions. It is merely a medium to strengthen your current capabilities, which is why I desire it so. Surely you don’t expect me to take over an entire country with the limited, although relatively strong, powers I possess. You cannot escape your heritage, nor your destiny. But you can embrace it and join me in ruling Belux.”


I struggle to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. The words are only peals raining down on my deaf ears, loud but worthless, only gaining a fragment of meaning until it’s too late. Then it starts to seep through to me, but only very slowly. “But what about Aza? She was able to use the Star, and better than me? What’s her explanation for magic?” 


Black shrugs. “Don’t they give government freaks magic? I watched you both throughout the entire journey. I was much closer than you’d thought. I was the bug you kept seeing, there to supervise the progress in your journey and keep you going. I was the stranger in the Kihono Desert, there to direct you back on your path because you, Sun, were too stubborn to ask for help.” He heaves a dramatic sigh, his lips twitching. “I admire it, believe me, although it messed up my own plan. The thing is, I didn’t reveal myself for multiple reasons: the first and blatantly obvious one being that I knew you would immediately refuse to join me because of my looks. Well, appearances can be misleading, and I was willing to give you a second chance. This journey was my argument of persuasion. If I could get you to collect all six pieces of the Star, I could then make you see reason through reflection on your new experiences and wisdom. 


“More importantly, I’d hoped this journey would show you what a horrible place our world is, not because I take pleasure in such a cynical system of thought, but because you need to witness the truth and not the lies you were raised up on. I understand you felt particularly strong towards Floret and her story, and also towards Flame and Gladiolus for their loss. Yes, I can detect your emotions as you can experience mine; ‘tis the curse of shared blood magic. The people at The Exchange are terrorized by wolves. The Peacemakers do nothing about it but run and hide in their transports. All the honest and well-meaning people get pushed around all the time and can do nothing about it because their virtues sourced from the simple spark of conscience are also their fatal weaknesses. You comprehend this well enough, certainly more clearly than many. The hierarchy won’t be ordered so in New Belux.” 


“But that doesn’t mean I want to change everybody’s lives!” I object, feeling guilt worm inside of me. Is this a new feeling? Or has it always been there? But I don’t like this. It’s uncomfortable; it’s personal. It’s always been me against the world, not against my own grandfather, not that I was even aware of his existence. 


His eyes narrow. “But your relationships pain you because having an honest connection is one of the most important things in your life to you. You wish you could turn your life around and fix everything, Sun, and isn’t that what you’ve feared all along? You’re afraid of falling into the thorny pit of despair and repetition. I can offer you a way out and promise you will never return to that anguish. You will never feel so helpless again because you will be a king.”


Sudden anger swells up in me at this as recognition flares within me. “You’re no different from everyone else I’ve ever known. You pretend your intentions are honest, but I am not blind to the fact that you will trap me and then just take. You’re using me. We just did all your dirty work on this journey. So no, I’m not going to join you just because of a few false promises. I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’m not going to repeat them.” 

 

“Listen to me carefully,” Black says, his eyes glinting with the glowing embers of hatred in their obscure depths. “You are correct when you say you did my work. I have been judging you throughout your journey and life, and too many mishaps have been made on your part for me to ever fully trust you to abide by the requisitions of this great task by yourself. I allowed you to collect all six pieces of the Star so that I might have no trouble plucking the completed Star from you in the end, as I have already done. That was originally my plan. But out of the kindness of my heart, I am giving you a final, direct opportunity to share in the rewards I am about to produce with such active, candid efforts.”

 

“There’s nothing in there that could ever interest me,” I declare, now truly no longer tempted, but only bothered and offended by his strenuous efforts to convince me as if I should ever join the evil side. 

 

“Well, I hate to say this, but you’ve done this to yourself—and to your girlfriend. I’m the one with the Star of Zacharias in my hand. You’re the one tied up in a dilemma. You’re a loser, Sun, and that’s all you will ever be, in and throughout your character, for the rest of your life, if you don’t make the right decision now.” 

 

“I’ve made up my mind,” I say, but I’m shaking as the words I’ve always hated hit me. Loser. Dilemma. Right decision. Could he be right? I can’t stand being under the control of others, but the only other alternative can’t just be complete and utter rule over everyone else. There has to be a medium, some sort of equality and balance in which all of humanity can reach happiness, or approach as close as possible to attaining its fullness. He’s proposing a situation that would take place amongst savage animals in the wild. But people are not the same way. We can’t be doomed to be pushed under a long hierarchy constantly shifting and tearing itself down to be rebuilt again in a new order. Nothing changes that way. But it seems there’s no other options, at least in this moment. 


“So be it. But when you’re on your knees begging for mercy, remember your choice, moral but fragile in every way.” Black withdraws the Star from the satchel and holds the final piece up to it. He gazes at it greedily. “This is the moment I have waited for ever since that horrid day. This is the chance for me to have the one thing I never had: power.”


“No!” I shout, struggling against the ropes. But it’s too late. Black clicks the final piece of the diamond into place, and the crack glows familiarly. But it doesn’t stop. The fully-formed Star begins to vibrate, thrumming with a violent energy. The colors, which once glimmered so brilliantly, shift to a horrible red splotched with black that pulses irregularly, like a disrupted heartbeat. Black raises his head to the sky and laughs, a laugh that echoes like thunder, rolling around us until it almost has a tangible value. Aza shrinks down by me, fear etched into her expression. 


The sky above us begins to fill with clouds, but these aren’t regular gray clouds like the one from the prior thunderstorm. They’re black and droop heavily over Wingspread, purple flashes of lightning flickering among them. A torrential rain begins to plummet from the sky until we’re sitting in a puddle, soaked to the bone and shivering. But Black doesn’t care. He raises his arms to the sky, still laughing, his white eyes wild as round he throws his menacing glare, challenging the invisible demons that surround him. “Don’t be a fool. Don’t be a coward like Aguaje. Come, join me, and you won’t regret it.”


I shiver compulsively. Aguaje. “Where is he?” I yell at him. “What did you do to him?”

 

His lips curl into a smile as he sees how heated up I’ve become. “You shouldn’t worry about that fool,” he says. “I’ve… disposed of him. A weak idiot, he was.”

 

“You killed him!” I clench my fists and the ropes, which had bound me so tightly, snap. I jump up and lunge at Black. I extend my hand instinctively and a streak of light shoots out, knocking Black to the ground. The Star falls from his grasp. I pick it up, feeling its energy thrum heatedly. Black stares up at me, looking impressed. And a little afraid. A bolt of lightning cracks off to our side, lighting up the sky with its violet tint. 

 

“See what you are capable of?” he asks. “You can do so much if you put your mind to it. I can offer you more than you’ve ever dreamt. Can’t you just consider it?” A hint of pleading is in his voice. I glare at him.

 

“You think I’m going to join with someone as heartless as you?”

 

“What are you going to do with the Star then?” he challenges me. 

 

I glance down at the fiery diamond in my hand, then I look up at Aza, who’s still tied up and leaning against the rock. She shrugs, looking at me with the same slightly afraid look. “What are you waiting for?” Black asks from the ground. “Use it! This is what you came on this journey for, right? So you can defeat me. This is your choice now. So do it!”


The Star of Zacharias thrums in my palm encouragingly. I know Black’s right. This is what Aza and I had planned all along, but now it feels wrong. I’ve proved myself; I’ve used magic, the magic I’ve inherited from Black against him without using the Star as a medium. This is entirely my magic and my choice. I also know that although I may have overpowered him for now, he can easily attack me with his own magic. I’m not dumb. It’s obviously a test, and a clever one too. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Does he expect me to try to kill him? That’s not me. But if I don’t do something, then all of Belux will still be in danger.

 

I look out to the storm growing on the horizon, building up once more as Black grows impatient. A cool wind gusts past us, bringing the scent of the Wingspread flowers to my nose. I inhale deeply, memories tumbling through my mind. Aza and I on the truck driving to the Cayorka Mountains with me reassuring her. The excited, uncertain smile we shared when we left the Tazarabi Wall behind. Running together from the Peacemakers through the desert. Working together to get the Star from the Cayorka Mountains and sneaking around in the tribal territory under Chief Lilac’s nose. Our conversation under the stars in the Meridian. Barely escaping the Magimahord wolves. Hiding out in the cave. Finding out that Flame is Aguaje’s father. Aza’s betrayal. My hurt. Our argument. The storm. And now, how we came together to defeat Black and finish this journey. Everything draws back to Aza and how she’s helped me get past my fears. I’ve come to care about her a lot. No, this journey was never perfect. Life is never perfect. But some things are worth fighting for, despite the inevitable pain that will follow.

 

I turn to Black and raise both my hands as a sign of surrender. “No. I’m not going to be a power-hungry maniac. Even though you want me to be, Black, I can’t force myself to be someone I’m not. I’m not going to give up on all those who have hurt me. I’m going to give them a second chance, because if this journey taught me anything, it’s to trust that things will get better, not through immediate potency but through hard work.” I look over at Aza, who is smiling at me through the sheets of rain falling steadily around us. Her eyes glimmer in the dim light, or maybe it’s just the water. “As for Aza, she knows me. She hasn’t hurt me. I believe there are people like her out there. People who care. And because of that, I’m no murderer.” I drop my arms to my side and slowly release my grip on the Star of Zacharias. It falls into the mud, where the rain quickly covers it and dulls its light. 

 

“Fool!” Black screams at me. He lunges up and is suddenly on his feet. He rushes at me and grabs me by the neck, and in the next second I find myself hanging over the ocean, his fist around my throat. 

I scream. One moment Sun had been conversing with Black, a calm gone over him which I had never seen before. But then Black grabbed him and is now holding him out over the choppy black ocean, simultaneously choking him. 


“I warned you,” he shouts. “You’re either going to be on my side or die.”


Sun tries to loosen the iron grip on him by pawing at his throat, but Black’s hold doesn’t loosen. He’s unable to use his magic as well, because Black is holding him in a grip that’s quickly draining his strength from him. By the flashes of lightning I can see his lips turning blue. If I don’t do something soon, he’ll die from asphyxiation. That is, if Black doesn’t drop him into the waves first. But his lips are moving as he tries to say something. “Aza… the Star… use it…” 


I glance down and see the Star faintly glimmering in the mud. I pick it up and look from it to Sun. Black sees me holding it, and his lips twist into a cruel smile. “Let’s make a new deal. If you give me the Star, I’ll let him live.”


“No… Don’t give it to him….” Sun gasps.


“I have no choice,” I say to him, my voice broken. I’m glad it’s raining and dark, because it hides the tears welling in my eyes. “If I hit him—”


“Then you’ll bring us both down,” Black finishes for me. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”


Sun’s voice comes across as no more than a whisper, hardly inaudible above the rain and thunder. “Do it.”


A sudden crashing of running and rustling of stalks fill the silence from across the expanse. I turn my head to see a line of white-coated people climbing the rise, slipping through the rain as they head toward us. The Peacemakers. They carry tranquilizer guns, the same ones they had tried to use to catch us in the desert. But slung along their shoulders and across their backs are real guns.


Black grunts when he sees them and raises his free hand. A jelly-like substance shoots out and stands in front of the Peacemakers, separating us from the rest of Wingspread. The CGO employees stop at the sight of the wall. One bangs the butt end of his gun against it, but the gun bounces back and nearly hits him in the face. Black turns back to me. 


“Well, girl? What is your choice?” 


I don’t say anything, remembering a time when logic was enough to solve every problem. Life had been so simple. I was given a set of choices and I would pick the one that accorded most to my main goals, and that was that. But now morals have been brought in, and it’s no longer a matter of what, but how and why. Do I dare risk Sun’s life? It’s relatively insignificant when compared to the rest of Belux, but he means the world to me now. But what do either of us matter anyway? We knew there’d be sacrifices, although they seem so small now, like breaking into the workplace of my former to-be career. The stakes have risen, and our lives will never be the same again.


I close my eyes for a minute, feeling a sense of awareness flow over me. The rain drips down my face and splashes lightly like music as it hits the ground nearby. I breathe slowly and the raindrops turn to colors in my mind, springing up and falling down and pattering and flowing and seeping and dancing. This isn’t even close to how I feel when using the Star for magic. This is a breath of fresh air, a gentle understanding of what everything means and how it all comes together to be one. It’s connection; it’s unity; it’s tolerance. Another energy moves through my bones, something I cannot identify yet, but I involuntarily direct the warm feeling to everyone and everything right now. To make peace with the world… 


Love. It was always love. To make peace with the world is to love, to create connection, unity, and tolerance. Black loved, and the only reason he became evil was because he diverged from the path of conscience and empathy in his impassioned hunt for revenge. Hate is the divider; it destroyed Earth, and now it has fractured Belux into a prism of distortion that consists of shards of glass reflecting supposed oneness to each other, but the unhappy dislodgement of inequality is still there. Hate is committed by the fraught hand of evil, shaking with the affliction of defying nature and true concord. 


The laws of nature have been proved countless times on our journey. From the harmonious smiles of the Lasijians to the bowed gazes of the Sukafreys, from the discord existing in The Exchange to the simplicity predominating throughout the villages and small towns of Belux, the country has bespoken of the umbrella theory of love and hate, good and evil. Sun was right all along. There is so much pain in the world, and to ease it is the greatest and most honest form of work of all. 


I open my eyes, breathe out, and toss the Star in my hand up a few times, feeling the newfound energies still flowing through me like blood. Then I lean back and throw the Star into the ocean. After a few moments, I hear a splash, faint in the black rain, but still there. Black looks from it to back up to me, his face full of hatred and confusion. But I just meet his gaze steadily. 

 

“Love. Love is the weapon.


“Sun, Black. You’ve both been hurt before. Haven’t we all, in some way or another? I myself was always blocking out the small nagging voice in my head telling me that something was wrong; that I needed to take charge of my own life instead of letting it slip out from under me. I told myself I was in control, but I was just doing what my mom wanted and what the Civil Headship was telling her.” The words gush from my mouth, my thoughts all jumping to the tip of my tongue. “Then I was made aware everyday of what the ‘real world’ deems ideal, so it felt that everything I was doing was inconsistent and tentative. I was looking down into a shattered mirror, and it seemed hopeless that I would ever find somebody who could look past my workaholism and see who I am underneath. I was working so hard because I was afraid of uncertainty, but that’s not who I am. You were wrong that way, Sun. I do have dreams. I want a better world where everyone can work together and be equal. But in this world, or perhaps any, it seemed like everything would just result in anarchy and chaos. So that’s partly why I work so hard to be a Breeder. If I don’t, someone crueler could take the job and have so much power. But you, Sun, gave me that connection and I realized that I don’t have to follow a certain path to save the world. And now I’m not going to follow the plan we had throughout the journey. Violence and hate are to be a part of the past now, a lesson we all must learn from if we don’t want history to repeat itself.

 

“And so… Sun, I love you. I love you for your honesty and your wisecracks. I love you for your sight, which sees beyond tedious everyday life and to the adventures that await. You’re the reason I’m standing here right now instead of hunched over my schoolwork at home. I’ve had a great time on this quest with you, and although this journey may be over, I hope ours is not.” I inhale, realizing that if this works, nothing will. 


“Black. I’m sorry about the tragedies which have torn your life apart. The love you have sought for and the love you have given and received shows your remarkable capacity for feeling. You really did love your sister. I believe you loved your wife. They loved you in return, and although that may not have been enough to save you given your history, you once had a pure inner core. For that, I love you too.”


Black stares at me. His face contorts with dozens of emotions, then his grip on Sun loosens. Sun drops to the ground, gasping. Black clutches his stomach as if in pain and howls frightfully. The bubble wall on our side trembles and pops, sending soapy drops flying through the air. Black’s scream whips up into the air and a beam of light strikes from the sky, connecting him and the clouds. 


As the seconds pass, the clouds shrink up and dissolve into the streak of light above us. I cringe away, terrified at what’s unfolding right before me. Black falls to his knees, his white eyes wide as he pants heavily. For a second, his appearance flashes into that of a teenager with messy orange hair and warm brown eyes, shockingly like Sun. In that moment, I lock gazes with him, and a strange feeling fills me to see his eyes, those foggy white orbs, are filled with clarity and endless grief and… gratitude. But then the second passes and he’s back into the form of a shadow. With an explosive crack, the pillar of light snaps shut. Black’s shadow—for after seeing who he used to be, all I can perceive of this current form is that it’s his ghost—dissolves and is transformed into a ball of light shooting up toward the sky. It resembles a third sun, hanging up in the sky with fiery brilliance; I gaze upon it in wonder, but it doesn’t last long and the fireball shatters into a million pieces, falling down and around us like bits of fire. But they don’t burn at the touch; rather, they send a gentle warmth through my skin. 


Then I feel the silent message coursing through me, almost as if sparked by the contact of the fire; the silent words of a freed soul: Thank you. But they aren’t as discernible as that; they’re not as obvious as words, not even as clear as thought. It is a feeling, an understanding. But they aren’t even as solid and put together as that. 


As the bits of fire rain down softly, the world around us changes. The clouds vanish completely, leaving a newly washed black night above us. The flowers, which were drooping and gray in the storm, perk up and glow like as if filled with some inner light. The raindrops glisten on them like diamonds, stretching for sparkling miles around. Alekanekelo, who was on our right, suddenly dives under the ocean as if time has been sped up. A sky abounding in stars stretches above us, then shrinks like a dying rose, flushed temporarily out of existence like paint washed away by the stream of time. Clarimonde rises first. Her rays turn the sky on her level to a shade of orange, the exact color of Black’s hair, but the sky above is transformed into an ombre of pink and blue. A few stars twinkle in the deep shades overhead, but in the light around us we can see perfectly. 


“Sun!” I cry out and run to him. He sits near the edge of the cliff, his breathing deepening and falling into the regular rhythm. He’s watching the sunrise, but upon being jolted back into reality by my voice, he turns to me, smiling widely. He climbs to his feet as I run into his arms, then he spins me around before dipping me and kissing me.

Before we can say ‘Star,’ the Peacemakers are on us. I’ve just drawn away from Aza, her eyes sparkling and my heart thrumming—I’ve waited so long to do that—when they amass around us and handcuff us. “What are you doing?” I ask incredulously, pulling away from one Peacemaker. One grabs the bow I’m holding and the satchel Aza is. Another grabs me, twists my arms behind my back, and locks the cuffs on.


“You’re coming with us,” one commanding woman says. She’s tall and stately, carrying herself in a dignified manner; her imposing grace is made stern with her pink hair piled into a tight bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing a Matyark coat, flashy with colorful scales and feathers, seeming almost too flashy when contrasted with her sharp features. She pulls down her sunglasses to the bridge of her beaked nose and looks down at us imperiously, her brow furrowed slightly as she studies us. A chameleon perches on her shoulder, its tail curled neatly.

 

“Madam Civil Headship,” Aza says in a questioning tone as the Peacemakers step away from her, having bound her also. 

 

The woman stares at her for a long moment, dropping her cool and composed manner for little less than a second. “Azalea Margaret Violet. I really didn’t believe it was you that had run away and broken multiple laws, despite your mother’s overanxious fretting and numerous calls to us. I thought I could have expected more from one raised in such a demanding household as yours.”

 

My eyes widen. So this is the woman who’s always putting so much pressure on Aza. 

 

Aza looks uncomfortable and clears her throat. “Sun, meet the Civil Headship of our government, a very important and superlative lady. She is also the sister of my father’s fiancée. And Ms. Headship, this is Sun Yellow. He came with me on our journey. We promise we meant no harm to any of the Beluxians, but our mission was merely to obtain the Star of Zacharias and defeat Black. If you’d like, I can explain it more—”


“No need,” the pink-haired woman says, drawing herself up and towering over us. “We are already well-informed of the situation. In fact, although it is of little matter to you, we met up with Sun Orange just before he came across you here. We weren’t tracking just you down, but also this criminal who had committed several sundry national offenses and had violated multiple legal contracts he’d signed previously. We offered him an opportunity to return to his home, but he continued on like a fool and met his end here. I assume that’s why he sent the storm to slow you down; he was delayed by his conversation with us and didn’t want you to leave with the Star. His case may be closed, but yours is nearly not. What you did was absolutely unnecessary and purely frivolous.”


“So you’re saying we did nothing?” Aza asks in a small voice.


“I have no time to answer the questions of naïve teens when there are more pressing matters,” she responds icily. “Now come along, you’re going back to the Hoh Metroplex, and you are going to stay there.” She waves her hand and the other three Peacemakers push us forward. 

The CGO employees herd us across Wingspread to the edge of the Lasij Rainforest. We walk for a couple of hours through the flowers which glow under the light of the rising suns. Despite the beauty surrounding us, I can’t help but feel bitter and glum as the Peacemakers shove us along back to the trees. As we enter the jungle once more, I see the three transports which had pursued us all over Belux sitting in the shadows, their sleek white sides set to camouflage to blend in more, for what reason being beyond me. Then a sudden thought strikes me. “If you know about the Drowned Cave, then what about Aguaje? Black was holding refugees in that cave, and he said that he killed him!”


Pearl shakes her head as we get into the vehicles. One regular Peacemaker climbs into each transport, but the Civil Headship and Aza board the same one with a grim-faced employee driving, but I dig my heels into the ground against the Peacemaker pushing me and look up at Pearl demandingly. She sighs. “Oh, no. We had already gone to Black’s cave as soon as we found out that he had left, and Aguaje was only tied up. I highly doubt that Black would have actually killed anybody unless it was absolutely necessary. Aguaje is back in the Karponlei Village and reunited with his father.” 


My shoulders slump in relief and Aza gives a weak smile as well. I don’t protest much as I’m pushed up into the transport and as the Peacemakers tie our handcuffs to rails on the side of the transport, locking us in. I’m just glad that Aguaje is alive, but it makes me wonder why Black didn’t kill him when he had a chance. In that dark heart of his, is it possible that there was a glimmer of mercy?


We speed through the Lasij Rainforest and cross a bridge over the Cercelio River. By noon we’re driving through the southern Meridian, the ocean on our right blinding under the Suncross light. Aza and I sit in mostly silence, afraid to exchange a word for fear the CGO employees might listen in and assume something from it. If I’ve learned one thing from my experiences as a loudmouthed rebellious teenager, it’s that Peacemakers are assumptive and will change your words, so painful as it is, it’s better to say nothing around them than something they could hold against you. Aza talks a little, mostly just polite stuff to break the ice with Pearl, whose gaze is fixed firmly on the ground ahead of us as we blaze our way across Belux. She seems to have become formal-toned again, probably provoked by the government employees, but I also catch her fidgeting nervously. 


“So… how’s Mom?” she asks. “She always speaks very highly of you in our home.”


“I should hope so,” Pearl replies coolly. “None of my children would ever run off like you, if I did have children.” 


An awkward silence falls over the vehicle and nobody says anything for some time. We stop for a quick lunch break and then continue, crossing part of the Kihono Desert. As the suns begin to slide towards the ocean, the Tazarabi Wall comes into sight. My stomach lurches when I see the forbidding border glowing in the sunlight. We climb out of the vehicle and stretch a bit before the CGO workers usher us to the security checkpoint. 


“You’ll have to do an individual security check,” one CGO worker growls, his glare fixed on me. “You know, to make sure people don’t sneak in or out. Empty your pockets.”

 

We approach the stark-clean metal detectors and toss our belongings into several bins. I go first after the others look uneasily at the metal detector and walk through the full-body X-ray. However, just as I step through the first metal detector, a rapid beeping makes me jump. The guards jump down on me. 


A second later, they release me, one guard holding up the key to my apartment, which I had left in my pocket this whole time. He throws it into the bin and then ushers me through the other four, then back again. Finally, I stand next to Aza, feeling stressed. She grips my hand reassuringly.


The transports are led back in without so much as a single glance. We climb back into them and are driven all the way down to the Workplace. We drive around to the back where there’s the beach, then park and are pushed through a side door. The long hall before us is clean and pale. We walk down it, our shoes squeaking on the shiny tile, before climbing into the elevator at the other end. We shoot up into the air, but this time there’s no thrill. When the doors slide open, we’re directly in the CGO bubble. We walk down more halls.


Apparently the news of our escape is widespread in the Metroplex, for the other colors coming and going cast us fearful looks. “I guess they’ve been gossiping,” I mutter, clenching my fists.

Aza shrugs. “Well, we can’t exactly blame them. We dug under the Tazarabi Wall and illegally left. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got jailed for that.” She swallows. “I wonder what our families are going to think.”


The Peacemakers push us along a side hallway and into another room. When we enter, the Civil Headship sits down at a desk across from us. The guards lock the door and stand against the wall. “Sign these,” Pearl says, pushing a small stack of papers each in our direction. I flip through mine. 


“What are these supposed to mean?” 


“Procedure,” Pearl says. “They show that you’ve agreed to tell the whole truth and work out a deal with us in a calm and official way. Aza knows what I mean.” 


“So we can just leave without talking to you if we want?” I ask. 


“No. The law requires that something be worked out no matter what, a compromise if you will. I’m just making you feel like you have a choice.” 


I give Aza a confused look, but she keeps her gaze fixed on the papers as she picks up a pen and signs them. I look down at mine and see words like liable and felonious and juvenile delinquents before I scribble my own name. The second we finish, the Civil Headship pulls back the paper quickly and tucks it into a thick manila folder before locking it in a drawer. She steeples her fingers and smiles at us coolly. One of the other Peacemakers standing along the wall jots down something on a notepad. 


“We understand that you have been through an intense ordeal,” Pearl says. 


I nod vigorously, hearing a lecture coming. “No, it wasn’t—”


She holds up a hand. “We understand that you’ve been through an intense ordeal, and we’d like to help you. However, you’ve committed various crimes which the CGO considers as major offenses. This does not look good on your record.”


“But we defeated Black! Belux is safe again!”


“The public isn’t aware of Black’s presence. Even though you may not admit it, you are naïve as well as young. You giving the Metroplex a ridiculous notion of such an existence will raise eyebrows. Plus, you’ve violated several laws, and not only that, but you sped up the suns. People are asking questions, and it is our duty to protect them. So we’d really appreciate it if you left the legal matters to us. That way you can go home and be reunited with your families, and life will return to normal. It’s for your own good.”


“It’s for our own good to hide from everybody the danger which was threatening them?” I ask angrily, standing up. Aza shoots me a warning look, but I ignore her. 


Pearl stares back at me steadily. “You’re right that you did a great service, however risky and unnecessary. We were going to deal with him ourselves. We appreciate it—” Here her words linger, but she continues on, “—but we know you’d understand that we’d like to keep it a secret.”

“But what about what Black told us? About his past? Are you just going to repeat history and make a similar compromise with us?” 

 

Pearl’s gaze flick nervously around the room, as if trying to plead with the guards for explanation. They look down, their stoic faces shifting and convulsing with no offered words. She turns back to us. “Sun was mentally destabilized. It was not our fault that he escaped. We just gave him a choice: isolate himself from the rest of society or be put in a hospital.”

 

“So he was traumatized because of the genocide then,” I say. 

 

“No! There were no murders—”

 

“Then what happened?” 

 

She sighs. I sit back down, feeling slightly pleased. She’s going to have to admit to it sooner or later. “It was the past generation of Peacemakers. The government wasn’t what it is today. They were still working on improving Belux, and that was a major mistake on their part. But we’ve learned and nothing like that will ever be repeated again.” 

 

“How can you be sure?” 

 

“Sun,” Aza murmurs, looking annoyed, “you have to understand that we really did cause a lot of issues for the government. Even if you don’t want to, you know that they’re the ones who keep our world in order. Can’t you accept that we need to work out a compromise?”

 

I bite the inside of my cheek. Normally I’d object, but now I’ve come to trust that Aza will make the right decisions, better than I ever could. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

 

The Civil Headship nods to acknowledge my decision. “There will be some more documents to sign later. Now listen…”

A month had passed since our journey to find the Star of Zacharias. Some things had changed, some things hadn’t. I suppose it’s better that way, to resume everything that makes up my daily life as if nothing’s happened, but in the corner of my mind I know I’ve changed. 

 

We signed a contract with the CGO that swore us to secrecy, to not speak of our adventures and pretend that nothing exciting had happened. The story goes that I had to take a career trip and Sun was visiting his Aunt Petal up in Dommon. Not many people were too inquisitive about my story, but then, I’ve never had any friends to care about me. Sun’s friends bombarded him with questions when they first saw him, asking him why he hadn’t responded to their messages, but they calmed down after he told them his ‘story’. But everything changed when he broke up with Celosia. 

 

It’s been the riskiest thing, considering that people might put two-and-two together that we went somewhere with each other, but instead of being suspicious, his so-called friends pushed him out of the group and started ignoring him. Even the other outcasts look down on us. In their eyes it is worse to have fallen from a great height than to always have been a loser. But it doesn’t matter when the three of us—Brinjal, Sun, and I—have become our own sort of trio. Now we’re all known as outsiders—Brinjal leaving the group to continue his friendship with Sun, which wouldn’t be possible if he stayed with the popular kids for some reason—but since I’ve always been treated that way anyway, the difference is I’m no longer a loner. For the first time ever I have friends. And not the kind I’ve always envisioned: joining the popular group and being laughed at for every little thing, but hanging out with others who are funny and loyal and benefit me as well. I’ve just never expected that to be my brother and his friend, my new boyfriend. 

 

But ever since we’ve returned, Celosia’s gotten even meaner. As I walk through the halls, I often see her whispering behind her hand to her friends, then they all giggle as I pass by. But Sun is always there to shoot them a warning look and put his arm around me. It’s not like I care, though. Celosia is dating Ribier now. 


Mom and Brinjal were especially surprised at Sun and I. I could tell Mom was having second thoughts about us being together, but I convinced her that Sun really does care and she can’t keep me close forever. She agreed, knowing that to find a good husband I have to have experience. Plus, I suspect she thinks the cause of her divorce was her being single for many years and then marrying the first man she thought respectable. But Brinjal was shocked. He would have never expected his sister to date his best friend. Neither would I. 


As I think of the past events, I’m walking home with Brinjal and Sun. The suns shed their warm light down on us, the smell of flowers from a nearby park garden wafting across the sidewalk. I inhale deeply and adjust my bag. It’s filled with notes and homework assignments, especially since Sun and I have had to catch up on all the work we missed out on, but it’s spring now and not long until school ends. For once in my life, I look forward to summer break. 


Sun waves good-bye to us and Brinjal and I keep walking straight as he turns down his street. “Enjoying Sun much?” he teases. His attitude has slightly improved around me, maybe because he sees that I’m actually trying to help him with Mom without being a total nag. 


I poke him. “He’s a good guy. You just know him for his funny side, but he really is profound.”


“That’s mush,” he replies. We enter the lobby of our apartment and take the elevator up. We walk down the hallway and unlock our front door. When Brin pushes it open, Mom is sitting on the couch. Her gaze flicks up when she sees us, and she gestures for us to sit down across from her. “What’s wrong?” I ask, dropping my bag. She doesn’t look very worried, but I can’t help but feel a twinge of concern. 


“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to see how your day went.”


“Oh. Well, it was good. We had a couple of quizzes.”


Mom looks at Brinjal expectantly. He looks startled and shrugs. 


“Same deal.”


Mom rubs her temples with two fingers, then looks back up. “Oh, I’ve done horribly, haven’t I?”


“What do you mean?” My twinge of concern grows even bigger, and I inadvertently chew on my lip. Mom shakes her head at this. 


“I’ve been doing this all wrong. Whenever I ask about your day, all I get are grades and news. And Brinjal, I hardly ever ask you. But I want to know how you both feel. What’s it like being a teenager nowadays? What interests you?”


“Oh Mom,” I say, but I can’t think of anything else.


Brinjal glances over at me. “Is it because of the journey Aza and Sun went on?” 


Our mother shifts in her seat. “Yes and no. I suppose it was Aza leaving that opened my eyes and showed me that someday she is going to be an independent woman. I can’t hold on to her forever. But the other problem is that while I’ve been coddling her, I’ve been neglecting you, Brinjal. I realize what I should be doing: caring, not harassing. Now I’m going to change, and this family is going to change. We are going to be happy. We are going to hang out more. We will talk more. I only have so long before you two leave me and go off to college, then adulthood.” 


Brinjal and I exchange disbelieving glances. Mom has never apologized like this before. “Does this have something to do with the Civil Headship?” I ask tenderly. “Because she hasn’t been around in a while since I came back…”


“Her and I are taking a break in our friendship. She’s still upset about you, Aza, and I’ve been trying to get her to calm down about the matter,” Mom says firmly. “I’ve just been relying on the Civil Headship to show you what success looks like, which isn’t the only definition. You’ll know you’re successful when you have a wonderful family like ours and people who care about you. I was raised with rougher parents, and it was through hard work that I got here. But I failed to show you another important lesson: love. I don’t know exactly what happened on your journey, Aza, but you’ve shown me how strong you are. I was so worried about you, but then it made me pay more attention to Brinjal and I saw how capable he’d become and how he’d practically raised himself. You both are so capable and it would appear you don’t need me anymore. I just want you both to never be as strict and cold as I have been. Live with love and laughter.”

I shake my head, shocked at Mom’s words. “But I do need you. I’ve never felt as strong as you. Every day you go off to work with a busy go-getter attitude, every week, every month, every year, but I feel sick and worried before school each morning. How am I supposed to be as efficient as you when there are people like Celosia who find ways to hack at my shell?”

She smiles and takes my hand, holding it firmly. “Don’t compare yourself to me. Compare yourself to the person you want to be, but don’t stress it. You’re already so amazing, my dear Azalea. You have a quiet strength that makes everyone who knows you smile. I’m so proud of who you’ve grown up to be, and I’m sure you have nothing but a bright future just around the corner.” 


“What about me?” We both turn to Brinjal, who looks pained. “What am I going to do with myself? Aza’s already done so much, had so many accomplishments, but I’m not in a single honors class. All this time has gone to waste! I’m not smart, I’m a stupid fool—”


“Don’t talk that way!” Mom bows her head. “It’s time I told you why I’ve treated you like you don’t exist for so long, Brinjal. You reminded me of a time when I was still in love with your father, when everything was simple. When we divorced and you ran off, it felt like you had chosen him over me. It was as if I didn’t matter to you anymore. I suppose that’s why I began to control every little one of Aza’s movements then. I’d worked myself up to a job as high as I could do, and now I felt like nothing. I’d always told you that it was because I don’t want you to have the same trouble in the real world as me, Aza, but the truth is I needed somebody to care about.”


Brinjal looks shocked. “Mom, it wasn’t your fault, it couldn’t have been… but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you. Can we start over?”


She smiles and hugs him. For a minute we sit in a thoughtful, contented silence, then I speak, hesitantly at first. “Can I ask you something, Mom?”


“Of course. We’re all honest tonight.”


“I’ve learned a lot over the course of that quest, and it was Sun too that taught me. He taught me that not everything has to be a path. Life is a journey, not a destination, and you can take any side road you want, as long as you keep in mind what’s really important.” I swallow, trying to put into words the ideas that have been impressed on me and that now hang in my mind in the form of a new plan. Sun’s inadvertently taught me something: it’s selfish to not help others when you have the ability to but instead focus on a higher job that really does nothing. “And I realized I don’t want to be a Breeder anymore.” 


Brinjal and Mom gape at me. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate all the work you’ve done to get me where I am,” I say quickly, “it’s just that—”


“If there’s something else you want, tell me,” Mom says quietly, meeting my eyes. She smiles encouragingly, and I take a deep breath.


“I was thinking about…”

As I move down the hill that leads down to the Exgola River, the very place where Aza and I first met, I’m surprised by a twinge of nerves and shyness. I know I should feel excitement on coming here and seeing Aza again, but things feel different now. It’s probably because I haven’t seen her for a few days now; we’ve both been so busy with our families and getting integrated back into our old lives and routines. Now the situation has an approach similar to when we first talked: we’re coming from our families, remembering our responsibilities as well as taking up our old identities again, and possibly losing that familiar connection that tied us together during the journey when it was just us two. In a despondent way it’s sort of a regression, returning to square one and trying to build a whole new path from there. From another perspective it’s reflection and circling back to tie everything up. If that’s the case, I want more circles to build on each other and somehow get me back out to that higher state of being out in the Outer Divisions. 

 

But I have to acknowledge the day is fine and cheerful, pushing away my dark thoughts. The warm air of spring mixes with the smell of the flowers that have erupted underfoot in our absence, their colors vibrant and backed against the verdant green of the grass to create a glowing scene. The waters of the Exgola River are swollen from recent rains and rise to just below the edge of the bank, lapping its rim loudly. Birdsong is all around me, the twittering of all the little familiar birds a soothing gratification to the better parts of my old life, something I’ll accept for now. And then I see Aza. 

 

She’s wearing a purple tank top and white shorts, her hair halfway pulled back. Despite her casual dress, I can’t help but feel the butterflies in my stomach rise up more than ever as she draws closer, approaching the spot at the same time as me. We come to stand opposite from each other. “You look beautiful,” I can’t help but say. 

 

“I’m not wearing anything fancy,” she says with a smile. Before I can say anything else, she gestures for me to follow her as she moves down to the bank and sits down in the long grass at its edge. “How have things been going for you?”

 

“It’s strange,” I admit, sitting down next to her. “I don’t know what to think about coming back.”

 

She nods, accepting this with more readiness than I might have expected. “I see everything differently now. I didn’t understand how much my outlook had changed until we actually returned.”

 

“It just makes you feel lost, doesn’t it?” I murmur. She nods again. A short silence elapses, then I raise my head from examining the river, my thoughts too loud to wait for a subtle sign of resolution from her. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Do you think our relationship will last here? I mean, I know we both have our different lives to return to and we can’t be together nearly as much as we used to be—”

 

“Sun,” she says, and the simple word makes me regret questioning her, but it’s too late to stop now.

 

“—but I was just wondering if it would continue after all that’s happened. We really do work together well, and I was sort of enjoying it. Do you think—”

 

“Sun,” she says again, this time seriously. “Yes, of course. There’s no reason for us to break up. Things have changed. You’re a part of my life now.” She grins. 

 

“Really?” My heart lifts at that, and I scold myself for overthinking it as always. There is no reason why things should be entirely different from the journey; no reason why we should return to our old lives as if nothing had happened. Aza then takes my hand, something I had been thinking of doing but hesitant because of my fears.

“Imagine what it’s going to be like in a few years,” she says, her gaze flickering over the river, then looking up at me. “Imagine how much will have changed. In just three years I’ll be an adult. We’ll have to find jobs and have kids and raise them… it’s just so scary.”

 

“No it’s not,” I say, squeezing her hand. “We’ll be prepared. We’ve come further than anybody our age has. We’ve seen more than most adults in the Hoh Metroplex would ever dream of. We’ll be fine.”

 

“You think so? I’m sorry we ever fought. You’re an amazing person.”

 

“I don’t know about that,” I say quietly, thinking about how the only truly magical thing in the world is to have somebody who could ever see me, me, that way. “But when we work together, we’re a great team. If we’ve managed to go all over Belux in search of a legendary diamond and made it back, then why stop now? We can change the world.” 

 

She laughs lightly. “That’s a bit ambitious.”

 

“I’m hopeful,” I remind her. “And I’m surely not going to be pessimistic about the future now after everything that’s happened, even if we’re going to be stuck here for however long.”

Aza leans against my shoulder. Together we look over the river, my mind tracing its flow into the Bay and how it’ll eventually end up in the Cercelio River, winding through the various landscapes of the Outer Divisions, the thought of which is already distant but still promising.  

I exhale, feeling hopes for the future rise up in me softly but persistently. Even if Aza has doubts for our abilities to change anything, I can’t help but feel that the world as we know it can’t stand forever. Things will change. I’ve been out and had a taste of freedom, and that’s all I think about now that I’m stuck in the same place and in the same routine as I’ve been all my life. The contrast is astonishing. We’ll escape again past the Tazarabi Wall to the unfolding world that lies beyond its strict constraint. 


Black was right about one thing. There are corrupt people leading us now, lies and fake news circulating from person to person like deadly germs you can’t see but know are there anyway. I was angry before, so sick and tired of this horrible backwards world. I still am. But now I know change is an option given to all of us, a chance to fix what’s wrong for the future generations. I have a new perspective now from all we’ve encountered and overcome in the past few weeks. I have a new awareness of humanity in general because I’ve come to understand different groups of people and how they interact with those of their kind, but also what’s stood out in all of them, what silently unites them: restlessness. They’re all experiencing oppression of some sort, and it’s only a matter of time before they decide to make a stand for themselves. As soon as they do, that’s the time to find others like Aza and I, others to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with and voice our anguish. A revolution is coming, I feel it. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

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