“We have to be careful not to exhaust our routine,” she said, continuing to walk out the rear door of the theater, nothing to keep her company except for her shadow. It is from this casted silhouette of her figure that a mass briefly detached from it before settling. “We have one more week before we can retire, although I wager you will miss the limelight.”
There is a responding hiss that causes the corner of her mouth to tilt upward. Tanith is a glutton for attention, and she never fails to preen under the gaze of an audience. Of all the disguises they could have used, she had indulged Tanith and created an alias for an entertainer. If her husband could see her now, he would have grabbed his belly and let out the most thunderous laugh. “After I wanted to get away from that branch of the family, you go back to my roots!” She can feel her heart clench as the ghost of laughter flutters past her ear, and she almost turns around to chase after the illusion of her husband. How silly of her. An illusionist falling for an illusion, even if the former is just an act.
A hiss, sounding close to admonishment, made her flinch. She felt a lithe body coil around her, a phantom hug that was not meant to comfort, but to squeeze her until she grimaced. That is the dangerous aspect about Tanith and something she would not change. She was, after all, the one who asked for the serpent’s help to rid herself of any meekness. Never again did she wish to be as she was.
Dismissing her memories, she traversed the streets, the soft glow from the lanterns hidden amongst the foliage, lighting her path. She passes by the few meandering people, those going about their last bit of business before resting for the night. It is a good walk until she reaches an inn bearing the name Ostatnia Droga, where she walks through its doors, causing a bell to ring. Inside the inn, behind the counter, stands the innkeeper, writing in a larger leather-bound ledger. She is dressed in comfortable robes of monochrome violet and white, with a soft yellow headband that keeps her lengthy hair back, tied in a braid. Her pencil halts mid-sentence as the elderly woman looks up, a smile gracing her face.
“Ah, Madam Calypso! Another letter has arrived for you, my dear,” the innkeeper, Cara of Heartsease, said. She walks up to the elderly woman, whose skin is decently wrinkled yet remains unblemished despite the many years. If memory serves her, Cara and her husband are the eldest in the tribe, their age well past a hundred. Given that the husband and wife have lived for so long, she has found pleasure in conversing with them. It is a blessing that the couple’s minds are like steel traps, allowing them to recount many events that have taken place in Fallen Petal—most predominantly the Ethospar War.
It was interesting for her to see how the war had scarred them by taking their patriarch and the initial heir before coming to an end. She found their turmoil as they spoke pathetic because, in her eyes, they had not suffered any actual loss. For them to act as victims of unspeakable horror had made her bite her tongue as she had nodded sympathetically to their tale.
“Don’t tell me you were waiting up to hand it over to me,” she said playfully. Cara is a woman without a sense of time, blaming the issue on her advanced age. She did not need a reason to be out and about during late hours. Still, she wanted to banter with the elderly woman, the charade an expected part of her carefully crafted persona. “No, no, our books have to be audited, and it’s simply my turn this night.”
She walked over to the counter, a look of skepticism on her face. “I’ll believe you for today, but remember, Miss Cara, that I am capable of caring for myself. I don’t want to be the cause of your lack of proper sleep,” she lightly admonished. Cara continued to smile at her as she handed over the letter. “Anyone who rests here becomes my responsibility until they deem it time to venture forward. I would be a terrible innkeeper otherwise, but that is not to say I won’t heed your words. Clemens has been voicing his grievances with me on the same issue. However, my husband is a hypocrite! I’ve caught him a time or two working on the oddest of chores at night when he knows very well they can be left until morning.”
“That is why the Lord brought the two of you together. One owl of the night to keep the other company.”
“I suppose you’re right, my dear.” Cara’s smile turned fond. “He probably will do the same for you. Perhaps a gentleman who will perform with you on stage? I do hope you and your future husband will come and stay with us, God willing, if we are still on this earth.”
She bit her tongue, the taste of copper filling her mouth, and tapped the invisible coil around her waist before Tanith could let out a hiss. “Nothing would bring me greater joy than to do just that.”
The conversation soured her mood, so after her reply, she bid Miss Cara a good night and headed to her room. Once behind a closed door, away from observing eyes, her face became emotionless except for her eyes. The crimson began to swirl, and a single red drop threatened to fall from the corner of her eye, but she blinked and delicately wiped it away. “Who is more foolish? The ignorant old hag, or I, who struggled to control my ire at her words?” She asked Tanith as the snake slowly came into view. The female serpent touched its snout to her nose, and she raised a hand to stroke the side of the creature's head. Tanith gave a rumble in contentment, while she sighed through her nose. Gently pushing the serpent's head out of the way, she brought up the letter addressed to her.
To Madame Calypso is all that was written on the envelope, although she needed nothing more than the familiar handwriting to know who the letter was from. Using a single nail, she swipes it open. Reading the letter within, her lips pulled into a genuine smile. Three days. A simple sentence, yet so weighted in its meaning. “It must have been grueling for them,” she said. “Their pace must have been punishing if we are ahead of schedule.”
She went over to the desk by the window and proceeded to light the oil lamp resting on top. The small flame flickered and then greedily licked at the paper she offered. Her eyes watched curiously as the letter burned while her mind imagined how much more beautiful it would be to see Fallen Petal be the one engulfed in flames. It will be a blessed night made all the sweeter by the screams of betrayed agony falling from the lips of Miss Cara. The old woman will know the true feeling of what it is like to lose what you hold most dear.
—————
It had begun as a spark, an unruly, invisible power hiding in the air and the very marrow of the world. Then the clever minds of Noctua learned to coax it, to guide it along copper veins like a wild stallion that needed to be tamed. Electricity is what the tribe coined it, a discovery as grand as when the Picture Box was invented. Photographs had been the marvel of the century, more so when they figured out how to make the Photoplays, but both paled in comparison to lamps that did not need oil and flame to cast a blanket of light.
As great a leap in progress as electricity was, it was theorized that it would take many years to reach every corner of the earth. The ones with access to such a gift from God were its discoverer and the tribe of Adoptore. The latter received such a privilege because of the way Adoptore had laid out its cities. Their structuring allowed for a clean connection, and the tribe took advantage of the man-made light, bringing it to another stage. Signs that were once simple carved works of art, painted with steady hands in vibrant, appealing colors, began to glow in the night. With Adoptore’s artistic ingenuity, they devised a way to create a delay and produce patterns by blinking the lights in and out, resulting in an eye-catching show. To further make a spectacle, they also used tinted panes of glass, which changed the color of the lights, and their most spirited city became a dazzling sight to behold once the sun drifted out of the sky.
Never in his wildest dreams did Cian believe he would see daylight in the middle of the night. He had studied the continent of Faux Point and read descriptions of its most popular city, Semper Dante Luce, but bearing witness to the real thing left Cian overwhelmed. It was not just the impossible illumination coming from buildings and street lamps, but also the noise and activity.
His city and that of Rai Sage are by no means small settlements, but the way of life in each is more relaxed. Even the hustle and bustle of Nora Zora had failed to prepare him for the thousands of carriages roaming the streets and the many pedestrians walking along the causeways. Even the street vendors behaved differently. They were more adamant about achieving a sale or trying to steer you toward an establishment for which they were paid to voice favorable opinions. Speaking about the establishments, there were a plethora of shops selling ornate clothing too expensive to be worn regularly, jewelry that glistened in window displays, and a cobbler that produced footwear meant for fashion more than practicality. What surprised Cian most of all was that the surrounding area was filled with numerous gambling houses.
Casting lots, placing wagers, and playing games of chance for money —whatever the act is called —it is supposed to be illegal. Gambling cultivates sin, ensnaring the participant with the promise of money if only they put forth a little of their own. It drags the person down when they do not win, feeding lies that their luck will change if they simply play again. An endless cycle of next time it will be different. Cian cannot fathom how such a blatant disregard for the law was on public display for all to see, so he voices his confusion.
“They are sanctioned gambling houses,” Kumo replied. Cian raised an eyebrow and then glanced at his uncle, whose face was impassive as they continued to walk. “Sanctioned?” Keegan questioned, his face having contorted into a look of befuddlement. Kumo nodded, his eyes blinking blearily against the constant onslaught of light. “The tribes came into agreement that Adoptore would be allowed to manage such unsavory businesses, as long as they placed restrictive regulations on them.”
Kumo pointed to a passing building, one chiseled from polished white marble, with a large fountain in front that spouted water in a rhythmic pattern. “No large sums of money can be accepted. No one is allowed to wager their life earnings. All games must be equal in their probability for success, and the winnings can't be outlandish. It's a controlled environment to meet the needs of the people. The tribe’s ideology is that if the people were going to commit such sinfulness in dark places, then they might as well bring it to the light and lessen the burden on the soul,” he explained, flippantly waving his hand toward the end. “Is it even possible to make something…less sinful?” Cian asked incredulously. The very notion seemed preposterous. White lies are considered less severe than their dark counterpart, but in the end, they share the same characteristic. They are lies. So, whether sanctioned or not, it is still gambling, and the people are still committing what displeases the Lord.
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“It's not,” Bomin said. Cian once more glanced at his uncle, and he took in the man's unchanged expression, but noted the slight emotion in his eyes. “And allowing one evil, no matter its low severity, has the potential to breed more. Adoptore walks a fine line, and in the name of Christ, they won't stumble.”
“If we keep away from the gambling houses, will you permit us to explore the rest of the city after we reach Patriarch Julian's home?” Cian asked, deciding to change the subject. “No. I do not want you and your brother wandering around alone here. The customs of this city are not what you are used to, and I will not have you taken advantage of.”
The finality within his uncle's words left no room for argument, and Cian did not dare to persuade his uncle to change his mind. Instead, they kept walking, although Cian continued to swivel his head to and fro, engraving into his memory the different shops that seemed interesting.
—————
As if a concept from a dream had been brought into the waking world, the mansion rose from the ground like a palace, its sweeping roofs curving upward at the edges, layered in dark, lacquered tiles that gleamed faintly under the glow of the hanging lamps. Grand columns, carved with constellation-like designs, support broad balconies edged in intricate latticework, while tall, arched windows spill a warm glow into the late evening air. Some balconies cradle potted Whitewater Bear’s Breeches and cascading vines, their leaves brushing against the balustrades. Along the entrance path, stone lanterns stand sentinel between carefully placed clumps of ornamental grass. A cherry blossom tree stands at the heart of the courtyard, its branches reaching gracefully toward the upper floors. The building’s surface plays with light, smooth marble walls in cream and jade tones are punctuated by gilded trim.
Despite the intention being to showcase opulence, the building does not feel garish. Every element is balanced by calm and natural beauty, creating an atmosphere where grandeur and serenity coexist in harmony. The pièce de résistance is the words carved into the steps leading to the mansion’s entrance, the inscription of the Adoptore tribe. “Crafted in His image, we are children of light, destined to shine through the talents bestowed.”
Awaiting to greet them at the top of the stairs is a man with high cheekbones that catch the light, and a sharp jawline that is softened by a boyish curve. His porcelain skin has a faint golden undertone, and a scattering of freckles runs along his nose. The man’s crimson eyes seemed to hold both mischief, understanding, and something else that cannot quite be placed. He is smiling, and there is a warmth to it, the kind that softened even the hardest expressions around him. His light gray hair fell in a straight, glossy cascade, framing his face and catching the light when he moved. He is dressed in long, creamy white and lavender-pink, layered garments that are draped and belted in a way that allows for free movement, yet are wrapped and folded with care. The cloth hung in wide panels from the shoulders and arms, yet gathered close at the waist with a golden sash, while the lower half flowed like a formal gown, broken by fitted pieces. Embroidered into the clothing are intricate designs made of golden thread.
Standing in quiet poise next to the man is a woman, her skin pale with an alabaster sheen that seems to absorb rather than reflect the light, and sharp cheekbones. A few barely-there freckles dot her temple, visible only if looked at closely. She wore a long, flowing set of layered garments, similar in color scheme to the man’s, with the topmost layer draping over her shoulders. The sleeves were wide enough to sway with her smallest movements, yet light enough to reveal the shape of the arms beneath. Beneath that, a fitted inner layer crossed over her chest and fastened neatly at the side, the folds held in place by a broad, soft lavender-pink sash tied at her waist. The lower half of her attire fell in smooth, unbroken lines to her ankles, with panels that overlapped just enough to give the impression of both a dress and a robe. The same golden thread was embroidered into her clothing, the patterns elegant. Her silver gray hair was gathered entirely away from her face and drawn up in an intricate arrangement. Several sections were twisted into smooth coils, layered one atop the other in a balanced, sculptural style, while the rest was pinned in sweeping arcs that fanned slightly toward the crown of her head. Holding her hair in place are slender, decorative pins, slim in length of polished wood and metal, tipped with tiny lavender and pink beads. Not a single loose strand fell out of place. Her crimson gaze was steady as she watched them approach.
“Welcome, children of Heartsease!” Patriarch Julian greeted, his voice lively and flamboyant. He extended a hand out, shaking Bomin’s good-naturedly when the man accepted. “I was beginning to worry. Your escort had assured me you weren't far behind them, but I'm assuming our city managed to distract you?”
“It had,” Bomin replied. “This is the first time my children have ever ventured into Semper Dante Luce, let alone Faux Point. I wanted to let them see a bit of the city, although I must apologize that our detour ran longer than expected.”
Patriarch Julian shook his head. “No need for apologies, my friend. The Lord knows Medea and I were attending to some affairs and would have been improper hosts had you come sooner.” Julian put an arm around Medea, and she took it as her cue to bow lightly. “My husband and I are glad to be here to welcome you personally.”
The patriarch then went around his wife to shake Keegan's hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally, Son Keegan,” Julian said, moving on after to focus on Cian. He is a bit taken aback by the near-crushing grip of the patriarch. His strength was there for anyone to feel, though his merry demeanor made it the last thing you would expect. “You as well, Son Cian.”
When it came to Kumo, as propriety had it, the soldier bowed deeply in respect. “Patriarch Julian. Greatwife Medea. Thank you for opening your doors to us.”
“Now, you must be famished! Come, and I will have the servants prepare something nourishing and refreshing for you.”
Cian had thought the interior of the mansion would be much the same as the outside, but he was mistaken. The general theme encompassed anything that fell into the category of art. The walls they passed by were different colors, and the portraits hanging ranged from depictions of circuses to forest landscapes. Masks, costumes, and other paraphernalia were either hung on the wall or shelves. It was a tad fun for Cian's eyes to roam from one thing to another, although it felt as if his mind could not grasp the entirety of what he saw.
“Are we the first to arrive?” Bomin asked, keeping stride with Patriarch Julian and his wife. Keegan and Cian followed behind, while Kumo brought up the rear. “Third, actually. The first was Patriarch Griff with his sons, and then Matriarch Regina with her husband, youngest son, and daughter. All of them have already eaten, so you might not see them until tomorrow unless they are roaming the halls.”
“May I ask which room holds Son Wukong?” Cian asked, his interest piqued by the opportunity to speak with the other boy. Upon arriving in the city, Cian had devised a plan that initially only included Keegan and himself, but what sort of person would he be if he did not make room for a friend? “He and his kin have rooms on the second floor in the northeastern wing. Just look for the doors with hanging purple irises on them.”
—————
They were given individual rooms, and, as with the rest of the house, each room was decorated differently from the others. His room is designed to resemble the ocean floor. Painted depictions of fish, sculptures of aquatic greenery, and furniture carved to mimic that of a ship. Cian would find it beautiful if it did not bring memories of Lake Kai. It also did not help that there was a depiction of an Abaia Eel. That is why he is more than happy to escape his room for a while.
“Why is it that your room is painted like the open sky and mine is restrictive underwater?”
“You can always request another room,” Keegan suggested, moving out of the way to allow his brother entrance into his quarters. Cian immediately went over to the stuffed plaything that resembled a dove, petting the downy body, most likely made from sheep’s wool rather than actual feathers. “And be branded a difficult guest? That would put a stain on our tribe.” Cian sighed heavily. “I'll just bear through it. We won't be staying here long anyway.”
It felt good to speak with Keegan after many days of silence from the other. Even as they traveled, Cian had a rough time trying to engage the other, and this cordiality felt like a step in the right direction. “That’s actually why I wanted to bother you.”
Keegan eyed him wearily. “I’m unsure when next we can return to this city, so I think we should take advantage and go out exploring!”
“Father said no.” Came the swift response, but Cian was not perturbed, the corner of his lips tilting upward. “He said he didn't want us wandering alone, which we won't be. I will be inviting Wukong to join us.”
“That's not how he meant it. I don't want to have to return home and stand outside holding bricks as punishment. This whole mess is almost over anyway, so obey Father and go back to your room, Cian.”
“Fine,” Cian said, demeanor not dropping, only by sheer will so as not to show how hurt he felt at Keegan’s dismissal. He sets the plush toy down and takes long strides toward the door. He reaches for the handle, but stops midway. “Join me or don’t. It doesn’t matter either way. I’m still going, but I do ask that, of course, you don’t tell Uncle, and that no matter the outcome of the ceremony, we can become brothers again.”
“I told you,” Keegan said, his tone sharp and short. “If we wanted the fight to be fair, then we couldn’t spar together. We’re still brothers, and you’re being dramatic.”
“Oh, I didn’t know fishing was sparing, or that camping was also.” The sarcasm dripped heavily from Cian’s words, and the blooming smile from before had all but died. One more day and they would be facing each other not as friends, not as siblings, but as rivals. Even after one of them is crowned champion, there will be no undoing the change the battle will bring. Cian hated it, but what he hated more was how unreasonable and distant Keegan had been. “All I’m trying to do is have a night with my brother and our unwilling best friend, running around in a vibrant city to see what fun we can have.”
Keegan’s expression became pensive, but Cian saw when the other boy’s reservations crumbled. “If you can convince Wukong, then I suppose it won’t be so terrible. I think Father believes him to be more mature than us anyway, so he might take it as the equivalent of having a chaperone.”
The smile from before blossomed back to life on Cian’s face. “This is going to be a great night!”
