Scene 1

“Esteemed merfolk! Thank you all for being present tonight!” Yells Elder Octo over a balcony as guests watch from the ballroom below. Merpeople from several kingdoms dot the crowd, both young and old. While the adults listen patiently, regal in all their colour from a sharply dressed angelfish to a striking blue seahorse, the children run about the ballroom floors without a care in the world. “Allow me to extend my thanks to the citizens of Atlantia,” Elder Octo continues on this heartfelt speech, hoping that this event will bring the merpeople of Atlantia and Coral Reef closer. It’s too bad his own children aren’t listening to him speak, they’re too busy bickering.

“But pa told me you would play with me tonight!” Whined a small and chubby grey whale as she pulled on her brother’s sleeve, “Flowerhorn! C’mon just for a little bit…” She held a bunch of sea flowers in her other hand, intent on braiding them into Flowerhorn’s long sliver hair.

Though the young prince seems to be resisting this, he held tightly onto a drawstring bag in his hand, a convicted look on his face. “Nooo! Sealily I can’t play now, I gotta give these shells to the Princess!”

It was a convenient excuse, he thought. Not that he was fully opposed to playing dress up with his sister, but the last time they did this, three maids had to spend hours detangling Flowerhorn’s precious hair from all the knick knacks that had been woven inside it.

“But I’m the princess!” Whined the spoilt girl.

“I meant Atlantia’s princess,” Retorted flowerhorn as he looked around for the cast of black that Princess Manta was known for. “Pa told me to do it, so I gotta do it okay?”

“But he also told us to stay together!” The ball was a big place for two little fishlets, one wrong corridor and they could very easily get lost.

“Yeah, well… I’ll be back okay? I will just give Princess Manta these shells and I’ll come back, promise!” Flowerhorn wanted his annoying sister off his back as fast as possible.

Sealily sniffed back a few tears of betrayal, but ultimately agreed, letting go of Flowerhorn’s sleeve, she watched him push through the tails in the crowd until she could no longer see him.

Stupid brother Thought Sealily as she waited.

And waited.

And waited…

She stood against the wall where Flowerhorn left her, for what seemed like hours. The guests at the ball began to dwindle, but still, Sealily was determined to play with her brother. It was when she saw the tips of his silvery hair brush by in the crowd that she got excited. Craning her head, she saw her brother being dragged out of the ballroom by someone. Enough waiting, she thought – it was time to check up on him. Plus she was technically listening to pa, they were to stick together!

She ran after Prince Flowerhorn, out of the ballroom and all the way to the mansion’s basement, where the fires of the kitchen warmed her. She peeked into where the furnace burned high, seeing the Prince with a slick black mergirl. It must be princess Manta, she thought, instinctively hiding further behind the doorway. The warmth of the hearth backlit her black fins, matching her short black hair, as she smiled at the Prince, Sealily couldn’t help but admire how pretty she was.

She heard the head chef talk to the Prince, “you got potential kid!” he bellowed as she ruffled her beloved brother’s hair, much to his annoyance. Though through that irritation was a spark of something that Sealily had never seen in his eyes when they played together, a hint of genuine joy. He looked at Atlantia’s princess and laughed with her, making Sealily wish they could have fun times like that too. She took one step into the kitchen, perhaps to join them. But upon hearing another chorus of laughter, she decided against it, for once, her brother was actually having fun. She didn’t want to be the annoying little sister who ruined everything. She looked up at the scene before her, Head Chef Dory was holding Flowerhorn’s hands while they made seaweed pastry. Her lips trembled, was her brother that unhappy with her?

“Hey! You there!”

Sealily turned to see a flurry of stripes and yellow rushing towards her. Afraid, she swam as fast as she could down the dark corridor, dodging servants along the way. Eventually, she took shelter in a wheelbarrow half filled with barrels that stunk of rotten fruit. Pulling the cart’s tarp over her head, she tried to stay as still as possible. She heard footsteps get closer, call her name a few times, before they wandered away.

As Sealily was about to climb out, she felt a thud beneath her, accompanied by the barrels around her creaking as they shuffled from side to side. The cart was being moved, and if Sealily were to get out now she may risk being discovered, and that meant a huge scolding from pa, not something she could handle right now.

Sealily decided to be silent, waiting until the cart stopped before getting out and swimming back into the ballroom, hopefully to apologise to Flowerhorn for being such a terrible little sister. The rumble of the wooden planks beneath her became more soothing over time – and she didn’t even mind the smell of that rotting fruit that shared her hiding spot. She thought about what exactly she would say to her brother after the ball. Thoughts turned into fantasies, and fantasies soon turned into dreams. Dreams that would carry the little princess far, far away on a long journey. A journey that would one day bring her back to this very place. Only, it might take a little longer to get there than she initially thought.

Scene 2

It was midnight when the word had gotten around – Sealily was missing. Elder Octo had respectfully waited until all the guests left to rise in a panic, ordering the entire kingdom to search for her. Though as Coral Reef knights combed the kingdom, their search was futile, as the little grey whale was nowhere to be found. Flowerhorn initially rejoiced, finally he didn’t have to deal with that annoying pest of a sibling. He could instead spend his time in the much more charming company of Atlantia’s princess, Manta, or Manny as she likes to call herself. Flowerhorn found Manny way more interesting than Sealily ever was, and way less whiny. Plus, they had a lot in common and became instant friends, who needs a sister anyways.

It was not until Flowerhorn was older that he began to realise the error of his ways on that fateful night. Sealily had only wanted to play, and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of her. It was his only wish that night and be careful what you wish for, as they say. If he had only entertained her for one moment, been a better big brother, then she would not have gotten lost. It was his fault that she was missing, he decided. And with his rock on his shoulders, adolescence was a hard time for the mourning prince.

Elder Octo had insisted they would find Sealily one day, but Flowerhorn had imagined many worse case scenarios, day by day he found himself pushing away the thought that she could be dead – and it would all be his fault. All because he saw the shine of Manta’s smile and got distracted. He thought he was just going off to have fun before turning around years later and realizing he lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

With a void to fill in his heart, he couldn’t help but continue to return to the kitchen, where Head Chef Dory was always ready to provide some gruff solace. He always had dishes to wash or counters to clean, which Flowerhorn did wordlessly. Soon he graduated to rolling out pastry dough and icing cakes and from there baking those cakes and flavouring the icing he worked with. Before he knew it, Flowerhorn had poured his heart and soul into cooking, as a way to make full use of the opportunity he chose in lieu of his sister – not that this journey would go anywhere. He was a prince after all, and a prince had no place in the kitchen, according to his father at least.

Elder Octo much preferred Flowerhorn to fence, a hobby he enjoyed with his best friend, and now betrothed, Princess Manny. Though as much as it was nice to spend time with her, he couldn’t help thinking about what tonight’s sauce would be for the mussels they were preparing, or whether he had put that icing he made last night in the fridge or freezer by accident. Predictably, he could never beat his future wife at the sport, a fact that disappointed the slightly old fashioned Elder Octo.

“My boy, you really must practice,” Elder Octo lectured one day after watching Flowerhorn lose yet another match to his finance. “We can’t have a future king that cannot hold a sword against his wife (For sport of course)! What a disgrace that would be…”

Flowerhorn ran his fingers through silvery hair, “I understand father, but I have had… thoughts… on my mind recently.”

Elder Octo sighed, knowing enough about his son’s burden to understand what this was about straight away, “Flowerhorn, we must not dwell on the past. She is gone, we know this.”

“But-

“No buts boy. Rulers have to be strong in the face of adversity.” He faced his son solemnly. Seeing the scepticism on Flowerhorn’s face, he added “it is not that I do not care about Sealily, but…” Elder Octo gulped, “We must move on, I have a kingdom to lead, and one day, so will you.”

Flowerhorn nodded meekly, he wanted so badly to find her himself. Strike out one day and not come back until she was found, but he had responsibilities. Being in the kitchen is all he could do for now, and perhaps Elder Octo was right – maybe it was time to let go.

Scene 3

As the great wedding to unite both kingdoms drew closer, more preparations had to be made. Manta went through the motions of cakes and flowers and dresses that altogether weren’t for her – and were more for the people who had to watch this spectacle of a loveless union, hoping it would bring them peace.

Her life felt restricted, for she knew Flowerhorn had too much on his mind to think about love. She herself, well… she had a different set of problems. Problems wrapped up in a soft smile and even softer features. Problems that stemmed from a calming voice and gentle hands Ones that would make her heart beat faster every time she saw her again and today just so happened to be one of those days.

She opened her bedroom door to find the root of all her problems standing there, a mass of white tulle in her hands. “good afternoon Manta,” greeted her Chambermaid, Grey. A beautiful grey whale merwoman about her age, adorned with her signature pearl necklace and tiara. Drooping down her ears. “are you ready for you fitting?”

Manta sighed in remorse, “as ready as I’ll ever be.”

As Grey helped Manta into a preliminary version of her wedding dress, other servants came in and out to provide various bits and pieces. An anglerfish came to bring a fresh vase of flowers and towels, while a squid servant brought the veil that Manta also had to try on. The squid passed the veil to Grey.

Grey placed the veil over Manta as the servants left them alone to change. She pushed the lace over her head, Manta giggled, making the grey whale blush.

Manta’s giggled evolved into an awkward laugh, but it wasn’t until she snorted that Grey found herself stifling laughter as well. “hahahaha… hahaha…” Grey turned away to laugh. “I didn’t know you… you snort when you laugh…” she said in between her own giggles.

Manta eventually recovered, “Ahh why are you turned, it’s okay to laugh in front of me you know…” she placed her hands on Grey’s shoulders, turning her around to see her watery eyes sparkling with happiness, sending a metaphorical arrow straight through her heart.

“But… But princess Manta I…” Grey panted as she tried to calm down, “It’s disrespectful to laugh…”

Plaufully, Manta shook the chambermaid’s shoulders, “C’mon Grey, we’re friends, no need to address me so formally.” She winked, “we can laugh at each other sometimes right?”

Grey reddened, nodding meekly, “Um… if you wish, though… it’s difficult sometimes.” She admitted, “I want to call myself good friend with you,” she explained, twiddling her thumbs in the cutest way, “but… ahh I cannot ignore the different in rank between us.”

Manta’s face fell into concern.

“I would almost prefer it if…” Grey took hold of Manta’s hands in both of hers, “if we were both just people, instead of you being my princess.”

“I…” Manta found her voice caught in her throat from Grey’s sincere charm, “I would want that too…”

“Imagine a world, if you will,” Grey was shy, but through her soft voice to a friend she trusted, she could say “Where there are no kings or queens, no conflict… only us. Only people, who were free to love and do what they wanted, without having to worry about…” she smiled sheepishly, “without having to worry about stupid things like the consequences for laughing at your princess. What if you threw me in the choker?”

Manta’s worried expression melted into an easy smile, “I would never do that Grey, you know that.”

“But you could…” Grey fluttered her eyelashes innocently, “ah… even if I did something horrible?”

“I don’t think I could do it…” Manta whispered earnestly as they both inched closer to each other.

“Maybe you aren’t fit to be a royal then…” Grey pestered playfully, not realising she was still holding onto Manta’s hands.

“Maybe so… but I’d still be yours regardless.” There was that smoothness got Grey on her knees, covering her face from a profusive blush that rose up to her ears.

It was then when another servant burst through the door, “I’m sorry to interrupt by Princess but, flowerhorn has gone missing!”

“What… where is he?” Manta demanded, snapping back to being the princess she was raised to be.

“We… we don’t know Princess. Elder Octo has sent out scouts to search for him. He pleas for us to look as well.”

Grey uncovers her red face, staring at Manta’s shocked expression, her face hardens uncharacteristically, causing Manta to take a step back.

“Grey… are you-

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before Grey sprang to her feet attempting a clumsy curtsy before rushing out the door.

Scene 4

Grey had rushed her way to Coral Reef with hopes of helping find the prince, as part of Elder Octo’s call for aid. If the prince was missing, neither Atlantia nor Coral Reef could benefit from the joint wedding. Grey wasn’t the only staff sent to Coral Reef to help with the search, though she was the only one in her own carriage, borrowed from Atlantia’s groundskeeper when he heard her plea.

The carriage was driven by a stripy angelfish, focused on getting her there fast. So fast that Grey had to hang onto her seat to keep from flying out the window. However, as they neared the mansion, the angelfish took a sharp turn.

“where are we going?” Asked Grey, confused as the angelfish banked around the corner to the back of the mansion.

“If the prince has gone missing, he is unlikely to be in the mansion itself. He’s probably escaped out the back,” The coachman yelled to Grey in the carriage.

“How do you know??” Yelled back Grey.

“I just… have a feeling!” The coachman skidded to a stop behind the mansion, down a long and empty alleyway that had had been untouched by guards thus far.

Grey stepped out more than a little carsick onto the cobbled road. There were a few doors to its side, leading into the staff wings of the mansion.

“If anyone wanted to sneak out past the guards, they would do it here.” Explained the coachman, “this is the last place they would check.”

“How do you know so much about the Coral Reef mansion?” asked Grey,

“I used to work here…” admitted the coachman, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’ve… moved jobs a lot in my life.”

Grey nodded at him, fulling believing that explanation as she checked the alleyway, opening doors where she could, she found them leading to boiler rooms, sculleries and one room in particular that struck her.

It was located at the ends of the kitchens, where they kept empty sacks of potatoes, used pots and empty casks of fruit wine.

Wine that stunk up the entire room with a very familiar smell.

As Grey stood in the doorway, stunned by the nostalgia that she couldn’t quite place. She saw a hooded figure enter from the kitchen.

“You, wait! Stop there!” She called to them. “show yourself! Do you know where the prince is?”

The figure stood up tall, tendrils of silver hair falling from their hood as they pulled it back to reveal the handsome face of the prince himself.

Grey was shocked, “wh-wha… your highness,” She curtseied on reflex. He had to be the prince, the man in front of her fit the descriptions of him perfectly. And yet… there was something about him she couldn’t quite place.

The prince walked towards her, “and who might you be?” He asked, his voice seemed dead, tired. As he approached grey saw he had dark circles around puffy eyes, like he had been crying.

“Well I-I’m Grey… Princess Manta’s Chambermaid sir…” she stuttered, “the… the entire kingdom is looking for you, they thought you’ve… run away you see and-

“I have,” replied the prince, pain in his expression, “or at least. Was about to.”

Curiously, he examined her. And she, with the scent of old wine filling her nose, did the same. Why did he look so familiar… Surely she had never met this man. In her awkwardness, she lifted a hand to adjust her necklace, it’s central pearl gleaming as light bounced off the engraving of a lily.

The prince was stunned.

“Where… did you get that necklace miss? If I may ask,” he reached out a hand, seeming nervous.

Grey was taken aback. “Well I… I don’t know actually,” she looked down at it, “the nuns in the convent told me I had been wearing it when they found me,” perhaps there could be a remedy for the prince’s confused expression, “ah… I was an orphan you see. The family that couldn’t afford to keep me must have left it as a keepsake of some sort. It is common these days in the working class of Atlantia.” She didn’t mean to make Atlantia’s economy sound grim, but there was a large proportion who could barely feed themselves, let alone children.

“No, I didn’t mean…” The prince struggled to explain himself, placing a hand over his eyes in exasperation, “Urgh… I’m just seeing things, loss often makes people see things, as father says, there’s no way, you can’t be…”

“Loss?”

“Coral Reef’s kitchen staff were found dead yesterday night…” he explained, getting choked up, “Head Chef Dory, Sous Chef Eel… the others… all of them… just… gone.”

Grey’s eyes widened, “oh your highness I am so sorry I-

The prince held out a hand, “no, no don’t come nearer, you… you remind me of her… she…”

“She…”

“My sister…”

“You have a sister… but that would mean-

“Yes, that once upon a time, there was a princess to Coral Reef, but I… in my foolishness during a ball, I lost her…”

A ball, thought the Chambermaid. Not that she ever attended one, and yet she had this floating memory, bits and pieces she couldn’t quite place. “A colourful ball, with a tower of food…”

The prince looked up from his sorrow expectantly.

“A ball with a corridor beneath, a corridor with barrels smelling like rotten fruit…” Grey recalled, she placed her hand atop one of the barrels, “empty barrels that thud along the crickety floor of a wheelbarrow… on a long… long journey to say I was sorry.”

“Sorry to…” Grey scrunched up her face as she struggled to remember, “A brother… who didn’t want me to braid his hair…” She looked up and realised the prince was watching her with an expression that looked like one of pure horror. She suddenly blushed and bowed profusely, “oh my I’m so sorry, I got caught up in my thoughts I didn’t mean to get lost in them It’s just that… this room reminded me a lot of a dream I had once, excuse me your highness.”

“No,” The prince rushed forward, grabbing the grey whale by her shoulders, “Sealily, it’s really you!”

“Excuse me?” Grey froze up at the touch, but the prince was insistent as he pointed to her necklace.

“You are the long lost princess!” he exclaimed, “That’s her necklace, it’s one of a kind from our great grandmother, it must be you,” He started to tear up, “everything from your eyes to your memory of a terrible brother with long hair it must be the memory of that night, you must be Sealily… Coral Reef’s Sealily!”

The prince shook her shoulders, but Grey was too shocked to process this information. “There’s no way I am… or I could… I’m not a princess sir,” she attempted, “I am merely an orphan, one of Atlantia at that.”

“But yet you are a princess, you must be!” exerted the prince. “I thought all hope was lost and yet here you are! The heavens must have sent you back to Coral Reef, to rule in my stead.”

As The prince tried to convince her, Grey started to buy into this idea. The room did feel strikingly familiar, and the more the prince talked, the more memory she regained. Getting lost at a ball, and being wheeled off into the night, dreaming of a time where she could apologise for being a brat. It was all coming back to her now. But there was still one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Rule in your stead?”

The prince looked sheepish. “I am not fit to be a royal, Sealily.” He admitted, “And the death of my dear friends in the kitchen is the last straw… I must go, before the guilt consumes me.”

“But… with all due respect my Prince, I cannot rule! I know nothing about ruling.”

“Please. Call me flowerhorn, Sealily. And do not worry about being a good queen, you may not know how – but Princess Manta does.” It was here that Grey’s train of thought stopped short. That’s right, in a day or so… Flowerhorn was supposed to be married to none other than…

“The love of your life, no?”

“How did you…”

“Anyone who knows Manta knows that she is head over heels for you. You are all she talks about when she’s alone. And it’s no secret that love is requited.”

Grey blushed despite the situation, she did not know her expressions were that obvious.

“Please…” The prince got down on both knees in front of the Chambermaid turned princess. He was defeated. “I cannot take the throne, not after what I have done, to my friends, and to you. I cannot rule with a clean heart knowing that I am responsible.”

“But you have done nothing Flowerhorn!”

“But I have!” He exclaims, “By simply being part of the royal family, rebels like the Chef and his staff die. I am spoilt and idealistic. Let me repent for my sins Grey, let me take your place, and you take mine…”

The Prince started to cry, both out of mourning for those that taught him the only happiness he ever knew, and for the crimes he had committed against his own family. If he had to leave like the coward he was, at least Grey should be allowed to enjoy the luxuries she rightfully deserved, and was deprived of in her childhood.

Grey, or Sealily, rather, in all her kindness, knelt down to give her brother a hug. “If it means that much to you Flowerhorn, it would be… an honour. I will try my best, on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Please. Don’t leave until you have attended the wedding, even in disguise.”

Flowerhorn smiled, supposing she must be scared to go up to the altar all alone, “of course. I promise. I will be there.” He stands up, putting his hood back on.

“Trust me, sister. I will not abandon you again.” And with that. He disappears out into the alleyway.

Scene 5

It was soon agreed between Sealily, now returned, and Elder Octo, that the wedding shall proceed. Manta, having received correspondence to know that her best friend had not been harmed, was ecstatic as Sealily’s serendipitous position, though she kept calling her Grey out of habit, not that Sealily minded.

The day of the wedding came, held outdoors with special seating for palace guests. Behind iron fences, civilians stood, excitedly awaiting the arrival of what they thought was going to be a bride and groom.

On the day, free food was also passed out to all who attended, cooked up by those of the royal kitchen themselves, though strangely, none of them were at the wedding itself. The dessert allegedly made by Coral Reef’s famous royal chefs were called ‘Decadent Creams’. Quaint little sandwich cookies in the royal colours of tie dye, yellow, blue and purple. It was refreshingly dry, keeping people dehydrated on the very wet wait outside palace doors. Many people had also spotted the presence of two thrones instead of one. A mummer spread through the crowd, would the elusive king of Atlantia finally be in the public eye? Some older folk remember seeing him in his prime, some 20 years ago, but he hasn’t been in public since… the incident.

The crowd quieted down as it was time for the wedding to begin, first, the high ranking court officials entered, followed by Elder Octo, who took his place at his throne. Finally, the King of Atlantia, an elderly yet sharp man with a long blue cloak and the tail of a blue whale, swam into view, taking his place on the throne next to Octo. Even the Elder was surprised to see him, unable to wipe the look of shock off his face until the King turned to offer him a small smile.

Manta was next to arrive at the palace’s main doors, walking down the aisle, the crowd saw she wasn’t alone, but with someone who was distinctly not Flowerhorn. In a fluffy cute gown was a grey whale, a veil matched Princess Manta’s hid a string of pearls around her neck. Elder Octo stood up as they reached the end of the red carpet. “Esteemed Merfolk, we are gathered here today to witness a lawful union, but not one that any of us, including me, expected.”

Grey lifted her veil, in the glory of her shimmering makeup and regal dress, there was no question she was royalty.

“The stars have aligned and in a twist of fate, brought back our lost princess to us. May I present Princess Sealily, of coral reef!”

The crowd cheers until Elder Octo talks once more.

“You see, Under the alias of Grey, the Princess has been slaving away in the palace of Atlantia, unknown for decades until today… where she will take her rightful place on the throne!”

The bold statement, inciting applause, was instead met with a curious mummer over the crowd. People in the back rows were craning their heads, trying to gleam a sight of this alleged princess. Others were shooting dirty looks at the royals beyond the fence when the Elder described their honest work as ‘slaving’ away. Unfortunately though, no one was bold enough to say anything – there were a few pushes amongst the younger members of the audience, where they perhaps exchanged revolutionary ideals under hushed tones, but no one speaks up.

“Thank you so much father,” Sealily bowed to Elder Octo, “it would be an honour to take the throne, but even more so, to marry the love of my life…” She turned to Princess Manta, who beamed in return. “I would want nothing more,” cooed the manta ray princess, before announcing, “to marry you, maid or princess. It matters not to me where your lineage lies Gr- I mean, Sealily. Only that we are together in the end.”

A loud ‘awww’ echoes through the crowd as Sealily and Manta nuzzle their noses together. Loud enough to dampen the few voices whispering that perhaps, this is a sign that Manta doesn’t care for royalty either.

“I now ask the approval of both our fathers,” she turns to the two thrones, Elder Octo and Atlantia’s King, Blue, sitting side by side, “If they would so kindly bless this union, it would mean everything to me…” She bows deeply. Elder Octo turns to nod at Atlantia’s mysterious king, who stands up.

“Princess Manta. You have always been the pride of our kingdom – May your union be a beacon of hope, and of peace, between Coral Reef and Atlantia. May it show the people that we are flourishing, not as neighbouring kingdoms but as partners in this vast ocean. Partners that will now be stronger than ever – thanks to your fruitful marriage. I wish you both prosperity and fertility, you have my blessing.”

Again. Applause would have seemed appropriate here, but there is nothing but bubbling silence. The royal court may as well have been playing out this wedding to themselves. The faces of the people at large do not look convinced, by the sudden reveal of this ‘princess’, by the convenience that she and Atlantia’s princess are in love. The royals can really do whatever they want in this world huh?

Manta bowed, for her wrap dress was too tight to curtsy. She turned back to Sealily, giving the merpreist a nod to start the ceremony.

The wedding goes off without a hitch, the vows were exchanged with the greatest sincerity, Manta almost tears up at one point. As they are finished, the two share a kiss, earning the first great applause of the day from the audience, genuinely cheering on a happy marriage.

What that union means though, feels a little more uncertain. As the merpreist finishes, both royal courts have an opportunity to raise a toast to the new couple. One merman in particular stands up, he looks to be in an Atlantian guard uniform with short brown hair, but he had a glimmer in his eye that Sealily, and only Sealily recognised, she tried to hide her smile as the man spoke.

“I would just like to say, if I may as a humble palace guard,” he started, “that your marriage Sealily, has given me hope. Hope not only in your happiness but that your happiness will permeate throughout the kingdom. It has certainly reached me, and if I may be so bold I wish that it will reach all people far and wide.”

There is a hesitant clap amongst the crowd as Manta responds, “thank you so much sir, we will try our best to live up to those shining expectations, won’t we Sealily?”

Sealily manages a shy smile and a nod, “Yes – may our marriage bring hope to the new monarchy, and with me having lived a life as a peasant, I hope to be able to understand your struggles better through my rule. Trust that with me finally in the royal court that the working class will never be forgotten.”

The royals attending the wedding erupt into applause, overshadowing the caution of the people outside the fences.

Another member of staff pipes up, his gleaming blue seahorse tail catching the eyes of all royals, as he stands up far in the back “I must say I agree with my fellow staff,” he adds, “that your wedding, as much as it is a symbol of happiness, is also a symbol of hope in the order that our kingdoms both depend on so dearly, even if we don’t notice it.”

There is a distant noise, it almost sounds like a boo, but it is quickly cut off by the clanking of metal and a thud.

“May you both bring fresh ideas to the people of both Atlantia and Coral Reef,” the groundskeeper continues, “I for one very much appreciate how your youth may add a new take on the archaic system of monarchy, with Sealily’s experience and Manta’s wisdom, I am confident you will be able to listen to the ideas of us commoners, which is all that we want.”

There was a wave of nods amongst the crowd, starting to agree with what the seahorse was saying. They did seem to want to be heard, and what he said makes sense. These young rulers, with one being from the masses, were more likely to listen to their worries than the old, jaded Elder and a king that never shows up to the party.

As the seahorse makes several valid points and gets the crowd thinking, Sealily pulls a card out of her pocket, grasping it in her hand and squeezing it in a fist until she feels the handle of a microphone take form. Raising it to her lips, her gentle voice can be heard all the way to the back of the commoner crowd beyond the fences. “Thank you for all your kind comments, though I, as a commoner once, am aware that not all is perfect in both our kingdoms.”

Pin drop silence, Elder Octo widens his eyes, and the King of Atlantia stiffens in his chair.

“The monarchy is not a perfect system, and never will be – here in my position, I hope to be able to change that. Kingdoms are nothing without rulers, but I can see even now that our rulers are flawed, in how they have treated all of you.” Grey gains confidence with every word into her mic, Manta’s hand squeezes hers, but she hasn’t time to look if it’s out of worry or encouragement.

The crowd gets louder, there is even one cheer, which is quickly and messily silenced by a guard’s intimidating stare.

“I hope that my position here, beyond ruling the kingdom is to be a voice for the people within the royal family.”

Whispers, once more. “wait… didn’t she say she would be a good ruler just minutes ago?”

“Is this wedding scripted?”

“Maybe they have her hands tied… she’s saying what they want her to say…”

“Poor girl, maybe they just kidnapped her, and are using her as a puppet to appease us.”

These small mumblings are quickly silenced, there is even one woman who is taken away in handcuffs, though he looks off to Sealily with hope in her eyes.

“I do not seek violence, for there is no need.” The crowd looks up to her in hope, “all we need is change – and you can rest assured that the distruption of the old monarchy will start with me…” she looks to Manta, who smiles proudly at her,

“no, with us.”

For the first time in the entire event, the crowd outside the fence cheers. But the royals inside looked panicked, thankful for the wrought iron bars separating the two. Elder Octo looks sternly on at Sealily, and the King of Atlantia shakes his head slowly.

The guards quell the rowdiest of the crowd, there are a few upstanding people, but with no central voice, their thoughts go unheard, with only the hope of their 'new' monarchy to guide them. Happy or not, this seems to be a fate they are forced to accept.

Scene 1

“Can I ask you some questions about Mr Ericsson’s death, Detective? For the Gazette.”

Detective Kesler sighs. “I’ve given the official statement already, Miss Dupont. It was an animal attack. Most likely a bear, though we can’t rule out the possibility of an escaped exotic pet.”

“Like a tiger?”

“We… can’t rule that out, no.”

“The body was torn open, correct? Wouldn’t you say that level of savagery goes beyond an animal attack?”

“Well you should know how dangerous bears can be at this time of year. They’ll try to eat anything they can before hibernation.”

“Yes, but nothing was eaten, was it? Or at least, almost nothing. Is it true you never found Mr Ericsson’s heart?”

—

Four people sit around a table inside a slightly odd coffee house. It has a mostly unremarkable appearance, but it is situated by the side of a road in rural Canada – the kind of place you might expect to find a petrol station, perhaps with a motel or truckers’ café. And yet, here it is, with a sign outside advertising their special “seasonal flavour” coffee. There are only two other customers, aside from the group of four: a pair of truckers who were evidently eager to take a break from their driving, but seem surprised at the type of place they have found themselves in.

The four travellers have an unusual variety of bags and pouches on them or lying around their feet. Most of them have scars, and a couple have tattoos just visible behind the cuffs and collars of sensible jackets. Hikers, perhaps – they certainly have the look of people who spend a lot of time outside. They also have a look about them that dissuades most people from asking further questions.

One of them, Antonio, is typing away on a battered but sturdy-looking laptop. Ylva is flicking through an old book while sipping on a cheap coffee. Melissa has a canvas tool-roll spread open in front of her while she sharpens a long knife with a honing steel. This might be the main reason why people don’t ask questions. The fourth member of the group, Xavier, is reading a newspaper.

A server glides up to the table, placing down a tray of drinks.

“Two coffees: one black, one with milk; one herbal tea; and –“ the server places a cup down in front of Melissa with extra care, “one seasonal special.”

“I didn’t order anything,” says Melissa.

“I know,” the server replies, “it’s on the house.”

Melissa looks down at the cup in front of her and sees a small marking on the rim. A keen eye might note that it bears more than a passing resemblance to some of the strange tattoos which run down her forearms. “Oh. Right. Thanks.”

Melissa holds the cup in both hands and for a moment simply breathes deeply of the fragrant steam rising from the rich, dark liquid. She takes a sip and closes her eyes. A wave of expressions flash across her face – concern, determination, pain. She gasps and opens her eyes.

“What is it?” Asks Ylva.

“I saw… something… some creature. Something tall and thin, pale… in the forest. Soon.” Melissa frowns. “We fought it but it… it hurt me. Hurt me bad.”

“Hmmm – a creature in the forest? Maybe something to do with this?” Xavier tosses a newspaper down onto the table between the others.

“Fox Lake Gazette…” Ylva skims over the article, “Vicious animal attack… heart missing?”

“Yeah. And when they say vicious, they mean it. Took them hours to clean up the body.”

“Hmm. Let’s check it out.”

Scene 2

“Thank you for your time, Detective.”

Ylva, Xavier, Melissa and Antonio step out of the small police station, pulling their coats tighter around them against the autumn chill.

“Hi – I’m Amelie Dupont, with the Fox Lake Gazette. You’re new in town aren’t you? Could I ask you some questions about what brings you here? I’m writing a piece on tourism for the Gazette.” The four turn to see a young woman with a pen and notepad. Despite her apparent cheerful and innocent demeanour, her eyes dart suspiciously from one person to the next, taking in every detail of their expressions, bags, clothing. The four are carrying notably less than they were at the truck stop, though. Anything that might have seemed out of place before has either been removed or carefully covered with long sleeves and turned-up collars.

“Family business.”

“Oh – you knew Mr Ericsson? I’m sorry.” Amelie pauses for a second. “I didn’t think he had any family near here.”

“Yeah, well, James probably didn’t talk about us much. Not after…” Ylva looks away. Antonio gently puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Something happened between you? But still, you’re here, so soon after he passed – you must still have cared about him?”

Ylva brushes a tear from her cheek. “Look, we’d appreciate it if we could stay here without having a journalist ask us too many questions. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Sorry – old habits. I’ll let you get on with your day.”

—

“That journalist sure was curious. Do you think she knows something?” Says Xavier, back at the guesthouse where the four have rented a couple of rooms.

“Amelie…she’s the one who wrote the article, isn’t she? Definitely thinks something’s up, but I don’t think she has any real evidence to go on. Just a real good reporter’s hunch.” Replies Ylva.

“Yeah, good job there Ylva – didn’t know you could act like that. I think you might actually have convinced her to stay off our tail.” Says Antonio.

“Thanks. She didn’t seem the type to be cowed by intimidation, so I thought I’d try a different tack. At least you had the foresight to leave most of the gear behind. I don’t think even the greatest sob story in the world would put her off if she saw anything she couldn’t explain.”

“I hate being without my knives,” says Melissa, “But you’re right, she’s got a keen eye for sure.”

Scene 3

The four companions reconvene after an afternoon of information-gathering.

“Well, it’s definitely not a bear – the claw marks and gait are all wrong,” says Melissa, “and I don’t just mean wrong for a bear. They’re wrong. We’ve definitely got an Aberrance here, just as I saw in that premonition. We should be able to catch it if we head out tonight.”

“I agree,” says Xavier, “fortunately the local law enforcement don’t seem inclined to investigate further, despite the strangeness of a few details. They’re happy enough to put it down to an animal attack.”

“Good work,” says Ylva. “Got any idea of what it actually is? I don’t want to go in completely blind.”

“A Class Three threat, I’d say. Physical attacks, nothing weird – or at least nothing overtly magical. It’s strong though. Cut clean through a couple of trees nearby. Probably a corrupted creature subclass.”

“Hmm. If it’s relying on a connection to an arcane Source…” Ylva rummages in one of her bags and pulls out a small pouch. “Here,” she says, tossing it to Melissa, “put this on a blade and it should help sever the connection, weaken it.”

“Thanks.”

“Ok – gear up, everyone. We’re heading out in an hour.”

—

The four creep into the edge of the forest under the cover of darkness. They carry no torches or lanterns, but their eyes glow faintly with arcane light. Suddenly a flash of torchlight cuts across their path.

“Ah fuck – is someone following us?” Whispers Antonio.

“Wait here,” says Ylva, “I’ll see if I can’t put them off.”

Ylva creeps back down through the trees until she has a clear view of the torch-bearers. Two people are at the edge of the forest. One of them looks to be Amelie.

“Are you sure about this, Amelie? I can’t see anything in there.” Whispers the other. “I’m sure, Selene. They definitely came this way. And something is definitely strange. They called him “James”! I don’t care how badly they fell out, he’s always gone by “Jim”. And even if they are his family, why would they sneak out to the forest at night?”

“Why were you even watching them, anyway? Can’t you just leave the poor people alone?”

Ylva focuses her attention on the second of the pair – Selene, if she heard right. She holds her left hand up in front of her, fingers splayed, and grabs her little finger tight with the other hand.

“Hey, you agreed to come out here with me.” Says Amelie.

“Only because I knew you’d do it anyway and I - !” Selene slips, losing her footing in the slick undergrowth.

Ylva twists her hand, yanking her finger in a direction it’s not supposed to go –

Selene falls, ankle twisting in a direction it’s not supposed to go –

There’s a snapping of bone. Once. Twice. Almost indistinguishable. Ylva grits her teeth and quickly binds her finger to the one next to it with a strip of gauze. Selene screams.

“Aaargh! Fuck! My leg…shit. Amelie! Help! Fuck, I think it’s broken…”

Amelie rushes over and starts to help her friend up. Seeing it’s futile, she pulls out her phone and starts to call for an ambulance.

Ylva watches for a few minutes until she’s satisfied that Amelie won’t be leaving her friend behind, then turns and heads back up to her companions.

Free from distractions or interference, the group heads further into the forest. Melissa takes point, knife ready in one hand and a hex-bag in the other. Ylva and Xavier follow close behind, eyes sharp. Antonio takes up the rear, a short staff held out behind him. He chants a strange mantra under his breath, and as he does so, the plants and soil behind them fall back into place, the natural disorder of the forest floor covering the passage of the four humans.

They continue to comb through the woods. Xavier notes a trail of animal blood on the leaves and branches; Melissa picks out the slash marks of sharp claws – or spines, or teeth – carved deep into the trunks of the trees. They are definitely on the right track.

Eventually the creature is spotted. Huge and thin, its form stretches between the trees. It might have been a deer once, or maybe even a human. It’s hard to tell, and now there is also something undeniably insectoid about it. It is all pale skin and spines and bone, and a mouth full of needles, and limbs too long for its body. It hasn’t seen the humans yet. Rather, it is focused on a small, pale shape at the edge of the clearing it stands in: an egg.

It is a strange sight, this otherworldly creature which seems incapable of even moving without disembowelling the nearest creature with its multitudes of claws and spines is nonetheless treating the egg with great care. With a pale skin which matches that of the creature, there can be no doubt that this egg is theirs.

Quickly, Ylva instructs her companions with a series of hand gestures. The four spread out, encircling the creature. They’re all in position, just about to strike, when: snap. A twig breaks under Xavier’s foot. The creature’s head whips round and suddenly it’s loping towards him, tearing up moss and soil with its razor-sharp claws.

Xavier lobs a hex-bag which erupts in purple fire at the creature’s feet; it screeches but barrels on. Antonio slams the end of his staff into the ground. A shockwave races through the fallen needles towards Xavier. Just before it reaches him, it bursts up in a flash of energy and forms a translucent screen. The creature slams into it, claws scrabbling around the edges, trying to reach Xavier. Melissa comes charging across and leaps directly at the beast, knife in hand. She grabs on to the creatures back and plunges her blade deep between its shoulder blades. It screams in pain – a scream too human for comfort – and thrashes around.

Melissa is thrown to the ground. The creature turns to face her and is on her in a flash. Melissa draws a fresh blade with one hand and holds the other up in front of her, conjuring a flickering shield. She tries to roll, block, and parry as best she can but the creature is fast and right on top of her – she can barely move without getting impaled by some part of the creature or another, even without its active attempts to wound her.

Ylva rolls back her sleeve and raises an arm, pointing it towards the beast – then changes her mind and swings her arm around to point instead at the pale egg. An intricate tattoo running from her shoulder to hand glows sharply and arcane light flashes down her arm. As a bolt of light shoots from her fingertips, the creature suddenly turns, leaving Melissa alone, and leaps in front of the blast.

Skin blackened and sizzling from the impact, it scrambles to its feet. Its head whips around, staring at each of the advancing humans in turn. With an ear-piercing shriek, it snatches up its precious egg and frantically limps away, vanishing into the dark of the forest.

Scene 4

“Melissa, are you ok? Can you stand?”

Antonio, Xavier and Ylva cluster round their teammate. Melissa is bleeding badly, but remains conscious. A few deep lacerations have been torn all down the right side of her body. Dark blood pools on the forest floor beneath her.

“Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have done that.” Melissa winces, trying to sit up. “Still,” she says, peeling back some blood-soaked leather covering her upper arm, “that premonition might have saved my arm.”

Antonio bends down to inspect the wound. “You might be right – this could have been a lot worse. You’re not doing any more fighting tonight, though, not on my watch.” He looks up at the others, “do you think you can handle it from here?”

“We definitely injured it, and it’s very protective of the egg – perhaps we can use that to our advantage. I don’t feel good about going up against it with just the two of us, though – and without our best fighter and defensive caster too.” Replies Ylva.

“Someone needs to see to this arm. I’ve got to stay here.”

As the four try to decide what to do, another voice interjects, “Ah, don’t worry about that. I’ll see to Melissa – you three do what you need to do.” The server from the café walks in from the edge of the clearing, carrying a small doctor’s bag in one hand and a takeaway coffee cup in the other. “I took a taste of my own medicine,“ they say, raising the coffee cup. “I thought I might be needed here tonight.”

—

Leaving Melissa in the care of the prescient server, Ylva, Antonio, and Xavier make their way deeper into the forest, following the trail of the creature. It’s not long until they trace it to some sort of lair, the carcasses of slain creatures lying around a deep hollow – food for the young when it hatches, perhaps?

Now fully knowing what they are up against, the companions prepare themselves and execute a more strategic assault. Ylva draws the creature’s attention with a flurry of arcane fire while Antonio conjures protective barriers to hem the creature in and prevent it from reaching any of them. Xavier casts an illusory image of himself over the egg, as if to strike it; enraged, the creature focusses its attention on the illusion, and though it is almost immediately dispelled, it grants Ylva and Antonio the opening they need to strike decisively at the creature’s exposed back.

Standing around the weakened beast, the three all draw their own blood, casting it onto the forest floor, where gnarled roots and thorny vines creep up from the soil and hold the creature fast. Unable to move, the creature struggles helplessly as Ylva draws a blade decisively across its throat. As the light fades from its eyes, it reaches one needle-clawed hand protectively, uselessly, towards its egg.

In all this, the egg itself is unharmed.

“We should take it back,” suggests Ylva, “I don’t think I’ve heard of an Aberrance breeding before. I’m sure the researchers back at the Foundation would love to get their hands on it.”

—

Scene 1

On the Summer Solstice, tribes gathered from far and wide to celebrate the Long Day. Just before the Sun was devoured by the western peaks, the chiefs joined in a circle and lit the prepared bonfire that would preserve the light. A choir of priestesses sang in praise to the Winged Goddess.

As the fire rose with the Moon, the Chief, with booming voice, called the tribespeople close.

“As the Long Day descends into darkness, let us reminisce the Eternal Day that once was, but is no more. Let us reminisce the birth of light, the gifts it granted us, and how it was stolen.

“Before the first men learned to speak, before the first birds learned to sing, the Winged Goddess created Light. Light filled the heavens and illuminated all. The world looked up in wonder, enraptured by the Eternal Day.

“The Primordial Clam was woken by the Light. Rising from the Abyss, in foul greed it devoured the Light whole…”

The Chief retold the ancient creation stories: how the light came to be, how the Sun and the Moon came to be, how the seasons were born through the end of the Eternal day…

“And this is how all that we know of shall come to an end!” Sounded a voice, loud and clear. “Hark! Hark! The Great Goddess has spoken, and I am Her voice!”

All turned to look at the Priestess, who had stood up, and was now standing before the fire and the rising moon.

“Powers from beyond the horizons shall rise, and this land shall fall like leaves before winter, prey before a hunter. Here: No hope remains; desolation must reign.

“But fear not the night, for a new dawn must rise. Upon a shore of white sand, purer than first snow, within a white nautilus shell, lies our salvation. Make haste. Journey. Follow. The path of the Youth and I, the guidance of the Chief and the Quick Brown Fox. Leave everything behind, possessions and old grudges alike.”

The Priestess and the Youth locked eyes and solemnly the daughter of the tribe nodded - a silent promise. The Quick Brown Fox peeked its head out of the dancing shadows, recognising its name. The tribespeople were engrossed, hanging desperately upon her every word. The Chief held out his hands and called for their attention once more.

“The words of the Goddess we must heed. The white beach lies in the north-west. I will lead, with my daughter to scout, guided by visions of the young Priestess. Follow, for we have no time to lose.”

Echoing his words, a distant thunder explodes. The shock wave reverberates throughout the world. The tribespeople shudder, and hasten to gather the base minimum of what they would need for the long journey, helped by the Chief, the Priestess, the Youth and the Rival.

The Quick Brown Fox looks upon the village one final time, then jumps away into the night.

Scene 2

The Youth rose before sunrise, woken by the bustling village filled with tribespeople preparing for travels and her own restless heart. The house was already empty. Her parents must have gone to organise the evacuation already. She packed her bag, a cloak to shield her from the rain and wind, spear and bow - gifts from her father - to ward off beasts of the wilderness. She knew the land dearly, and her father had taught her well.

Leaving the wooden house that she would never again call home, the Youth looked up to the sky. Dark clouds were gathering upon the horizon, an army ready to march.

She walked through the village, offering words of reassurance and encouragement to all that she encountered. The faces of the tribespeople were pale, but they nod and return her with smile.

At last she reached the end of the village, marked by the old willow beside the river. Here she oft honed her skills of spearmanship and archery. Here she oft played as a child.

The Youth was greeted by the winged words of the Priestess. She turned and saw her friend approaching, lit up by the dawn-light behind her.

“Hark, my friend. The Great Goddess has spoken, and I am Her voice.” The Priestess comported herself with unearthly grace. Yet unlike the night before, her voice was soft and mellow as the summer breeze. “Beneath the willow, aside the flow, stands the one who shall seek the Light. Follow the river and journey west, descend to the Abyss where the Clam would rest. Break the Sun, restore the Light, what once was is always right.”

Looking deep into the Priestess' eyes, the Youth spoke. “Two prophecies you have delivered.”

“I have.”

“How am I to honour both?”

“I know not.” The Priestess turned her gaze towards the village, where the people were readying themselves for the greatest journey they will ever undertake. “What I know is only this: we must work together, as much as we can, to overcome this.”

As the two left the shades of the old willow to join the tribes, the Youth contemplated her words.

The Chief was already there, assigning people roles, organising parties. The Rival stood proud before his tribe, leader of the scouting party. The Priestess' family, along with her Loyal Hound, were waiting for her.

As the first ray of sunlight broke through the thick clouds, the tribes started their long journey, their footsteps haunted by distant thunders.

Scene 3

Towards the Twin Mountains that everyday devoured the sun, the people journeyed, the group growing larger and larger as more tribes joined them on the way. The thunders were closing in. They forced themselves to march on faster.

They encountered many difficulties. Lack of settlements, strange weathers, beasts of the night. Thankfully, the Chief’s wisdom, the Youth's sharp eyes, the Priestess' guidance and the Loyal Hound prepared them for them all.

Eventually they reached the Twin Mountains, tall and imposing. In their shadows they found a village of foxes and many camps of men. The Quick Brown Fox was waiting. As the people came close, it came and greeted the Priestess.

“Your prophecy we have heard; your prophecy we have heeded. We have been the wings upon which your words travelled, to stray humans from far and wide. Here in our village you may rest, in exchange we ask for passage to the next world as you have promised your people.”

The Priestess kneed before the Quick Brown Fox and held out her hand. “Your feet are nimble and your thoughts swift. Thank you, dear fox, and welcome to our band.” The Quick Brown Fox placed a paw in her hand and the pact was sealed.

After many days of arduous marching, at last the people had a chance to rest and regroup. Campfires were lit and around them people feasted on fish, meat and freshly gathered fruits. The foxes gathered what little they own and prepared for the journey next day.

By a campfire, the Youth, the Priestess and the Loyal Hound rested. As the Quick Brown Fox walked by, the Priestess waved for it to join. It looked at them curiously, then strode over with casual grace. By the fire it curled up, fiery tail swaying gently in the breeze. Not far from them, the Rival was patrolling the camps.

“Will you join us?” Called the Priestess.

The young man looked over, somewhat surprised by the offer, but accepted nonetheless.

Together they sat beneath the starry sky and the waning Moon, not as rivals, competitors, hunters and quarries, but mere travellers. The Youth and the Rival named constellations in turn, while the Priestess told their stories. The Quick Brown Fox's eyes were closed, but the subtle movements in its ears revealed its interest.

It was as if all the time in the world were theirs, just as all the stars in the sky seemed to belong to them.

But it was not to be. And soon the stars shifted place and the Moon journeyed on. Tersely, the Rival thanked the Youth and the Priestess for the fire. As he disappeared into the camps of his tribe, so, too, did the Quick Brown Fox disappear.

Only the Youth, the Priestess and their Loyal Hound remained by the dimming fire. The Youth added some more brunches.

“Let us exchange tales under the Goddess' wings,” Smiled the Priestess, “we have time still.”

She sang a story of a hero of old, who journey far to save a loved one from the Ice Serpent of the North. Much resistance he encountered. All of which he overcame. Such is the nature of hero's journeys. Such is the nature of heroes.

“Trials are the prelude to triumph. All that you faced are signs that you shall succeed.”

The Youth smiled to her friend and sang a legend in turn, of two heroes who conquered the Southern Sands together, where a lone traveller would have surely perished.

As the wind grew colder and the night darker, the Priestess rested her head on the Youth's shoulder. Gently she closed her eyes as the Youth sang on, another tale, another legend, of a lone hero called to conquer the Highest Cliff by all the gods.

Scene 4

At dawn, the tribes woke and broke camp, following the order of the Chief. Every time he glanced at the distant black sky, the furrow between his brows deepened. This was to be the last stage of the journey. North, all the way north, to the snow white beach where salvation waited in the shape of a nautilus shell. Humans, foxes, all were united together in this grand exodus.

All except one.

“My journey leads elsewhere.” Spoke the Youth, calm and true.

“What do you speak of?” Questioned the Chief, jaw tense. The clouds were darkening, faster than before.

“My journey leads west, not north.” Spoke the Youth, pointing towards the Twin Mountains and the river that flows through them.

The Priestess stood before her, yet could go no further. The Goddess gave her no further revelations. No words of her own came to her.

The Rival raised his brows, yet uttered no comment. His duties were tied to his fleeing tribe.

The Quick Brown Fox came between the Youth and the mountains she was pointing at. Tilting its little head, it spoke.

“Turn back.”

“I will not. The Great Goddess calls me forth, to seek the light and break the sun.” Said the Youth.

“So you won't.” The Quick Brown Fox's bright black eyes reflected all light. “And so you must know. I am a hunter. Hunter of memories. The twin mountains are perilous; their peaks are smoother than obsidian and only creatures of fire and ice dwell upon them. The river is perilous; the river bed is white for it is laden with the bones of those that dared to jump in. But I am a hunter. A hunter of memories. The world is my hunting ground. I know a way through, and I can take you. Just know, whatever path you choose, there is a price to be paid.”

“Then the price I will pay.” The Youth answered, clear and true.

“And so you will.” Nodded the Quick Brown Fox.

So the Youth parted ways with her people, her friends and families. The humans and foxes departed north, leaving the Youth alone with the Quick Brown Fox, in the deserted village.

The Quick Brown Fox circled the Youth, sniffing, judging. Then it spoke. “You come alone, leaving behind all you once held dear, desiring passage. Give me the memories you have of them, and I shall grant you safe passage to the other side.”

The Youth fell silent. She contemplated her options. Slowly, she closed her eyes. She could see the memories. Sitting upon the lap of her father and mother, listening to the fire-side yarns and dreaming of distant lands of legend. Studying lore with the Priestess, how she would look at her, quietly, attentively, and turn away the moment she looked back. Practicing archery under the old willow, where oft the Rival would challenge her and they would duel and laugh.

The Youth's eyes opened, bright and fearless. She turned to the Quick Brown Fox. “Then take. Memories of the home I have abandoned and can never reclaim. Memories of those that I may never again see. Take them all, except that of the prophecy, for I cannot forget my quest.”

The Quick Brown Fox nodded; its expression - if one can so interpret the face of a fox - strangely solemn. It approached the Youth and licked her hands. And then she knew she had paid the price.

Scene 5-1

The Quick Brown Fox led the Youth into the valley between the mountains. They trod through paths hidden by overgrown bushes, tracks that grew out of the sheer cliffs and tunnels that they can barely squeeze through. But at last, they arrived at the other side.

She passed the trial of the twin mountains.

Before her, the sea spread open. Boundless, unfathomable, blue as sapphire. Beneath it, laid the Abyss.

The Youth walked to the seaside. There she found a Weeping Girl, whose tears are pearls.

“Why do you weep?” Questioned the Youth.

The Weeping Girl looked up, pearls falling from her eyes. “I don't remember.”

Before anyone could respond, she realised that the Sun is setting - falling - towards where they are. Never before had the Sun looked so big. And now that it was so close, she could actually see the Primordial Clam, whose shells were made almost transparent by the blinding Light of the Pearl.

As the Sun crashed into the sea, the Youth dived in.

Scene 5-2

The people journeyed north, along the mountains separating land from sea. Distance had started to lose meaning. The land was plain, monotonous, featureless. But the people journeyed on, led by the Chief and the Priestess, guarded by the Loyal Hound and the vigilant Rival.

“There! The shore - !” Shouted the Priestess, the end of her sentence engulfed by a deafening crash.

People looked back in horror: the Twin Mountains, under the shadow of which they rested a night, dim and distant but so adamantine, were no more. And the mountain ridge they had been travelling along was beginning to crumble like sand.

“Follow me, don't look back! The Tra— white beach is right there!” The Chief's booming voice woke the people from their state of shock. He started sprinting towards the white beach that has now appeared at the end of the desolate emptiness and the people and foxes follow.

Before them laid the snow-white shore, lifeless and silent, the water cold and still. Behind them, the storm clouds — gigantic, monstrous — encroached upon the land like wolves on sheep, draining it of life-blood and tearing it asunder. Thunder clashed and in the flash an abominable shape of cold steel could be glimpsed. With its single great eye of swirling light it feasted upon the world, devouring all that it could see.

The people flew, prey before hunters, their screams paled by the pained groans of the earth itself.

“Salvation is here!” The Priestess shouted at the top of her voice, trying to make herself heard. “As the Winged Goddess promised, the shell!”

Before the frantic people, a single white nautilus shell, almost as large as a person, sat in the soft sand.

As people gathered around the shell, The Chief held out his hands and called his people once more, much like the night before the bonfire. With face grave, he called for order and cooperation. The people were scared. Many were crying. Many did not know that they were crying, until they stopped running. They looked at the sundering of all they knew in fear. They looked at the miraculously white shell in wonder.

They obeyed the command of the Chief, placing their trust in him and the Priestess as they have done throughout this journey.

Quietly, they lined up, a strange sight of order in an unravelling world. And following the lead of the Chief, they left this world.

“Fear not what lies within. Be it water or darkness, know that by the will of the Goddess, by the power of my heart, you will not drown. A new dawn lies awaiting.” So spoke the Priestess as she watched over the departing people, serene as the guarding Moon.

So the world was shattered, leaving nothing behind, but a white nautilus shell.

Scene 1

Peony hurried down the steps of her dorm, almost tripping over the shoelaces she forgot to tie. She checked her watch as she ran out of the door, 15 minutes. She could make it to campus in that time. It was a bad day to be late, Peony thought as she sped walk down the street with the score she had long since memorized playing over and over in her head. It was explosive and powerful, and she hoped her anxiousness would help boost these feelings when she played.

She arrived at the concert hall just in time, with the stagehands clicking their tongue at her for cutting it so close yet again. She almost had to run on stage and hoped the stomp of her boots wasn’t too loud and hurried over the applause welcoming her to her favorite instrument.

Though that cheer soon died down as she started to play, replaced instead by a silenced awe. Their hearts beat in time with loudest notes, and contemplated with softer ones, Peony’s piece shifted between them seamlessly, it was truly raw, creative and sincere – much like the pianist herself.

As she got off stage, her best friend, Clement, offered her a bouquet of Peonies, congratulating her on yet another stage where she had taken the audience to church. He suggested that after the recital, the performers should all grab a coffee, perhaps at the new place that just opened next to their university.

Peony agreed, eager to try the place she walked past every morning, always inviting her in with the smell of pumpkin, spice and lattes. Though she had yet to find time to actually try it.

After the final performance, a few people met up out in front of the concert hall, setting off to the café in a large group. The café was very high end, with tall ceilings and arching warehouse windows letting plenty of natural light in for the palms and peace lilies that dotted the corners of the café. It’s marble countertop was pristine as the students placed their orders. A few were even enticed by the baristas in classy leather aprons, fastened with gold clasps. One particular barista seemed to be keen for them to try their new special. He was a tall, lanky young man – quiet and friendly to the group. “It’s our Autumn mystery flavor,” he explained, “do try it, it’s limited edition for autumn after all.”

The group mostly agreed, and soon they sat with steaming hot autumn mystery lattes in front of them, chatting around a round booth in the center of the café.

Peony took a sip of the coffee – it was delicious! Complex yet somehow brightening, she felt as if she was frolicking in a pumpkin patch or having a warm meal with her family back home.

“Peony, I found your piece today intriguing,” a saxophonist, Sam mused over his coffee. “pray tell, why did you decided to go between the major and minor keys in the way you did?”

Peony was mildly offended at his arrogant tone, but could not pass up an opportunity to have a discussion about musical dissonance. Nursing her coffee, she curtly schooled cold young man on subversion of musical expectation, to which he nodded, explaining that while it wasn’t his personal cup of tea, or coffee – that it was brave, and he could appreciate the thought she put into the piece.

Several others joined the discussion, with Darren profusely complimenting Peony on her choice of chord progression, to Violet insisting that the chorus could have done to stand out more. Peony received a lot of unexpected feedback that day, though, it wasn’t unwelcome.

Scene 2

Peony soon learned that Sam and Darren, much like her, where in a band. But not just any band, they were in Jazzitude, the favorite to win battle of the bands this year in Joliard’s annual music festival. Intrigued by his contrasting style of music to hers, she decided to enter her own band as well, Brass Bass. She liked to see how they would go up against these winners, plus, showing up that arrogant asshole wouldn’t be half bad either.

She announced the news to her band at practice after classes. Violet, their violinist, was all for a competition, especially on a big stage where she can show off her skills, though Clement, the passifist of the group, was not for this. “Why bother, they are suited to win anyways,” he tried to tell Peony, “and I don’t want to enter a competition just because you have some unfounded grudge…”

‘’It’s not unfounded!” retorted Peony, “he’s arrogant that his style is the best, and I want to prove him wrong.”

“Peony, the guy has never even insulted you…”

“Ahh. But he disagreed with my way of playing,” Peony spun around and pointed a finger at Clement, “And I want to make him realize that subverting expectation is the spice of life.”

Violet sipped her iced coffee, “I’m down for this. Competition is always healthy, and the more chances we get to showcase our skills, the better.”

In the end, Clement had no choice but to agree, there was no changing Peony’s mind once it had been made up after all, and Violet was already thinking hard about how her solo was going to go. Though knowing Peony and Violet’s past relationship, Peony was unlikely to be happy about Violet having a solo at all.

Scene 3

One late night, Peony was in Joliard’s practice rooms when she heard a pattering of footsteps down the hall. She had been busying composing their piece for Battle of the Bands, an endeavor that lit a fire in her eyes, sending her playing late into the night. So late that all the other practice rooms had likely closed up by now. So no one should really be around.

But there was someone, Peony heard them jiggling doorknobs down the hall, getting louder and louder under her practice room door cracked open. Sam peaked his head in. “Oh. I didn’t know this room was taken.” He stepped inside.

“And yet, you’re still here.” Peony responded snarkly.

“I could tell you the same thing.”

“I’m composing.” Peony replied, “something that you are unlikely to have the creativity to understand.”

Same raised an eyebrow to that challenge, coming to set his saxophone on the sofa next to Peony’s piano.

“you always play it by the book.” Peony explained to the stiff saxophonist, “why not live a little, play something a little unorthodox.”

“I… don’t know how.” Admitted Sam quietly. He set a hot latte on top of the piano, a sign that he intended to stay up much later.

Peony laughed at his sincerity, and offered to teach him how to ‘live a little on the wild side’ as she put it.

Sam was open to the idea.

Peony started to play, encouraging Sam to join in their southern jazz type piece, full of feeling and chaotic, yet romantic cadences. Peony was almost unable to sleep that night – thoughts a buzz with the idea of writing a proper saxophone duet one day.

Scene 4

Both Brass Bass and Jazzitude spent many late nights readying for this competition, late nights helped by Autumn Flavour Mystery Coffee from the new café down the road, which they had been frequenting more recently. A warm mug of the spicy yet sweet concoction helped Clement play, and it was a great chance for Violet and Peony to do some late night socializing with Brass Bass. They even discussed the potential of doing a collaboration piece sometime in the future.

Perhaps even writing a joint music score for a local play. Peony loved the idea, seeing as emotional music was her forte, a style that Sam was closely warming to.

On the day of the Battle, Brass Bass was up first, their friends in Jazzitude shot them a thumbs up as they took the stage. The lights and staging for their piece looked unusually professional, like it was that for a real concert by an actual band. The audience was enthralled, fist pumping to the beat that Clement punctuated on his cello. At the height of the chorus, Violet’s violin begun to take over the stage, Peony shot her a dirty look, but with quick fingers and an even quicker wit when it came to music, was able to keep up with her. Following her note for note as they went back and forth in a frenzy sounding very much like a fast paced conversation between violin and piano.

The small explosions of fire in the background and red lighting helped emphasize the fiery, argumentative nature of the piece, inspiring the crowd beyond them.

As they finished their performance, Violet and Peony shared a long, panting stare, obviously somewhat angry at the upstaging that took place. But after a tense moment, Violet stuck out her fist, which was met with Peony’s as they fist bumped.

“You’re not half bad.” She scoffed.

“Ha. Right back at ya.” Peony smiled, fingers cramping from how hard she played.

“Coffee sometime?” Violet sounded a little shy for the first time, she was usually so confident and sure of herself. Peony beamed – looks like they had a lot more to discuss over some well needed drinks.

Scene 5

A note is placed in Peony’s locker.

Scene 6

Peony went to get her wallet from her locker, hoping to head for a quick coffee with Violet, and possibly a deep discussion, before Jazzitude’s finale, though as she opened her locker, a note fell out. Unfolding it, she read:

I can’t contain my feelings any more, they are so strong they could burst out.

Am I feeling love? This is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.

Your eyes swallow me when I look into them, your voice make me deaf to all other sound, a

Broken Heart is all love has ever given me before, but I hope now my luck might change.

And on the back note instructions to meet at midnight under the streetlamp

“What on earth…” she mumbles to herself, staring at the note as she closes her locker. Unbeknownst to her, there was a second bit of paper still in there.

Well, guess all that was left as to wait until midnight. She discussed the letter with Violet as the went for a quick coffee, Autumn Mystery Flavour as usual for both of them, of course. Peony thought it may have been a cheesy love note, while Violet suggested it was possibly instead some sort of coded message, like someone was trying to tell her something.

Only what were they possibly trying to say.

“Maybe it’s a talent scout,” mused Violet, “trying to say that they want to recruit you. But they’re being discreet – because they don’t want the other students to get jealous if they tell you outright.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Peony rebutted, “if they really wanted to sign me they wouldn’t care what other people thought, I’d drop out of school anyway to be a star.”

“Ha. As if you have the talent,” Violet replied, it was important to keep Peony’s ego in check, as she does for her.

Peony playfully jostled her. They didn’t really get along at first, but as they had a talk over coffee, they realized their mutual passion for music. It was not every day you met someone who’s goals aligned with yours, and Violet’s pressure to be a professional musician resonated with Peony’s dream of being a star. Both talked about how hard the industry was for female instrumentalists, and how both wanted to break from the musical norms of the classical realms.

Who knew that they had this much in common? And it was all thanks to Autumn Mystery Coffee.

Scene 7

Peony and Violet ended up chatting in the café until quarter past midnight, Peony had almost forgotten about the love letter at this point. That was until Clement walked through the door, slightly surprised to see both Peony and Violet sitting at their usual booth. He ordered some coffee from their usual bespectacled barista before sitting down. He told him that the girls have been sitting there for hours.

“Um… Peony?” Clement interrupted them conversation. Peony smiled, warm from the chilly night with coffee.

“Oh hi Clement, want to come join us?” She asked, moving over to pat the space next to her. “Violet and I were just having a chat about our favorite post-modern beardless Scandinavian composers.”

“Um I would… but you see Peony, I’m… uh…” Clements words were caught in his throat as a flurry of thoughts ran through his mind, what should he say? It would be incredibly out of the blue to just… break the news like this, what if Peony doesn’t believe him? What if she thinks it’s all a prank?

Maybe it wasn’t the best time to reveal his identity. Yet.

Clement jumped as he heard the chime at the doors, who else could be coming in this late.

“Heya Sam, Terra, over here!” Violet waved the rest of their new friends over. “Your performance was amazing tonight!” Peony congratulated, pointing out all her favorite bits as soon as Jazzitude got their coffees, sitting at a table next to them.

Sam and Peony went back and forth on the best progression to use for their song, getting heated into a debate quickly.

“Oh my god why don’t you two just collaborate already!” Terra teased, making both Sam and Peony laugh, a red tint on both their cheeks, maybe it was just the cold.

“we really should.” Sam replied calmly, “Peony really is an excellent Pianist,” he looked to Clement, a hint of envy in his voice, “you guys are lucky to be able to play with her so often.”

Darren sipped his coffee, “I think I’d learn a lot from playing with Peony.”

“Well she certainly keeps you on your toes,” Violet added.

“Guys!” Peony gushed, blushing as she covered her face with her hands, the group laughed.

Clement realized that maybe now wasn’t the right time, slowly, he sat down with the rest of them. Perhaps one day, he could, a little more subtly, tell Peony the truth. But for now, he needed to watch out for his sister – as their parents always told him to do before she had to go away.

Besides, she looks like she was going to need some big brother protection, with so many admirers around.

At least they all loved her for what she did best, and all it took was a little communication and bonding over shared interests.

The group of aspiring, scrappy music students talked late into the night about their shared passions, revving each other up over their performances with promises of lessons and duets thrown around. The scene zooms out from their booth, eventually resting on a panorama of the Coffee Shop, the only warm lights for miles along a darkened side street in a huge city. A little corner of sincerity in this cold world. A place to feel warm as you dream your passions away until you feel like you’re reaching for the stars.

What a wonderful feeling.

And it’s all thanks to Autumn Mystery Flavor Coffee.

Scene 1

“Are they there?”

Silently, the old magician nods. Tethnda Yonsa does not turn. Before the large window she stands, face paled by moonlight. Outside the window, beneath the tall walls encircling the Yonsa Mansion, two small figures crouch.

“Fools.” She spits out the word.

Behind them, jingling in the corner, Bartholomew the Foreign Jester claps his hands. “Oh, but dear lady, I am but one man, or does my shadow makes us two?”

Tethnda ignores him resolutely. “Let her climb to the top. Let her grow wings of swans. Let her try.”

Silently, the old magician nods. His gaze follows the two youths like a faithful familiar.

“And then drag her down. Make her fall.” She laughs, voice as hollow as the endless hallways of her house. “Here she belongs. This she must learn.”

Her laughter echoes throughout the room, continued by Bartholomew the Foreign Jester, hollow, bizarre.

Silently, the old magician nods. They wait in the unlit room, watching, musing. Beneath them, in the cold night, two youths struggle against the tall marble walls, seeking freedom. The boy bows down to the earth and eventually vines burst through the ground, creating a ladder. The girl climbs. But just before she could reach the top, the vines wilt and she falls. The boy rushes over to help her up and they discuss their backup plan. He takes out the feathers they collected over the last month and carefully attaches them to the girl’s back, overlaying her moon-white dress. As she opens her arms to embrace the sky, the sky embraces her back and lifts her up. The feathers shine, reflecting the moon and stars. The boy looks up in awe. She rises, higher and higher, until at last she could see the desolate ruins behind the walls – then her feathers turn to dust and to the earth she again falls. The boy rushes over again. He does not understand why it would fail. But they do not give up. Tears in their eyes, they device more plans.

The night is young.

“The boy’s talented. You taught him well.”

“But just unwell enough,” exasperated Bartholomew the Foreign Jester, “that he should fail.”

Silently, the old magician nods. Expressionlessly, he carries out Lady Tethnda’s order.

In the dim moonlight they wait, as Bartholomew the Foreign Jester juggles with silver balls that shine like stars.

Scene 2

“Have you learned?”

From a distance, Phaeveon could hear the woman’s voice. Stone-cold, composed, with neither wrath nor sorrow, an order, not a question. He has travelled far to reach this ancient mansion in what most would call an empty wasteland. But he knows better. There is a reason they stand guard here. There is something so precious, that such exile may be seen as an honour.

The Great Library. Secret knowledge that the god-like Strelitsian Emperors held dear. Power beyond imagination.

Quietly, he draws himself to the blackstone gate of the Yonsa Mansion, intrigued by the conversation within. With his back against the wall, he takes a peek, and see a woman – who must be Lady Tethnda, judging by her age and her oppressive dignity – scolding two youths, a boy and a girl. The boy is cowering in fear – he cannot blame him. The girl is weeping without a sound.

“Have you learned?” Tethnda asks again. Behind her, Mno, the fabled silent magician looms like a shadow. Nearby, out-of-place, Bartholomew the Foreign Jester jingles and juggles. He wears a wide smile on his painted face, almost as if he has a secret he can’t wait to share.

“Forgive us, my lady.” The boy pleads. His eyes dart to Bartholomew the Foreign Jester for a moment, clearly disturbed by his bizarre presence. But then he looks down again. “Please, forgive us. It… it was my fault. I was the one who casted the spells. I -”

Tethnda holds out her palm and immediately the boy falls silent. She looks pointedly at the girl and asks.

“Have you learned, Ninsë, daughter of Yonsa?”

Silence descends. Ninsë's gaze move from the ground to the boy beside her. She looks up and sees that her mother’s eyes follow suit.

Voice flat and dry, she closes her eyes and answers: “Yes, mother.”

Phaeveon, intrigued by what just unfolded before him, suddenly shivers. As he looks up, he sees that Tethnda is staring right at him, her frozen blue eyes as piercing as arrows.

“My apologies, Lady Tethnda.” He bows. “I did not wish to interrupt. I am Phaeveon, a merchant from the Capital. Goods and news I bring with me, and I entreat you to grant me the honour to present them before your sapphire eyes.”

Tethnda eyes him, face so stern he starts to fear that instead of allowing him entrance she might instead order his execution. He has documents, introduction letters from important people prepared, but Lady Tethnda’s eyes are so cold he wonders if any of that would work.

But then, she turns and departs, leaving her last order behind.

“Let him in.”

Joyfully Bartholomew the Foreign Jester jumps over to open the gate, patched silk costume shedding glitters all the way.

The gate opens and Bartholomew the Foreign Jester welcomes Phaeveon with an elaborate bow. The guest nods and thanks him. They join the youths as they enter the mansion, followed by the silent Mno.

Scene 3

As they enter the mansion, the group parts way with one another. Phaeveon is led away by a servant. Without looking back, Ninsë returns to her own room. Mno lays a hand on Siilan’s shoulder, shakes his head, then walks off as well. Bartholomew the Foreign Jester disappears as well.

All alone, Siilan is uncertain what to do. He wanders the vast empty halls of the Yonsa Mansion, suddenly more aware of its age and loneliness than ever.

Is this where we must live our lives forever? Is this where Ninse must rule, and be ruled, some day in the future? Despite all his respect, he never understood why Lady Tethnda is so stubborn. What is so valuable here that they must all give their lives to a prison?

As he ponders, he is reminded of the map he found when he was organizing the house library a while back. He opens the map, drawn of worn leather – he’s uncertain of what animal – and painted in red, but cannot recognise anything. It looks like the inside of some structure - tunnels, maybe. But nothing on it indicates where this is.

Signing, the boy puts away the map. There is no use overthinking it and he still has work to do in the green house.

To his surprise, he is not the only one there. Ninsë, still in her white dress, stands before the bed of roses. Her cheeks are paler than their petals.

Without looking up, she calls his name.

“Siilan.”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Siilan,” she looks up. There is desperation in her eyes, not the quiet despair of a dried up well, but burning, melting, shining.

“Will you save me? Will you take me away? Will we ever be free?”

Siilan can hardly bear to hold her searing gaze, yet he cannot look away either. His mouth is dry, so dry he can taste blood. He wants to answer, but no words would save him from the crushing silence.

Ninsë watches him, tears streaming down her beautiful face, and smiles. Gently she kisses him on the lips.

“Promise me, Siilan. Promise me. We will be free. Together. You will crown me with the stars under the real night. You will give me the moon that never answered my prayers.” Holding his face with her palm, she gently kisses him again. “Promise me.”

Mesmerized, uncertain if the tears on his face are his own or Ninsë's, the youth nods.

“I promise.”

Scene 4

“Do you take me as a fool?”

The masquerading thief looks up, face calm, fingers still tracing the golden runes on the mirror hanging in the previously sealed room - an entrance to the Once-Grand Library.

Standing by the door, Tethnda feels the cold fury burning in her veins. Behind her, Mno stands in silence.

“My dearest lady, why would you think so?”

“Do you think you're clever?”

Phaeveon eyes her appraisingly, then turns his gaze towards the mirror once more. “Do you?”

Tethnda, infuriated by such insolence, laughs. “Mno - ” She is about to give a command, when Ninsë and Siilan suddenly appear in the hallway behind them.

“Mother?”

She is distracted for one moment - one moment too long. She turns back to a blinding light shining through the mirror. Phaeveon has activated the entrance.

“No! Stop them!” A woman screams in rage.

“Do you want to see the end?” A man asks, tone strangely nonchalant.

“Come with me. You promised.” A girl whispers, her voice mellow and sorrowful.

“No! Turn! Flee!” An ancient voice cracks, rusty from disuse.

A spear of fire erupts from Mno's hands. True to its mark, it blasts through Phaeveon's half formed magic and hits him right on the chest. Before the trespasser can utter another word, the mirror claims him.

But he is not the only victim.

The thief, gone. The sanctity of the Maze Tethnda swore to protect, gone. Her daughter, her successor, (herself,) looks upon her one last time, expression inscrutable, then steps through the mirror. Gone.

The orphan follows her. Despite Mno calling him with his broken voice, he disappears as well.

Was there once, someone who would do the same for her?

It never mattered.

Slowly, the runes on the mirror dims. All is silent in the once sealed drawing room. Tethnda stands still and stiff, flanked by the silent Mno. It is as if there were never anyone else in this room.

At last, Lady Tethnda turns and leaves.

“Seal the mirror. Seal the room.”

So she commands.

Her vigil has yet to end. No matter what she has lost, how much she has lost, how much she could still lose, her duty still compels her. House Yonsa still stands.

“Let no one know what occurred today.”

Scene 5

The Mirror Maze has waited for long. It welcomes all with gleaming hospitality, with startled faces looking back at every corner, with echoes of voices from eons past.

Ninsë and Siilan look around them in dismay. Phaeveon is already exploring ahead. Lacking a clear direction, they hasten to catch up with him.

“Do you know the way out?” Ninsë asks, voice higher than she would like.

The young magician muses. “What's a way out? Out where?”

Baffled, the youths look at each other, uncertain what to do. Suddenly reminded, Siilan takes out the map he always kept on him. Tunnels. Maze. Perhaps there is yet hope. They nod at each other, faces pale, but resolute.

“Phaeveon, would you join us? We may have a map.”

The man looks the map over, then nods. He still appears deep in thought.

They walk through hallways after hallways, so many they lose count. The Maze is quiet, yet also filled with oppressive murmurs. They try not to listen. Myriads of faces stare at them wherever they look. Those are their own faces. Surely. They know they are.

But somehow they look so alien.

They follow the map, their only hope.

At last they see something different: light.

Blinding light pours in from the end of the tunnel. Freedom. Life. The youths race towards it, tears on their faces, blind, crying.

And then the light was no more.

There is nothing before them other than their own faces. Eyes wide with despair.

Someone laughs. They are not sure who. The Maze laughs in echoes.

“Is this what they created by fusing together the brightest minds of an empire? Malice?” Behind the youths, the magician suddenly speaks. They turn, startled, uncertain who he is addressing.

“From what does it stem? Fear? Hunger? Loneliness?” Phaeveon's voice echoes throughout the halls. Answering. Questioning.

Fear - fear - fear -

Hunger - hunger - hunger -

Loneliness - loneliness - ness -

The echoes gather, resonate, grow - louder and louder.

“Please, stop.” Someone begs. They are not sure who.

Phaeveon continues, unfazed. Looking straight at the devouring darkness before them, he asks: “Or is it you? Is it you, █████████?”

You you yOu yoU yOU YoU YOU YOU YOUYOUYOUYOUYOUYOU

The echoes - the Mirror Maze - screams in response, the reverberation so shrill the mirrors start breaking.

“STOP!” Someone screams.

A knife is lifted. A knife falls.

A body slouches down, blood tainting the mirrors.

Someone runs away from her. She is unsure why. She is feeling dizzy. The screams are in her head now. There is no escape. She knows this from the very start, from the depth of her heart. There is no way out. She has learned. All too well.

But what does she know? How could she know? What she learned, were they ever real? Surrounded by screams and laughter (whose? her own? what does that mean who even is -), she feels strangely at peace. She can't tell where she is, if she is looking in the mirror or if she is in the mirror looking at her or if she is at all. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.

She now sees. So much more. With so many more eyes.

Gently, softly, she - them, so many of her, them, it - stalks the steps of the one she loves. Reflections encloses. A last word (scream) muffled by a cold kiss.

Never before were they so free.

Never before had they possessed such eternity.

In reflections, she drowns.

Scene 1

The Earth Alliance Starship Odyssey cruises along at the edge of human-known space. Captain Erica Forthwright stands on the bridge, staring at the main screen and watching points of light zip by, like snowflakes in the headlights of an old ground-vehicle. She’d always assumed they were stars, but now she realises that even at the ludicrous speeds of the Weft Drive, they are moving past far too quickly to be those distant suns. She’ll have to ask the Chief Science Officer about what they were later.

A flashing notification lights up on the Comms Officer’s screen. “We’re picking up a distress signal, Captain. It’s a Skraw cargo vessel – they say they’re under attack from the Imm.”

Captain Forthwright strides over to look at the incoming message herself. “We are near the border of Imm- and Skraw-controlled space… Which side is trespassing?”

“Looks like the Imm are, Captain. They are near the border, yes, but they’re definitely on the Skraw side.”

“Are there any other Skraw ships within range?”

“We’re the nearest allied ship, Captain.”

“Alright. Navigation – plot a course.”

“Already on it, Captain. I’m picking up a number of Weave anomalies in the region, though. Between those and avoiding the Imm border ourselves, we can’t fly a straight route.”

“Best not take any chances. Do what you can without putting the Odyssey at risk too.”

—

Flock-Leader Aakra grips the armrests of his captain’s chair tightly as Imm weaponry impacts the rear of the ship. “Damage report!”

“Weft drive disabled, captain – direct hit! Engineering can’t do anything about it.”

“Kra’ak! Sub-light engines to full, take evasive action. How fares the cargo?”

“All pods intact, sir. The Imm are focussing fire on the engines only.”

Another impact rocks the ship. Beams of light fly forwards past the main screen with a couple grazing the front of the vessel.

“Sub-light engines down, too, sir – we’re dead in the water. Imm cruiser closing distance.”

Aakra slams a feathery fist onto the armrest. “They’re going to board us. Seal all the cargo modules. Security teams to the airlock – we must defend the cargo.”

Scene 2

The Odyssey’s Weft Drive drops it out of the Weave and the bridge crew take in the situation in front of them. The Imm hive-ship is crouched crab-like near the brittle-looking form of the Skraw vessel. The Skraw ship has clearly taken damage; the engines at the rear are venting a glowing cloud of plasma, though the rest of the ship appears mostly intact. A cursory scan confirms this, the engines have been knocked out, but the ship’s other systems appear mostly unaffected. The Imm cruiser still has its weapons powered up, and as they take notice of the Odyssey, several targeting sensors lock on to the Human ship.

“They’re targeting us, Captain!”

“Raise Condition Two. Prepare countermeasures.”

The Chief Weapons Engineer Sebastian chimes in, “I’d recommend not shooting, Captain. We can’t be sure of the situation, and they might have prisoners on board.”

“I agree. What’s their weapon status?”

“Locked on but not firing, Captain.”

“Ok. Hold Condition Two but do not charge weapons. First things first, let’s find out what’s going on. Comms, contact the Imm.”

—

Somewhat to the humans’ surprise, Imm Trrum-Intura, captain of the Imm cruiser, is very willing to open a dialogue. They even allow the Skraw captain, Flock-Leader Aakra, to speak to Captain Forthwright (though only under observation). Aakra is unharmed and has been allowed to stay on his bridge, though he is flanked by two armed Imm guards.

The Imm have boarded the Skraw ship and are now effectively in command – not that it’s going anywhere any time soon, as no attempt has been made to repair the engines. They claim that the Skraw ship was tracked crossing the Imm border and Trrum-Intura was sent to intercept it. Trrum-Intura has been told that the ship is suspected of carrying something dangerous, though it’s unclear if the Imm have any evidence of this fact itself, or if this is simply their assumption for why the ship had been in their territory to begin with. The Imm have boarded the ship and taken control. The Skraw fought back and there have been some injuries, though it was quickly apparent that they were severely overpowered and had no choice but to surrender. The Imm accepted the surrender; the bridge crew of the Odyssey privately agree this is unusual for the Imm, but they’re not complaining – better this than the Skraw being slaughtered entirely.

Flock-Leader Aakra is, understandably, indignant about the whole situation, from being boarded by the Imm to their supposed allies, the Earth Alliance, even beginning to entertain the notion that the Imm are telling the truth. He denies having crossed the border, though admits to having been very close to it – he claims they are on a critical supply run for one of their outer colonies. A deadly virus has broken out there, and they are carrying an important experimental cure to save their people – if this shipment doesn’t make it through, many lives will be lost. He also denies carrying anything dangerous; some of the medical supplies could technically be biohazards, but they are all sealed, marked and certainly aren’t illegal.

A quick check of the Skraw ship’s manifest reveals that they are indeed carrying mostly medical supplies, bound for a Skraw outpost and marked as urgent priority. They are also carrying some trimanganese fuel, required for the operation of most Weft drives. While technically these might be considered dangerous in the wrong hands, they are hardly worth chasing a ship down for.

The Imm have yet to start a thorough physical search of the ship, but are adamant that they will do so and strongly suggest that the Humans should not interfere. Trrum-Intura then goes one step further and issues an invitation to the Humans: they are to come aboard the Skraw ship and actively help with the investigation. Trrum-Intura appears so sure that the actions of the Imm will be proven justified that they are willing to stake the Imm’s future relations with the Earth Alliance on this one event. Encouraged by the prospect of finally getting a foot in the door for peaceful diplomacy with the Imm, Captain Forthwright accepts.

Flock-Leader Aakra is furious at this, impotent rage burning in his eyes. How dare they be detained, while thousands of his people are dying? He is placated somewhat by the Ship’s Doctor’s insistence that they will focus mainly on treating the injured Skraw crewmembers, which the Imm allow so long as they remain under guard. However, it is clear this is a slight the Skraw will not soon forget, and they are adamant that the repercussions will be severe if they are prevented from making their delivery.

When the comms channel closes, Captain Forthwright assembles an away team.

“Get me a security team – even with the Imm’s assurances, it would be foolish to go over there unarmed. Science: prepare a deep scan. Some of those cargo pods are shielded – makes sense if they’re carrying trimanganese, but that could also be used to mask the presence of other cargo. Sebastian, Doctor – you’re with me.”

“Captain,” says the Ship’s Doctor, “I do advise we make this quick – if the Skraw are telling the truth, then even if they have crossed the border, holding them here really will cost lives.”

Scene 3

Arriving on the Skraw ship, the team is greeted almost immediately by Trrum-Intura and their guards. Captain Aakra is also with them, almost ceaselessly entreating anyone who will listen about the vital nature of their cargo. The doctor is allowed to start seeing to the injured Skraw (under guard, of course), while the three captains and their retinue begin a physical sweep of the ship.

Captain Aakra insists that he show them the critical medical supplies first. He is clearly distraught and likely hopes that this will prove his point and that they are let on their way. Since they plan to sweep most, if not all, of the ship anyway, Captain Forthwright sees no reason to disagree.

The first cargo pod they are shown to appears to contain medical supplies as expected: racks of hypodermic needles, boxes of pills, and a variety of vials in neat rows. Flock-Leader Aakra pulls up some data on a nearby terminal, gesturing at various graphs and figures. One of the Odyssey’s medical team starts looking it over, though their initial impression is that everything Aakra is saying is true – he may be exaggerating some things, but these supplies very much were destined to solve a medical crisis. A small delay probably won’t change much, but the Skraw were counting on this shipment arriving soon.

Captain Forthwright and her crew grow uncertain; someone begins to suggest that they at least help the Skraw fix their engines so that they can leave as soon as they are cleared. Imm Trrum-Intura interjects angrily, denying the Skraw any help – and reiterating their certainty that the Skraw are at fault, regardless of whatever story they have concocted to cover themselves.

Aakra flies into a rage at this, gesturing wildly at the medical supplies around them and threatening the Imm for this injustice. Trrum-Intura commands a pair of his guards to restrain him. Aakra continues to struggle and in the ensuing chaos a rack of vials is knocked down and smashes on the floor. A wispy green haze rises from the smashed glass.

The Human medic’s hand scanner starts bleeping in alarm. “That’s a biohazard, Captain! I’m reading multiple infectious agents… highly volatile. We need to get out of here now!”

The entire party rushes out of the cargo pod. As the doors seal shut behind them, Aakra – now sobered by the seriousness of the situation – addresses them. “That was some of the experimental cure. It’s designed for Skraw use; it could be highly infectious for Humans or Imm. These pods aren’t airtight – you may be safe if you leave now, but before long what was in that vial will be circulated through the entire ship.”

The medic consults their scanner again. “I don’t think he’s lying, Captain. We need to go – all of us.” He glances meaningfully at the Imm too.

—

Back on the Odyssey, the Chief Science Officer taps away at their console, muttering under their breath. A full deep scan needs to be tailored to the target or else the more intense surface-level signals drown out any further information. An additional problem in this particular case is that several of the cargo pods are shielded – ostensibly because they’re carrying trimanganese, which is a very reasonable precaution, but it does make penetrating the outer layer more difficult.

Eventually the scan completes, and the science officer scours the list of results only to find… nothing. Nothing on the list seems strange or unusual; nothing out of line with what was already known about the Skraw vessel and its cargo. The science officer is about to give up and call the result in to the captain when they have a realisation: something was bothering them about the results, but it’s not what is on the list, it’s what isn’t on it. Even with the layers of shielding, a properly calibrated deep scan should show the signature of trimanganese – but several of the cargo pods show… nothing. There’s definitely mass in them, but whatever it is, it’s not trimanganese. Further analysis indicates that there’s a strong biological component – though more than that can’t be gleaned.

When Captain Forthwright returns – cleared from the temporary quarantine for the away-team – the Science Officer delivers their report. Unfortunately there’s nothing to be done now – the Skraw ship has been deemed an extreme biohazard zone and there’s no way to investigate further. Before Captain Forthwright can form a plan of how to deal with this, the away team receives news from the Odyssey: an Imm battleship has arrived, and its captain is not happy.

Scene 4

The next few hours are tense. The Imm now vastly outgun the Odyssey, but aside from a general warning not to interfere further, they do not make any other demands. Captain Forthwright spends most of the time in confidential talks with Earth Alliance diplomats, and there is a strong sense that the Imm – and possibly the Skraw as well – are doing the same thing with their home governments.

Eventually the energy signatures of the Skraw’s Weft drive coming back online causes the Imm to break their silence. Unable to physically investigate further, they have been instructed to let the Skraw go – but they promise that this is not the end of it, and they advise the Humans to stay out of their affairs. In the time they’ve had, it is almost certain that they have obtained the same scan information that the Odyssey had, indicating that the Skraw are not carrying trimanganese. If they want to follow this up, that alone will give them some leverage on the situation.

Shortly after that, the Skraw ship’s engines flare to life, and they are allowed to continue on their way. The Odyssey receives a message from Earth Alliance Command telling them to return directly to the nearest Alliance space station for debrief.

Scene 5

Arriving back at the nearest Earth Alliance space station, Captain Forthwright and the crew are brought up to speed with the diplomatic situation which has developed further as a consequence of their actions. On the one hand, relations with the Imm are probably better than they ever have been before… though that’s not a very high bar, and in practical terms all that actually means is that the Imm are open for talks, if for no other reason than to have a third party witness to their claims against the Skraw. Back-channel intelligence suggests that they suspect the Skraw of developing some kind of genetic weapon.

And as for the Skraw, that whole situation is “one hell of a mess”, as many of the crew are putting it. While very little can be proven, Earth Alliance intelligence is convinced that they have been up to something, and the scan data acquired by the Odyssey, while not conclusive, adds weight to that theory. The Skraw government, of course, maintains that they have done nothing wrong. Their official stance is that the cargo ship accidentally crossed the Imm-Skraw border in their attempt to cut down delivery time on the medicine. They also claim that an inquiry into the ship’s cargo found nothing out of the ordinary, though official papers from that investigation have yet to be presented. The Skraw are also calling the actions of the Odyssey a breach of protocol – or, at the very least, a breach of trust – and are calling into question the crew’s motives.

And fundamentally, if it comes to war between the Imm and the Skraw for any reason before any major changes to the political situation can be effected, the Earth Alliance is bound by treaty to come to the Skraws’ aid.

The Fleet Admiral recommends getting the Odyssey outfitted with heavier weaponry while they’re here.

Outside the Town

The wyrmlings make their way down the mountain, towards Townsburg, led by the wannabe adventurer Frilbo. Pyropele, keeps a close eye on the adventure. Though their hands are bound, in order for them to lead the way across the difficult terrain their legs are free, so escaping is a possibility. Kyania occasionally delivers the poor adventurer some food, and deflects the other dragons when they get too ornery.

Eventually the Townsburg comes into view. Nestled down in a valley at the base of the mountain, a quaint town of wattle and daub houses. The adventurer assures the wyrmlings that there is little in the way of guards, or weapons: they are a simple valley folk.

The dragons are… skeptical.

Serendebian offers to scout out the village before hand in another shape. She retrieves Straxia’s book of spells from a satchel and leafs through for a spell of transformation. It doesn't take her long to find “Form of: Crow”, a simple ritual to let her turn into the black bird. She lights the candles, intones the arcane words and with a pop her black scales become black feathers, claws become talons and muzzle becomes beak.

She flies up into the ominous clouded sky to scout out the village, higher and higher until eventually she is lost from view.

Eventually, Serendebian glides down from between the clouds. Apparently having lost their command on the magic, they are once again in the form of a dragon. Fortunately gliding is a particular skill of all young dragons. The small dragon touches down, but she simply stares distantly, disoriented by the transformation.

Eventually she comes to her senses and explains what they saw of the village. It is as the adventurer said. Little in the way of guards, no barracks or soldiers or Ballistas (of particular interest, as something all wise dragons fear). A simple valley town. They only threat down there, it would seem, is the adventurers.

The Village

Entering town with a prisoner is probably a bad look, so once you get to the edge you release Frilbo. “I’ll tell people you didn’t eat me! Well… much,” The adventurer cries, before bobbing their head to Kyania and fleeing into the underbrush.

As the Wyrmlings make their way into town the humans flee before them. Windows are shuttered, doors are barred. A hush descends over the small valley town. Together they make their way down the empty streets towards the centre of the town.

“Are you sure this is a good idea,” Kyania whispers nervously, glancing at the windows in which human eyes glint.

“They’re more scared of you than you are of them.” Pyropele replies. Looking down at the small blue dragon she adds, “Probably.”

Eventually they make their way to the village centre. A crossroads with a small, stagnant fountain. From alleys, between shutters, the humans watch nervously. There are… quite a lot of them. For some curiosity seems to be getting the better of caution.

Pyropele turns to Saphina. “So what's the big plan now?”

The green dragon glances around at the slowly encroaching townsfolk. “Now we make our protest. I propose a sit in. Ooh, we could give a speech too. Do you think these backwater peasants know what a hunger strike is?”

Pyropele rolls her eyes, “Where are they?” She roars.

The few villagers brave enough to still be on the streets retreat, startled by the drake’s ferocity.

At least, all but one. An old man slowly hobbles out before the wyrmlings, “All right, we don’t want no trouble here. Who is this “they”?”

Opelion growls viciously, “The adventurers who murdered the great Dragon, Straxia. We’re here for justice!”

“Yes,” Pyropele agrees, “and we’re not leaving until we get it”.

“Straxia? The dragon?” The old man shuffles nervously. “I mean… look, I’m sorry for your loss and everything, but it's not like killing dragons is against the law.”

“Well maybe it should be!” Kyania quavers.

The old man frowns, “I don’t want a commotion out here in the middle of the street: maybe we could discuss this at the next town meeting? How does that sound?”

“Out of my way, out of my way!” A voice yells, before any of the Wyrmlings can respond.

Striding from behind the gathered crowd is a tall woman in plate mail armour. She towers above the other humans by at least a good foot. Townsfolk go sprawling as she simply walks through those too slow to move out of her way.

“It's the adventurers.”

“The Warrior!”

“Oh this is going to be bad.”

Following her are three more distinguished humans. One wears long blue robes, and a tall conical hat decorated with moons. In their hand they hold a mostly empty wine glass. Another is a woman in tight leathers with braces of knives across her thighs. Finally, trailing the other two and eating off a large platter of roast wings is the chainmailed holy man with a wicked looking mace strapped across his back. Fretting around them seems to be the innkeeper, who is trying to extricate their wineglass from the Wizard’s hand.

“We heard you had a quest?” The Wizard asks. “Something about dragons to slay?”

The old man looks sheepishly between the dragons and adventurers, “Well, I don’t know about slay, we’ve just been having a dialogue with these you-”

The Rogue lets out an exasperated sign, “So you’re saying there isn’t loot here? No reward? Let's go back to the Tavern and get pissed, this is a waste of time.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Pyropele cries, until you’ve answered for what you’ve done!”

The Cleric swallows a greasy mouthful of chicken and splutters, “Oh I think I recognise that one. One of the adds when we were fighting… what was it… Stygia?”

“Straxia,” Opelion hisses.

The cleric licks his fingers. “That’s the one, sorry. We kill a lot of dragons. They all kind of blur into one.”

“I think everyone can see who the real monsters here are. Dragons are people too, and you can’t just go around killing people because they have treasure.”

The Warrior’s face splits with a wicked grin. “No, you’re not. And yes, we can. I don’t think you understand how this works. We’re the adventurers. We kill dragons. Then we go to get drunk in miserable little villages like this where they kiss the ground we walk on because they can’t do shit for themselves. Do you know when I last met someone who could solve their own problems? Never. Its all: Werewolves are ate my husband, bandits stole my shipment, I think I left the bloody kettle on. They can’t do shit, they’re nobodies. Just like you.”

“This is getting out of hand-” the old man starts.

“You’re not getting away with this,” Opelion hisses.

“Go cry to mom about it,” The Warrior sneers. “Oh wait…”

The adventurers burst out laughing.

Opelion leaps for the Warriors face. Roaring with anger he brings his claws down across the human’s face and blood sprays across the table. The Warrior grabs the small dragon by the neck and with a great heave casts them across the room to smash into the square. Opelion staggers to his feet, licking the Warriors blood from his lips.

The human wipes the blood dripping from the brutal gash from her eyes. “I suppose that's only fair,” she grimaces.

With a berserker roar she leaps onto Opelion, pinning the dragon by the winds and savagely beating him about the head with her gauntleted fists. Opelion tries to bite the ferocious human but only gets teeth punched out for his trouble.

Kyania instinctively retreats behind Serendebian and Saphina, looking to the old man, “Stopher, please.”

But he only looks on in fear.

Serendebian pulls out her book and gestures at the Warrior and begins incanting the words of a spell, but in a flash the Wizard is gesturing and the black dragon’s spell fizzles into technicolour sparks.

“You call that a spell,” the Wizard chuckles, righting their pointy hat. “This, is a spell.” They put their hands together and incants a few magic words, and freezing wind and shards of ice explode from their fingertips, blasting Serendebian across the square. She tries to get up, shivering desperately, but then passes out, falling into the instant sleet.

Pyropele charges into the Warrior and bears with a mighty smash pushes them off Opelion. She pulls the white dragon up and the two the two begin to pace around the Warrior, although Opelion is clearly in bad shape, jaw hanging awkwardly.

“That's the way it's going to be, then,” the bloodied human laughs, a mad, animal sound. She cracks her gauntleted knuckles, sending out a spray of Opelion’s blood. “Say hi to Stygia for me.”

Opelion lunges and Warrior steps back smartly and brings down a steel boot upon the dragon's skull. She raises her foot again to stop him into the ground but Pyropele rears up, wings unfurled, clawing at the human, pushing her way.

The Warrior brings her fists up into a boxing stance and lays into Pyropele, impact after brutal impact, her red scales providing little protection. In turn claws rake across the Warriors armour, but the steel is too strong. A crack across the skull knocks the dragon to the ground.

The Warrior draws her sword, the magical blade’s edge glowing with a deadly light, “This was fun.”

Kyania looks up at the Barkeep, “Please,” she whispers.

The barkeep sighs, “Hey, hey! That’s enough! That's enough! I don’t want anyone being killed outside my bar!”

The adventurers look at the barkeep disdainfully. Cowed, they quietly try, “Free drinks if you don’t kill them?”

The adventurers cheer.

The Warrior leers over the two unconscious Wyrmlings grinning. “Kill ya later, adds.” She sheathes the sword, returning towards the tavern.

Kyania looks to the Barkeep. “How… how can they just stand there and let them do this?”

“They’re… adventurers.” The barkeep sighs. “We’re just villagers. We can’t do anything. The only way we could even hurt them would be with a critical hit. They’re, like, twenty times our level! We… can’t do anything about them.” He shakes his head before following the adventures.

Defeated, Kyania and Saphina watch as once again the adventurers leave, blood on their hands.

The two perfect dancers bow to each other as a new song plays and they begin their movements, so in sync you could imagine there was a mirror between them. They move around the tables and chairs around them, the background dancers too move as one, surrounding the paper people in a perfect motion. They emphasise the dancers movements, light on their toes as if to cover up the clunky movements of the central paper dancers.

As a new beat starts, the walls revolve from their velvet studded, music box like feel to panels of mirrors.

The scenery now also changes, evolving into fields of paper flowers and paper trees. The tables refold themselves into great, yet white, papery oaks and the tea sets form little flowers. The mirrors turn once more to reveal doors, then archways.

The dancers fly about the stage, still encircling both dancers. As they leap higher and higher, their hands fade away into wings, and bodies become feathered, they take the form of birds as they tweet amongst the paper trees and flowers.

Their transformation brings a gentle rain down on the amphitheatre. The arms of the two identical dancers dampen, but they are still able to move. It is then when one dancer starts to deviate. The splatter of rain shocks them, and in staring at their arm, they missed a few movements. They look up to the other in panic, trying to catch up, but seeming to have forgotten the dance. They run towards the Perfect Dancer, but slip and fall in the rain, sending colourful paint flying around the walls of the amphitheatre.

Their entire paper body wet, they struggle to stand. The Perfect Dancer’s back is turned.

The background dancers sink their talons into the Frantic Dancer’s damp skin, attempting to pull them up to a standing pose. Flying in various directions, the birds try to make the Frantic Dancer’s hands move in the right directions, attempting to mimic that of the Perfect Dancer. But the Frantic Dancer seems to be resisting their help, tearing off pieces of themselves as they pull away from the hold of the background dancers.

As they rip the paper of their arm away from the last bird, the slippery floor causes them to fall once more, ripped edges line their arms and feet as they reach out a hand to call to the Perfect Dancer. The Perfect Dancer sees them and dancers towards them – movements gentle and full of longing. They stand on their tiptoes and raise one leg high in the air backwards, precarious as they attempt to reach their arm forwards. Outstretched, they open their palm towards the Frantic Dancer, but just before they can grab it, the ground shakes, and the Perfect Dancer loses their balance.

The background dancers try to rush forward once more, but are blown back by another transformation, this time into woodland creatures. Losing their wings, they scurry to the two dancers. Thankfully, the Perfect Dancer has recovered and is now dancing in time to the music again, but the frantic dancer lays on the floor, startled at the show of affection. Their hand remains outstretched, as if to grasp that of the Perfect Dancer’s, a hand that never came close enough.

The Frantic dancer shivers on the floor of the amphitheatre, their bouts of frantic movement punctuated by what felt like intense pain, their partner however, trying as hard as they could to reach out to them, could never get close enough. The Perfect Dancer attempts to run towards the Frantic Dancer, but the scenery kept getting in the way – trees and foliage wrapped around the Perfect Dancer’s feet, stopping them from reaching their partner. It was as if an invisible force decided they shouldn’t meet.

The Frantic dancer begun to stand, blood dripping from the tears in their paper flesh. Their movements are not punctuated with screams, as the background dancers, now forest animals, scramble to try and correct them, the more they try and haul their arms or legs into place like the Perfect Dancer, the more they resist. Blood starts to flow from their eye sockets, reminiscent of tears that flow onto the floor as they walk.

The Perfect Dancer tries once more to leap towards the Frantic Dancer as they fall, attempting to help them up, but as they do, the blood from Frantic’s wounds seeps through to Perfect’s fingers.

With a screech, Frantic slaps Perfect Dancer’s hand away, crawling backwards as they resist being pushed by the background dancers, who are now starting to morph into larger animals, resembling wolves that encircle the Frantic Dancer. They try and nudge the Frantic Dancer into place, but their movements only seem to scare their fragile paper soul.

The Frantic Dancer grasps their head, raising one hand up to the rainclouds that grant them a fluff of their grey mass, it starts to condense.

The Perfect Dancer attempts to dance around them – hoping for a reconciliation before the finale. The Background dancers, now wolves – hold onto the Frantic Dancer with their jaws, hoping for them not to move forward.

But the cloud of grey still condenses into a gun, and that gun still aims at the Perfect Dancer.

It is then that one of the wolves rushes forward, jumping out in front of the pistol as it shoots, saving the Perfect Dancer’s life. The wolf catches the bullet straight into its gaping maw as it lets out a final howl before withering on the ground.

The Perfect Dancer turns around frozen as the dead wolf’s body starts to evaporate into smog, joining the rainclouds above them. No longer dancing, the Perfect Dancer instead is now crying as the music dies down and the scenery regresses back into the floor of the amphitheatre.

A second wolf grabs the gun out of the Frantic Dancer’s hands, tossing it to the side as their own body begins to evaporate. The song ends, and as such the dancers return to their human form.

With a nod at each other, they grab the Perfect and Frantic dancers by the arms, and rush through one of the open archways together as the lights dim on this hexagonal murder music box.

Scene 3

Harley and Godmaer approach the edge of the Dark Enchanted Forest, with Harley keeping a firm hold of the Stone of Knowing.

“We're going to have to cross the Dark Enchanted Forest. Now, listen to me - it's very dangerous, so keep quiet, stay close, and I'll keep you safe, but if you stray away then you're spider bait.” instructs Godmaer.

“Sp… Sp… Spider bait?” stutters Harley.

“Aye, spider bait. This forest is crawling with giant spiders. Now, they're not too bad if you can get 'em head on, but it you let yourself get caught in a web, well, you're a goner. Right, follow me.”

Godmaer takes the hatchet that he's kept strapped to his back and starts hacking a path through the dense undergrowth. As the adventures venture further into the forest, the trees start to block out nearly all the sunlight. It's hard going for both of them, and as they venture further in it's as dark as twilight, despite it still being early afternoon.

A giant spider high up in the canopy of the dense forest sees the two adventurers hacking their way through the forest in single file. Dangling by a thread, it silently lowers itself down to catch the one lagging behind.

Walking along quietly behind Godmaer, Harley doesn't notice the giant spider lowering itself down upon him. Before he could even scream for help, the spider has wrapped him (and the stone of knowing) up with sticky webbing and hauls him up onto the web hanging in the trees above, before once again lowering itself down, leaving Harley alone. The spider returns again, this time with Godmaer tied up, placing him next to Harley.

The spider stands over the two adventurers, before leaning down. The spider's mouth hangs right above Harley and Godmaer's faces, they can see it's fangs, and it's hairy pedipalps are practically brushing against their cheeks. A glob of saliva drips slowly down onto Harley, stinging him as it runs down his face.

“My prey has been caught, and now it shall be eaten. Indeed it will be eaten, but which of prey should be eaten first?” slowly says the spider, with a deep voice that crackles and pops with each syllable.

“You won't eat either of us, you oversized bug!” yells Godmaer, “I am an adventure, a hero. We're on a quest, King Richward of WunderLust, and nothing shall stop us. I have slain fouler beasts than you, you don't scare me!”

The spider cackles, or at least attempts to, instead making a hideous cracking sound, spitting acidic saliva everywhere. “My prey shall have to disappoint it's most wonderful, beloved King. My prey will spend its final moments in my web, oh yes. Enjoy your final moments, dear prey, and do try to wiggle a bit, it gets you nice and tender”, the spider says, almost giggling.” With that, the spider scuttles off, likely to get some form of condiments, if giant spiders have them.

There is silence for a few minutes, before Harley pleads “Surely you must have a way out of this - I don't want to die!”

“Do you think I want to die? For King Richward at that! No, we'll have to escape. I'll show that spider, if I could just get my sword free…” replies Godmaer. , beginning to very slowly reach for his sword, straining against the webbing.

“You'll never reach that before that damned spider returns… If only there was a way to scare the spider off.” says Harley pensively. “Oh, I have an idea! Stone, what are Giant Spiders afraid of?”

“Ooo, what an interesting question, very good, very good. Yes, I do know that one, and I am giddy with excitement to tell you! You see, Giant Spiders only have one natural predator, that being a Giant Crow. Giant spiders are terrified of Giant Crows, and flee at just the sound of one! Very interesting I know, thank you for asking me!” replies the Stone of Knowing.

“By any chance, are you able to mimic the call of a giant crow?”

“Oh yes, I am! It's a really loud skwark, just like this”

SSSQQQQUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRKKK!!!!

And hearing the call of the giant crow, the spider immediately runs straight past the protagonists, off into the forest, giving Godmaer time to get his sword free and cut them loose.

Realising it's been tricked, the spider swears revenge, “Oh clever, clever. What clever prey. But still prey, oh yes, still prey. And prey is to be caught”, before scuttling off.

Scene 4

The protagonists are out of the forest, and are walking along a field.

“That was a close one, good thinking with that stone, I'll make an adventurer of you yet!” laughs Godmaer. “But still, this is proving to be a much more dangerous quest than advertised, that fat King of yours will have to pay me very well…”

“Well, it was pretty clever of me, even if I do say so myself. But this isn't over yet, we must be nearing the lair of the Ogre, and I think something is following us, the hairs on the back of my neck are on end…” retorts Harley

“Spidy-senses, really? Well, I haven't seen anything, we're fine. And look at that, human bones, we are very close indeed.”

Godmaer was right, they were close.

In fact, not far ahead of them was a large, yet very roughly put together hut, sloping backwards, probably continuing into a cave. Smoke was coming out of the top.

The giant spider had been tracking the adventurers ever since they escaped it's web in the Dark Enchanted Forest. As it saw them approaching a hut, it knew it must be time to strike soon.

“Okay, we need a plan. How about, you stay here, and I'll climb on top of the hut. You call out so the Ogre leaves, and I'll jump out and kill it?” Godmaer suggests.

“I'm not sure I'm happy with this…”

“Well, do you have a better idea, or do you want to leave this to the professional hero and adventure?”

“Fine, let's do it your way”, Harley sighs.

Godmaer climbs up onto the hut, and Harley lays down outside.

“Oh no, I'm so terribly lost. I hope that whoever lives in this hut will be kind enough to help me!” shouts Harley.

From inside the hut, a deep gurgling voice calls back “Who dares come to my house? Never fear, I need to make a stew!”

Hearing this question, the Stone of Knowing immediately replies “Ooo, very good question. Over here is Harley Tucker, the Chief Collector of the Coin of WanderLust. And, you'll be pleased to know, on top of your hut is Godmaer of Ballydean the Burly, and adventurer and hero. What's really interesting is that they've come to kill you, oh yes, oh yes, on King Richward's orders!”. Nothing Harley could do could shut the stone up, and now their plan was foiled.

The ogre comes charging out of the hut, grabbing Godmaer from the top of the hut with ease, before grabbing the helpless Harley and taking them inside.

The ogre proceeds to tie Harley and Godmaer up, before throwing them into a cauldron of water and lighting the fire.

Scene 5

With the adventures set to cook, the ogre starts sharpening his cooking knife on the Stone of Knowing. With time running out, it seems all hope is lost. However, Harley thinks back. They've been followed ever since the Dark Enchanted Forest, and it can only be the spider that caught them.

“Hey stone, what does a swarm of giant flies sound like? As loud as possible, if you would be so kind.”

“Ooo, excellent, what a great question! They sound like…”

The hut fills with the deafening sound of a thousand giant flies.

Given the hut the giant spider just saw its prey enter now clearly contains even more juicy prey, it charges, salivating as it goes!

The loud noise causing the ogre to jump in surprise, dropping the stone and knife into the cauldron. However, before it can reach to pick them up again, it notices the giant spider charging towards it's hut. It runs out to defend it's home from this creature.

The ogre comes running out to battle the giant spider.

The giant spider and the ogre become locked in a vicious battle, limbs flying, with no end in sight, giving the heroes plenty of chance to escape.

With the giant spider and the ogre locked in battle outside, Godmaer manages to fish out the knife dropped in the cauldron, cutting themselves free and escaping.

With the battle to end all battles raging outside, Godmaer and Harley look for another exit, and notice a crack in the hut at the back - perfect! They crawl through it.