We’ve got a special for you tonight, folks. A single showing of the new Vignette 156 Seconds only lasts, well, slightly over two and a half minutes. So we’ve got several different iterations of it coming your way—strap in, folks!

Delayed Reaction

One hundred and fifty six seconds remain. The Artefact hurtles through space, just inside the orbit of Mars around the sun.

Four of the five new heroes begin to get their bearings. Core, however, is stricken by panic—every movement they make pulls rocks up from the ground or sends them flying, and they soon find themselves isolated on a rocky island as stone around them begins to glow with the heat of rising magma. Overcharger and Remix rush to their aid, trying to calm them down.

Mega, however, cannot take her eyes off her sister, and Forcemaster, too, looks on in concern. Mega’s sister who, she had thought, had remained unaffected by whatever had done this to the rest of them. Now, though, she stares down at her hands as dark tendrils creep out of every shadow around her. Darkness envelops her, a shockwave pushing Mega back. Forcemaster raises a translucent shield in front of them against the swirling dust. As the dust clears, Mega looks on in horror, as a huge and inhuman shape stands where her sister was moments ago.

The Emissary pauses, flexes a shadowy fist—then turns and leaps away with superhuman speed.

Forcemaster takes Mega by the shoulder. “Mega… Mega! Look at me! Do you hear what I’m saying? Two minutes to save the world—the whole world. Not just your sister. Everyone.”

“I don’t care, okay!? She is my world. You do something. I’m going after her.”

Mega roughly brushes the tears from her eyes and takes off, leaping into the sky and leaving Forcemaster and the others behind.

“Fine.”

Two minutes remain. Thirty-six million kilometres lie between the Artefact and its target.

As Mega and Emissary vanish into the distance, Forcemaster turns their attention to the others. They conjure a forcefield over the rising magma, allowing Remix to get close to Core and stopping Core’s wayward powers from causing too much more damage. Remix copies Core’s power and, working together with a somewhat calmer Core, puts a stop to the local destruction.

One minute remains. The Earth appears as just a speck in the distance as the Artefact speeds inexorably towards it.

With no further sign of Emissary, the remaining heroes simply huddle up and start trying to work out what they can do. There’s a lot of wild gesturing and some careful testing of powers while trying not to cause any more damage. After almost a minute of frantic discussion, they seem to have settled on a plan.

Ten seconds. The Earth stands out from the field of stars behind it now, though it is still no larger than the tip of a pencil held at arm’s length; the moon is a pin-prick of light less than a hand-span away.

“Everyone ready? We have one chance at this.” Forcemaster has gathered the three other heroes around them.

Core and Remix, using a copy of Core’s power, work together to pull a spire of rock up from the Earth. Atop the spire stand Forcemaster and Overcharger. As the spire grows, a moat forms around it as material is brought up from deep below ground. As soon as the glowing molten mantle of the Earth becomes visible beneath the moat, Overcharger targets it and pulls energy out from the Earth, redirecting it to Forcemaster. Forcemaster holds their hands up above them and, with a look of sheer determination, begins to form an enormous, crackling shield above their head. It grows and grows, the normally transparent forcefield becoming practically opaque as more and more energy is drawn up from the ground beneath, and Forcemaster rises ever higher on the pinnacle of rock.

It may or may not save the Earth from the Artefact, but the shield looks solid enough to withstand a blow from just about anything else. Unfortunately for the heroes, no one is guarding the side of the rock spire.

Emissary appears from the sky, shooting down at an angle. She smashes into the side of the tower with a flash of dark energy. The tower crumbles; Forcemaster loses concentration, the shield dissipating as if it had never been there. All their plans undone in but a few seconds. Already a kilometre high, the remains of the tower crash down into the city beyond. In the distance, Forcemaster can just about bee seen to throw a bubble around themselves and Overcharger as they plummet towards the ground. Emissary slams into the ground at the tower’s base, wreathed in swirls of shadow.

Two.

Emissary stands and her voice booms out across the wrecked city.

“Cower, mortals! Say your final words, and prepare to—” before she can finish, Mega, covered in dust and debris, slams into the back of Emissary, knocking her down.

Finally, the Artefact flashes past the moon.

Mega tumbles in the air, then lands unsteadily and slides to a halt in front of Emissary.

One.

“Give me back my sister you— !”

In the last millisecond, the Artefact punches through the atmosphere. Through air, through cloud, through into rock as if it were tissue paper. There’s no sound—there’s no time for there to be sound. There is the Artefact, and there is light.

Within a thousand miles of the impact site, everything is obliterated. Compared to the time it took for the Artefact to bury itself in the Earth’s core, it takes an age for the matter around it to respond to what has happened. As the energy of a million million hydrogen bombs is unleashed, there is no meaningful way to describe the forces which rend the world apart.

Half way around the world, the atmosphere shrieks in protest as its atoms are subjected to forces they have not seen since they were forged in the nuclear furnace of a supernova. The atmosphere boils away, and entire continents crack from their foundations.

The Earth is destroyed.

Moving Mountains

One hundred and fifty-six seconds remain. The Artefact hurtles through space, just inside the orbit of Mars around the sun.

Four of the five new heroes begin to get their bearings. Core, however, is stricken by panic—every movement they make pulls rocks up from the ground or sends them flying, and they soon find themselves isolated on a rocky island as the stone around them begins to glow with the heat of rising magma. Overcharger and Remix rush to their aid, trying to calm them down.

Mega, however, cannot take her eyes off her sister, and Forcemaster, too, looks on in concern. Mega’s sister who, she had thought, had remained unaffected by whatever had done this to the rest of them. Now, though, she stares down at her hands as dark tendrils creep out of every shadow around her. Darkness envelops her, a shockwave pushing Mega back. Forcemaster raises a translucent shield in front of them against the swirling dust. As the dust clears, Mega looks on in horror, as a huge and inhuman shape stands where her sister was moments ago.

The newly formed Emissary flexes a shadowy arm and lashes out, a mass of tendrils slamming into Mega and pushing her away. Mega takes Emissary’s appendage in her hands and pushes back—with a roar of effort pushing Emissary away.

Emissary speaks, her voice distorted and inhuman—yet still it brings a twinge of recognition to Mega’s ears. “Foolish humans. Say your final words and make peace with whatever false idols you call gods. Your time of reckoning is here. Be grateful that you lived to see your Sundering, and lay down in supplication as you were born to do.”

Mega floats gently into the air and stares down the things that was her sister. “No. No—we will never give up. We know what is coming and we will stop it. We will save this planet—and I will save my sister.”

Two minutes remain. Thirty-six million kilometres lie between the Artefact and its target.

“Overcharger—transfer her power to me. Remix—copy me and follow. Forcemaster, you’re with us. Core—focus. The world is literally in your hands. Move it. Move the Earth out of the way.“

The fate of Mega’s sister has only made her more determined. Her commands are delivered with such authority that the others start to obey even before they realise it—and they are filled with hope and determination too. This fight they will win.

A shimmering thread is drawn out from Emissary and redirected to Mega by Overcharger. Emissary cries out angrily, but it is clearly slowing her down. Remix holds his arm out and makes a motion as if grabbing something thrown by Mega—as he clenches his fist, he rises off the ground as Mega does. He grabs Forcemaster, who wraps a shield around the three of them as Mega leads them off and up into the sky.

They push faster and faster up into the air, Forcemaster reshaping the field around them to be more streamlined. Mega is clearly outpacing the others, infused with energy from Overcharger. She grabs the other two and helps to pull them onwards, accelerating out of the atmosphere and into space.

Meanwhile, on the ground, Emissary is slowed by Overcharger’s drain on her powers, but she isn’t stopped entirely. Overcharger keeps jumping back and away, trying to keep their distance while also maintaining the link to Mega, who is now getting quite far away. Core has been shaken out of their panic somewhat by Mega’s speech and is trying to follow the order they were given—while occasionally slinging a chunk of stone towards Emissary to distract her. Focusing all their power on the ground beneath them, they are causing a slight indent to form in a radius around them, as if they are indeed exerting a force on the planet. It’s difficult to tell how much luck they’re having, though.

Emissary makes a sudden lunge forward and catches Overcharger off guard. The link to Mega falters, though Overcharger just manages to maintain the drain on Emissary.

One minute remains. The Earth appears as just a speck in the distance as the Artefact speeds inexorably towards it.

Now out beyond the orbit of most satellites, Mega, Forcemaster, and Remix prepare to meet the Artefact.

Mega turns to the others mid-flight, “We need to hit it from the side. Forcemaster, can you use a field to help guide us in?”

“I think so—but it’s going to be rough.”

“Ok. Keep flying towards it until the last moment—the further out we hit it, the more the deflection will count.”

With a ferocious determination, Mega pulls reserves of speed as if from nowhere, pulling the others along behind—and then, briefly, falters.

“Something’s happening to Overcharger. No turning back now, though. This is our only chance.”

Ten seconds. The Earth stands out from the field of stars behind it now, though it is still no larger than the tip of a pencil held at arm’s length; the moon is a pin-prick of light less than a hand-span away.

“There—I see it!”

A tiny glint resolves itself, brighter than any other star and growing brighter by the second.

“Steady—”

Five Seconds.

Forcemaster extends a field in the path of the Artefact. Remix and Mega both draw back their fists, tensed, and give each other one last nod.

Three…Two…

“Now!”

Finally, the Artefact flashes past the moon.

“Rrrrraaaaaagh!”

Mega launches her fist forwards at a target still thousands of kilometres away. In the time it takes to blink, it’s suddenly in front of them. A sound like shattering glass reverberates through the air bubble surrounding the heroes as the Artefact tears through the forcefield. Mega and Remix both feel resistance, though, as with an almighty crack their fists collide with the exterior of the Artefact.

One.

Mega stares down at the receding spot of light below them. She has just enough time to register that it worked—almost. The Artefact was deflected away from its original impact site… but it’s still heading, inevitably, towards the Earth.

In the last millisecond, the Artefact punches through the atmosphere. Through air, through cloud and into rock as if it were tissue paper. There’s no sound—there’s no time for there to be sound. There is the Artefact, and there is light.

Within a thousand miles of the impact site, everything is obliterated. Compared to the time it took for the Artefact to bury itself in the Earth’s core, it takes an age for the matter around it to respond to what has happened. As the energy of a million million hydrogen bombs is unleashed, there is no meaningful way to describe the forces which rend the world apart.

Half way around the world, the atmosphere shrieks in protest as its atoms are subjected to forces they have not seen since they were forged in the nuclear furnace of a supernova. The atmosphere boils away, and entire continents crack from their foundations.

The Earth is destroyed.

A Hero is Born

One hundred and fifty-six seconds remain. The Artefact hurtles through space, just inside the orbit of Mars around the sun.

Four of the five new heroes begin to get their bearings. Core, however, is stricken by panic—every movement they make pulls rocks up from the ground or sends them flying, and they soon find themselves isolated on a rocky island as the stone around them begins to glow with the heat of rising magma. Overcharger and Remix rush to their aid, trying to calm them down.

Mega and Forcemaster stare at the shadowy mass which, moments before, had been Mega’s brother. Striding out into the street, Emissary extends a mass of dark tendrils which take hold of a van, lift it high, and smash it down into the street in a display of strength. Emissary leaps up onto the wreckage and addresses the new heroes.

“Humans, hear me! Soon you will be freed of this mortal coil. Your planet has been chosen, and the Sundering is inevitable. To resist is pointless. But,” Emissary stands tall, stretching to his full height, arms spread wide, “I invite you to try!”

Despite the struggle with their powers, Core attempts to launch a chunk of pavement at Emissary. Emissary smashes it aside with one sweep of a shadow-clad arm.

“Pathetic! You deserve the fate that awaits you.”

Two minutes remain. Thirty-six million kilometres lie between the Artefact and its target.

Mega flies at him next, grappling him and trying to pull him to the ground.

“Give me back my brother!”

“Your brother is already gone! But don’t worry—you’ll be joining him soon enough!” Emissary snatches Mega off their body and slams them hard into a wall with a blast of dark energy. He raises his arms and a mass of tendrils creep out from the shadows at the base of the building, climbing up it like vines. When they reach the top, they pause, and clench, and pull, the entire building crashing down on where Mega fell.

The dust settles to reveal Mega standing—barely—inside one of Forcemaster’s shields. As Mega clambers from the rubble, Overcharger shouts to her companions. “Emissary is just a distraction! The real threat is up there, heading towards us. Remix—copy Mega’s and Core’s powers into each other. Maybe we can’t stop the Artefact, but maybe—”

“Maybe we can dodge it.” Finishes Remix.

“Right. Forcemaster—you and I will deal with Emissary.”

Remix makes gestures at Mega and Core, and suddenly both are floating just above the ground, pieces of rock and rubble rising with them. They turn together and start to fly up when Emissary lashes out, grabbing Core with a sinewy tentacle which extends from his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Emissary pulls Core back towards himself, the centre of his body opening up to reveal a gaping maw which bellows at a terrified Core. Core panics and flails wildly. Mega swoops in, grabs Core and pulls them away from Emissary’s grip. Emissary lashes out again but meets resistance as he slams against a forcefield.

“Running away, sister? Come now—don’t you want to spend your last moments with your dear old brother?”

Core continues to flee, but Mega turns back, fury in her eyes.

“No!” Shouts Overcharger, “There isn’t time! Stick to the plan!”

One minute remains. The Earth appears as just a speck in the distance as the Artefact speeds inexorably towards it.

“New plan,” says Mega, “You stop the Artefact. I’m dealing with Emissary.”

Emissary looks away for a moment, seemingly distracted by something. Mega seizes the opportunity and tackles Emissary. The pair crash through concrete walls and through the front of a building. Almost immediately they fly out again, Emissary landing on top of Mega and pinning her to the ground. He brings up a fist and slams it down—into a forcefield. Overcharger targets Emissary too, draining his strength.

Emissary looks up breathing heavily, moving as if under a great weight. “Enough of that!” Summoning reserves of strength, he lashes out with a shadowy appendage and knocks both Forcemaster and Overcharger to the ground. He wraps Forcemaster in a huge pillar of darkness, raising them up off the ground and then slamming them down again, hard.

Forcemaster doesn’t get back up.

Emissary picks up Overcharger next and throws them at Mega. Mega catches them, but the force throws them both backwards. Overcharger struggles to their feet, but weakly. Mega charges at Emissary again and the pair exchange a flurry of blows. Mega appears worn down and desperate, but Emissary seems almost to be toying with her.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

A burst of energy emanates from Emissary and sends Mega flying backwards, bowling over Overcharger once again.

Ten seconds. The Earth stands out from the field of stars behind it now, though it is still no larger than the tip of a pencil held at arm’s length; the moon is a pin-prick of light less than a hand-span away.

Emissary strides towards the fallen heroes, picking up a car on the way.

“I really expected more, you know.”

Emissary grips the car tightly and tenses, as if about to strike the finishing blow—before turning quickly and throwing it back instead, directly into an unsuspecting Core. Core is struck full-force by the vehicle and is brought crashing to the ground.

Two.

Emissary looms over the fallen Mega. “To be killed by the Sundering is a gift, dear sister. A gift which I will deprive you of.”

Finally, the Artefact flashes past the moon.

Emissary draws his fist back—

One.

In the last millisecond, the Artefact punches through the atmosphere. There’s no sound—there’s no time for there to be sound. There is the Artefact, and there is light.

And then… it stops. A hundred metres above the city square, the alien object stands still, wreathed in a fireball of shock-compressed air, frozen in time. Directly beneath it stands a figure, surrounded by slowly-rotating rings of glowing light.

“No. Not again—never again.” They adjust their stance, and the rings slow, stop, and turn back, rotating with increasing speed in the opposite direction. The Artefact begins moving again, but up, not down—it moves, slowly at first but gaining velocity, back up into the sky. On the ground, the destroyed buildings begin to repair themselves, the rubble and debris setting itself back into undamaged storefronts. Time reverses.

The figure looks around at everyone and smiles. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

Give Me a Place to Stand

One hundred and fifty-six seconds remain. The Artefact hurtles through space, just inside the orbit of Mars around the sun.

Five of the six new heroes begin to get their bearings. Core, however, is stricken by panic—every movement they make pulls rocks up from the ground or sends them flying, and they soon find themselves isolated on a rocky island as the stone around them begins to glow with the heat of rising magma. Overcharger and Remix rush to their aid, trying to calm them down.

Mega, Forcemaster, and Chronologist stare at the shadowy mass which, moments before, had been Mega’s brother. Striding out into the street, Emissary extends a mass of dark tendrils which take hold of a van, lift it high, and smash it down into the street in a display of strength. Emissary leaps up onto the wreckage and addresses the new heroes.

“Humans, hear me! Soon you will be freed of this mortal coil. Your planet has been chosen, and the Sundering is inevitable. To resist is pointless. But,” Emissary stands tall, stretching to his full height, arms spread wide, “I invite you to try!”

Chronologist steps forward, conjuring rings of light around themselves. “We will do better than try, villain!” Half-turning to the other heroes, they continue, “In just over two minutes, an alien object will collide with the planet and extinguish all life. It may seem an impossible task, but today is a day of impossible things. These powers—like nothing we have ever dreamed of. We can win—we will win.”

Emissary reaches behind himself and a mass of shadows wrap themselves around the base of a building. They crush the foundations and send it toppling towards Chronologist. A few smaller pieces of debris smash into the ground around them, but most are caught in another field of glowing light. They reverse their trajectory and begin to reform the building.

Two minutes remain. Thirty-six million kilometres lie between the Artefact and its target.

Overcharger shouts to her companions. “Emissary is just a distraction! The real threat is up there, heading towards us. Remix—copy Mega’s and Core’s powers into each other. Maybe we can’t stop the Artefact, but maybe—”

“Maybe we can dodge it.” Finishes Remix.

“Good plan,” says Chronologist, “Overcharger, Forcemaster—you can help me with Emissary.”

Remix makes gestures at Mega and Core, and suddenly both are floating just above the ground, pieces of rock and rubble rising with them. They turn together and start to fly up when Emissary lashes out, attempting to grab Core with a sinewy tentacle which extends from his arm. But the appendage is caught in a faint light and sent back towards Emissary. Emissary snarls and turns to Chronologist. Mega and Core continue up and away.

Overcharger targets Emissary now, and his movements become slow, sluggish. The writhing shadows emanating from his body seem to wither and fade. Forcemaster throws a dome of forcefield over him, trapping him inside. Mega and Core fly up into the sky until they are no more than specks above the city.

Emissary seems to draw back into himself, trapped under the forcefield. Overcharger and Forcemaster approach, warily, keeping their powers trained on Emissary. When they get close enough, Emissary strikes. He smashes a fist into the ground, sending a shockwave out which puts Forcemaster and Overcharger off balance. As their concentration is broken, both forcefield and draining effect falter, and Emissary throws them both backwards with a blast of energy.

Chronologist catches both of their companions in fields of light and they drift gently to the ground as if in slow motion.

“Almost,” says Chronologist, “target him again, Overcharger! Direct the energy towards Mega and Core—they’ll need the help!”

One minute remains. The Earth appears as just a speck in the distance as the Artefact speeds inexorably towards it.

Up in the sky, Mega and Core look at each other. Glancing back, they see the twinkling speck of the Artefact, still impossibly far away and yet approaching so fast. Below them, they see the Earth, unimaginably huge. But they can both feel it, and maybe, just maybe, it can be moved.

The cold, dry crust; the churning mantle; the roiling core. Slowly, carefully Mega and Core push, exerting a force across all of it, all at once. Slowly, slowly, it starts to move…

“It’s not enough…I… I can’t…” says Core, through gritted teeth.

“Keep going—we have to try!”

On the ground, Overcharger once again pulls a thread of energy from Emissary—but this time sends it off into the sky where she can just make out Core and Mega. Below the heroes’ feet, the Earth shudders.

“Something’s happening!”

“Yes! Here, let me help!” Chronologist’s power envelops Overcharger and the flow of power out from Emissary doubles in strength. Emissary tries to fight it, but every time he lashes out, Forcemaster blocks the attack.

Overcharger’s energy pulse reaches Mega and Core, flickering between them. They both slip forward, their new power dimpling the surface of the Earth below them. They adjust, shifting their energies.

“It’s working!”

Ten seconds. The Earth stands out from the field of stars behind it now, though it is still no larger than the tip of a pencil held at arm’s length; the moon is a pin-prick of light less than a hand-span away.

Though continually blocked, Emissary has slowly gained ground on Forcemaster. He reaches out and grabs Forcemaster, mustering the last of his strength to slam him into the ground. Again. And again.

“No!” Overcharger cries out.

“Maintain the link!” Shouts Chronologist, “We have the entire planet to save!”

Above the city, Mega glances at the point of light which is the Artefact, now brighter than ever.

“It’s not enough…but maybe—one last push.”

The two heroes look at each other, nod, and start falling…

Two.

Mega and Core accelerate towards the surface…

Finally, the Artefact flashes past the moon.

BOOM!

Mega and Core slam into the ground, giving the planet one last, almighty shove.

One.

In the last millisecond, the Artefact skims through the very edge of the upper atmosphere. In the blink of an eye it is gone, off into the vastness of space.

Emissary collapses. The shadows which had enveloped him recede.

Scene 1

“Esteemed merfolk! Thank you all for being present tonight!” Exclaims Elder Octo as he raises a toast over the ballroom balcony to his guests below. Merpeople from both Coral Reef and Atlantia dot the crowd, young and old. From a sharply dressed grey reef shark to a swordfish who’s tail glinted in the lights of the chandelier above them. “Allow me to extend my thanks to the citizens of Atlantia, may this gathering foster a solution of peace between our kingdoms, to our health!” He raises his glass, and the guests raise theirs with him in a great cheer.

Elder Octo soon steps down from balcony to the main ballroom, where he meets his old friend King Blue. The elderly men share a hug as they begin to talk. “Ahh Manta is turning out to be a fine young woman,” Elder Octo comments, King Blue manages a proud smile. “And so are your young ones,” he returns, looking down to the corner of the ballroom, where the impressionable prince is holding a bag of seashells, arguing with his little sister.

Elder Octo follows his gaze and sighs, “ahh children… I gave the lad something to do and he still finds ways to cause trouble… he’s always been a difficult one, that Flowerhorn.” King Blue nods, “perhaps he needs a friend to calm him down, keep him in check.” Elder Octo’s expression curls into a smirk, “and we both know the best candidate for that.” They both share a laugh, that drops into a more serious tone.

“I really hope this works…” whispers the Elder.

“As do I,” responds Blue.

As they look on at the little prince leaving his sister to find the new object of his affections. A swordfish approaches them both.

“Ahh, Colonel Swordfish, pleasure to see you could make it,” King Blue comments as he pats the swordfish on the shoulder. Swordfish manages a small bow before sighing.

“What’s the matter young man?” asks a concerned Elder Octo.

“The guests…” the swordfish starts tiredly, “even those very close to the royal circle, they have been commenting over the uneven power scales in your monarchies, and honestly, it’s making my life trying to defend you two a little difficult.”

King Blue is taken slightly aback from his unusual behaviour, Swordish is one of his most trusted advisors.

“Why, do tell Swordfish. Do the guests oppose our rule?”

The swordfish looks troubled and Elder Octo and King Blue exchange looks, the normally composed and authoritarian merman seems to be exasperated from the party.

“Well no, they do not at present, but they do think, together with the people they represent, that you both are hoarding too much power for yourselves. It could benefit you both to well… share that seat with more of your officials and perhaps eventually, people at large.”

He was sombre, but seemed to be very sure in his words, they almost served as a warning. If Swordfish had not opposed these radical ideas of the guests, there would be a clash of power within the palaces – or worse, a revolution of sorts.

“Hmm. I will take this into consideration, Swordfish,” replied King Blue. “perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to… slowly, that is… have the civilians have a little more say in the rulings of our kingdoms.”

But where King Blue was contemplative, Elder Octo was still hesitant, he spoke of how they would give the people an inch and they would demand a foot, how this system would get out of control and quickly turn into the commoners exploiting the monarchy.

Swordfish continued to debate respectfully with the Elder.

As he did so. Prince Flowerhorn managed to find the Manta Ray princess that his father had been so eager for him to interact with. He offered her the shells as instructed, but she was more interested in an adventure.

Not quite knowing what adventure this little girl wanted, they ended up in the bowels of the castle basement, finding the sweet smelling kitchen, cooking up pies and desserts for the crowd above. The head chef, Dory, took a liking to both of them, but especially Prince Flowerhorn, who revelled in learning to make snacks that would make his new friend smile. Head Chef Dory welcomed them back anytime – much to the delight of the royal fishlets.

All seemed well until the ball was over, when the maids reporting that Flowerhorn’s little sister, Princess Sealily, was nowhere to be found. Elder Octo was a in a panic as he ordered a Kingdom wide search.

It went on for weeks, with no sign of the young grey whale.

Unbeknownst to Octo and his royal court, the young princess was nestled sleeping in a wheelbarrow of expired fruit wine, carted off to a location far, far away. Where she would be explained off as an orphan, to live the rest of her life as a commoner.

Well, at least until the start of this story.

Scene 2

For the next 17 years, Coral Reef continued with but one heir to the throne, an heir that was initially bratty and vindictive about his annoying little sister’s disappearance. A slew of emotions that soon turned darker as the boy grew into a man.

He regretted leaving her alone that one night when the maids had told him to look out for her as her big brother. He regretted all the mean things he said, and how he never got to show how much he really appreciated his sister.

With nowhere else to go, he turned to the kitchen, channelling his sorrow into baking under the guidance of Elder Octo. Coming up with recipes and testing new ingredients distracted him from the loss of his sister.

He was so invested in this hobby, in fact, that he couldn’t focus well on other things his father wanted him to do. One of these was fencing, an appropriate skill for a prince, as Elder Octo put it. King Blue had hired them a teacher, Swordfish, who was once Blue’s military advisor. Week after week, Flowerhorn had to finish his lessons on his butt, beat by his coach.

Swordfish was always just a little too fast for him, just a little too clever for Flowerhorn to parry his blows. Perhaps it was a lack of inherent skill, perhaps it was that the prince was too distracted. As Swordfish helped him up from yet another losing battle, he seemed to have noticed his student’s slump.

“it’s a shame, my prince, that you are shackled to this life.”

Flowerhorn was taken aback, Swordfish was usually a very strict teacher with a strong preference towards authority and order. It was unusual for him to be so empathetic – but he supposed that as an ex advisor to the King, he must at least be this observant.

He had a while to let this statement sink in as Swordfish trained his best friend and much better student, Manta. Who fought much faster with her natural Rapier, her tail. They were both such natural fighters in fact, that they were able to have a conversation throughout their practice match. Though no one could really hear what they were saying.

The small crowd that had gathered around, including Elder Octo, Flowerhorn and King blue, but also the royal guards and a mysterious grey reef shark, had been watching the match intently. There was an intense aura to it that drew them close. It took them several moments to realised that Swordfish won, as their blows had been too fast to properly keep track off. The two competitors bowed, and exchanged a rather hard, vindictive handshake.

Scene 3

Fencing was one of the primary joys in Manta’s life, but there were also things that she enjoyed much less, and these activities tend to revolve around the fact that she was betrothed. To her best friend no less.

Both her and Flowerhorn’s fathers must have saw an opportunity to bring their kingdoms together under a trade relationship, beneficial for both parties. But in order to do this, a union by marriage was necessary – she and Flowerhorn just so happened to be the unfortunate target of this publicity stunt.

Manta had no intentions of marrying her best friend, but it would not have been so bad, were that the only problem she had with his situation. Flowerhorn was nice enough, and he would make a good husband – as a princess, she knew she couldn’t always do whatever she wanted, and would have accepted the consequences of her royal upbringing.

If it weren’t for one little detail.

A detail that came in the form of an ethereal beauty, one that she saw every day in private. One that, today, was holding her wedding dress, to be worn for a union to another man.

“Ahh. Chambermaid Grey, you are already here.” Manta commented in mild surprise, trying to hide the blush rising to her cheeks.

Grey bowed, “Well. If I weren’t here, you would never show up for your fitting.” She gestured to the dress in her arms, and Manta smiled sheepishly, the maid knew her too well.

As she got changed into the hideous ballgown, she and Grey made small talk as usual. Eventually, there was a knock on the door. A grey reef shark, dressed as a servant, peeked through to make sure the princess wasn’t indecent, before he came to pass a veil to the Chambermaid, greeting Manta as he left.

Grey accepted the veil, and placed it upon the Manta Ray princess’s head, pushing it back, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her princess was. All sharp features and striking eyes, making the maid’s ear flare red.

Grey wasn’t the only one as Manta heated up as well, feeling Grey’s fingers pull back tulle on either sides of her face. Her blush evolved into a hesitant and soft awkward laugh, ending in a very unladylike snort.

And the tender moment shattered.

Grey burst into sing song laughter. “hahahaha…. Hahaha…. You snorted…” her breath became shallow as she heaved, doing a double take while Manta covered her mouth.

“I’m so sorry princess it’s just… it’s just so funny.”

Manta cleared her throat and recovered, though her face was still a burning red, “no need to apologize Grey… It’s fine,” just a little embarrassing is all.

“Ahh but…” grey wiped the tears balling up in the corners of her eyes. “laughing at a princess – why… such slander could get me thrown in the choker.” She half joked, bowing to Manta. Manta frowned, it seemed that she didn’t like the statement or the show of servitude from someone she considered a friend – and wanted her to be so much more.

“But we’re friends Grey, there’s no need to act that way around me, you know that.”

Grey brushed off her dress timidly, looking to the floor. “well… yes but. It’s difficult to ignore our differences in rank, you’re still a princess, a royal, something I can never be.” She fiddled with her pearl necklace. “and I, well, we, live in fear that we could be punished one day for simply talking out of line. I’m… sorry.”

Manta found herself at a loss for words. “no… no need to apologise. I understand our ruling system is obsolete. If I had my way, we wouldn’t have to struggle with this class wall between us.”

Grey smiled, taking Manta’s hands. “You and I both Manny.” She paused, before softly, mildly, “Imagine a world… were we wouldn’t have to worry about these things. Manta… I would fight for a world like that.”

“Fighting is dangerous Grey,” Manta cautioned, “the monarchy is powerful, you will not be able to do it alone.” She thought about the kings, “you would not be able to do it, so long as King Blue and Elder Octo are in charge… they are as authoritarian as it gets.”

But Grey had a fire in her big, watery eyes, “with you by my side Manta, I believe I could do anything.” She took Manta’s hands in hers, and felt them heat up to match the flush on Manta’s face.

“H-how bold of you… Grey.” Manta Stuttered, surprised by her chambermaid’s forwardness.

“You make me want to be bold.” Grey admitted. Manta smiled, the two ladies stared at each other, both unconsciously leaning in, hands between them, when all of a sudden

“Princess Manta!” The same Reef shark servant burst in, causing the two to break apart, “Sorry to interrupt, but an urgent message has come from coral reef!” He exclaims “Prince Flowerhorn has gone missing!”

“What?” Manta replied in shock as Grey looked back and forth between them, before the servant could reply, she hiked up her skirt, ready to swim out the door.

“Grey, Grey!” called Manta, “where are you going!”

“I need to find him!”

“But-

“I’ll explain later Manta, I just… I have to go!” she yelled as she rushed down the corridor, Manta calling behind her.

Scene 4

Grey hurried to the back entrance of Coral Reef’s staff wing, only to be hit by a familiar smell of well-aged fruit wine, commonly drunk at Coral Reef balls. Grey wasn’t sure when or where she smelt this pungent aroma, but it brought back feelings of a nostalgia she couldn’t quite place.

As she stood paralysed by the kitchen of a palace that she should have never seen before, a mysterious figure appeared in the doorway. He wore a cloak, surrounded by a few other older figures in cloaks. The central figure lowered his hood to reveal long silver hair, indicative of Coral Reef’s prince. Grey had never met the man, but the description seemed to match perfectly.

His eyes were as worried and soft as her own.

“P-Prince Flowerhorn,” she bowed hastily, “my name is Chambermaid Grey, I work for Princess Manta in Atlantia. We heard you went missing.” She looked concerned as she backed against the entrance, “are you… leaving?” she took notice of the sacks the entire crew had around their backs, as well as boxes of kitchen tools and waterskins.

Prince Flowerhorn explained that he was about to, the life of a prince was not for him, and he wished to pursue his dream of opening a land vs. sea fusion restaurant together with the chefs at Coral Reef, who were also unhappy under Elder Octo’s rule, and wanted to leave from being underpaid.

As Flowerhorn said what he thought were his last words in the kingdom, he noticed a glint off Grey’s pearl necklace, in the light the central pearl seemed to sport the carving of a Sealily. With this, his eyes widened.

“Sealily, Sealily it’s really you!” he rushed forward to grab her shoulders and hug her, confusing the Chambermaid.

Flowerhorn shook Grey’s shoulders as he hurriedly explained how she was a lost princess, identified by her pearl necklace which has been in the family for generations. One she wore ever since she was little. Grey resisted this idea, saying she was merely an orphan, brought up in a convent in Atlantia, no less. But Flowerhorn was persistent, saying that it explained why the guards, combing Coral Reef so long ago, could not find her.

Slowly, the memories started to come back to Grey, or rather, Sealily. The smell of the kitchen galleys made sense, and even the barrels of wine around looked familiar.

“This is amazing, Sealily you must take the throne when I leave, it’s the least I can do after you’ve suffered all your life.”

But Sealily refused. She had spent a long time discussing this issue with Manta in the past, and it been long clear to both of them that the monarchy itself is the root of all problems.

“The fact that you say I’ve suffered Flowerhorn is the essence of the problem with our monarchy.” Sealily tried to explain to the clueless prince. “We have too much power. I have grown up as a commoner and have understood why people are so scared of us, why they all hate us. I cannot rule in a system that only takes away from them.”

“But, But Sealily once I go there will be no one to take the throne. Elder Octo will insist on you. For you to live a comfortable life.” He held Sealily’s hand, but the girl pushed it gently back towards him.

“I appreciate your concern brother, but I do not need to be comfortable. I’d rather make sure that so many more people, in the future, may be comfortable. The world does not end with me.”

Flowerhorn seemed charmed by her genuine words, “that is… very commendable sister. I… I too wish that we were not shackled to our faiths like this.” He looks back at his band of chefs, representing his true dreams.

“Well. If we were to form a new world, together, we can pursue those dreams.” Sealily appeals, “In a world with no monarchy, no overruling kings or strict, unchanging fathers, we would be free to follow our own path. Isn’t that what you want?”

Flowerhorn’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates with Sealily’s suggestion. How could she say something so radical, so brave? He was entranced by her words, by her willingness to help him achieve his goal even though all he did was ignore her as a kid. The guilt consumed him, allowing him easily to agree.

“Very well Sealily, I will help you. I cannot marry Manta, but see to it that I will be present at your wedding – and whatever happens, know that I will side with you.”

Sealily smiled warmly, marrying Manta was to be the easiest, most rewarding part of being a princess.

Scene 5

The day of the wedding could not come sooner. Manta had received a letter from Flowerhorn explaining his ‘leave’ for her to marry his sister, Sealily instead. Sealily had also explained her change in identity, delighting Manta, but not for the reasons one might think. Manta did not care that their marriage would now represent the union of their people, she did not wonder if it was bring peace or blind the commoners with the scheme of true love. Of course, she loved Sealily as the Grey she had been all their lives, but there was a bigger agenda at hand.

Their wedding was a gathering of both Atlantians and Coral Reef citizens, the perfect assembly to topple the old monarchy. Manta was poised in her wedding gown as she waited Grey. Both Elder Octo and King Blue sat side by side in thrones within the courtyard, watching the wedding from the back. Meanwhile, civilians gathered outside the wrought irons gates, bordered by guards, to watch they symbol of joint peace form before their eyes.

Elder Octo announces Sealily as the lost princess of Coral Reef, earning a few mummers amongst the crowd. Maybe people seem distrusting of this princess coming out of nowhere – where were even comments what “royals can do whatever they want huh?” and “just plant in a random girl as a ‘princess’ and we’re supposed to believe it?”

Sealily thanks her father, ignoring the calls as the ceremony begins, it will all cease to matter in a moment anyway. Out of respect, most people quieted down as the merpreist spoke. As they were married, Manta and Sealily exchanged a final, innocent kiss, earning a wave of ‘aww’ amongst the crowd.

As she kisses her new wife, Sealily pulls out a card from her dress pocket, holding it behind her back at it absorbs into her body. When they pull away, she gives Manta a serious, yet sincere look. Her large, watery eyes full of emotion and commitment to the path they have decided to walk together. “Whatever happens next,” she whispered, touching foreheads with her beloved, “I do out of love. You understand?”

Manta nodded, heart falling to her stomach with the look on Grey’s face. She knew then as she knew before that this is the person she would spend the rest of her life with, rebel or royal – it didn’t matter, so long as she got to fight for that world with Sealily by her side.

So long as she was safe, nothing else mattered.

“Esteemed merfolk!” Grey exclaimed, “we are gathered here today to witness a wedding, one to bring peace and hope to the people. But I understand, from living as a commoner all my life, that this is not what any of you want!”

A few brave hoots and hollers emerge from the crowd, they are hushed by the guards, but there don’t seem to be many of them there. In fact, most of the palace guards are inside the iron gates, guarding the kings.

“I know that the monarchy has treated you all unfairly, and that their system of rule is obsolete and useless. Even as I stand here now.”

At this moment, Manta chimes in “All my life I have felt remorse over the people’s needs, but my father, and Sealily’s father have kept us from making any change, change that would benefit all of you!”

Cheers erupt.

As if she was being tied down by invisible string, Manta raises her hand, pulling yet another card from her skirt pocket, she holds it out towards Elder Octo and it shoots into him. Her mouth moves with a crooked twist, but she manages to speak.

“So long as any trace of monarchy remains, they will find a way to rule again. We will find ourselves in the same self-perpetuating cycle!”

“Royals will always exist!” Elder Octo chants on queue, “but we exist for a reason, without us, there is chaos! Why can you not understand!”

“We demand a trial, something, anything!” Kng Blue continues

Sealily cocks her gun.

“Your days of demanding are over.” Manta’s cracked voice loudly echos over the cheering crowd as they cheer. “This is your punishment, face your wrongdoings to your kingdom, and to us!”

The world slows as the girl in the wedding dress pulls the trigger, her brother is holding her father poised as a perfect target. The guards are in the midst of defending against a rain of arrows, and now even throwing knives from the crowd beyond.

They have left an opening.

Any available guards rush towards Sealily.

Swordfish goes to defend the kings.

Her beloved wife, Manta, Runs forward, ahead of Sealily.

She stands in front of the pistol. Arms spread out as she yells.

“Don’t! Wait!”

A gunshot echoes throughout the oceans and the fighting stops.

The arrows stop.

The crowd stops.

Scene 6

Manta clutches as her chest, red bleeding over her white wedding dress, as she collapses to the floor, her veil, the one that Sealily and her laughed over, falls to the ground.

Sealily’s eyes widen as she drops her gun, “Manta no!” She runs towards her love, kneeling beside her.

But is blocked by none other than King Blue, a solemn expression on his face.

“Stay away from my daughter.” He pushes Sealily back, who stumbles while he leans down to tend to Manta.

“But I-

“STAY BACK!” The mild king bellows. Forcing Sealily back a few steps, tears starting to flow down her face, this is not what she wanted. This is not what she wanted at all.

Another card falls out of Sealily’s pocket and inches its way to Manta, now lying on the ground, head propped up on her father’s knee.

“I’m… sorry, father,” she admits, “I was angry, and I did not mean all those things I said… I merely, wanted you to listen.” King Blue ran his fingers through her hair.

“Shh… shh I know sweetheart… I know…”

“I would have been fine…” she coughs, “with you guys… staying… I just wanted… the people… to be happy… that’s all…”

King Blue’s tears dripped into the pool of blood Manta was starting to cough up. The would be queen turned her head to Sealily behind her father. With a weak smile, she mouthed “I love you…”

But it didn’t have the same spark it always had. It was forced, painful.

And she did this.

She whispers, making the king hang his head as he held his dying daughter in his weak hands. “It was… an accident. I wish I could have… ruled the world… with her.”

She reaches up her hand to her father’s face, “I love you… too…”

Her hand fell, and king blue nestled his face into his daughter’s bloody chest, his loud cries emanate through the kingdom.

Elder Octo comes up behind his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder with a weight that held more than anyone could ever know. “You have what you wanted, Sealily. We surrender.” His face was hardened, “well played.”

“But I did-

Sealily began when she felt herself being pulled up by a strong arm, she looks to the side and sees Swordfish, a somber, grave look on his face, he is holding a card.

“Sealily. Face your fate,” he says, Sealily starts to shake her head, looking between Manta and King Blue and the crowd on the edge of their tails she felt like vomiting. But swordfish holds up her arm with one hand, and the card with the other. The Card with the words ‘Meme me up Scottie’ morphs into a megaphone, which he uses to announce to the crowd.

“People, I hereby announce the royal bloodline ended, with your hero here before you, to lead you to a new revolution. At last we have the freedom to love, the freedom to think, and the freedom to choose our own fate.” The last part of the sentence echoes with a strange resonance.

A massive shockwave sweeps over the vignette as his words travel far and wide through dream. With the wave, the crowd erupts with cheers of violent joy.

“She’s dead!”

“The heir to Atlantia is dead!”

“And the kings have surrendered!”

“Thanks to Sealily!”

“Our new leader!”

“We’re Free!”

“We’re free to love, think and choose our own fate!”

“We’re free to love, think and choose our own fate!”

“We’re free to love, think and choose our own fate!”

“We’re free to love, think and choose our own fate!”

With that chant, the crowd breaks through the iron gates, storming the palace they parry the remaining guards, though most join the crowd of revolutionaries that siege the castle. Sealily, with her vision blurry from tears, gets lifted into the air, thrown up in glory as she sees King Blue and Elder Octo being taken away in rope ties. King Blue in particular struggles as Manta is left on the ground. In the mass of the rebellion, one person even steps on her. Sealily reaches down, but the crowd only lifts her up in a way she doesn’t deserve.

Her love, her one saviour. The one she longed to be with all her life, to rebel with, to start a new life with. The protagonist of this very story that is their lives… is dead.

And she killed her.

Scene 1

The Youth is engulfed by waves. Darkness closes on her as the sky falls away. She does not fight back. The salty sea water presses her down, down, down, all the way into the depth of the sea where no light from the sky can reach.

The blinding Sun has disappeared. Its searing heat leaving a faint trail in the water that is soon gone.

When the Youth finally comes to a stop, floating in empty darkness, she could no longer tell which way is up and which is down. She never thought this is what the Abyss would be like. The water and darkness are one, and just like in darkness she can now fly, in water she can now breathe. As her eyes adjusted to the surrounding, she sees that not far from her, floats the Weeping Girl.

She is glowing. So is the Youth.

As the Youth swims towards her, she starts to see more lights from afar. Faint, twinkling – stars. Just as the stars above, now that she has spotted a few, more emerges.

The Abyss is a sea of stars.

The Weeping Girl sees the Youth and smiles a timid smile of relieve. “Do you know where we are?”

“The Abyss, perhaps.” Answers the Youth.

No bubbles come out of their mouths. The darkness is now within them, and smoothly it carries their voices.

“Are we alone?” The Weeping Girl asks.

The Youth shakes her head. Towards them shades flock, like moths seeking fire. They come in all forms: animals, people, strange things that not even the sharp eyes of the Youth could properly discern. Onto the two glowing bodies the shades softly cling, slowly dragging them down – one must assume the direction the shades are dragging them is down.

The Youth tries to wave them away, to no avail. Their forms blur like reflections in water, but then return the same. Now that they have wrapped themselves on the Youth, she can hear their soft murmur.

“Name me.”

“Name me.”

“Name me.”

So the Youth does. She sees that the shade wrapped around her arm looks like a snake and names it so. She sees that the shade perched on her shoulder looks like a dove and names it so. She sees that the shade hugging her leg looks like a child and names it so.

The moment a shade is named, it glows, lets go of the Youth and floats upwards. But soon its light grows dim and can be seen no more.

Yet there are so many shades, the Youth soon runs out of names. She starts giving the shades any word she could think of, related to their appearances or not. Knife. Bowl. Autumn. Winter. Wind. Snow. Rain. Tear. Loss. Home. Friend. Family.

The moment a name is given, it is lost to the Youth. She realizes, but not before much has been lost. No longer can she recall the words she uttered. No longer can she recall what those words were for. No longer can she recall what she had given without understanding.

She seals her lips and would give no more, clinging on to the last threads of memories she still possesses. There was something important to her. There was someone important to her. She tries to remember. She holds on to the will to remember, even though she cannot.

Embraced by shades, into depth ever darker she sinks.

Beside her runs a trail of pearly tears. She knows she had forgotten something. She can no longer comprehend what.

Scene 2

The Youth wakes up in a cave of red sandstone. Above her the cave opens up to a black sky – not the sky, but the sea of stars. She cannot tell if the cave is underwater or not. The question does not arise. The cave itself is lit by a hearth, before which sits a man. He is not a shade, but neither does he glow. Seeing the Youth stir, he hands her a bowl of soup.

“What is it?” She asks. The man shrugs and takes a sip, gesturing her to do the same. She takes it and drinks. The soup is dark and smooth, like nothing she has tasted before. As she finished, her mind suddenly feels clearer. “It’s a bowl of soup.” She answers her own question.

“Yes. Well done.” Smiles the man, who is still cooking more food.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Hunter.”

“The Hunter of what?”

“The Hunter of many things. Just then, the hunter of shades and memories.” He gestures towards the soup bowl still in the Youth’s hand. “But most importantly, the Hunter of the Clam and Crane.”

The Youth does not understand. The Hunter smiles, patient yet a little sarcastic. He tells her a tale of the feud between a Clam and a Crane.

“There live a Clam in the depth and a Crane in the sky. The Crane dearly hungers for the meat of the Clam and the Clam detests the Crane for its pursuits. They have feuded for eons, the Clam always evading the Crane, being one step ahead. Unbeknownst to them, a Hunter has watched them for as long as they have fought and has already laid down a trap to catch them both. The moment the Crane strikes her sharp peak into the Clam and the Clam catches her peak with its hard shells, a myriad of arrows shall rain down upon them.”

The Youth is baffled by the story, for she has already given away much that she knew to the shades. The Hunter pats her on the shoulder and offers: “I can teach you how to hunt, shades, memories. I can help you fill up the gaps in your mind. In exchange, I ask for a promise: when the time comes, when the Crane strikes her sharp beak into the Clam and the Clam catches her beak with its hard shells, you will hunt them with me.”

The Youth tilts her head, and eventually nods. She has lost too much. There is something – someone – important that she must seek. And she must learn, how to seek, how to hunt, and eventually, what it is that she seeks.

“I promise: when the time comes, when the Crane strikes her sharp beak into the Clam and the Clam catches her beak with its hard shells, I will hunt them with you.”

Scene 3

The Hunter has become a mentor to the Youth. Together, they would hunt down shades and take their names. The Youth has relearned many things: Snake. Dove. Child. Knife. Autumn. Winter. Wind. Snow. Rain. Tear. Loss. So on and so forth.

She is now the protegee of the Hunter. Her eyes are sharp and her aim true. Few things can escape her, if she desires its fall.

During one of her hunts, while she was alone, she encounters a Quick Brown Fox and a young girl. The girl runs towards her, but halts just before they are within arm’s reach. Behind her, the Quick Brown Fox casually strides over.

The Youth recognizes the Quick Brown Fox, but is confused by the Priestess. She understands her as the one who travelled with her, but cannot recall anything before. Eventually she greets her, but no conversation flows between the two, for both know that too much has been lost.

As silence falls upon them, the Priestess sighs.

“Quick Brown Fox, would you now give back our memories?”

The Quick Brown Fox sweeps its tail across and jumps closer to the two. “Why don’t you tell her about the Eternal Day?”

So she does. The Priestess tells the story of Creation, the birth of Light, the Eternal Day, the Flight of the Clam, and the prophecy of the Seeker of Light – the only memory to do with the Youth she still retains from their shared past, for that alone the Youth refused to give to the Quick Brown Fox.

“… What was lost shall be reclaimed. Never again will anyone be fearful of the night. Never again will anyone be fearful of the cold. The unknown shall be unveiled. The depth shall be illuminated. And under the new sky, all may rejoice – for we have dreamed the same primaeval dream, we have journeyed towards the same universal goal, and at long last, with darkness banished and night conquered, every single living being, from man to fox, will have the freedom to love, the freedom to think, and the freedom to choose our own fate.”

As she listened to her words, the Youth feels a sense of recognition, though no memories are triggered, for they are lost. Still she desires to trust the Priestess, even without knowing why.

“So, do you want to be the Seeker of Light?” Questions the Quick Brown Fox. “Is what once was always right? Things have been thusly. Do they have to? Is what once was always wrong? Things have been thusly. Must they change?”

The Youth ponders. The Priestess’ words feel right. The Eternal Day raises an inexplicable feeling of nostalgia within her that she cannot deny. In the end she declares her faith – not in the prophecy she can no longer recall, but in the Priestess and her vision.

“For her Eternal Day I shall seek the light, and if that makes me the Seeker of Light, let it be so.”

“And your memories?”

“I would have them back, for I believe they will aid my quest.”

The Youth and the Quick Brown Fox come to an agreement and as she tells it of the Hunt of the Hunter, his quest for the Clam and Crane, the Quick Brown Fox returns her and the Priestess the memories it kept close. With a legend lost and a promise made, they trade their memories back.

As the youths look upon each other again, they embrace each other with tears streaming down their cheeks.

Still, the Youth remembers not the prophecy, for it was not lost to the Quick Brown Fox but to the shades of the Abyss. Together, they decide to hunt it down. They ask the Quick Brown Fox, a self-proclaimed hunter, how.

“What form do you think it will take?” The little hunter circles the Youth, who ponders and states: “The form of a pearl… no, the form of a bird.”

And the Quick Brown Fox laughs. “Then you must hunt the shade of a bird. Not quite sacrilegious, but just about.”

Scene 4

During their hunt, the Youth discovers a strange quarry. As she chased down a winged shade, broke its slender neck and drank its name, she sees a frail form glowing, floating in the dark. Together with the Priestess, they take the body back to her red sandstone cave.

They call upon the Hunter for his knowledge and his reasons. There is much to learn, about the Weeping Girl, about him, about the Daybreak they have promised to bring.

As the frail girl sleeps and weeps – beautiful pearls dropping from her eyes without break – the four gather around the hearth. The Hunter has laid a feathery cloak upon the girl. Upon the fire he boils a pot of soup.

They ask about the Hunt. The Hunter laughs triumphantly and says that such is his nature and power. They ask about what he wants from it. The Hunter smiles good-naturedly and says that he wants the Hunt for the Hunt, nothing more, nothing less – he cares little for what would come of it and what would remain, the carcasses and the tears. They ask about the Crane. The Hunter shakes his head and says that every time the Winged Goddess comes to the Abyss she loses more of herself, until she has finally lost everything. She’s but a crane, an animal of great power who knows nothing more than her need to hunt down the Clam.

“And do you know her?” Asks the Youth, as the Hunter brings a bowl to the Weeping Girl’s side.

The Hunter observes the Weeping Girl with a merciless curiosity. “Perhaps.”

“What is the name you are giving her?” Asks the Priestess.

The Hunter answers not, but gently brings the girl up into a sitting position, holding the bowl to her lips.

They can hear the distant thunderous crash of Sunset coming from above. The Clam has returned to the Abyss once more. The Youth has learned this. This signifies the passage of a day.

The Weeping Girl stirs, uneasily, almost fearful. But she opens her mouth and accepts the shadow.

And her eyes open.

They are the colour of the brightest pearl, and pearly wings sprout out from her back. Without stopping to look at those in the cave, she springs out of the red sandstone cave.

“What - ”

The Hunter laughs as he walks over to grab his bow. “Her name is the Winged Goddess, the Great Crane. And after seven moonless night above, now she has finally caught up with the Great Clam.”

Scene 5

From outside the cave, comes the voice of the Hunter, proud and fierce.

“Will you honour your promise?”

From inside the cave, comes a question of the Quick Brown Fox, simple and neutral.

“What do you want?”

From beside the Youth, comes a gasp of the Priestess.

“What is right?”

The Youth takes her bow off the wall. It feels so natural to handle a bow now. It feels so natural, to hunt.

There is so little time. And yet she must answer the questions with her action.

Swinging her quiver onto her back, bow in one hand, the Priestess’ hand in the other, she strides out to join the Hunter. The Priestess follows her wordlessly, tears staining her cheek.

There is so little time. To ponder. To debate. To understand.

To pray. To receive. To obey.

How many paths lead to the Eternal Day? How much must break before Daybreak?

Above the caves, in the midst of the sea of stars, the Winged Goddess battles the Primordial Clam. The Winged Goddess has shed her human form. The Hunter’s words ring true: a Great Crane she is, with great wings shedding moonlight and a slender beak sharper than obsidian. With grace and fury in equal measures she attacks the Clam, who tumbles and turns amongst the shades which is has stirred up to hide itself.

The Hunter and the Youth, insignificantly small in comparison to the warring gods, watch the fight, bows in hand. The Quick Brown Fox and the Priestess stand by their sides as witnesses, as accomplices.

“Where are your arrows?” Asks the Youth, for the first time noticing the Hunter’s empty quiver.

The Hunter smiles, drawing his bow. “The time has come. Are you ready?”

“I am.” Says the Youth, notching an arrow to her bow. “Are you?”

As the Youth narrows her eyes and draws open the bow, as she used to upon the river and the willow bank, as her father taught her, as the Hunter corrected her poses –

The Winged Goddess breaks through the shades and with a resounding cry strikes her sharp beak into the Primordial Clam, reaching for the Pearl that is the Sun. The Clam catches her beak with its stone hard shells, shaking in rage in an attempt to break it.

The Youth releases her arrow, the same time as the Hunter lets go of the empty bow string. As her arrow soars through the darkness, cuts through the swirling shades and lands in the Winged Goddess’ heart, the sea of star lights up.

The stars are closing in with the speed of arrow.

They are arrows.

Starlight, as sharp as blades and as hard as diamonds, weaves a web around both the Goddess and the Clam, capturing and strangling them both.

And so the Youth’s promise to the Hunter is fulfilled, and the Hunt completed.

“Well done.” Says the Hunter, as he walks to admire his quarry. “What will you do now?”

“I restore the Eternal Day.”

The Hunter cracks open the dead Clam, and across the darkness throws over the Pearl.

“Here in the Abyss, eternity mates with ephemerality. Here in the Abyss, all things are conceived but nothing is born. Take your prize and dive upwards without looking back. The most ancient memories say that is the way forward.”

So, the Youth, the Priestess, and the Quick Brown Fox soar into the dark empty sky, now devoid of stars. The only Light burns in their hands, the Pearl that is reclaimed, the prize they claimed, final remnant of the gods they’ve slain.

Scene 1

The children at Holly Hill Primary School wave goodbye to their parents, looking forward to an exciting day of fun and learning. Miss Peach says hello as they come in. Miss Peach is waiting for a parcel, with all the new books to read to the class, but the post hasn't come yet. She's starting to get worried. Angela the Postwoman is never late, and the post should be here already. Could something have happened to Angela? Miss Peach is worried.

Amy sees that Miss Peach is upset, and asks what's wrong.

“Angela the Postwoman should have come with our new books already. I'm worried that something has happened to her.”, Miss Peach says.

“Maybe she doesn't want to deliver post any more?”, Amy suggests. “It must get quite boring.”

Miss Peach shakes her head. “No, that can't be it. Angela loves her job. She gets to see the smiles on people's faces every day when they get the mail. Doesn't that sound nice? I can't just sit here and do nothing while Angela could be hurt. We'll have to go and find her.”

So Miss Peach and all the children (except Brian, who says he doesn't want to, throws a tantrum, and gets left at the school) go down into the village to look for Angela the Postwoman.

They check at Angela's house, but she can't be there. Angela's husband says she isn't home.

They look in the post office, but she can't be there. The post office isn't open.

They ask the lollipop man, but he hasn't seen her.

They ask a squirrel, who can see very far from up in its tree, but it hasn't seen her.

They ask a crow, who can see even further. It flies up and up and up, and it spots her in a field. What could Angela be doing in a field?

Miss Peach and the children thank the crow, and go to the field. Angela is covered in mud. Her legs are stuck in it all the way to the knees. The children grab her arms and they tug and they heave, and Pop! Angela comes out.

“Thank you!”, she says, “I don't know how I would have got out of there on my own. I was just delivering Farmer Schotty's mail, and I got stuck in the mud on the way. I'll have to be more careful next time.”

“Oh, and I have something for you too.”, she says, handing over the books. “Sorry they're a bit dirty.”

Miss Peach and the children wave goodbye to Angela, then head back to school. Now they have all the books they need, so they can start the lessons properly.

Scene 2

The first lesson is writing. The children practice their letters. Charlie's writing is very neat. Miss Peach is pleased.

“Well done, Charlie.”, she says, “You're doing very well. Maybe you can answer a question for me. How does language work?”

Charlie looks confused. Miss Peach tries to look encouraging.

“Um… You say things, and then people hear what you said.”, Charlie says hesitantly. This is an odd question. He isn't sure what Miss Peach means.

Miss Peach smiles at Charlie. She says “Yes, you say things, and then people understand what you said. They think things because of your words, but your words are just sounds. Isn't that odd? What does a sound like “Angela” have to do with the woman we just helped?”

Charlie looks even more confused. He doesn't think he's doing well in this lesson any more. Miss Peach tells the children to put away their books. Now it's time for PE.

Everyone goes outside to the sports field. Today they're playing tennis. Everyone is getting very excited as the games go on. Miss Peach is pleased that everyone is having so much fun. She has a question for the class.

“What is a sport?”, she asks. Lots of children put up their hands. “Tennis”, “Football”, “Cricket”, they say. Miss Peach asks differently: “Yes, these are all sports, but what is it that makes them sports? Is running a sport? Is chess a sport?”

Dana has a suggestion: “It's a game where you run around.”

Miss Peach asks “What about water polo?”. The children come up with more suggestions. Miss Peach keeps prompting them to think of more things. PE doesn't usually have this much thinking in it, but this is fun too.

The next lesson is arithmetic. The children are practicing times tables. Emily has a question for Miss Peach.

“Why does 6 times 6 have to be 36? Why can't it be 30 again? I think I want it to be 30. I like 30.”

“Excellent question!”, Miss Peach says. “Does anyone else know the answer?”

Fred puts his hand up. “The 6 times table goes up in sixes. 6 times 5 is 30, so 6 times 6 is 30 plus 6, so it's 36.”

Miss Peach thanks Fred for the answer. She starts to say that he'll be getting a gold star, but Emily rudely interrupts.

“But why can't 6 times 6 be 30 anyway? Maybe it doesn't want to go up in sixes. Maybe 30 plus 6 is 30. I say 6*6=30, so now it is. Who says Miss Peach gets to say what 6 times 6 is?”

Miss Peach was annoyed at being interrupted, but is enjoying where this conversation is going. Miss Peach asks Fred if he has an answer to that, and he doesn't. Miss Peach makes a suggestion herself.

“Of course, there's nothing to stop you saying that 6 times 6 is 30, but if you believe that, you aren't using “times” to mean the same thing as I am. Let's say that the sort of multiplication you're talking about, where 6 times 6 is 30, is called “Emilytiplication”, and the sort of multiplication I'm talking about”, she points at the times tables on the blackboard, “where 6 times 6 is 36 is called “Peachtiplication”. Both of these are valid functions if you know how to Emilytiply all the other numbers too, so we have to decide which one we want to use. The meanings of words like “times” are arbitrary, so the only way to tell which multiplication is best is to work out which is most useful. So, Emily, what makes Emilytiplication better than Peachtiplication?”

At this point, Miss Peach has an unusually intent look in her eyes. Emily is nervous. She thinks maybe she's digging herself into a hole and should stop. She also thinks it's far too late for that now.

“My multiplication is best”, she starts hesitantly, getting more confident as she speaks, “because it has more thirties in it, and 30 is my favourite number. Your multiplication only has 30 as 6 times 5 and 3 times 10 and—” she tails off, not quite sure what all the other factorisations of 30 are. “And anyway, my multiplication has all of those thirties too, and another one, so it's cooler.”

Miss Peach considers her reply for a while. Emily is hopeful that what she said is right. Miss Peach starts drawing rectangles of dots on the board. She starts talking about what multiplication really means. The children are only slightly confused. Miss Peach takes her grid of 6 by 6 dots off the blackboard and asks Emily if she can fit them in 30 boxes. Emily shuffles the dots around for a while then, frustrated but determined to prove that her multiplication is best, eats 6 of the dots and counts the rest. They taste like chocolate. Miss Peach congratulates her ingenuity.

Scene 3

Now it's time for Miss Peach to read to the class. The children are excited. Miss Peach is a wonderful storyteller.

She finds one of the books Angela delivered earlier, and settles down in the reading chair. The children gather around to listen. Miss Peach opens the book and frowns.

“Oh dear”, says Miss Peach, closing the book, “these books don't have any stories in. How about we write our own? I want each of you to write a story about anything you like, then we'll read them to each other. Won't that be fun?”

So the children pick up their pencils and paper, and start thinking creatively. It's very quiet in the classroom. All the children are concentrating really hard. Miss Peach looks around at how everyone is getting on.

George has drawn a picture to go with his story. It shows a king being threatened with torches and pitchforks and thrown out of the castle. It's a very good drawing, but it's not very nice to throw people out of castles. “Why is he being thrown out of the castle?”, Miss Peach asks, “That doesn't look like a happy story.”

“No”, George replies, “the people are angry because the king told them what to do, so now they're being mean back to him. He deserved it.”

Miss Peach is upset. “If everyone was mean whenever someone did something mean to them, everyone would end up being mean to each other all the time. Is that what you want to happen?”

George is feeling passionate. “Better to have everyone being mean all the time but with the freedom to think their own thoughts and choose their own fate than being polite but subservient.”

Miss Peach moves on to see what the other children are writing.

When everyone is finished, the children gather round again to tell their stories to each other. “Does anyone want to share first?”, Miss Peach asks. George puts up his hand, stretching it really high. Miss Peach wants to hear a nicer story. She chooses Harriet.

Harriet starts telling her story while George glowers. As Harriet starts telling the story, the classroom disappears around everyone, and they fall into the little house where the cat in the story is stuck. The cat is stuck inside, but wants to go outside to meet all the birds and all its cat friends. It tries all sorts of silly things to get out of the house. The owners want to stop it getting out. They say it might get lost, but really they just want to keep it trapped because they're mean. After trying and trying, it breaks the window and runs away. It goes and plays with all its little bird and cat friends. The owners are left behind in the house, wailing and gnashing their teeth. The house falls down on them, and they die.

Miss Peach quickly takes all the children out of the house before it can fall down on them. Everyone is back in the classroom now. Miss Peach is shaken. “That was a very good story, Harriet, but please be more careful. You nearly made the house fall down on us. Sometimes bad things can happen in stories, and that's okay, but when we're diving into a story like that, it could be dangerous.”

Ivan tells his story next. As the story starts, the walls of the classroom fade around everyone. They're replaced by the exact same classroom they just left, complete with fictional children and fictional Miss Peach. Fictional Miss Peach is sitting down with the story book like earlier. Real Miss Peach is standing behind her, looking confused. Ivan continues telling the story.

Fictional Miss Peach closes her book. She says to the class “Oh dear, these books don't have any stories in. We're going to have to write our own. I want each of you to write a story about something, then we'll read them to each other. This will be educational. It's for your own good.”

Fictional Miss Peach sits down and waits for the fictional children to obey. Some of the real children are confused and start obeying too. They try to sit in the same seats as their fictional counterparts.

Real Miss Peach objects that that's not quite what she said, but Real Ivan interrupts, continuing to narrate the story.

“And then I climb up on my table, and say to Miss Peach “No. I don't want to write a story. Why do you get to say what we do?”.”, says Real Ivan.

“No. I don't want to write a story. Why do you get to say what we do?”, says Fictional Ivan, climbing up on his desk defiantly.

Real Miss Peach looks worried. Fictional Miss Peach looks furious.

“How dare you!”, shouts Fictional Miss Peach a few seconds after Real Ivan's narration, “I won't stand for this behaviour in this classroom. I am the teacher and you will do as I say or there will be no lunchtime for you!”

Real Ivan says “And then I say “Not any more! Nobody tells me what to do! Not even you, Miss Peach.” and then I point my sword at her and I march out of the classroom.”.

Fictional Ivan, who has a sword now, says “Not any more! Nobody tells me what to do! Not even you, Miss Peach”, pointing the sword at Fictional Miss Peach, “or you, Miss Peach”, he continues, pointing his sword at Real Miss Peach, “or you, Ivan.”, he says, pointing his sword at Real Ivan.

Real Ivan looks worried as well now. “Um, no, I don't point my sword at myself? I like myself.”, he attempts to narrate uncertainly.

Fictional Ivan looks confused. He isn't angry at Real Ivan. He is angry at Real Ivan. He continues pointing the sword at Real Ivan, waving it around now. “How dare I tell me what I say or do! I'm my own person! I'm Ivan too!”

Fictional Ivan starts chasing Real Ivan around the classroom with a sword. Real Ivan helplessly chants “I don't have a sword. I don't have a sword. I don't have a sword…”.

Real Miss Peach tries to break everyone out of the story back into the classroom. They're already in the classroom. It's very confusing. She looks to Fictional Miss Peach for help. Fictional Miss Peach nods. Both of them strain at this unruly story together, willing it to stop. Something snaps.

Epilogue

Miss Peach, Ivan and all the other children are in the classroom. It looks just like the real classroom and the fictional classroom. There's only one of each person. Miss Peach has the kindly look that Fictional Miss Peach didn't have. Ivan has a sword. Ivan is panting. Some of the children have finished their stories, and some have just started. There are hairline cracks running through the walls, floor and furniture, like the parts on either side don't quite fit together.

Miss Peach says “Okay, children. I think that's enough storytelling for one day. How about we go and see if your parents have come to pick you up, then we can all go home, if you want to of course.”

Miss Peach is smiling. Miss Peach doesn't look like she wants to be smiling.

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 devise 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

“Are you ready?” Asks the Lord of Liinus.

Before his seat, the young man bows. He is dressed as a merchant, in lush red and gold, but he carries himself with the solemnity of a scholar. “I am.”

The Lord nods and blesses him.

By the door, his friend and rival waits. With a smirk he pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t die.” The young magician smiles and shakes his head. He has a long journey ahead of him.

As Phaeveon departs from Liinus, all the people gather on the sides of the street. They regard him with a quiet reverence and bows as he passes.

For long have they sought an answer to the questions they were given by their ancestors. For long have they asked “why”.

Myths and legends of their origin are kept – first through the oral tradition, now in gilded tomes carefully scribed – but the questions they contain have never been answered.

Stories say they came from a distant place. Stories say they land was destroyed by the Steel Beast that Breathes Storm. Stories say their Goddess, Nvaiye the Winged Moon, abandoned them in their plight. Stories say they only survived because of the Exodus – the journey their ancestors took that led them here.

They seek the answers – Phaeveon seeks the answer. And he believes he knows where the answers lie: the Once-Great Library, the hidden treasure of the Strelitsian Empire that now sleeps beneath House Yonsa.

“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, Phaeveon is led away by a servant. Without looking back, Ninsë returns to her own room. Bartholomew the Foreign Jester disappears as well.

Mno lays a hand on Siilan’s shoulder. The youth looks up at his mentor, still shaken by Lady Yonsa’s wrath.

“What should I do?”

The old magician remains silent. He watches the young man with pity, but offers no consolation.

Standing in the vast empty hall of the Yonsa Mansion, in the silence that is never truly broken, Siilan is suddenly more aware of its age and loneliness than ever.

Is this where we must live our lives forever? Is this where Ninsë 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?

Corridors of mirror.

Gleaming light, cold, sharp, merciless. The touch of glass. A silver kiss.

Reflections, echoes, encroaching, suffocating, drowning.

A thousand faces. A thousand voices. Merged into one.

A prison.

A way out.

Doom.

Escape.

Images explode before his eyes and his mind is stabbed by a million voices laughing and crying and screaming at once.

Siilan cries out in pain as he falls to the ground.

“Siilan!” An ancient voice, rusty from disuse, calls his name and drags him back to reality. As he opens his eyes once more, he sees the concerned face of Mno.

He has never heard his aged mentor speak. The fear on his face – always so calm, distant – is strange to behold.

The old magician is kneeling by his side, fumbling through his pockets for a potion or something that will help, all the while keeping his eyes on the boy to make sure he is not going to faint again.

Siilan’s throat is dry, and when he opens his mouth to speak his voice is barely a whisper.

“I had a vision. Mirrors. A maze. Corridors closing in on me and there being…that being… an escape?”

As Siilan falls silent eventually, brows furrowed, Mno hands his apprentice a potion to soothe his nerves. He has no certain answers to give – he so seldomly does. Only speculation. Hear-say. Experiences that come with age. “Lore speaks of visions of the future, and what you see may yet come true.”

The apprentice is suddenly reminded of a map he found when he was organizing the house library a while back. He scrabbles around until he finds it in one of his bags and opens it. It’s drawn on worn leather – he’s uncertain of what animal – and painted in red. It looks like the inside of some structure but nothing on it indicates where this is. It was shoved between two books on a dusty bookcase and clearly not from either. He took it to ask about it, yet forgot to do so until now.

He gives it to Mno for a closer look, wondering if this may have anything to do with what he saw.

Could the maze be here, in the mansion? He has never left the house since he came, picked up by Mno from the streets as an urchin. He has never really believed that he can leave, with every attempted escape with Ninsë ending in failure. He looks up at his mentor expectantly.

The old magician contemplates, then holds out a hand to help the youth up. He places a finger to his lips. “This is not the place.” Speaks his gesture.

Siilan follows him to the alchemy lab, where he learned much of the magical arts. There they sit down, and in the fumes of frankincense and tea, to his apprentice the old man tells his story.

“…and to me the Lady confided the secret House Yonsa must keep, the library that yet lives, in the grounds beneath.”

Siilan’s eyes are wide with wonder. “So what I saw may be the Library?”

“Perhaps. I know not the form the Library takes.”

“Does it… lead anywhere?”

Mno looks at Siilan, his apprentice – almost a son – and sighs.

Slowly, he scoops down the chair and walks over to an old wooden chest in the corner. He almost buries himself in it, looking for something, as Siilan watched in confusion. At last, he rises, holding nothing but a wizened wand, polished surface smooth as marble. “Take this, Siilan. Don’t do anything stupid. But if you’re in danger…” He nods at the wand.

The youth accepts it with great gratitude. He has never seen anything like it – so ancient and simple, yet when he touches it, it seems that something within it awakened and connected to him. As he held the wand in his hand it almost feels like an extension of his own arm, with an untapped source of power that is just within reach.

“Thank you.” Says the youth as he embraced his aged mentor, who clumsily returned the hug.

“Thank you.” The old man whispered.

To Siilan’s surprise, as he left the alchemy lab, he sees that Ninsë is in the Greenhouse. Still in her white dress, she 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. We will have the freedom to love, the freedom to think, and the freedom to choose our own fate. 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.”

Before his eyes, the mirrored corridors flash and gleam.

A promise.

Scene 4

“Do you take me as a fool?”

The masquerading thief looks up, 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 be free?” A man asks with compassion unbefitting his age.

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

“I did. This is fated.” A youth adamantly states. As he takes the girl's hand, he looks back at the old magician by the Lady's side, and smiles. “Would you trust me? Would you join me?”

“I do. I will.” Cracks the ancient voice, resigned, loving.

Such is the end.

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. The magician, who has served the House when even Tethnda was young, walks through with him, without looking back.

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, all alone. It is as if there were never anyone else in this room.

At last, Lady Tethnda turns and leaves.

The mirror must be sealed. The room must be sealed.

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.

No one can 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, unsettled. Phaeveon is exploring ahead. Mno is checking the surroundings cautiously, but remaining close to the youths' side.

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

The young magician muses. “No. I came seeking a library. Perhaps we may yet find an exit. To the library perhaps?”

“Library?” 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 young man looks the map over, then nods.

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.

The four follow the map, hoping that it is correct, attempting to understand the nature of the Maze better, attempting to focus on something to keep the rising fear in check, attempting to look at something other than the walls that surely are not closing in on them. Phaeveon and Mno exchange theories of how the Maze was constructed and for what purpose and where the library would be located.

“What if…” Siilan suddenly speaks, remembering the visions he had, “this is the library? The map seems to match the layout of this maze and… perhaps it is not a library of books?”

“Not of books, then of wh—”

The question was cut short by the answer, as myriads of faces emerge from the depths behind the cold glass. They all look like theirs, Siilan, Ninsë, Mno, Phaeveon, but also different, strange, indistinct. There is something eerily generic about them, like the distinctive features have been taken away.

They stare at them, but mostly at Siilan, as if waiting for him to continue.

Mno places a hand on the youth's shoulder and nods with encouragement.

“In my vision I saw a thousand faces merge into one and heard a thousand voices speaking in unison. Is this the nature of the library House Yonsa has been keeping secret? Is this Mirror Maze itself, the Great Library?”

A flood of whispers fills the maze and the four have to cover their ears in fear of being deafened by the cacophony. Abruptly it ceases, as the faces nod in unison, and fade at once.

Before them the mirror brightens and a warm light shines through. The light of day, of the sun in a clear sky. As their eyes adjust to the light, a village appears before them – people in simple clothing, a market place, dyed flags waving in breeze. As the first bird song sounds, the whole maze sings in response.

In the distance, there appear to be other mirrors that light up. Less distinctly, the light dimmer. But the Maze is suddenly brighter and less menacing. Somewhere from around a corner, you hear the faint staccato ringing of a music box that is strangely familiar.

“It's beautiful.” Sighs Ninsë. Her voice echoes throughout the maze – beautiful, beautiful, beauty – She has never seen anything like this. So many people. So free. Such openness. She has never even been able to dream of such sights. As she holds her hand to it, wanting to touch that which has been forbidden –

The sunlight upon her hand feels warm. The summer air tickles her fingers.

There is no barrier. There is no glass separating her from the world.

Not anymore.

Phaeveon walks to her side in amazement, which after a moment of recognition turned into shock.

“I know this place.” Disregarding the incredible look Mno casts at him he continues, flustered, baffled, “It's not exactly the same but this… the layout, the heraldry… it's Liinus. That's Liinus! But… older, ancient, when it was just founded, a village not a city… I, I don't understand -”

Ninsë has stopped paying attention to him. Her eyes shine in the sunlight, filled with tears of joy and sorrow.

For a moment her life in House Yonsa flashes before her eyes. The cold marble that cannot be warmed, the dark and empty halls that cannot be filled. Father. Gone before she could know him. Gone before she could love him.

Could he also have discovered the secret of the Maze? Could he also have come… here?

She walks into the light, followed by Phaeveon, the traveller who is now home.

The Wyrmlings gather their allies in the town hall meeting room. Serendebian and Opelion will present evidence to win over the heads while Kyania will work on the Judge’s heart.

The pair plan to head back to the cave. Back to where their siblings died. Back to where there mother was taken from them. And then they will strip it bare for evidence. It will be hard but it needs to be done.

The consider for a long time what they will say. How they will phrase things to win over the humans. They consider what they can say or do to get them to see things from their perspective.

“It's not going to work,” Opelion growls eventually. “These Humans… they only listen to their own. Maybe you can prove the adventurers did it. Maybe you can get them feeling sorry for us. But they’re not really going to listen. They’re not going to hear us. I hate to admit it… we need one of them.”

At that moment he door slams open. In its frame stands a very out of breath Frilbo. “I heard about the trial…” He pants. He takes a moment, straightens himself as best he can. “How can I help?”

Serendebian and Opelion make the long trek home alone. At last they stand before the mouth of the cave. The maw stretches open. Black. Empty. The thought that this was once home suddenly impossible. The terrible knowledge of what she would find inside paralysing.

As they walks into the cave, Serendebian raises a claw, conjuring a small ball of light. Straxia still lies still in the centre of the cave. They both stop in their tracks. The great pressure of the thing that what once their mother holding them transfixed.

Eventually Opelion raises a claw and lays it on his sisters shoulder. They both nod, and as one step over the boundry. As Serendebian walks the exterior of the cave the shadows move, but they do not dance. There is a simplicity to their geometry. They are the shadows of a still thing. They are not the shadows of Straxia.

Evidence is not difficult to find. The adventurers cared little to pick up after themselves. The Rogue’s daggers still pierce Straxia’s hide. Potion bottles lie discarded on the ground.

The Adventurers were not trying to hide that they were here.

And why should they? Why bother to tidy up after themselves? They could not even conceive of being accountable for their actions. They take because they are strong.

And they will be brought to justice.

Kyania sits alone in the Village Hall. Empty. The sounds of shoes ring against the stone floor. She looks up to see Frilbo. Frilbo sits down beside her and lays a hand on the dragon’s shoulder.

At last Kyania turns to the human. “I’m afraid.”

Frilbo is silent for a long time. “I know.”

“The human world isn’t what I expected it to be. Its not like in stories, or in books. Honestly I don’t know what to make of the people here.”

Frilbo smiles gently, “People are people everywhere, I think. For better or worse.”

The dragon heaves a long shuddering sigh. “What if they don’t listen to me. What if they don’t care. They killed her Frilbo, and everyone is acting like its just… okay. We aren’t people to them. I don’t know if I can change that.”

“I turned up to rob your tomb and you showed me kindness, Kyania. You aren’t just a person, you’re a good person. And they will see that in you. Like I did. I won’t let them get away with this.”

The dragon leans her head against Frilbo. Again the silence relaxes across the hall. It hangs there between them. Comfortable.

“I believe you.”

Opelion strides back and forth in front of the chalkboard in the meeting room, a cane held in one claw. “Now look. We’ve only got twenty-four hours to turn you from law school greenhorn to ace attorney. I understand this will be difficult for your human mind, but fortunately you have an excellent teacher.”

Opelion slams a claw down on Friblo’s desk: “What is the implication of the precedent set by The Adventurers vs street thugs?”

“Uh…”

Serendebian cracks Frilbo across the kuckles with the cane.

Serendebian watches, perched atom one of the desks. “He’s got a long way to go. There's only one thing for it,” Serendebian says. “It's time for a Montage Spell.”

To be read to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btPJPFnesV4

Opelion lectures to Frilbo from a whiteboard. Arcane legal formula are scrawled across its length.

Frilbo bench presses law books as Serendebian and Opelion read precedent to him.

Serendebian invokes eldritch rites summoning a three eyed daemon from the bad place which resolves itself into a tiny cat that leaps onto a terrified Frilbo’s shoulder.

Frilbo tries on suits. Black? The dragons shake their heads. Cream? Again a no. Blue with a snappy red tie? Both the dragon give a thumbs up.

The Wyrmlings assemble at their bench. The crowd peers and murmurs. They stare and point. This is less a trial and more a novelty.

All of the adventurers save the Wizard are present. They seem bored. The Rogue digs under her nails with a knife. The Warrior seems to be sleeping. The Cleric is nursing a wineskin.

“Where’s there defence?” Frilbo whispers to the Daemon.

A door snaps open and the crowd gasps as the The Wizard enters, transformed. Not into a bird or a cat, but a lawyer. They wears a rich burgundy suit, collared by a frilled white cravat. They still have their pointed hat on, because how else would you know they are The Wizard?

Frilbo gulps.

Opelion lays a reassuring claw on Fribo’s shoulder. “You can do it kid. We’re… counting on you.”

The Judge enters.

A town guard cries, “Order, order. Will every biped in the room stand for the honourable Justice.”

The murmuring dies away as the crowd shuffle to their feet.

“We will now here the case of the Children of Straxia vs The Adventurers.”

The Judge motions for everyone to sit.

“As I understand it, the purpose of this case is to decide whether the killing of the Dragon Straxia ought to be considered lawful. Would the offended part like to present their opening statement?”

Frilbo stands up and coughs nervously, shuffling through piles of paper.

“On the night of uh… ten nights ago, the dragon Straxia was killed in cold blood by The Adventurers. The motive? Profit. The means? Various. The… uh… opportunity, seven days ago when they went out into the wilderness saying they were going to kill a dragon. Mmm… thank you, your honour.”

“And the defense?”

The Wizard fluffs their cravat and stands. “First of all, let me draw your attention to the fact that we are accused by dragons. Dragons hate adventurers. But let us not get hung up on the prejudices of our accusers. Let us instead consider simple facts. I see no proof presented to support any of these claims. There is no evidence we were there. There is no evidence we killed Straxia. There is no evidence that, if hypothetically this had happened, it was an unlawful thing to do.”

The Wizard bows deeply and takes a seat.

Frilbo confers frantically with the cat on his shoulder. “I would like to call my first witness to the stand, Kyania.”

Kyania stands slowly, shakily, and makes her way the witness’ stand.

Frilbo walks up to her. “Okay Kyania, I’d just like to ask you some questions. First of all, are these the adventurers who killed Straxia.”

“Yes,” she replies in a whisper.

The Wizard slams their hand on the desk. “Objection! It's our word against hers.”

The Judge rolls his eyes. “Overruled. Please continue.”

“Could you tell me, if its okay Kyania, about the night of Straxia’s murder.”

“I… I was at home, in the cave where we live.” There is some scoffing from the audience, but quickly hushed by the Judge. “It was a normal evening. I was studying, because dragons go to school to you know, and I remember looking out and seeing that person,” She lifts a claw accusingly at the Wizard, “stepped out into the entrance, and raised their hand and then… Well I remember a loud bang. And then things get a bit hazy. I remember the fighting. I slipped in and out of consciousness. I remember seeing my siblings. On the ground. Lying so still. And I remember… I remember…” Tears begin rolling down her cheeks.

Frilbo gently takes her claw, “You remember?”

“I remember Straxia falling. I remember her, The Warrior, with her sword in my mother’s heart.”

Murmuring rushes through the crowd. This is clearly not what they were expecting. The dragons actually look kind of… sympathetic. The Wizard glances around anxiously.

“Can I cross examine the witness?” The Wizard asks.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Now, first of all, you claim that you were drifting in and out of consciousness? Yes”

“Well-”

“And you couldn’t see what was happening clearly-”

“Yes, but-”

“Permission to treat the witness as unreliable?”

“Granted.”

“I know what I saw!” Kyania cries. “You killed them! You killed her! And you did it because you wanted what we had and you could!” She turns to the Judge. “Please. Isn’t the law there to protect the powerless? We can’t do anything to them. Please, help us.”

“Objection!” The Wizard cries. “This testimony is irrelevant and a blatant attempt at manipulating the Judge with no basis in facts.”

The Judge stares for a long moment into Kyania’s glistening eyes.

“If… if the witness has no further testimony to give.” He manages.

Frilbo leans in close to quietly thank her, as she leaves the stand.

“I can produce two more credible eyewitnesses your honour. But for the sake of argument, let's play the defence’s game. Let's look at material evidence, because we can provide that too.”

The Wizard tugs nervously at their cravat and leans back to whisper something to the Rogue. She rolls her eyes in irritation and the Wizard hisses angrily in response.

“I’d like to present several artifacts for the court's consideration. Firstly, these throwing knives. These were recovered from the scene of the crime and, I am sorry to say, in some instances the bodies of the victims.”

Frilbo begins to lay the bloodstained blades out one by one in front of the Judge. “Now, your honour, if you would examine the craftsmanship of these blades, you’ll find them to be of uniform construction. Most likely a special order. And, I think, you can plainly see, the knives that the Rogue wears are of very similar design. Identical in fact.”

After some grumbling the guards are able to procure one of the blades from The Rogue and leave it with the Judge for comparison.

“Well… I’m no smith but I find these blades identical.”

“Ob-objection!” The Wizard stammers. “Yes the knives may be from the same maker, but there's no proof that The Rogue was the one to throw them!”

The judge considers, “This is true…”

Frilbo smiles, “I agree. By itself this is circumstantial. So let us additionally consider these potion vials. They’re from here in town! This, “ Frilbo cries, holding up a sheet of paper, “is a sworn affidavit from the local potion maker claiming that these adventurers brought potions from her shortly before their journey up the mountain.”

“Thus we deduce that the killers must have been in possession of both these particular knives, have brought potions from in the village and could have been in Straxias cave on the night of ten days ago! Only one group fits that description and it can only be that The Adventurers killed Straxia.”

Frilbo stands, visibly quaking. The Wizard looks on in stunned silence. The courtroom is silent.

After a long moment, the Judge announces, “I think I’ve heard enough. I find the Adventurers -”

Suddenly the feed to the courtroom dies.

A moment later it is restored. Townsberg can be seen from a position somewhere up in the hills. Chunks of flaming wreckage fall from the sky. They crash into the town sending up plumes of smoke and dust.

The feed crackles.

A portly official begins to stand up, edging away from a chunk of burning wreckage that has fallen next to them. Closer it can be seen it is a metal scaffolding, on one side of which a translucent image of clouds flickers in and out of being. The official looks down at the mess of burning, twisted metal. As if looking for someone inside it. And then the camera rocks as a cloud of dust sprays up and the official flees.

The feed switches again.

Kyania is coughing and spluttering as Opelion and Serendebian carry her out of the rubble of a building. Frilbo frets around them anxiously. The Warrior runs up to them and exchanges anxious words. Opelion seems to give some sort of command pointing to the debris and the Warrior runs out of Frame.

Again a change of view.

In the middle of the street a Red Shirted peasent flees and then suddenly is crushed beneath two figures that appear to have fallen from the sky. One wears a suit of shining armour. He reaches down with theatrical decorum to lift the other from the floor. He gives the crushed peasent a pat on the back and the two flee into the night.

The feed snaps to another scene.

The starry night sky can be seen framed in trees, as if one were looking up from a grove. The sky is shivered, cracked like broken glass. The silvery fractures slowly creep across the sky, as if there were a great weight from above bearind down. As they spiderweb, spreading, connecting, diverging, shards of sky come loose from their mooring in the firmament and tumble towards the ground.

The feed switches again.

Opelion yells silently, gesturing towards a door, standing against a simple stone house but leading to a strange, sterile room full of curiously dressed figures. Villagers flee through it as the sky rains down around them.

The feed switches, and we see as if from Frilbo’s view.

Kyania and Serendebian stand to either side of the frame, staring up in horror and the shattering sky, and the great grey void that looms from between the cracks. A wreck of twisted metal and flame falls towards them, and they dive out of the way.

The feed does not come back.

The two dancers begin to move to the soft tones that fill the entire vignette, seemingly contained within the hexagonal velvet box, bordered by plush velvet walls. A chorus of violins start to play as the dancers extend their arms, completely in sync, as they circle around the small space, a homely scenery rises from the ground. Tables, chairs and freshly baked pies dot their tiny world. Nostalgic sofas and a blank television unfold from the ground like in a paper pop-up book.

The background dancers begin their routine as well, surrounding both paper dancers as they all continue in sync. With the way both dancers circle each other, it is impossible to tell them apart.

It is here when, one of the dancers lifts their arm the wrong way, breaking from their partner. The music takes a sharp turn, complete with a rushing flute overture to emphasise a new phase, as one of the dancers moves away from the one still dancing to a routine, opting instead to flail around and spin in circles. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is completely unscripted.

The walls of the amphitheatre revolve around into mirrors, then empty archways, before being covered by vines. New scenery unfolds from the ground, this time more natural. Fields of paper flowers with paper trees get coloured in around the perfect dancer, spreading over to their unruly partner.

Though the scenery is able to creep over to the frantic dancer’s side, it appears darker, like the paper is damp, bleeding the crisp yellows and bright greens into swampy, muggy tones. The perfect dancer looks panicked as they try to dance over to their partner’s side, standing on one leg, they try their best to reach towards the frantic dancer, but the ground seems to rumble as they do, causing them to collapse back into their usual routine.

The background dancers split, with a group focusing on the perfect dancer, and a few on the frantic dancer. They jump in sync, and morph into birds, that fly around the paper trees.

The Frantic dancer’s side pours with rain, causing them to slip as they dance their spontaneous made up dance. They let out a screech, but the birds flock to them, bending their heads they pick their arms up onto their backs, and with a few flaps of their wings, lift them up once more.

With wet footsteps, the Frantic Dancer tries to walk towards its partner, they open their mouth, as if to try and speak, but all that comes out are trumpet noises, the frantic dancer seems to be able to control the tone of the trumpets, but cannot make them into discernible words. They approach the perfect dancer in their perfect dance, hoping to talk to them, but as they get closer, the ground rumbles once more, sending the frantic dancer stumbling back onto the ground.

The Frantic Dancer’s half of the amphitheatre starts to melt from the wet paper, ending as a mass of garbage. The Frantic dancer looks around them, on the floor of their space and begins to cry. But the background dancers seem to have other plans, they tweet their docile tones as they swoop to lift the frantic dancer up, using their heads to gently push the frantic dancer. Urging them to move as their once were. As the perfect dancer’s background dancers see this, they too swarm to the Frantic dancer.

Birds around them, giving gentle pushes and wiping their tears. They deliberately create a new dance routine for the frantic dancer, one different from their lone partner in the distance. The Frantic Dancer at first moves zombified, with no motivation to dance as they keep falling, but with the help of the background dancers around them, they eventually begin to dance again, more confidently this time – to a tune of their very own, punctuated by the tweets of the birds and their own trumpeting voice.

The wet clumps of scenery around the frantic dancer slowly rebuild themselves into grassy hills, still bordered by an ominous mist reminiscent of early morning in the countryside, but no longer does it give a feeling of utter despair. It only feels unsure, as to where it will go next.

The background dancers morph once more, now into small mammals, like squirrels, who scamper around the space, alternating between the perfect dancer, who dances amongst flat plains of wheat and flowers in the sun, to the Frantic dancer, who dances amongst the dew drop painted hillside at dusk. So different, and yet, ephemerally connected.

Moss spreads over the Frantic Dancer’s side as they reach to their partner, but still are unable to get close without the ground shaking. The perfect dancer, now calm, also tries to do the same. But it seems as if an invisible force keeps them both apart, fitting together like a puzzle but never to become one.

The mossy hills on Frantic Dancer’s side keep deforming and reforming, as if it wants to be something darker, more ominous, but every time it does so, the background dancers gather around the frantic dancer, letting their movements be more powerful, willing the scenery around it to match in a way so different from their partner.

Mist settles into smoke, trying to envelop the frantic dancer, and once in a while it works, the background dancers lose track of the frantic dancer, and they go back to their unhinged ways, flailing and crying that they cannot be as perfect as their partner. But the wolves find them again, licking their scrapes from falling on the ground, and encouraging them to have a new routine, one of their own.

The scenery continues to flicker, fighting the frantic dancer’s new tune. Flashes of a dark swamp appear, and blood starts to stain the ground, but the frantic dancer remains upright, they remain dancing to the beat in their head, as blood leaks from their joints they try to ignore the pain, try to ignore a world that wants to condemn them for being different.

They manage to hold out, creating a beautiful presentation until the song comes to a screeching end. In the distance, it sounds like the violins strings are breaking, while the woodwinds pipes are blocked up.

The broadcast starts to incur large amounts of static, blurring the image of the amphitheatre. The vignette flickers like a TV screen with poor signal, before disappearing entirely.