Scene 1

A small shack, far from the edge of Spiral. One of many, the creature is placed down by the currents – as though willed to be there by forces unknown. It looks up, confused – a tentacle rubbing it sore and bruised body. Looking around, there is no-one else in sight. Just the dilapidated structure before them.

Scuttling towards it, the crab knocks on its door and waits – curious longing in its eyes. It is quiet here – even for the ocean. This is a secret place. The door opens a crack, and a small glow emanates from inside. It is entrancing. Loving. It is all.

“Don’t worry about that – come on in.” The anglerfish coughs uncomfortably, ushering the crab inside and shutting the door; giving a quick glance here and there before shutting it once again – a worried look on his face.

“Urgh. Sorry about that. Can’t really help it. You know how these things are, yeah? Take a seat, take a seat.”

“Uh, I suppose so.” The crab gives him an awkward glance, before settling into one of the rickety chairs round the squat table in the centre of the single-roomed house.

“Can’t be too careful these days. These are dangerous times - dangerous times indeed.”

“So, uh, are you the Wheel?”

“Who wants to know?” The fish squints his eyes.

”Me. That’s who. You’re into the whole ‘riling up the crowd’ and ‘causing a revolution’ business, right? Giving the Pearlescence to people and all that?”

“Shush, shush. Keep it down. You don’t know who’s watching, you fool.” Barely a whisper, there is a fury in his voice; a flash of danger over his face.

“I don’t know who you think you are, rushing in here and trying to tell me who I am and what I want, but I can tell you that you’re putting both of us in danger.”

“I didn’t mean to-“

“No, of course you didn’t. Of course you didn’t.” His awkward demeanour resumes once again. “So, what did you mean?” A slight smile.

“Well I came here to support your aims. Well, support the Wheel’s aims – if that’s who you are, I mean. To overthrow the oppressive regime. To bring power back to the people – to give them access to the Pearlescence which is rightfully theirs.”

“And how do you see yourself achieving such aims?”

The anglerfish leans back, ever so slightly – his eyes boring into the crabs.

“What do you suppose can be done, in this time of crisis?”

“Crisis?”

“Yes. Crisis. Or were you asking which? The civil war? The Empress’ ever-loosening grip on power? The theft of Pearlescence – that which is rightfully ours; all of ours? Or that whirlpool which threatens to engulf us all; or at least that which causes it? What do you suppose can be done?” The voice snaps as each point is rattled out. “I’m going to be honest with you – I don’t need you coming in here asking me questions. If you really want to help, I want you out there. Actually doing something useful.”

The two continue chatting, though the video feed seems to cut in and out, as though something is interfering with it. Before long, the anglerfish and crab nod to each other in agreement, before the latter makes his way out, to be swept up by the currents once again.

Scene 2

Two currents converge, this time on a training ground. One carrying the crab, the other a squid-like creature, tentacles flailing in all directions. They land, unceremoniously, by a clownfish, which is sparring with a dummy adorned with bizarre paraphernalia.

“I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
The time has been my scales would have cool’d
To hear a beast’s cry; and my fell of stripes
Would at a dismal barrage rouse and stir
As life were in’t: I have supp’d full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me.”

At this, the fish lunges forward, slashing and hacking at the innate wooden caricature before them. The other two look on – baffled.

“Are you alright?” the squid begins, but before they’re able to approach the clownfish it once again starts with a moan:

“Is this a rapier which I see before me?
The handle toward my fin? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not,-“

A little louder, the crab pipes up. “Are you alright?”

The clownfish pauses. Frowns.

“- and yet I have thee still” (they glare in the direction of the other two.)
“Art thou not, fatal vision-”

“Fatal vision? What are you talking about? It’s right there.”

“Oh will you be quiet,” the clownfish continues. “Can’t you see that this is art? That this deserves the gravitas of what is meant to be. The final battle that Spiral deserves. The defeat of the Beast which threatens us all.”

”Look, you’re not fooling anyone, Fool. Do you honestly think that waving around a sword and insufferable monologues are going to stop this existential monstrosity simply because you’ve worked yourself up into a pretentious frenzy?”

“I am doing what is right, am I not? Saving us all. Doing what must be done.” The righteousness fades from their voice. “Oh, I don’t know what else to do. This seems like the only way, does it not? My death saving others?”

“To fight, or not to fight- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep-”

“Oh shut up. Please. I really can’t stand this anymore. Honestly. Get a grip of yourself.”

The face of indignation rises once again, before crumpling into uncertainty once again.

The crab makes a start. “Look. There’s no point throwing yourself against something we all know will swallow you in a second, no matter how hard you try. I can’t tell you what you have to do – that’s up to you to decide – but if you want to actually make a difference to Spiral then the both of us can tell you that this isn’t the way to do it. Isn’t that right, squid?”

“Yes, well, I suppose so,” the squid continues. “There’s nothing stopping you doing something about this beast once you’ve made some better preparations, or even just had a proper think about it. Now, do you have someone more personal you could fight for?”

The Fool shakes their head.

“Hmm. Are there any other causes in Spiral that you care for?”

“Pearlescence, perhaps?” chimes in the crab. “I’m sure you’ve heard what the Reaper has been doing, and it’s frankly outrageous that they’re being allowed to get away with it, don’t you think?”

The Fool takes a second to think, eyes flitting from one to the other. For a second, a wry smile upon their face.

“Pearlescence, you say? And what would I want with that? The Empress allows me enough.”

“Yes, but the people,” continues the crab. “It should be shared out equally, should it not?”

“And what of the people?”

“Well,” interjects the squid, “who are you fighting for?”

There is a pause, though before an answer is given, the currents descend – sweeping the crab and squid out and away, back across the landscape of Spiral.

Scene 3

A prison. Two cells, facing each other across a squat hallway. Out of a small window to one side, a towering cliff looms overhead, and a dull roar shakes the floor. In one cell, a small squid lurks – each of his tentacles manacled to the floor. Opposite, a flying fish floats silently, his wings held tightly to the sides of his cage.

Between them, a golden koi patrols back and forth – their scales shimmering in the low light.

“I must admit, I am rather disappointed in you. I had thought that you would put up something of a challenge, if I’m perfectly honest. No matter, no matter… You’re not the first to have been brought by the currents, and you shall certainly not be the last.

“I assume you are aware of how this works, are you not?”

“Not partic-”

“Naturally, I thought I would have to explain it to you.” There is an evil glint in the fish’s eye. “This is a competition. I will present you with four riddles, one after the other. If you correctly guess the first, you will gain one point – and so on. If you win, I will keep you here only five more years. If you lose, then, of course, I will keep you here forever. But if you draw, then I shall let you both free. However, I will not let you know whether you were right or wrong, as that would make things too easy. Sound simple enough?”

The two prisoners nod.

“Well, let’s get going, shall we? What is that which is less tired the longer it runs?”

After a moment’s hesitation the squid calls out “A wheel!”

”Interesting, interesting,” the koi held a poker face, before saying “And what is both full and empty?”

”A fool!” cries the flying fish.

”Right. Question three. If I hold a water glass above the ground and drop it, how could I do so without spilling a single drop?”

”Because you’re dropping it underwater”, says the squid, though this time looking a lot less sure than before. There’s a flicker of a frown across the koi’s bulging face. “And one last question: this statement is false; true or false?”

There is a noticeable annoyance coming from both cells at this, and the koi gives a grin.

The flying fish speaks. “Oh come on. Play fair. Clearly, if it’s false it’s true and if it’s true it’s false. I’m actually quite disappointed in you Magician. Is this supposed to be a 'clever trick' that makes you feel smart about yourself?”

Shocked, the koi blinks once, then twice. “Well, yes, it was I suppose.”

“And, uh, this prison. How did you even manage to build it over the cliff face? Have you been using extra stores of Pearlescence?”

“So what if I have? Look, I didn’t conjure up an absurdly hammy battle of wits solely to be outwitted by a couple of-”

With a snap of their fins, the manacles and cages are released, and the two prisoners freed.

Once again, the connection seems to go blurry and distorted, and then cuts out.

Scene 4

The vast expanse lies beneath; a chthonic void that spreads out below, fading into inky blackness. Suspended above it by the thinnest of threads from a bizarre rock formation, green luminescence echoes from a small cave inside the protuberance dangling below. The lights of Spiral, high above, glimmer on its surface.

The currents sweep down, depositing the crab and an octopus inside. The High Priestess lurks swimming in endless circles around her domain. The past, present and future wrapped in an endless circle – the Spirits of the sea at her fin tips.

“Welcome, visitors. May I ask what brings you here today? Have you come to consult with the Spirits? Do you desire what knowledge they hold? The darkest mysteries of your future?”

Flashes of green and red light twinkle on the ceiling, which appears to extend right through to the stars above.

“Or have you come for the secrets of your past? That which was hushed up, hidden and obscured. Undesired, unwanted, and yet you remain ever curious.”

The floor seems to fall out from below, and the endless depths below beckon those huddled into the small cavern. No lights shine this time.

“Or, perhaps, it is present knowledge which you seek. Intricate webs, weaved out of sight and out of mind. Only to ensnare you once it is too late.”

And at this, the lights descend from above, though this time hold steady – just on the edge of vision.

“We have come to seek knowledge of the Spirits themselves,” declares the octopus.

”And we would like their advice,” the crab continues, “only with your permission, of course.”

“Well, you are welcome to try,” the shark grins – teeth glinting green and red in the dancing lights.

There is an angry flash, and both the octopus and crab emit a high-pitched shriek, before collapsing limp. With a flick of her tail, the High Priestess revives them, and once again gives a toothy smile.

“Only I commune with the Spirits, and I shall speak to you individually. I cannot privilege one over the other, as what the Spirits choose to divulge may be very valuable indeed if placed in the right fins. You, octopus.”

The High Priestess begins to spin faster and faster, whipping up a current within the small cave. The lights which had previously been wandering aimlessly begin to whirl with the current, glowing brighter and brighter.

Before long, the oracle’s chamber is a blur of lights and movement, from which almost nothing can be distinguished, before it gradually slows back to its calm state.

”Now go, octopus. Leave, and remember this message that I have granted to you.”

Without even a chance to respond, the octopus is whirled upwards and out of the cave, back of the current from whence she came.

“And you, crab, what is it you want?”

“I wanted to speak to you about Spiral. About where you live. About what can be done to improve the lot of the people.”

“What is it you want of the Spirits?”

“I wish to know what can be done. How the Spirits can help the ordinary people.”

“And why would they do that? They are as cryptic as a whirlpool; difficult to discern, and even more tricky to decipher.”

“But they give you messages, help, advice, do they not?”

“Perhaps once. But they disagree; argue. Only rarely are they focused on a single idea with one voice. I no longer try to interpret, but merely convey.”

“Surely they are connected to the land? To the ordinary people?”

The High Priestess laughs.

“If it were that simple, Spiral’s problems would have been solved long ago. No. They are what they are. There is no point pretending to understand, though I once shared your naïvety. I do sympathise with what you are trying to say, and there is no doubt Spiral is far from what it was, but there is no path to success from here.”

“But we can invigorate the masses – give them morale.”

“And watch them tear down everything we still have. They need warnings; guidance.”

“And that is why we need you.”

“Yet, as you now know, I cannot provide it. You continue to pretend to understand the Spirits.” Her face is stony at this. As though disappointed, rather than angry.

“Yet you do not even try. You just sit here in your cave.”

“Enough. Begone. I have understood you, crab, but I grow impatient with these foolish chatterings.”

With bubbling churn, the current sweeps down and picks up the crab once again.

Scene 5

The temple looms up; emulating the surrounding bank of seaweed as it extends towards the ocean surface far above. At the top of the golden steps leading to its grand entrance, flanked by pillars depicting intricate scenes of Spiral history, a tunafish dressed in robes reads aloud to a congregation that is not there.

“Decree CCXXXVIII of the seven-hundredth-and-forty-sixth convening of the grand religious council of Spiral. Those worshipping at the second tide of the sixteenth day after midsummer on leap years must, in accordance with Decree CLXXVI of the four-hundredth-and-eighty-first convening, burn their candles no more than two inches on that day. However, this Decree decrees that leap years which contain an odd number provide an exception to the rule, whereby candles may be burned for no more than three inches. This is to provide the additional respect accorded to-”

“Ahem.”

“-those who died in battle at that time in defence of-”

“Ahem.”

The tunafish pauses, and looks down imperiously at the small cuttlefish several steps below who had, in the meantime, made their way most of the way up.

“In accordance with Decree CCXIX of the sixty-third convening of the grand religious council Spiral, interrupting an address of the Hierophant is an offence that carries-”

“Look, I just want to talk.”

Once again, the tunafish pauses mid-sentence; a look of mild surprise on their face. It’s as though this is a new experience for them.

“And what, precisely, do you wish to talk about?”

“The Magician.”

The look of mild surprise definitively becomes abject surprise at this point, and their scroll begins to drift off without them realising.

“And why do you want to do that?”

“Because I want you to let them go.”

“To let them go?” The Hierophant splutters. “And what would an impudent cuttlefish like yourself gain from such an action?”

“Well, we do need someone to look after the city, don’t we? And by that I mean deal with the beast that’s threatening to destroy us all, do you follow?”

“And we have laws that protect us from such matters. There’s no point troubling ourselves with something that the Empress has in hand. We shall, of course, prevail.”

“We shall ‘prevail’, you say? Based on what? Burying our heads in the seabed and pretending that laws will magically – magically – protect us from this seemingly unstoppable force that’s bearing down on our great city? Oh, please forgive me for being so full of myself. How could I have possibly doubted such fabled intellect as yours would step up to the task?”

The Hierophant pauses, as though unsure whether to be pleased or annoyed.

“Look, if you don’t believe me then at least hold a meeting with the other important citizens of Spiral. Because at the moment we’ve got a life-expectancy smaller than this crowd, and there’s no-one here.” To make the point, the cuttlefish gestures to the empty plaza below.

“Alright, alright. Fine. I shall make sure to schedule a discussion shortly, though I will be highly surprised if anything comes of it. You young folk are far too optimistic.”

And with that, the currents sweep up the cuttlefish from the top of the steps, momentarily putting the tunafish out of balance, before regaining their posture and continuing their rambling announcement.

Scene 6

At this point, the feed becomes exceptionally blurry, as though something is interfering. However, the signal does seem to sustain itself for a time – though it only catches snippets of scenes. It’s as though something within the Vignette is lacking, though it’s not clear what.

Six figures are gathered around a wooden, circular table. In addition to the Fool, the Magician, the Hierophant and the High Priestess, there is the Empress, a humanoid figure, and the Reaper, a sinister sea squirrel enveloped in a black cloak.

The feed flitters in and out.

“I confess that fighting the Beast is probably a course of action that I could condone, though I am keen to avoid what the Hierophant has argued for-”

“But Empress,” the Fool interjects, “I must do what is right for the people of Spiral.”

“Are you sure this is the way, Fool? I shall provide you with guards, though in the event you shall run into trouble-”

…

“- can keep it alive for a time, can we not? Perhaps I could strike a deal of sorts,” the Reaper begins to draw on a nearby blackboard, apparently brought specially for this exact purpose. “Profits will, of course maximise upon the conclusion of the deal because-”

“Because what, exactly?” The Magician looks unimpressed.

“Let me finish, let me finish! Look – we could strike a mutually beneficial deal whereby we could mine Pearlescence from this Beast, which would provide endless resources – profits, that is – and of course this Pearlescence would, in accordance with the deal we would strike, of course, allow us to continue to keep it captured in a kind of feedback loop, d’you see?”

The blank faces of the other five faces fade in the static.

…

“I can, of course, only consent to you both approaching the Beast if, and only if, you accompany each other.” The Hierophant gives an austere look to both the Fool and the Magician.

“You will, of course, study the beast and bring back information concerning it, I take it?” continues the Empress, to enthusiastic nods from the Fool, and a more restrained shrug from the Magician.

…

The High Priestess appears to be chanting over and over.

”The Beast lies beyond, consuming all within its path. The Fool is consumed.
Echoed in Dreams, tunnelling to the End.”

…

“You fools. While you’ve been bickering in your ivory towers, I have been fomenting nothing less than revolution!” The Wheel cackles again, “I suppose you could say you fell straight into my trap.”

His lure glowing yellow, he makes a quick exit to the growing sounds of an angry mob echoing from far below.

The screen crackles, and then goes dead for the last time. The broadcast, it seems, is over.

Scene 1

“Hey Clown!” A very purple young lady yells while struggling to hold up a crate of dynamite, attempting to hoist it onto the back of a whale, who was ineffectually grazing on plankton from a food trough. “A little help here!?”

In a dash, an orange and white striped tail appears beside her, helping to haul the box onto their mount. “Goddammit Star, I don’t know why we need this many sticks…” His tone sounded like it never wavered from exasperation. “I thought Atlantia was abandoned.”

“That’s what they want you to think.” Answered a warrior looking tuna fish, who was polishing his sword on a grindstone. “I’ve heard it’s full of raiders from the Eastern gangs.”

“really?” the purple lady, Star, whipped her head around 360 degrees, “I always thought it was haunted.”

“Who told you that nonsense?” Clown looked at star like a child, so much for their team’s scout. All she had to work with about this abandoned city were tellings from less than sane seafolk and shady bartenders looking for a hefty tip. Hardly the most reliable sources of information.

Star shrugged, “one of the elders, I mean… it’s only a rumour.” Star rubbed her neck awkwardly. “We gotta be prepared for anything out there.”

“Indeed.” An wispy, sing song voice washed over them.

Ivan stopped his grindstone, brandishing his half sharpened sword, ready to face danger.

“Stand down young one,” the voice replied. It seemed to be coming from a light in the distance. Star backed up behind Ivan, and Clown reached into his supply bag. “I mean no harm…” The beautiful voice appeared as an equally beautiful face, illuminated by the lantern she held. Her entire body was shrouded in a dark cloak, floating her down like a mysterious jellyfish. “I only seek some feed for my lamp.” She held up a restless, hungry little squid in her lantern, flickering with light. “Would you care to provide me with just… a little plankton, to keep him doing until I get home?”

The Seafoam gang looked at each other, then back at the woman.

“Well… I… guess we could, spare a little.” Star was the first to nervously grab a cup of plankton from the whale’s trough, and carefully approach the lady to dump the food into the top of her lamp. As the squish gobbled it up, it shone brighter and brighter.

“Ahh… thank you.” The lady smiled. She looked at their vehicle. “You all seem like you’re gearing up for an adventure.”

Ivan was sharp when he said, “Atlantia.”

The woman chuckled, “How brave.”

Ivan looked to the meagre rations they had portioned out in their last food crate, “I would rather not sugarcoat it. Desperation is what it is.”

The lady chuckled and reached out to pet Ivan’s head, but he ducked away. “You are an adorable bunch.” She commented, “so determined… so hungry.”

At that, Clown’s stomach grumbled, he reddened as Star laughed at him.

“Hungry is right.” Ivan imposed.

“Perhaps, I could help you.” The lady mused, holding up her lantern, “as thanks for the fuel.” She placed three perfectly manicured fingers in her mouth and whistled.

Form above came her own mount, a smaller, but faster white shark, loaded with packs upon packs of supplies and food.

“Please. Help yourself…” She gestured, “truth is, my companions recently passed in our raid of Atlantia. I managed to escape, but I am left with the supplies they died to retrieve. It would bring me peace for you to take them off my hands.”

Star’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as she rushed to the sweet smelling duffel bags, but Clown stopped her.

“How do we know we can trust you?”

The clownfish nodded at Ivan, who sliced open one of the bags with his sword, shielding himself in case of any explosives. But instead of the blowback of gunpowder, seaweed wrapped meals poured from the bag onto the cavern floor. The lady seemed unfazed.

“You are right to be wary, but I am genuine.” Star and Clown looked at Ivan, both their stomach’s growling. Ivan eventually gave in, and nodded at them.

The two hungry youths began to rip apart a package each, and eat like they hadn’t eaten for days. Not far from the truth.

The lady laughed, eyes shining behind chasms of deep sorrow beneath. “There is much more where that came from, hopefully… As you find yourselves upon the walls of Atlantia. You will be able to make it out with much, much more than we did.”

Scene 2

Merten, Mistress Grey’s advisor, soon emerged from her office cavern to meet the three plucky adventurers, all set to travel to Atlantia.

Merten only had to shake her head for the three to look troubled.

“No luck huh?” Star frowned as she pet their mount whale.

“I’m afraid not… Mistress Grey is against all matters Atlantian,” Merten sighed, “as always.”

“We gotta be the only gang in the oceans now that’s never laid our tails on Atlantian soil.” Clown complained. “What does Mistress Grey have against that place anyway? It’s not like she’s ever gone herself.”

“We don’t know that.” Ivan mused. “maybe she has something against it. Or something she doesn’t want us to find.”

“I-I could… try to find out.” Merten piped up, “Though, I don’t know how much it’ll help you guys.”

“Any help you can give will be appreciated, since we’re up against so many unknowns.” Ivan gave a curt bow. The gang soon left with instructions for Merten to send a messenger fish to them if she found anything out. They had to make haste towards Atlantia, with or without their leader’s blessing.

Scene 3

The adventurers soon made their way to the rusted bronze gates of Atlantia. Somewhat pleased to find out that the rumours of monsters weren’t entirely untrue. Star’s arm was near torn off by a white shark just as they passed through the fences!

Ivan stood atop their whale mount, fending off the jaws lined with rows and rows of teeth as Clown steered the whale to the castle courtyard. The sharks all swarm around a large, decaying Manta ray. The Ray’s cartilage poked out of its fins and body, dripping blood into the ocean that attracted the great whites like flies to rotting fruit.

They were waiting for the Manta Ray to truly die. The smell of its blood promised a corpse that could feed them for months.

Star was the first to Jump upon the Ray, followed by Ivan. To them, this was but another monster to battle, another beast to slay. They do not know how it got here or why it’s in this abandoned city. They only know that they were desperate for food, and this was their blockade. They didn’t manage to kill the Ray, for it seemed that it couldn't die. A they pinned its wings to the castle grounds, all it could do was moan in pain, pain that could not drown the sounds the adventurers' stomachs were making.

Next, they stormed the castle, though the front doors were already broken, its frame torn off the walls and the foyer looking like it’s seen more than a few parties. If those parties involved torching the banners on the walls.

It stunk of ink and gasoline.

As they tiptoed along the crickety floor, tentacles rose up from the ground beneath them. Echoing voices played out above them. Clown threw Star back as Ivan sliced through the muscular appendages, threatening to drag them down into the abyss below. Star lit a stick of dynamite, throwing it into the remnants of oil and gas from raids before them. It lit the entire landing area on fire, causing the octopus monster to retreat its tentacles back into the floor.

“Free me…” The voices echoed, “free us…”

The trio rushed up the stairs, escaping the burning room, they ran for their lives as the fire caught behind them, it would extinguish itself soon, but not without burning a good front of the castle black.

“Are we good?” Star panted.

“It looks like… we may be…” Clown added, checking on the hand Star had lost coming in here, a stump was already starting to reform.

“We should move quick.” Ivan continued to run ahead of them. Just as he looked back to check on his companions, he found himself falling through a hole in the floor.

It was seconds later that his screams were joined by those of Star and Clown, falling with him.

Scene 4

Star, Clown and Ivan landed on sacks of seawheat. It was like seaweed, but miled into a sloshy grain.

“Welcome.” Came a familiar voice.

The trio wrestled themselves out of the sacks, only to be met with the mysterious lady once more. This time, instead of her cloak, her true form was on display for all to see, spines protruding from her hips and tail, she appeared striped like a rockfish. The lantern they helped fuel sat on the dining table in front of her.

A dining table too big for her alone.

“You must be tired from your adventures.” She said in a sympathetic tone. “Here… rest.”

Pulling a card out, she waves it over the table, producing a steaming host feast. The finest meats from land and sea dotted the table, from cheesecakes made with land cow milk, to rare hams and comfort foods like seahorse jerky and sinking soup. Finished with glasses of fruit wine for each of them.

“This kitchen is well made, for meals as lavish as this.”

Clown, again, was skeptical. Ever the medic, he had rummaged in his bag, finding the potions that would check food for poison, especially if the food had so miraculously appeared before them. But Star and even Ivan, truly exhausted from their journey, seemed intoxicated by the smell of good food, food they never had growing up.

They had all been orphans after all.

In fact, everyone in Seafoam was an orphan.

War kind of… does that. To people. To families.

Ivan and Star rushed for the food, leaving Clown to probe it experimentally, before giving in and eating himself.

They had never tasted food like this, it warmed their souls, and gave them a glimpse into a world that they could never afford to live in. Perhaps if it weren’t for the war, these meals could be more commonplace.

“I used to eat meals like this with my companions.” The mysterious lady mused, looking sadly at her uneaten portion, “not too long ago.”

“What happened to them?” Clown asked as he too, only picked at his food.

“Also, ihsn’t thes plhace dhangerhous?” Star added with her mouth full.

The lady laughed at their exuberance. “Indeed it is… but I just couldn’t stay away. I’m biding my time, though I never seem to be strong enough.”

She explained to the explorers that her family died here, she went raiding with them to get food for their tribe, and it was on the floors above that they blood was spilled.

“I stay, hoping to find a way to beat them. But the monsters are too strong.” She looked forlorn. “I want to take revenge… but…”

She looks down. Which is when Ivan stands up. He crushes what looks like a playing card in his hands before wiping his mouth and casting away his napkin. “You have been so kind to us.” He says, “even when we doubted you.”

“well… you remind me of my family, when they were alive. They would do the same for me.”

Ivan felt his heart burn with a respect for his woman as he knelt in front of her, much like a knight. “If you may allow us. Might we take revenge for you, miss?”

“Ivan…” Clown reached out, perhaps their warrior was being too hasty.

“No, Clown, we must help this woman take revenge. She has suffered a great injustice, and we sit here eating food that was meant for those tortured souls, we must avenge them.” He looked into Clown’s eyes with an intensity that made him gulp.

“I mean…” Star’s voice was lighter, “we did manage to overcome the Manta Ray and tentacles to get here… so we’re not doing too bad right?”

“Oh that would bring me such catharsis!” The woman exclaimed, reaching to shake Ivan’s hand. “please, let us shake on it. Shake on the promise that Revenge will always be satisfied. That one life will always end in taking of another. That there will always be Justice.”

“Ivan, Perhaps we should think abou-

“Deal!”

With a hand looking like it was dipped in confetti, Ivan shook the Rockfish’s hand. “We will bring you revenge miss, be sure of it!”

Scene 5

“Ivan… we shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep.” Clown warned as they three left the kitchen, swimming up through the windows of the palace as they continued their search for treasure.

“We can keep it. We have already partially kept it. The monsters in Atlantia killed her family right? We have already slain two of them.”

“I don’t think Slay is the right word for it… they don’t seem to have died.” Star mused.

“Yeah… wonder why that is…”

“But wait,” Star placed her stump hand under her chin. “that Rockfish lady never actually said that her family died in Atlantia… did she?”

They eventually reach a throne room with a huge hole blown in its roof. Around the massive throne curls a greenish blue whale, barnacles and rot eating seaworms crawl over its skin.

Clown pulls Ivan and Star behind the door, placing a finger to his lips. “shh…” He points to the absent-minded creature. Ivan nods at him.

“On my count.” The tuna whispers. “We ambush it. Star you drop from above…” The purple girl nodded, scaling the walls with her stick palms up to the exposed roof, ready to land on the whale’s back.

“Three… Two… one!” Ivan rushed out from behind the wall to strike the blue whale. As he does so, clown stings him with some anemone elixir, stunning him for Star to drop down onto him.

Ivan quickly points his sword to the whale’s throat. “We have two questions, one about a woman’s family and another about treasure.” He narrowed his eyes, “answer quickly, and death will be painless.”

The Blue Whale blinked it’s eyes slowly, calm and unafraid, it did not attack or flail like the previous two monsters. “If you are after this castle’s riches. It would not be wise to kill the king, for he is the only one who knows where they may lie.”

“If he fears death, the king will tell me!” Ivan jabbed his sword further, drawing blood.

“And if he does not fear death, his executioners are powerless.”

Ivan dare not drive his sword through the whale just yet. Perhaps he had more to say, and if he kept talking, he just might let some important information slip.

“That’s it young one. Patience.” The regal whale moved its tail slowly, coming out of it’s stunned state. It’s massive eyes moved back and forth across the adventurers, spotting the insignias sewn onto their clothes. “The Seafoam gang… ahh… that is where Grey retired to no? Her false penance… for her sins.”

“Grey… You know of Mistress Grey?”

“Mistress… is that what they call her now… Though the name rings clear, it must be her. Her whose soul is still loose, she who lives on borrowed time.”

Star and Clown exchanged worried looks, If Grey had been to Atlantia, why didn’t she warn them about its dangers?

“I will give you the treasures you seek.” The whale blinked very, very slowly, “In exchange for the head of that murderer.”

“Grey is… Mistress Grey is a murderer?” Clown looked on in shock, it can’t be, all she had ever done was care for them, for all of seafoam’s inhabitants, ever since they were little fishlets.

The whale laughed, “Of a capacity you cannot even begin to imagine. She is responsible… for so, so many deaths.”

“You’re wrong!” Star shouted, “Mistress Grey would never kill anyone!”

Ivan saw the wisened patience that glossed over the Blue Whale’s eyes, how he spoke so gravely of their enigmatic leader. Now that he thought about it, she had never shared her past with them – nor was she ever too affectionate or friendly. She merely gave them a good life, with food and a roof over their heads, more than they ever could have asked for at the time.

But even the best of saints have sins hidden under their covers.

“Shh star…” Ivan hissed with his sword still up, “perhaps we should listen… We could learn more about Grey…”

“A good choice young one.” The whale echoed in all their minds, when he talked his rotting mouth didn’t move, yet his voice was everywhere.

He talked of how Mistress Grey had once roamed the bustling halls of Atlantia’s castle, it was her home. But one day, she betrayed her people, and in killing her masters, she started a rebellion against Atlantia and fled the city.

“She had not since been back to atone for her crimes, to hear the moans of the ghosts she created here.”

“She… ran away…” Ivan’s eyes burned with a passionate anger.

“Indeed. She ran from her duty, from her past. She is the reason we all still remain in this void between life and death, unable to find peace until she returns to us…”

“So if we bring you Grey-

“We release our hold on this abandoned place, any riches left… well… we no longer have use for such possessions. And Grey… will finally be home.”

“But Grey would never come here! She refused to see us even when we told her we were going,” Star retorted and she climbed off the Blue Whale’s back.

“Of course… thankfully, we do not need her alive. No, we would prefer it if she weren’t.”

Clown’s face paled, “You mean… you want us to…”

“Bring me that traitor’s head, and I will make sure you never go hungry again.”

Scene 6

“Ivan, are you sure this is a good idea?” Clown asked timidly as Ivan stood tall with the dark shark commander.

“Maybe on our own we don’t stand a chance at murdering Grey. But with their help, we could easily pin her down.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Clown was barely listening to the commander as he gave a speech about take Grey’s head. “I mean… should we uh… Ask Grey if she did all these things before resorting to murder?”

“I didn’t know Mistress Grey had so many enemies…” Star joined in, looking at the small battalion of soldiers, all looking to the man in dark plated armour for their next task. “Maybe she’s a little misunderstood”

“Blue Whale wasn’t lying…” Ivan insisted, “Grey’s done a lot of bad things.” There was a fire in his eyes, a fire that came with an unwavering stubbornness. He hated to see people run from their fate, and this was no exception.

Through their journey back, Ivan had suggested that they liase with a few other gangs, perhaps find a few enemies of Grey to help bring her to justice. Seafoam Gang wasn’t big, but Grey did have a few guards. Guards who would take too long to convince against Grey’s innocence.

It turns out that it hadn’t been that difficult to find people who didn’t agree with their Grey Whale leader. The more they learned about her in fact, the more they wanted her dead. She had apparently cheated a lot of other clans out of supplies, those that fought with her in the old war also spoke of her as a coward, who would never own up to responsibility.

Ivan in particular was not happy about any of this, that wool had been pulled over his eyes for so long. He was now eager to see that woman dead no matter the cost. His friends' words fell on deaf ears.

It was when the sun rose that they started their siege on Seafoam, a few soldiers came in on one end, while the others took to the center, targeting Grey’s quarters directly. They broke into her office to find her advisor Merten, lips blue and anemones dying around her head. Upon closer inspection she seems to have been poisoned through a puncture wound in the neck. In her hands, she held a silver pistol.

“I cannot believe we have let this go unnoticed for so long…” Ivan’s blood was boiling as Clown and Star failed to calm him down, he placed a blanket over Merten’s dead body. “She must have been murdering people like this to get ahead all her life. A selfish… self-serving woman.” Pulling out his sword, he head into Grey’s sleeping quarters himself. “It was only a matter of time until it was our turn.”

Ivan’s eyes burned with revenge, a revenge that scared both Clown and Star. As he went to slay their unsuspecting leader, Star gave Clown a nod as their medic leant down to inspect Merten’s body. With a knowing look, Clown picked up the loaded pistol in Merten’s cold hands. He checked the barrel, 5 out of 6 bullets left.

Just in case.

Grey’s death was a merciless affair. The woman awoke merfolk in dark plated armour surrounding her. One of the guards produced a card that turned into a cloth, letting her breath a sedative before Ivan struck her down. Not a coherent set of last words from her before her life was snatched before her eyes.

Cold, and unfeeling to a woman deserving of no mercy for what she had done.

And yet, that cold, unfeeling woman had a serene smile on her face as she was taken, maybe she was having a good dream… maybe she was dreaming of a life far from here, a better life, one that didn’t have to turn out like this.

Though Ivan was convinced she was part of a rebellion against Atlantia, kicking off the war that left their generation with a barren wasteland to survive in. She was the coward that refused to look back on the people she killed. She only ran from her troubles – she was someone who only thought about herself.

Her character was clear in his head as he dragged her head, dripping with pearls, to the Blue Whale in Atlantia.

Scene 7

Ivan, along with the dark knight, along with the small battalion they had rallied up – passed the gates of Atlantia with Grey’s head in an ornate box, presenting it to the rotting blue whale, who smiled upon them.

“Well done young ones… well done. All these years we could not kill that elusive Chambermaid, but you, you three did it.”

“I did it.” Ivan looked up at the Blue Whale while down on one knee, the open box with pearls spilling out in front of him.

“I will now accept the riches you promised, for bringing Grey to justice.”

“As you wish.” The Blue whale bowed his head, swirling himself around Grey’s head, he evaporated into a whirlwind of bubbles, leaving behind supplies, food and gold in his wake.

Around all the treasures that lay in the throne room sat the Rockfish. The ‘damsel’ they had promised to help earlier.

“I see you have killed Grey.” She motioned to the bubbles around her, the ones from the zombified blue whale that had wisked away his end of the bargain.

“Indeed,” replied Ivan, the vindictive, righteous knight who approached the food with glee, only for his hand to phase right through it.

The Rockfish laughed. “Hasty boy. Did you not remember the pact you made?”

Ivan looked confused, but Star was quick with her words.

“You wanted revenge didn’t you, to the people who killed your family…”

“Ahh yes,” the lady threw an apple in her hands. “that old… ‘damsel in distress’ role you all took so well.”

“You…” Clown’s eyes narrowed as he reached into his bag, the rockfish stood up, and all the soldiers raised their spears at her.

“you tricked us! You witch!”

“Banshee. Actually.” The Rockfish laughed a sinister laugh, the soldiers threw their spears, but they all went through her.

“Simply put, revenge must always be met with justice. That is the pact you made.”

“What of it!” Ivan growled.

“Grey was my daughter in law, the last piece of our broken family.” She swam up above the riches before her. “We are happy to have her back with us. But with her now dead, Justice must be served.”

Her face darkened, “Take one of your own – for the cycle must not stop.”

“But-“ Ivan was incredulous. “You were the one who told us to murder her! She was a terrible person, all she did was cheat and lie to get ahead, she never faced her problems, she caused this war! She abandoned all of you!”

“Yes. But Atlantia thrives on revenge.” The Rockfish sank down and lifted Ivan’s head up. “We wanted our precious Grey back, but we also want the world to live as we have.”

She looked back at Clown and Star who cowered behind him, shaking. She saw the glint of silver in his bag.

“Go on… since murder comes so easily to you all. Life is cheaper than treasure. Life is cheaper than a moment of satisfaction, is it not?”

She saw Clown pull the gun out of his bag while Ivan’s back faced her.

“Do as we all have done.”

He held it up, hands barely able to grasp the trigger as Star covered her ears.

“Do it. And all this, all of Grey’s inheritance can be yours.”

Ivan turned around just as Clown pulled the trigger on their selfish party leader. The last thing the young man saw was his medic, his best friend, while he was down the barrel of a gun.

The Rockfish screamed with laughter as Ivan’s blood spilled upon the treasures before them, now tangible with the pact fulfilled. The knight tried to scream, but his voice could not come beyond the pain. His vision blurred, though he wished he could see the expression on Clown’s face. Was he fed up with him? He supposed so… He hadn’t… been listening to them recently… all he had been doing, was focusing on revenge.

And now, he was aptly fed into the very cycle he perpetuated.

A fitting sort of end, no?

OC Note: There is little change to the Vignette Descent. The write-up remains mostly the same as last turn.

The Transition-door to Descent is carved out of rough red sandstone. Between the thick columns there is only a shifting, flowing darkness. You have contacted Jacqueline and asked her if she would be willing to play the Priestess with you, to which she courteously said yes. As she arrives, you two briefly go over the plot together. You discuss the theme of tragedy in relation to the story already laid out and the young Muse agrees with you that the Priestess' tale is one of great woe. She journeyed far to guide her friend in accordance to her Goddess' will, yet eventually followed her friend in slaying the Goddess that called them. Perhaps there was another way to reach the Eternal Day. Perhaps she did not have to choose between her friend, their future, and her Goddess. But now that the choice is made she - at least in this iteration of the story - can never know.

This shouldn't be too difficult. You breathe in slowly and enter Transition together, holding your breath even though you know there is no need.

Cold water floods you from all sides. You sink and directions start to lose meaning. You see that you have taken the form of the Youth.

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.

Monsters, after all.

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 straight 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.

Ascent

Scene 1

Before them lies an empty world – the sky above, dark and unfathomable; the land below, featureless and flat. All around them is a shadowy dimness. Only the Pearl in their hands is bright and warm.

The Priestess is weeping. Her tears are diamonds, hard and sharp. “Now my voice is my own, and my own, alone. Now the voice of the Winged Goddess is forever gone, for together we have slain Her. And now with my own voice, I name her Nvaiye the Winged, the Weeping Moon.”

With her voice that sails through the world, to the four corners and back again, the Priestess names the relics of a bygone age.

The Youth: Iiskana the Victor, the One who Soars.

The Priestess: Tethnde the Traitor, the Mournful Voice.

The Quick Brown Fox: Siio the Questioner, the Hunting Doubt.

And as Tethnde the Traitor names, they gain wings. Hers are those of a great swan, moonlit white. The Youth’s are made of the brightest sunlight, radiating warmth. The Quick Brown Fox’s are brown, like those of a sparrow.

Together they look upon the new world in wonder. They have robbed the world of moon and day, the Sun rests in their very hands. They now atone for the sacrilege they committed. They now atone for the sins of the gods they have slain.

Unfolding her mighty wings, Iiskana the Victor takes the Pearl and soars through heaven. As she places it at one end of the earth and hurls it upwards, she shouts:

“Mphellii, I name you, the Light Reborn, Sun of a New World!”

As the Sun shoots across the high heavens, Iiskana follows like an arrow. The dim shadow parts at their crossing, the world brightens in their lights.

As she flies, Iiskana names - the Sky above, the Land below, the Sea that mirrors… Names she once forgot. Names she regained. Memories of her bygone world.

As she names, the sky becomes blue, the land fertile, the sea a reflection of the unfathomable sky.

All manner of things begin to appear. Mountains rise, sculpted, proud. Lakes form, polished, refine. Rivers flow, free, through all the lands. Gigantic misty forms - half-born leviathans and shadowy behemoths - raise their heads at the four corners of the world. Nimble little creatures dart around the woodlands, exploring with large bright eyes. And with day comes night - the shadows close behind the trail of light, always cloaking half of the world in darkness, where sinister shades dance and laugh -

Note: Scenes 1 and 2 are unchanged from the previous edition. Only scene 3 has been updated.

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 smiles. This is one of her favourites.

“Once upon a time”, Miss Peach begins, “there was a great alchemist who wanted to prove his talent to the world.”

Around the children, the classroom drops away. They are now in a dark laboratory. There are bubbling tubes, every different colour of liquid, and dead things in jars. Miss Peach sits next to the alchemist and his apprentice. Miss Peach continues to describe the scene, and more details appear in the room. The alchemist is talking.

“I have acheived many great works in my time: the invention of all manner of glassware, the transmutation of mercury into lead, and even the isolation of elemental fire itself, yet the world continues to ignore me. What must I do before they see my genius for what it is?” the alchemist asks, despairingly.

“But Master”, the apprentice objects, “the other alchemists already respect you as the greatest of our time. The jewellers already pay you more than you could ever need when you clarify their gems. What more could you want?”

The alchemist replies “Yes, the other alchemists know me, but everyone else imagines alchemy as something arcane and pointless. They don't imagine our strength as something to respect. I must do something impossible, that everyone can see.”

“Master, I don't know what more you want. The substances you make won't be recognised by the public, no matter what they are.”

“Then I shall create no mere substance. I shall not rest until I have created what only God has tried before. The world shall know me as the only mortal to create new life!”

The alchemist worked for many years, hiding himself away in his lab. The apprentice learned to take care of the many things the alchemist neglected, earning money to pay for the alchemist's ingredients. Little by little, the homunculus took shape. It was simple at first, like a plant, barely reacting to things around it. As the alchemist learned from it, he constantly improved it, coming closer and closer to making it alive.

Once the body was finished, the last but most difficult piece to build was its mind. It quickly became able to walk, and continued from there. The alchemist tested every part of its behaviour in the most extreme circumstances he could, searching for any flaw. The homunculus complied, eager to show the alchemist what it had learnt, writing stories, playing games against him and sometimes even beating him.

No matter what the homunculus did, the alchemist would merely mutter and plan more tests and more improvements. It didn't like it when he changed its body or upgraded its mind. It asked him to stop, but he said it wasn't perfect yet, and should shut up.

The homunculus went to the apprentice and asked for his help instead. The apprentice didn't like the homunculus being sad, and confronted the alchemist, telling him to not be so mean to it, as it was clearly a person already.

The alchemist laughed, and mocked the apprentice for thinking it was a person just because it was in a person's shape. “I built it that way to fool the masses, so they would be more impressed, but you're stupider than I thought if you're being fooled too.”

“It's not that it's in a person's shape.”, the apprentice cried, “It's no mere doll. It thinks and acts like a person too. It's sad at what you're doing to it. Isn't that enough?”

The alchemist laughed again at his apprentice. “Yes it acts like a person, but thinks? Ridiculous! It has no soul. I know every part of what I put in its mind, and there's nothing in there that can suffer, for all that you may think that its face looks like a human hurting, and it makes marks on parchment that look like objections. If I make a stamp that says 'I don't like being dipped in ink. Please stop.', would you feel sympathetic when it voices its complaints, too?”

The alchemist and apprentice pause their conversation and Miss Peach turns to the children. Some of the children are crying from seeing the alchemist edit the homunculus earlier. “So, children, who do you think is right? The alchemist built the homunculus and knows every secret of how it works. The apprentice sees a person suffering and wants to help. You can talk to them if you like. What do you think should happen next?”

Graham runs up to the homunculus and hugs it. He whispers “I'm sorry” at the side of its head, not knowing that it hears from its torso. The homunculus's arms wrap around Graham's body in return. Fluid leaks from its eyes, which are shut.

Most of the children say the alchemist shouldn't be mean to the homunculus, because you shouldn't be mean to people. Miss Peach says that's a good lesson, and you definitely shouldn't be mean to people, but she also says she isn't sure the homunculus is a person. How could anyone tell?

Helga puts up her hand and asks if the alchemist and apprentice are real people, as they're fictional too. Miss Peach says that the homunculus being fictional wasn't the moral of the story, but it's still an excellent question, and asks the class if anyone has an answer. None of the children have an answer, but the alchemist is very angry.

“Of course I'm a person. I have a soul, unlike that thing.”, he says, pointing to the homunculus. “What do you mean about fictional, though?”

Miss Peach looks nervous and returns the children to the classroom. Helga looks worried.

“What happened to the alchemist. Did he die?”

Miss Peach opens her mouth to answer, then stops to think a bit. That would be an excellent philosophical discussion, but she doesn't want the children to worry about her killing people. “He's still right here, in the book. He'll be fine.”, she says tapping the now closed book and smiling reassuringly.

Years have passed since The Adventurers were trialed in a court of public appeal. This landmark case in the history of Townsberg opened the floodgates, and in a series of decisive legal battles centuries of common law were overruled, resulting in unprecedented rights and freedoms for Monsters within the town.

However, the very night that saw these great strides in civil representation begin also saw the village fall victim to a magical catastrophe, now called The Sundering, and the damage has still yet to be entirely repaired. The great cracks in the sky still hang over the town, poorly understood, for many a reminder of a painful past.

Not for all though. For Kyania, the shivered sky is an opportunity.

She pads about the small room she rents in the centre of town with her adopted sister Serendebian. The walls are a mosaic of paperwork: drafts of brochures, pamphlets, all manner of promotional material for the town.

Serendebian sits atop a chair, neck craned awkwardly to lap coffee out of a cup clearly not designed with dragons in mind. “When are you going to stop this nonsense, sister?”

“This time it will be different!” Kyania exclaims, “This time I’ve finally realised what makes this town unique!”

“The fact that it's full of monsters?”

“No! Well yes, but that didn’t sell so well. Its the Rend, Deb! Come, peer into a another world! Visit planes of reality beyond our own with unprecedented convenience!”

“Just as long as you can jump a hundred feet in the air.”

“Well we’ll need to do something about that. We need an escalator or something. But this time I’m sure of it!”

Serendebian rolls here eyes. “I bet the zoning for that is going to be a nightmare.”

“Gosh darn it Deb, we can do this! I know we can. Look, the town is hurting. Maybe it was mostly the Sundering, but being full with monsters has not helped the tourism business. This is our home. And besides, if people start to think about how much better off they use to be…”

“Fine, fine, I don’t want to get lynched. I mean I don’t think we will anyway, but I see the potential issues with a bunch of prejudiced humans who’ve become a lot poorer since we got here.” She sighs. “Correlation equals causation, right?”

There's a knock on the door.

“Perfect! Right on time.” Kyania scampers over and opens the door to Opelion and Frilbo. The two went into legal practice after winning the trial against The Adventurers. It would be fair to say their success was mixed. Yes, lots of non-humans were thrilled to have a human that could represent them in a justice system that was still in the process of overcoming generations of discrimination. The only problem was that none of them had any money. They also tended to scare off wealthier potential clients. Investing in Kyania’s last attempt to kickstart tourism in Townsberg hadn’t exactly been a goldmine either.

As soon as the door opens and Opelion sees the talbou of promotional materials he sighs. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call?”

Kyania settles her guests and serves them, awkwardly decanting tea into mugs. Frilbo offers to help with his human hands, but Kyania insists she needs to get the hang of it herself. She goes on to explain her plans for a new tourism trade in Townsberg. Yes, being full of monsters is great and progressive but its not really a big draw for tourists. What is a potential draw the possibility of peering into another world through the rends left by The Sundering. The only problems are marketing and, well, getting people high enough that they could look through. Or even better close enough they could step through, visit other worlds! The idea instantly sparks debate at the table, and Kyania and Frilbo are very excited about it, although the other Wyrmlings are more reserved.

Eventually Kyania’s enthusiasm wins the day. It’s hard for her siblings to say no to the chipper young drake for long. Still, the project will be expensive, and this will all but clean out the threes hordes (and Frilbo’s savings). It really needs to work this time.

Kyania sets about finalising the brochures for print. Serendebian and Opelian think about what can be done to build a way up to the cracks. With the engineering skill assembled between the two, the effort would certainly be infeasible were it not for Serendebians magic. Combined with smart placement of the tower building a path up to The Rend was just about practical on their budget. Frilbo does what he can to convince the local council to give them planning position. It's the first time he's ever seen “extradimensional incursion” on a risk assessment, but eventually he convinces the bureaucracy to let them build.

Construction begins on the outer edges of the town, where The Rend comes closest to the ground. The magical emanations from The Rend are strongest here, and they have an odd effect on the local townsfolk, making them less tolerant of authority, more difficult to lead.

Up and up the tower goes. Opelion knows a gang of hobgoblins that he and Frilbo helped out of a sticky situation a while back and they are happy to work on the cheap. They aren’t exactly the most experienced construction crew, but they are disciplined and organised.

Quickly some of the locals make it clear that they aren’t happy to have monsters in this part of town. They’re a minority, but they are loud, and angry. The hobgoblins instantly form ranks, such is their martial nature. The obvious military discipline of the workers spooks the locals away, but doesn’t help the wyrmlings image. They look more like an invading army than friendly neighbourhood tour guides. Kyania tries to go about explaining the benefits tourism will bring, but it seems the hostility of the labourers has already put the locals on guard and she is met with at best polite indifference and at worst open hostility.

The build is nearing completion, and Serendebian is preparing to make her maiden voyage to the other side. She dons her flying goggles and prepares to glide from the tower into the grey crack. On the other side can be seen the strange maze like structure of the other world.

Kyania frets over her sister as the final preparations are made, “And you’re sure you’ll be ok?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Someone needs to see what's on the other side right? Make sure it's actually safe to visit. And I’m… very curious. It should be me. Besides I’m honestly the only one equipped to deal with it if anything goes wrong.”

“Just… be careful, ok?”

Opelion rests a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

Serendebian backs up a bit and with a wiggle of her backside leaps up into the air and glides across the intervening space and disappears into The Rend.

Even as Kyania and Opelion watch their sibling disappear there is a commotion from the base of the tower.

“Form up!” The familiar voice of the Bugbear captain cries.

The two peer over to see a large group of humans assembled at the base of the tower. Many are armed, and the mob has a real torches and pitchforks kind of vibe.

The two share a look and leap from the tower. Opelion dives almost to the ground before spreading his wings with a flourish to land, while Kyania glides down in wide circles around the tower.

The leader of the humans is recognisable as one of those who first caused trouble here. A local to this neighbourhood. The mob however is so large that it clearly must be drawn from all over town. “We don’t want your kind here! We’ve only had trouble since you arrived!”

Two labourers wielding spears flank the captain. “Our actions are justified under the following acts: Opelion vs-”

“I don’t care what the law says, I care about what is right!”

“Lawless rabble!” the captain spits.

“Monster scum!”

“Look, look, I’m sure we can work this all out!” Kyania exclaims. “Maybe we could arrange some kind of… reinvestment of profits?”

“We don’t want your dirty money!” The human growls. ”We want our town back.” There are murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

“You’re not from round here, this isn’t your home!”

“Look, look-” Kyania begins to stammer as the mob begins to psyche itself up.

Suddenly the sound of a watch bell rings out from down the street.

For all their bluster, the leader of the humans glances with concern in the direction of the sound. “We’ll be back,” he says with a sneer. “And in greater numbers.”

Kyania sighs heavily, before turning to the Bugbears. “I mean, I know you were in the right, but maybe if you looked a bit less like soldiers-”

“The law makes provision for us to defend ourselves.” the captain interjects.

“I mean, yes, but even if they are in the wrong, killing them isn’t necessarily going to make things better. You don’t need weapons. It really ups the tension.”

“I find dead people rarely make problems.”

“No but their loved ones often do.”

The captains simply snears in response. She seems to have little compunction about killing in self defence.

“We accepted the rules of this town. We uphold the law and expect to be protected by it in return. If they attack us we are allowed to kill them, and if we are denied what has been promised then the town has betrayed us and we owe them no loyalty.”

Dammit. They kind of have a point. “Look, I’ll talk to the guard. Maybe having a few local faces around wouldn’t hurt. What if we hired on a few human labourers.”

The captain considers. “If they sweat their loyalty to the unit, they may serve.”

Kyania looks at her brother and sighs. “I’ll see what we can. Let's go back and wait for Serendebian.”

The black wyrm is not long in returning. Apparently visits may well be of interest to some travelers, though it's not necessarily the safest place. As the wyrlings make their way home they remain troubled by what they’ve seen. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter whether they can build a stairway to the Rend, as long as violent mobs gather in front of the tower, Kyania’s dream of tourism in Townsberg will never be a reality.

The Town of Townsberg in the Children of Straxia currently provides (relatively) safe access to the Transcendental.

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 music starts, and the dancers begin to move, perfectly in sync with each other until one begins to deviate. The group of human background dancers and one, pure white bird circles above the frantic dancer, encouraging them as they begin to flail uncontrollably. The two dancers move elegantly around the homely tables and chairs, made from paper as they pop from the ground of the vignette like a storybook.

Clouds begin to gather above, reflecting the frantic dancer’s mood as tears run down their face, they try their best to reach the perfect dancer, but every time they do the ground begins to shake. It is as if they should never touch. As the scene changes, so do the dancers. They transform into smaller furry animals, chipmunks and squirrels to match the trees that have taken the place of tables and chairs.

The walls of the amphitheatre swivel around to reveal mirrors, then again to archways, which get covered in vines from the quickly growing trees.

Slipping on the puddles, the frantic dancer continues to fall over, but the animals help them up – nudging them to lift their soaking paper arms and legs. As the dancer rises again, flowers bloom at their feet, happy to receive the rain pouring down on their side of the amphitheatre.

The perfect dancer’s side is dry, a sun shining behind them, bouncing off the angles of their limbs with every move. They walk cautiously towards their frantic partner, but as they do, they look down at the puddles – scared to trip, they take a few steps back.

It’s difficult to deviate from what you were made to do.

The scene starts to darken, fruit falls off the trees into rotted splats on the floor.

The perfect dancer runs with a purpose to the edge of their half, at the water’s edge, they reach out into the rain, a card in their extended hand. The rain soaks through their flesh as the forest animal dancers, now transforming into wolves, push the frantic dancer towards their partner.

The Frantic dancer grasps the other side of the card and together, they tear it in half.

In the middle of their usual routine, a new song begins to play. They spin away from each other, forest scenery collapsing around them and rebuilding into the scene of… a room, a teenager’s room to be exact.

I’m too young to remember When the world was alive

To the lyrics, the perfect dancer gestured to themselves, then to the frantic dancer, trying to show that this was a moment made for them both.

I’m too old to start changing

In the middle of the amphitheatre, half in each dancer’s side, is an old bed. On it, a being you all recognize sits. A little Jo, a teen Jo, sits.

I’m too tired to remind

Huddled up, they cry into their knees as the two dancers communicate the only way they know how.

The world we knew

The perfect dancer twirls around Jo, every move seeming like it was meant to be, they reach a hand out to the frantic dancer, inviting them to join them.

The world we knew

Frantic Dancer gets closer, but as they do, Little Jo screams, angry as they throw pillows and stuffed toys around the room. The Frantic Dancer stops short, afraid to go any closer.

and it’s too late

The Background dancers nudge the dancer bit by bit, the little manifestation of Jo getting brattier as they approach. The perfect dancer’s extended hand doesn’t waver.

To start anew

It’s okay. They mean to say to their frazzled companion – they don’t have to be the same, anger, spite and jealousy are traits that exist, and they exist within all of us.

They say begin again

And it is in that opposition that they are balanced.

They say begin again

The Frantic dancer tries to respond, but in their reaction they are overwhelmed with tears, tears not of sadness, but of catharsis. That they don’t have to try and be something they are not any longer. Their tears add to the puddles on the floor.

There is no light without a darkness.

I’ll treasure any fragments left behind

The best we can do, is accept who we are.

The frantic dancer takes their partner’s hand.

And in that acceptance we grow as people.

Both dancers slowly collapse into a ball of light, becoming one. Little Jo looks up and wipes their tears.

The ball of light forms into one coherent person, as the music dies down, before you all stands a shining figure dressed in tails, much like a ballroom dancer. A paper flower blooms from their breast pocket.

They smile at all of you, their limbs moving with an ethereal sort of elegance. Around them the clouds clear, and the land dries up. They look down at their own hands, tightening them into fists and loosening them again.

“You… you restored me.” they look at all the background dancers before him, turning back into humans from their furry animal forms.

“Thank… thank you. You have my blessing.”