A young grey whale dashes through the lushly coloured coral reefs, followed by bubbles and the laughter of her friends.

“Wait, Grey!” Cries a marlin merman with choppy black hair. He dives through the red and white corals with noble grace, but just can’t quite catch his companion. A sawfish and a sailfish come right after him, though they seem more preoccupied with beating one another in the race, than pursuing the grey whale. A soft chuckle that comes from atop the coral reefs catches their attention, and as they look up, the two young merwomen roll their eyes.

“C’mon, Leafy, don’t laugh at us. It’s not like we would beat Grey.”

“Yeah. We might know the secret paths in the slums better than anyone, but here -” The sailfish girl shrugs, her long black hair waving with her movement. “Grey knows it inside out. Don’t you, Grey?”

As if to answer her question, the young mermaid suddenly appears from under a large stone beneath them, and laughs as they jump out of the way.

“Leafy,” Grey waves at the aged seadragon, “what news do you bring?”

“Famine in the east,” Sighs the old merman, “the poor are suffering, they want their voices heard.”

The youths lower their heads. The marlin shakes his head, blushing with shame. “This is not right… I will… I will try to speak to mother. Her and the other nobles have a meeting with the King soon, if she brings it up…”

“I’ll ask around and see if any merchant can be pursuaded to help.” Adds Grey.

The sawfish and sailfish look at each other and speak in unison: “We’ll get in touch with our contacts. Some still owe us a favour from last time.”

“Anything else?” Grey asks Leafy, looking tentatively hopeful.

The old merman smiles. “Those that live on the outskirts of the city have been doing better. The food we gave them helped - with a full stomachs, they can now rebuild their damaged houses and even go out to gather food themselves.”

The youths let out a sigh of relief. It’s always good to know that they are helping.

Nobles, peasants, urchins… it matters not. What matters is what they do, that they wanted to help each other, despite the hierarchy and ranks.

Some day, one day, perhaps all will understand and even share their ideal, and when that day comes -

Grey swims through the beautiful corals of her home, smiling.

Jack comes home from work to find both Dave and small Dave in the garden, training (or playing) under the shade of their apple tree.

The two Daves greet him in unison, then look at each other as if taken aback by that fact. Jack can’t help but smile.

“How was the meeting?”

“It was good, it was good. The Sorceress is finally agreeing to the proposed plot, on the condition that the Chosen must first fall in love with her before killing her. Tethnde and Hyeska made quite a convincing argument.” Jack chuckles, remembering the dramatic speeches the Impressions so naturally gave. “And how was your day? What has your father taught you, Dave?”

Small Dave tries to hide his awkwardness with a frown, but Dave ruffles his head. “C’mon, Baby Dave, show Jack your exceptional Strife.”

The child in a suit tries to dodge Dave’s hand, all the while moaning about being called “Baby Dave”, saying that he’s not small and it’s awfully disrespectful for Dave to treat him like that.

“Okay, okay –” Small Dave eventually concedes, in a strangely life-wearied tone that Dave… From Finance used to have, “Fine, I’ll show you.”

And with an impressively smooth movement he draws out a small gun from his pocket and aims at an apple hanging from the tree. Only then does Jack sense something out of place.

“Wait is that a –” Impression Dave pulls the trigger and the apple explodes. “– real gun?!”

“Yes!” Dave and Baby Dave shout in unison and high five each other (Baby Dave had to jump).

Then, the child grins and poses, blowing the non-existent smoke from the barrel. “This, is what Exceptional Strife looks like.”

Papers from the NFWS. Books by philosophers and scientists. Interviews with Concepts. Opinion polls. The literature on the Tower has fallen in countless sheets upon your office, and you desperately pick through the morass of misinformation, half-truths and speculation.

What are you looking for? Vindication? Direction? How to bring about the Tower or prevent it from ever happening?

The Doubt is always there. Did you do the right thing? You think you’re sure, but are you really sure?

The voice is always there. Is it Zeno's? Is it yours? You've asked them. They give no answers.

To accept the Tower is to rewrite reality. For every Muse. For every Concept. For every Impression. For every human. Can anyone make that decision? And it would surely be no utopia. Concepts would still be more powerful than Muses. Muses still more powerful than Impressions. Impressions still above humans. To bring their worlds together would surely bring about unprecedented inequality.

But to deny the Tower is to doom Dream. Not just your Dream but every Dream. And it doesn’t seem like the humans have it easy in the Mundane. Their lives are random, the laws of their world impersonal and cruel. And that's not to mention the Concepts. Yes, a few of them have found some measure of peace in your Dream, but they number beyond counting, and you know there are kindly ones like The Equals and The Architect trapped, imprisoned forever, suffering.

You don’t know what you are supposed to do…

There is a quiet knock on your door. Dave walks in, and steps carefully between the fallen pages to lay a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Jack, dear, I’m going to bed. Will you join me?” He places a gentle peck on your forehead, gives your arm a squeeze and retires.

You sigh, your shoulders relax. You push your papers away from you and close your books.

You’ve found your answer.