“Go Ahead, Use Me As You Wish.”

Kafka stood in the middle of the livingroom, holding what appeared to be tattered fabric in her hands. Her hazy eyes were gentle, yet saddened by the conviction coming from the younger girls voice.

[F/N] stepped forward.

"Kakavasha is resourceful— He's strong, really, really strong." She reasoned, her tongue tripping as her fists balled up. "He wouldn't just die— He'd find a way to survive. I know he would. Kafka, Blade, you've got to have overlooked something. I can't—"

[F/N]'s hand clamped over her own mouth, a sharp yelp almost spilling past her lips.

Blade shadowed Kafka. His eyes closed in contemplation as he let his comrade do the talking. It was so hard to read his expression, the steeled, tempered look he always wore. Even when he opened his eyes, it was indesernable.

They shared a look with each other.

"The body was disposed of by IPC personnel." Blade stated, finally speaking up. "Elio has confirmed that your brother is dead, and if anyone could tell you for certain, it would be him. Destiny's Slave sees all."

How could she believe that?

[F/N] looked up to see Kafka outstretch her hand, presenting that tattered fabric that seemed sickeningly familiar up close. She took it into her palms, feeling the familiar toughness brought on by years of abuse and neglect.

Kafka frowned.

"This was all that we could recover. I'm sorry."

[F/N] stared blankly at the rag in her hands, the one she used to cling to when the night got cold. It was dirty, and spotted with dark brown patches. Blood. It was dried blood. It smelt repugnant, like it had been soaking for days.

Her hands shook as she drew it close to her chest, hunched over, hugging it tightly.

"You— I can't" [F/N]'s voice shook.

She felt the tender warmth of arms wrapping around her, the sweet scent of perfume fill her nose as she leant into Kafka's embrace. Her body shook, leaning on Kafka's body for support, hiding her anguish in the womans neck.

A sharp noise like an injured animal left [F/N]'s throat.

"I can't take it anymore! Why is it always me, why do I always get to survive—?!" She wept, grasping onto Kafka's shoulders. "They deserved to live— They deserved it more than me! I should've been the one to die."

"Don't say that, you don't mean it." Kafka stroked her back.

Blade didn't speak a single word, but [F/N] felt another hand, rough and coarse on her shoulder. The rag was held impossibly close against her chest, and no matter how many words Kafka tried to console her with, her heart refused to give up.

[F/N] gulped for air.

"Why me? Why not them?"

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

As the meeting with Sunday concluded, Aventurine found himself itching for a light.

An aurora of harmonic colours bled into his vision, streaking across the edges of his eyes. Blue, yellow, green, red. Like dancers in a mocking symphony, they taunted him. He had to clutch at his cerebellum to stop their shoes from stabbing at his brain.

Sunday had stood there, perched, proud, with a perfect smile.

"Are you an Avgin from Sigonia?" Obviously. "Yes."

"Do you love your family more than yourself?" Without reason. "Yes."

"All the Avgins were killed in a massacre. Am I right?" The bodies were strewn across the desert. "No."

"Are you your clan's sole survivor?" Her screams haunt me in my sleep. "Perhaps."

Aventurine had fifteen hours left to live.

Scrounging out a lighter as he stepped out onto the cold boulevard, Aventurine hissed as sparks flew.

"You look pale. Or, is that also part of your act?" Ratio stepped out from behind him, his arms folded as he watched the executive smoke. A nasty expression was hidden behind those rosy lenses on his face.

"Didn't think you'd have the nerve to show yourself." Aventurine scoffed at the good doctor as he placed the cigarette between his lips. Sucking in a lungful of smoke.

"I thought this was exactly what you wanted. After all, I faithfully fulfilled my duties as you instructed." Ratio reminded him, but his gaze hardened. "Just tell me if you can't hold on any longer."

Aventurine didn't deny that as he stumbled forward, ignorant of the tobacco staining the milky white fur of his thick coat. It was all he could smell. All he wanted to think about. Not the cars dashing by on the street or the drunkards stumbling over themselves for another bottle.

Perspiration dusted his brow. Strands of blonde, groomed hair stuck to his skin as smoke sizzled in the hair.

Those harmonic strings continued to strum right in his ear. His vision appeared hazy.

"No. No, Everything's going fine." Aventurine muttered into the open air. "I even managed to recover the gift money. Things haven't gone this smoothly since I walked through the doors of The Reverie... Now, I'm only one step away from victory. Let's just wait and see."

"Sounds like a very elaborate way of saying that you failed." Ratio pointed out.

"Well, who knows? Maybe that's why I'm handing out cash even when I'm about to bite the dust." Aventurine bit back.

A crease formed under the good doctor's eyes, like he sensed something rotten.

"You are indeed a gambler — an insane one at that." Ratio admitted after a moment.

Delving into his pocket, Ratio outstretched his hand and uncurled his fingers.

A golden owl-capped vial lay in his palm. A thin, rolled piece of parchment was contained inside. The words were unreadable. Aventurine gawked at the glass, but took it between his fingers anyway. Mildly curious.

"Fine. Here, take this. Open it when you're on your last legs. You'll thank me." He told the other man, sounding rather displeased as he folded his arms.

"What's this? Medical advice?" The gambler looked at the little tube in confusion before stashing it in his coat pocket. "You catch on pretty fast, Doctor."

But by the time he glanced upwards, Ratio was gone.

Aventurine scoffed. He expected nothing less.

Looking left, then right, there was nothing but speeding cars and drunkards. He couldn't have disappeared that quickly. How long had he been looking at that vial? It didn't matter, was what he reasoned, as he gripped the bag in his hand tighter.

He spat out the cigarette in his mouth. Stomping and smearing it across the curb. A stain on his silver heel.

"Whatever," Aventurine muttered.

Wretching his poised expression back onto his face, he pushed aside the memory of the vial or the expression on his companion's face. His own forced into a smile. Beautiful, charming through the harmonic hues as he set off into the boulevard.

Not bothering to look both ways as he crossed the busy street. Aventurine disappeared into the night.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

Dreamflux Reef was the backbone of Penacony. A misaligned, broken spine.

The industrial town was bathed in a cold, corporate blue. The air smelled of oil, thick, infesting the machine smoke in the atmosphere. Stone, uniform buildings were covered in bolted windows and store shutters. Soot was scattered, bags of trash stacked against the walls.

A lightbulb crackled overhead as [F/N] desperately tried to powder her neck. She stared intensely into a rundown window with her blouse halfway unbuttoned.

Skin bare in the frigid air, [F/N] was lucky that nobody was around to witness her indecency.

"Fuck, come on…!" Curses spilled from her lips as she smeared her own skin colour across the lettering. It wasn't enough. She could still see the ghost of the number thirteen haunt her reflection.

A shuddering exhale fogged up the glass, giving her only a moment of respite.

"Peahen! Hey— Are you there?!"

Flinching at the voice, [F/N] yelped, quickly scrambling to cover herself.

"Firefly—?!" A familiar face poked around the corner, taking in the sight of her dishevelled and disturbed friend by the shop window. Firefly pulled herself around the corner, appearing glad to see her.

"I thought that was you I heard." She smiled, but quickly faltered. "Are you okay—? What happened? Don't tell me.."

Firefly trailed off, keeping the words to herself.

"Some IPC dog cornered me and figured out that I'm not a researcher—" [F/N] fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She tried to hide the concealer stains on her bra and the way her lips curled in frustration. "Agh— And then he saw my barcode. He knows what I am, and I freaked out—"

Firefly grasped her hands, pulling them away from her half-buttoned blouse. Without a word, she began to calmly fasten the studs.

"I'm so sorry. Let me fix your collar." She reached upwards. "A dog? Do you mean an executive?"

"No, it was one of those scholars. Those bootlickers." [F/N] shook her head. "Wasn't the lead mutt."

"Good." Firefly looked relieved. "I'm glad that I found you in time."

"Huh? What do you mean? And shouldn't you be acting out the script?" As her fingers finished straightening [F/N]'s collar, she stepped back.

In the flickering of the overhead bulb, Firefly suddenly turned sheepish. Reluctant. Putting down the pad of concealer on a nearby ledge, [F/N] tried to gather her bearings. Calm her beating heart.

"…Firefly?"

The girl looked back towards her, shy.

"You're not going to like this, but Silver Wolf has been looking everywhere for you. She came to me and explained everything. I.. She wants to convince you to return home." Firefly spoke softly.

A beat of silence. [F/N]'s face fell.

"... What?"

"I really think that you should consider it. The situation in Penacony has gotten out of hand, and maybe it's for the best if you wait for the next opportunity." Firefly tried to reason, her voice beginning to bleed. "Please. Just ask Blade to pick you up, and we can talk about this later— I'll help handle him and Kafka. Promise me, you'll consider it."

If it was quiet in the abandoned alleyway before, it had become near-silent now. [F/N] had to take a second to observe Firefly's wide open eyes, the way her lips tied shut. What could she have possibly been scared of?

[F/N] took a step closer, trying to steady her voice.

"Firefly, what situation? Explain what happened." She asked kindly, levelling her voice to the hum of the hardware.

"I.. I can't tell you." Firefly sputtered out. "I know it sounds bad, but you need to trust me."

Swiftly grabbing the jacket she had set on the dumpster lid, [F/N] yanked it over her shoulders. Stains from her concealer were quickly hidden; the barcode on her neck was nestled away. With an aching voice, the words left her lips:

"..I'm not leaving, Firefly." [F/N] answered quietly. "I won't be caged again."

"You're adamant— I understand— I won't force you to leave, but at least avoid the dreamscape for now." The other girl advised. "This isn't something you can handle. Just leave it to Silver Wolf and me."

"Firefly—"

[F/N] quickly turned to face her. Exasperated, agitated.

"I'm so tired of being excluded from these things— If the situation has changed, then why won't you explain it?" She raised her voice, balling her fists. "I want to trust you, but I don't think any of you could do the same for me! I'm a Stellaron Hunter too, aren't I?! So why is it that Silver Wolf can know, you can know, but I'm kept in the dark!"

She snatched her concealer and the rest of her belongings, shoving them into the pockets of her coat.

"I'm not a girl. I'm a grown-ass woman." [F/N] muttered. "I'll succeed. No matter what scholar or situation arises."

Her heels stabbed against the pavement as she stormed off into the alleyway, still tugging at her collar. Firefly quickly hurried, watching as her friend marched away without another look— No expression to be seen.

"[F/N], wait…!" She called after her. "Where are you going..!?"

"Finding the express! So I can continue playing researcher and the script!" [F/N] yelled back, her voice hoarse, reckless as to who could hear. Firefly wanted to move, to run after her, but her feet were nailed to the ground.

"Hold on..!" But by the time she got her bearings—

[F/N] was gone.

And for the excruciating moments Firefly stood there, she felt something curdle in her stomach like a shoe was waiting to be dropped.

Storming down the alleyway, [F/N] felt like she was going to throw up. The snarl on her face was betrayed by her shaking hands, her beating heart. Thinking of what she said and what the script had laid out for her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she stopped at the foot of the stairs.

Hearing light, feminine footsteps behind her, [F/N] felt a sense of regret.

"Look, Firefly— I'm sorry about what I said but I don't—"

The last thing she saw was the tailfin of a red herring before she collapsed atop the stairs.

"What the—" [F/N] gasped.

"Little Peahen.. That easy..? You never.. My tricks.. You really… Guard down..!"

A voice teetered on the edge of her mind, fading in and out like the thump in her head. [F/N]'s shaking hand tried to reach for her gun, nearly wrapping around the trigger before her aggressors fingers wrapped around her palm, tugging it away.

"Can't let.. Don't worry.. Thank me.."

With one final sigh, [F/N]'s eyes fluttered shut, enveloping the world in black.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

Aventurine considered himself lucky once he shoved open the door to the PA room, finding not a single soul inside.

He flung the empty bag of money onto the hard, webbed floor as the auroras infested his mind. Skin dripping in sweat, he could care less about the clothes that were now drenched as he ripped off his leather and fur.

Eyes darting out the window of the small, metal confines, he saw the empty courtyards of a padlocked amusement park. The reverie was nowhere to be found, instead replaced by a dark, emboldening silence.

What happened to your family, Kakavasha? Where did your sisters go?

Aventurine winced, grasping his head. Blue, red, yellow, green. Those symphonies were sung like bleeding sirens.

Sunday Oak, that bastard.

"The Harmony blesses those Halovians, no? Gracious, elegant bunch, they are. If you asked, they'd give you the clothes off their back if you needed them."

A man had exclaimed, grasping a newspaper tight in his wrinkled hands. Aventurine had overheard it while strolling through a parlour.

Through the twilight of hypnotic views, he finally spotted it— The audio system that broadcast to the entirety of Golden hour. Aventurine shuddered, leaning forward as he spotted the rusted microphone and the switch that managed it.

You tried so desperately to find her, but all you discovered was a gravesite. What happened on that forgotten planet? Where did her body go, Kakavasha?

His Cornerstone. It was shattered into chunks, beautiful, luminescent chunks. The remnants of what very well could be his career, or his very own life. He lifted it onto the table, the hues dancing in the rings of his eyes as he reached out.

Aventurine's chest ached to the pulsation it caused under his palm, resting it atop the stone.

"Okay, all the actors are in place. It's time for the show to begin." He whispered to no one at all as he cradled the gem. Feeling the heartbeat. Imagining the sound of pouring rain.

Smiling as if he spread a royal flush, Aventurine flicked the switch. Static crackled; he was on air. Leaning in, he near-sung.

"Ladies and gentlemen.."

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

How much time had passed before [F/N] began to awaken?

Her nose twitched as a cold wind hit her face, taking in the scent of something floral. It reminded her of Kafka's perfume, feminine and honeyed. As her body stirred about, [F/N] found herself cushioned on a soft, crunchy surface.

She tried not to wince as her head pounded.

Just where was she?

As she peeled her eyes open, [F/N] found herself lying amidst a red, rabid jungle. Vines imprisoned the buildings around her, and a thick, itchy pollen plagued the air. What? Looking left, then right, she was surrounded by that colour. The colour of innards.

She was lying atop a bed of bloody red blooms, purposefully laid like a slumbering princess. Letting out a groan— [F/N] found that her body was numb to the touch.

"Hanabi!" She screamed out into the expanse, receiving no response but the faint echo of her voice. The sky above sparkled with stars. "What the fuck is wrong with you—?! Why did— Answer me!"

[F/N] scrambled onto her wobbling feet, patting herself down. She still had her gun, all the concealed weapons hidden on her person. It didn't look like anything had been tampered with, at the very least.

She seethed. As soon as [F/N] got her hands on that fool..

"You've finally awoken, O sleepyhead! Rise and shine!" A dramatic voice cooed from above her.

"Oh come on..." [F/N] groaned as she tipped her head upwards.

Sat atop a thick, curled branch was a plush doll in the image of Sparkle. Twin tails and all. That smug, amused smile was stitched into the fabric, looking down on her as it happily bobbed its stuffed head along to an unheard beat.

"Did you not have the guts to face me in person? Had to send one of your little puppets to do the talking. Why the hell did you do that, Sparkle? And where did you take me—" A spill of questions fell from her lips. "And lie me on the grass next time. I don't want to kill the begonias."

[F/N]'s eyes darted to the ruddy flower patch behind her, wincing at the crushed petals.

"Sheesh! Miss Sparkle will keep that in mind next time she decides to kidnap you, and don't worry, she'll explain everything in just a moment!" The puppet cried.

It made a dramatic show of clearing it's non-existant throat.

"Welcome to the primordial dreamscape, the place that The Family doesn't want you to see! Nobody from the outside can reach you here." It called. "Miss Sparkle has brought you here for one reason, and one reason alone!"

"And what would that be?" [F/N] demanded.

"The truth!" The puppet announced. "Something that the Stellaron Hunters have hidden from you for years!"

"Years?" [F/N] repeated, looking like the words simply didn't register in her mind. The puppet continued to bob its head along, and it frustrated her all the more. "I know that they're hiding something— But for years? They wouldn't do that, Sparkle— They wouldn't. You're pulling my leg."

The puppet tsk'ed.

"Oh boy, this is why show and tell is important! If Miss Sparkle told you outright, you'd call her a fraud! A trickster! Which is why you're here, so you can witness the truth firsthand! As your dearest, most beloved confidant, I refuse to stand by and watch!" The doll announced.

Grasping her head, [F/N] found a new, more poignant headache throbbing against her skull. She felt like tearing her hair out as the pollen scratched at her nose.

"So what— I'm just meant to look around here and discover some world-shattering truth, just lying somewhere in the backstage of Penacony?!" [F/N] let out a desperate call to the puppet.

"Eehhh… Give it maybe four, five— Uh oh!"

The ground began to violently shake— A loud rumbling filled the air as roots creaked and cawed in place.

[F/N] cursed as she grasped onto a nearby tree vine for support, nearly toppling over herself and falling on her ass. The Sparkle Doll somehow stayed perfectly put, yet its head rattled angrily like a maraca.

It calmed down after only a few moments.

"An earthquake?" [F/N] muttered, getting to her feet.

"…Ahem!" The doll cleared its throat once more. "As Miss Sparkle was saying, give it maybe four, five minutes and you can go find hi—"

A shot rang through the air, piercing the head of the doll. A perfect bullseye.

[F/N] stood, still holding her gun that she had drawn in a single bat of the eye, too quick to see. Stuffing spewed from the doll's head, falling from its position on the root and bouncing against the floor with a pathetic squeak.

She blew the wafting smoke from the tip of her gun.

"That's for preying on me while I was distracted, and.. Making me think that the others could be lying to me." [F/N] walked over to the stuffed doll, picking it up to examine it. "... You really are good at getting in my head."

[F/N] looked out, spotting a nearby set of chipped, weeded stairs. A sense of uncertainty overcame her. Just what could Sparkle be talking about? It must be a joke— Right?

"…They wouldn't lie to me." She muttered, setting the doll down before marching out.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

"Why are we born into this world if it's just to die?"

The swordswoman's blade had pierced his body in a blinding, earth-shaking slash. It took only a single moment before he woke up, gasping for air in the engulfing Nihility.

Those auroras sang no more.

A black sun swirled in the distance, emitting an ominous, beckoning light that threatened to draw him into the vortex. It was incomprehensible, encompassing the entire midnight horizon.

He was trembling. Ankle deep in cold, murky water, and a new scar had embedded into his skin alongside the one over his heart.

Hand trailing over his chest, he felt that pulsating sensation. Alive, yet regrettably.

"I don't think this, and never have. Nor do you." The swordswoman, Acheron, stood at the very epicentre of the void like a ghostly reaper; red, bloody flowers bloomed forth from her skin. Her voice was absolute with conviction.

Aventurine shook his head.

"But the Nihility envelops you and I... and everyone." He answered, uncertainty bleeding into his voice. "If the dice of fate are always weighted, then that is our destiny. Why then... do we struggle against it?"

The humidity in the air reminded him of home.

When the goddess chose to bless them with rain, he'd open his mouth and stick out his tongue to catch stray droplets. His older sister would watch him run around, as she rocked the youngest back and forth in her arms.

After that, he'd only watch the rain through cell bars, or the reinforced window of his office in Pier Point.

"...My answer might not be able to resolve your confusion, because it has been with you throughout your journey, and is already a part of your life," Acheron spoke as gently as she could, for a woman like her. "But before the end, there are many things that humans can do while on their journey. And because of this, the "end" will thus reveal a completely different meaning."

Her vermillion eyes darted to his thick coat, honing in on his left pocket.

"Take a good look at your pocket. Your friend has already given you the answer." With her final words spoken, Acheron turned around and began to stalk off into the darkness, the water wading around her ankles.

Her voice echoed before she left.

"...Good luck."

Aventurine watched as her form faded away, leaving him as the lone lurker within the abyss. Confusion, dread, curiosity. His hand slowly reached into his pocket, and he found a small, cold object in his palm.

It was the golden, owl-capped vial.

He scrunched his nose as he popped open the cap and slid out the scroll inside. Wasn't this just medical advice? Unfurling the paper, he began to read.

The impossible in the Dreamscape is not "Death," but rather "Dormancy."

You are not the sole survivor. There is another Avgin on Penacony.

Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.

The vial dropped into the dark ocean below, sinking into the abyss. Like windchimes in the rain, something began to toll.

Fingers gripping the paper so tight that it began to tear.

..What?

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

Something had entered the dreamscape with her.

[F/N] didn't know what or who it was. She had been exploring the forgotten avenues, climbing over tree roots and poking her head down alleyways before something loud banged in the distance. She had flinched. It sounded like a body dropping to the floor, sending a jolt through her heart.

Her gun was drawn in a single moment, raised level to her chest.

Slinking around a corner, [F/N] headed to the site of the crash, wherever she had heard it. Could it have been a memory zone monster? Maybe, but she doubted it. Heading down a stretch of hall, [F/N] knew intuitively that she was drawing near.

Thump, thump!

Her fingers trembled to the wild beating of her heart. Had Sparkle's words really gotten to her that badly? Despite her tensing muscles, [F/N] made her way down a hallway, hearing a low noise carried by a cold draft of wind.

It came from the archway at the end of the hall, leading into an outdoor plaza. [F/N] quickly hid behind the frame, making sure she couldn't be seen.

The noise was clearer now. It was groaning, like someone had woken up from a long, long dream.

She gulped, swallowing her nerves.

"Someone there..?!" [F/N] called, stern and intimidating. "I'm armed, you better make your presence known!"

The groaning stopped.

Moments passed like minutes, with only the whistling of wind. [F/N] bit her tongue. Sweat dropped.

"Oh? It appears like someone else is in here with me."

It was a male voice, one that she didn't recognise, and was too composed to have been whining but a few seconds ago. [F/N] scrunched up her nose, keeping herself hidden in the hallway. Whoever was out there didn't seem too bothered about her being weaponed.

In fact, he let out a short, almost amicable laugh.

"Why so tense, friend? Why don't you step out here and we can have a chat? Let me take a guess— You're lost and you need a way out. As it just so happens, I do too." He spoke with an audible smile. "Come on, lets talk. There'll certainly be a handsome reward if you get me out."

He wasn't bothered at all. Just who was this guy..?!

Was he trying to lower her guard? Maybe. But if things come to shove, she knew that her finger was always going to be quicker to trigger. Against every bone in her body, [F/N] decided to lower her gun, keeping it at hip height.

"Fine— I'll come out, but don't try anything funny." [F/N] ordered.

"I've got my hands up, don't worry." The man laughed. "My life is at your mercy."

[F/N] steeled herself. Whispering a one, two, three—

"That wasn't so hard, was it, frie—"

His jovial voice cut off in the blink of an eye as she stepped onto the plaza.

As the wind hit her face, [F/N] had to raise a hand to cover her eyes. She saw the fuzzy outline of the mans shape from under her hand, the tailored slacks, the absurd coat. His hands remained up.

But as she lowered her hand—

"You—!"

She couldn't understand what she was looking at.

The man looked shocked, abhored even as they locked looks with one and other. Her eyes raved over his features. Blonde hair, numbered neck, but his eyes— Once she spotted them, she couldn't look away. The rings, pink and blue, stared back at her with utter, absolute terror.

Staring for what seemed to be hours, his gaze pierced right through those coloured contacts.

He'd recognise her anywhere.

No, this couldn't be right— Aventurine reasoned— The Harmony had rid itself from his mind— Was there residue remaining?

It couldn't be. Even if what Ratio wrote was true— The other survivor couldn't be her. He had searched for years, tore through solar systems and stayed in tune with every little detail he could find, but it was all for naught.

But regardless, as she stepped forward, hands trembling on her gun— He could see his own expression mirrored back to him. The world was spinning, heart roaring like a caged animal, he felt his mask drop.

[F/N]'s lips trembled, letting something weak and childish slip past.

"'Vasha..? Is— Is that you?"

"…[F/N]?"

Her gun was thrown aside, skittering across the ground.

It was unclear who got to the other first, but Aventurine won the race when he threw his arms around her. An anguished scream ripping from his throat— This had to be a dream, a mirage. Even as clutched her physical form against him, he couldn't believe it—

She was alive. Aventurine trembled. [F/N] was alive, she was here, it was her—

"Kakavasha— You're alive, you—" Words spilled from her throat, feeling her knees collapse against him as she held on tight. Wailing as she babbled out her thoughts, how she couldn't believe it was him, how she missed him as her hands clutched his coat.

There was practically no space between either. Aventurine enveloped everything he could of her, and [F/N] let her tears patter onto the fur that she sunk into.

Even as a certain Knight of Beauty arrived at the scene, there was no one else who mattered more in the entire universe but them. Maybe it was one big hallucination. A superior mirage brought on by something underneath.

[F/N] let out a wail.

His hair was stringy and dripping with cool, pungent sweat. Blood trickled down his nose in a steady stream, fixated on his coarse, ruddy hands. 

Kakavasha didn’t look further than his fingers, to the beaten heap of limbs on the ground. So instead, he dared to lift his head, only to flinch when the light touched his eyes. 

“Ghh–”

The chains around his ankle rattled when he stumbled back. The patrons wore rings, but they were studded with jewels and designs. Placed upon their fingers, looped in bundles around their necks. Loose. Never constraining. They shimmered like stars as they jostled around.

Kakavasha began to salivate. They didn’t wear tattered rags torn from prying, perverted hands. They wore pelts. Thick, extravagant fur in the winter, while they relished in all the meat they could idly prod at.

His dirty, dripping hands twitched. So, this was how the other side of Sigonia lived. 

“–Do you even hear me? Get moving, mutt!”

Kakavasha gasped, gulping the smoky, smoldering air as the scruff of his rags yanked him away. He hadn’t even noticed the chain breaking from his ankle, or the thick, meaty fingers knuckling against his bare spine.

His feet stumbled to catch up as his master dragged him through the raving crowds. Knocking into patron after patron, curses went flying before he was unceremoniously shoved through a back door.

It slammed shut, followed by the rattling of keys. A paltry bucket of water sat alone in the corner, lukewarm from the milder air.

“See–? I won, just like I said I would– I won the bet.” Kakavasha coughed, wiping the dribble off his lips. His expression curled into a relative snarl. “So you give me what I want– You get your riches, I get mine.”

His master was busy popping open an aureate flask. A nipping smell bit through the air before he took a swig, languid and unbothered.

“Clean yourself.” The man ordered firmly. “Y’Lucky, I’m in a good mood to entertain you.  Made me a good pot of gold. You’ll get ‘yer spoils.”

Kakavasha heaved. Glancing back towards the bucket nestled in the corner of the room, a ring of gleam outlines the murky water inside. He didn’t need to touch it to know it was tepid. Stumbling forward, almost buckling on his knees.

He began to clean his paws. Dunking his scarred hands, a ruddy stain bursts into the water. Roughly scrubbing his face, dripping down the strands of his hair.

Spine protruding through his back, Kakavasha muttered to himself.

I won, I am the victor. I played fair, I deserve the prize. I deserve it. I do.

Kakavasha tried not to think about that dead dog. That heap of limps. The one who lost the bet. Barely flinching as he was wrestled up to his feet, a thick hand collaring his nape. Led along, through the halls in a daze. 

“Vasha..! Vasha!”

A small, echoing voice broke his thoughts.

Unceremoniously, he was shoved into that dirty room. The door was already locked tight behind them. Kakavasha focused his gaze on [F/N], who waddled over to him with her hands outstretched, ready to tug at the end of his rags.

“Vasha..! Where’d you go? What’s that?” [F/N] babbled, holding onto him with her chubby fingers. Blinking up at him.

Something was gripped in his left hand. Kakavasha blinked. His knuckles were bursting with pressure.

It was a drooping, ragged old rucksack.

“..It’s food. Now move on and eat.” Kakavasha grumbled, already tearing open the bag before tugging her away from the door. 

Cow liver, turkey bones, chicken skin. The contents wafted of a rather bloody, salty odor as it was brought to light. Cooked, but cold. And quantity over quality, it was. An entire loin of mutton lay at the very bottom.

Kakavasha recalled the way a merchant associate of his master often bragged loudly about the men in black. The imports that they heralded, and the wealth they blessed. As he sank his teeth into sweet, unfamiliar flesh, he tried to distract himself in vain.

[F/N] tore off a chunk of meat with her baby teeth, turning to look at

“..Did you hit your eye again? It’s all red and puffy.”

“I fell and hit my face. Don’t ask about it.”

“But what about your nose..? It–”

“Just– Shut up and eat your food in peace, what about ‘don’t ask about it’ don’t you understand..?!”

“...”

Kakavasha bit his tongue, glancing at the oblivious mess of a child beside him, staring down at the chunk of lamb in her fingers. Silence. Big Sister Sybell never went so quiet; her voice was always gentle, a breeze in the wind. Never a gale.

Licking the skin of his lips, Kakavasha wondered how she ever found the patience with him.

“..When we get out of here, I’ll be able to buy all the meat you could ever want. Cows, sheep. Even their leather and wool would be pennies to me.”

His expression didn’t change a bit, and his voice never lightened from a rasp. But there was a certain fire, an assuredness that was immeasurable. Certainty that made [F/N] lift her head.

Kakavasha continued.

“Plates of fruit and fish. I’ll buy bottles and bottles of that fermented juice whenever I want, even if I can’t drink it all. And I’ll wear fur around my shoulders and silver on my fingers. You’ll never want for anything again. If I snap my fingers, it’ll be delivered.”

“..I wanna go to school.”

There was a momentary pause.

“..You want to go to school?”

“Mm. I wanna know what the letters on my neck will mean.”

“...”

Crickets became unordinarily loud. The revelry of socialites became unmistakably distant, and the skin hanging off his ribs was so achingly smothering.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

“S-Sorry–”

The blade twisted in her chest. Firefly gargled. Tears running down her cheeks.

Shock rang throughout the room– A beat of intense silence as the monster made of memoria let out a garbled roar. Firefly was impaled midair, hanging from the creature’s tail like war spoils. The guests petrified as they watched Firefly’s body grow limp. Jaws agape.

It gutted her. Yanking the blade out as an explosion of prismatic blood painted the air. Her body fell like a rock, Stelle lunging forward to catch the corpse in her arms just before it hit the floor.

But it was too late. Her body ruptured. Becoming nothing but a puddle of viscous, iridescent blood.

“Firefly–!”

[F/N] screamed out on instinct, her feet moving for her, reaching out and–

“Ah–”

In a gasp of air, she found herself back in the calm, isolated confines of her hotel room. A hummingbird in her chest, sitting waist deep in tepid waters.

[F/N] groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

She had been forced out of the dreampool in a panic and had to lie to a concerned worker once they came to check on her. Still dripping in salt water, she had scrubbed herself down with a towel and thrown on the most basic of clothes.

Buttoning up a high-necked blouse, she trudged out of her room, heading towards the VIP lounge addressed in the invite letter. 

It was quaint– For Penacony, at least.

Dim, warm lighting. An atmosphere that went down as smoothly as their drinks, and lingered just as long on the tongue. People milled about, a far cry from the raving crowds at the reception desk– All clamoring to sink into those fantastical pools of fleeting blue.

No, it wasn’t like that at all. Just a few people speckled around barstools and tables, toasting a cocktail glass in their hand as they made low, cool conversation.

[F/N] was hunched over the bar, trying to keep her own composure. Slow, rhythmic jazz from the nearby band was hardly soothing. She sighed. Listening to the clock tick away on the wall. 

The little, decorated hand pointed directly to twelve. 

“Everything alright, miss?” One of the bartenders found it prudent to check up on her, rounding the circular bar whilst he idly polished a glass. A rich complexion, yet scruffy around the beard.

And the accent he spoke with wasn’t Penaconian; the staff never were.

“..Sorry, everything’s absolutely fine. I just seem to be lost in thought, and I haven’t even ordered a drink yet.” [F/N] shook her head, nervously adjusting her collar.

“I’m curious. A frown is something I rarely see on the patrons of this bar. The bigwigs!” He let out a hearty round of laughter. Conversational. “How about you give me your order? I don’t mind a chat.”

“Right, uhm–” [F/N] quickly scoured the nearby menu, tittering down the page until she found something she liked. “I’ll take a ‘Death in the Afternoon,’ thank you.”

The bartender swivelled away the glass. The array of geometrical, iridescent bottles glistened as he prepared his work. As he fetched a glass, he raised an eyebrow. [F/N] looked away.

It wouldn’t hurt, would it? No, it wouldn’t.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m one of the representatives. The Genius Society, to be precise.” [F/N] sighed. “My boss is strict. If I want to go somewhere, she must come with me, and I can’t stray too far unless she gets concerned. And now that I’m roaming free, it should feel liberating, but..”

“But..?” He retrieved a bottle of absinthe.

“It feels like I’m in a jungle, needing to overcome some trial.” [F/N] admitted. “It’s.. Intense. And if I fuck it up, I might never get to leave on my own again.”

Firefly’s shriek stuck in her mind. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t. Firefly was fine; she was off in the Dreamscape somewhere, continuing the script. 

But it was hard to shake.

“No family or home to go back to? I’ve met a few society workers here, and there, most I know live with their folks.” He asked, giving a glance back.

“The job requires me to be on-site, you could say.” [F/N] dodged the question. “And.. They sacrificed a lot to get me here.”

Foam rose, and the bartender let out air from his nose, like the sentiment was all too familiar. Her fingers began to drum on the bar.

“Oh– And the rules that they enforce..!” [F/N] perked up, watching as the bartender worked. “I can’t leave the site, I can’t have a phone or any kind of internet– and even when I get access to something like video games, I get only an hour of screentime. Hell! One of my coworkers does nothing but sit with a controller in her hand all day, and they don’t complain about her! Just me!”

Her hand slapped the bar.

“It’s like I’m in a cage. And I’d rather be a free bird, without any constraints.” [F/N] hunched over the bar, face in her hands.

She heard the clinking of a glass beside her. 

“If you have a choice, it doesn’t sound like a job you want to keep, miss. You’re young, and the Genius Society may be bigshots, but you can find other work, no?” His suggestion was earnest, endearingly so.

“If only it were that easy. They’ve done so much for me, and I care about them a lot.” [F/N] lifted her head. “And besides, I’m not a bird that can fly for long.”

“I see.” 

Death in the Afternoon. The shamrock spirit. It was a beautiful, shimmering ambrosia cupped under a wide rim. More grasshopper than gold. Garnished by a lemon twist and a sprig of sage– The sharp, almost sweet scent could already be tasted on the tongue. 

It glimmered like stars, fleeting like the green light.

“That’ll be ten thousand credits, miss.” The bartender told kindly.

“Fifteen?” [F/N] guffawed. “Hold on– Let me find my wallet.”

However, before she could fish it out of her front pocket, something was tossed onto the bar. A loud slap commanded attention as it hit the marble.

[F/N] shot up straight. Credits. It was a wad of credits. Even the bartender seemed alarmed, his eyes darting between the cash and the culprit it belonged to. But who? She could suddenly feel a presence directly behind her.

“I’ll be the one to cover this tab. Do keep the rest as change.”

Articulate, yet undeniably arrogant.

Turning as calmly as she could, [F/N] came face to face with a tall, broad-shouldered man. His lavender hair adorned with golden laurels, and a face that looked so stiff, it could almost be plaster.

“Dr. Veritas Ratio.” He stated. Narrow, hawkish eyes honing in on her. Gesturing to the adjacent barstool. “I’d like to have a chat with the illustrious Genius Society Representative. If I may?”

It wasn’t a request. [F/N] smiled in the most polite way she could, kind, like an assistant would, as he sat down.

“Of course.”

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

[F/N] tipped up her head, savouring the sharp kick of her drink as it went down.

But when she placed the glass back on the bar, she found herself sampling more silence than spirits.

The Intelligentsia Guild is an academic institution that was funded and supported by the IPC. It had countless schools and subjects under its banner, but was united by the brown-nosing of their scholars to acquire funding. 

Daring to glance at the owlish man beside her, she had made no mistake. He was a member, certainly not an underdog. That golden wheel he wore as a brooch was mere proof of that. 

And here they were, alone. Neither had spoken. [F/N] tense, trying to focus on her drink while the scholar himself watched with a keen eye. And the bartender had quickly excused himself, murmuring about a smoke break before slipping through a back door.

[F/N] couldn’t blame him. Her composure stayed steady.

“Let us cut to the chase and halt this game of charades.” Dr. Ratio spoke, his voice awfully loud against the muffled jazz. “You are not who you claim to be, though your disguise could be most convincing to the common eye.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr. Veritas.” [F/N] trailed a finger down the rim of her glass. “I haven’t even introduced myself yet, and you’re calling me a fraud?”

“It’s Dr. Ratio.” He tsked, correcting her firmly. “And if you want to introduce yourself as the representative assistant of Ruan Mei, then you can save it. But giving me your proper title and description is something I might find interesting.”

He might find interesting? Yeah, as if.

But he seemed so sure of himself, speaking as if he were utterly right, with no doubt in his mind. And as the clock continued to tick by, time seemed to drag.

“You see, I happen to be involved with your so-called boss on an academic project. And the general public is unaware because of her rather reclusive nature, but Dr. Ruan Mei has no assistants to speak of.” A pin could drop. “So you can understand my interest when I heard of this so-called representative.”

[F/N] bit her tongue as she stared into the emerald pool of her drink, halfway downed. She saw the reflection of her coloured contacts, staring right back at her. Her alarm was visible, notable–

“You must be mistaken, doctor.” Her voice was suddenly curled in thorns. “I’m pretty offended that you’d bother me on my break time, accuse me of being a fraud just because you don’t know my boss well enough!”

She swung her legs over the barstool, standing to her full height. The alarm was thumping in her throat like a rabbit’s foot.

Swallowing it, [F/N] spoke once more.

“If you’re going to be so rude, then I don’t want to continue this conversation anymore.” She had to figure out what to do– About this man who could throw a wrench in everything–

Ratio was about to protest, not done dissecting her under his gaze. But just as he was about to get up, to wrangle her back down onto her seat. His eyes darted, landing on the left side of her neck.

And for a moment, he seemed taken aback.

“..You’re a Sigonian. An Avgin.”

[F/N] froze as the words left his mouth.

Thirteen. It was the number emboldened on her neck, followed by the fine, aged barcode underneath.

It was hidden, or it was supposed to be. But her collar slipped. She’d gotten careless. 

“That’s– No.” She stepped back immediately. Becoming flustered, she yanked up her collar to shield it from his eyes. Wildly glancing around at the other patrons, who weren’t as observant. “I’m not– It’s decorative– It’s just a tattoo–”

Ratio looked surprised. His eyes were more owlish than hawkish now, wide, as if he was trying to stare past the contacts on her irises. He had spoken those words with such bafflement that seemed normally foreign on his tongue.

Even as she scurried away, he simply watched. Sat straight in his seat.

That was anything but ‘just a tattoo.’

“Now, this is..”

Bzzzt!

His phone began to ring in his right pocket, and he quickly slipped it into the palm of his hand. He was receiving a call, and he knew what for. Though the name made his fingers drum on the table.

Aventurine.

He picked up.

“Gambler. You called?”

“Are you done? It’s time to say hello to Mr. Sunday.”

Ratio looked at the half-finished drink, abandoned on the bar.

“..I’m heading there now.”

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

Firefly awoke in a gasp. Face wet with tears.

She was gasping for air as she found herself in a dingy, defunct train terminal. The gentle light washed over the walls like waves against the seabed. A hint of fresh salt in the air as a lightbulb crackled overhead.

Her hands patted down her midsection. She sighed. No puncture to be found.

She sat up, wiping her face with her sleeve. It was oddly peaceful here. A sublime sense of silence, only broken by the faraway reverie of town life. Firefly was alone, sitting on the cold, bare concrete.

“Firefly–!”

“Eep!”

Silver Wolf’s hologram manifested in a flash of ultramarine, glitching into shape.

“Silver Wolf!” She gasped, dusting the dirt off her skirt. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to. Just– Good. I can still reach you in this place.” Silver Wolf scoffed.

The hacker didn’t have a pleasant expression. Did she ever? The apathetic annoyance was still there, but underneath, something was buried. Something she wanted to hide, something that made Firefly’s stomach crawl.

Her fingers were curled as if she were gripping a controller.

“Have you seen Peahen anywhere? I’m not able to locate her in the dream.” Silver Wolf asked insistently.

“Peahen?” Firefly blinked.

“Yes, [F/N], Peahen.” Silver Wolf exasperated.

“I was just with her a while ago, right before I experienced my first death. I can’t tell how long ago that was.. But I think she might have woken up.” Firefly explained, pushing herself up from the floor. “What’s going on? Why do you look so..”

Alarmed. But the word fell off her tongue.

“He’s here.” Silver Wolf stepped forward, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Aventurine. He’s in Penacony.” 

“What?” 

The phone switched on. Firefly had to lean over, ducking her head to get a good look at the screen. Pictures. Dozens and dozens of pictures of a blonde businessman roaming Golden Hour, his face unmistakable, those eyes even more so.

They were plastered across countless advertisements in the galaxy: billboards, magazines, and social media feeds. Such a sly smile. Firefly could recognise him anywhere.

“But the information you got–” She tried to argue, straightening up. “They said it was Opal, didn’t they?”

“According to my contact, there was a last-minute change of plans.” Silver Wolf pinched her temples, foot tapping incessantly at the floor. “Changing the enemies before we enter the next level? It’s unfair.”

Firefly seemed almost lost in thought, her lips thinning as she found herself holding onto the nearby railing. Gripping the cold metal.

“You haven’t told Kafka or Blade, right? Please tell me that you haven’t. I understand that this.. Makes things difficult. But if they find out and take [F/N] off-field, they’ll never let her leave again.” Both of them knew it was the truth. “And if it comes down to it, SAM and I will be there to help.”  

“That’s what she said. But I don’t believe either of you.” Silver Wolf stated. “And if you want to know, I haven’t told them yet, but I’m going to find [F/N] first.”  

A beat of silence broke the conversation. Firefly let go of the railing, pacing towards a lone bench to sit down. As she soaked in the brineborne air, her voice swam quietly.

“I know what it feels like to be trapped, to feel confined under fate.“ Firefly said. “Even if I can’t get my chance just yet, [F/N] has gotten her opportunity. I want her to take it.”

Silver Wolf didn’t say much after that, nor did her expression change, except for the flickering of her projection. If she had any thoughts, they weren’t shared, and instead, she reached for her wrist to close the hologram.

“Wait..!”

Her hand froze. Firefly’s voice cuts in.

“When this is all over, we can go to an Arcade on some faraway planet. Just us three.” She spoke up, her smile almost convincing. ”When my health gets better, and [F/N] is freed, we can pretend to be students from the nearby school, buy cheap drinks, and fight to see who can get the most tickets by the end of the day. We can forget, if only for a while. Would that sound good, Silvie?”

How fantastical such an experience sounded to her, how she spoke of it with a mystical air. Like it was an ambition to drink diet fizz and wind rolls of arcade tickets.

“It sounds lame.” Silver Wolf scoffed. “And don’t call me that. You’re picking up on her language.” 

One final sentence left her lips.

“Just– Don’t tell her that he’s here.”

Her hologram disappeared in another flash of blue, leaving Firefly in the sublime solitude of the station. 

She sighed, hunching over to plant her face in her hands. She took a few moments to gather her thoughts, to process the information. Listening to the distant beckoning of quiet town life, the glittering memoria swirling around in the air.

“I won’t.” Firefly whispered.

From within the shadows infesting the nearby alleyway, Sparkle had heard enough. And for a fool, she had anything but a smile on her face.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

“Oh? Took you long enough.”

Dr. Ratio pushed open the doors of Dewlight Pavilion, entering the foyer with an odd look on his face. Though it quickly turned into irritation as he heard the other man open his mouth.

Standing by a pillar, Aventurine was illuminated by the dim light. His hands were fitted with leather gloves, drumming against his plated phone case, as if he was about to make a rather impatient call. 

He wore an obscenely large fur coat, of some endangered megafauna, that was for sure. And that smile on his face was wry, eyes glinting behind rose-tinted glasses.

“It’s not like you to be so late, doctor; you kept me waiting.” Exasperation hidden behind such a jovial tone. Aventurine tucked his phone away. “Anything you want to share before we go inside to meet Mr. Sunday?”

It was a rhetorical question. Dr. Ratio didn’t turn, but he could see the sheen of violet feathers in his peripheral vision, hiding amidst the rafters. Aventurine had spotted it too, of course, he did; a gambler's most valued card is their observation.

And he could also see that something was wrong with the good doctor.

He had been mulling over the newfound information, rereading the barcode of that girl in his mind—the small, fine writing listing her status like a nutritional label. Slave, Avgin, and a masculine name in Sigonian font.

Glancing at Aventurine’s brand, it was similar, not the same, but uncannily alike.

“Focus on yourself, Gambler.” Ratio scoffed.

Not now, not when that bird was watching. But as they began to make their way into the pavilion, travelling down the labyrinthian corridors, Ratio slipped out a vial with a golden owl cap. 

Tugging out the papyrus inside, he read the words he had scribed before coming here:

The impossible in the Dreamscape is not "Death," but rather "Dormancy."Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.