‘My dreams are different than yours. Mine becomes real.’
“C’mon, let's go somewhere more private,” Lake spoke as he rose to his feet, Regto following behind him, leaving Natas and Iron on the couch. They walked over to an empty room. Regto took out the old, worn-down book, placing it on the desk.
Lake stared at it, his eyes wandering over the leather and sigils on it. “So... what is it? This is the book you almost got us arrested over because you stole it?”
“Alright, Lake, listen. I need you to trust me on this. This book is worth more than anything you’d ever… ever know.”
Lake sighed and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Is that why you’d never let anyone touch it? You’re so possessive of it.”
“There’s a reason I don’t let anyone touch it. Look, I know we haven’t been on the best of terms lately-”
“You nearly got us all arrested over that damn book!” Lake’s voice escalated, eyes flashing with anger. “You can’t convince me that this book is worth more than our lives.” He scoffed, turning away, frustration spilling over.
Regto lowered his head, exhaling deeply. Anything he said to Lake would be overshadowed by his own selfish actions, which he didn’t condemn. He wished for a way for them to understand that the book was more than just a book. That it was a piece of something far more important than they could’ve ever known. Regto put his hand over it, his finger gently tracing the logo on it.
“For Heaven's sake, Regto.” Lake reached out, “Just let it go! Is it really that-”
Lake’s fingers touched the book, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. His body twitched and convulsed in pain, and a small line of blood slowly trickled down his nose. Regto quickly grabbed the book, watching as Lake crumpled to the floor.
Lake panted, wiping the blood from his nose. He stood up, his mouth about to open to yell and scream. Regto slammed his hand over his mouth, his arm hitting the desk, sending multiple pens rolling to the floor. He snatched one as Lake mumbled under his grip, quickly writing in the book. His gaze realigned to Lake, watching as his body went limp.
Regto flung up, walking out of the room to grab the pen. He hadn’t been focused on the noises coming from the couch until he exited the doorway, watching as Natas and Iron quickly separated from each other, their faces red.
“Are you guys good? You look like tomatoes,” Regto remarked, raising an eyebrow.
“All good,” Natas replied, giving a thumbs-up. Regto nodded, returning to his issue at hand. He bent down, tapping Lake on the shoulder to wake him up.
“W-What happened?” Lake mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Did I… drink too much again?”
“Yeah. We were talkin’ bout the books while sippin’ on some ale. Wasn’t keeping count, and you passed out for a bit.”
He never wanted to lie to his friend, but in this instance, it was necessary.
As Regto and Natas watched Iron and Lake leave, Regto sighed, rubbing his face in exasperation. “This is becoming way too much, Natas.”
“What do you mean?” Natas asked, taking off his glasses and storing them in his pocket. He let his hair flow in the wind as they walked back to their home.
“Lake touched the book. Don’t you know how dangerous that is? He could’ve died if I hadn’t wiped his memory or been there. Thank the Heavens you distracted Iron with… whatever you two were doing.”
Natas grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets, licking his lips.
“Do you think they’ll figure it out soon enough?”
“Cousin, stop.” Natas chuckled, “We’ve been ‘friends’ for this long. It’d be a miracle for those two slums to even come close to thinking we’re related. I’d be insulted if they even suggested it.”
Regto slouched as he walked, his mind swarming with thoughts. Since the day he’d magically appeared in Lake and Iron’s life, it’s felt nothing short of a scam. Natas knew that his cousin was weaker, less driven by the demands of the Caines’ family. However, he was still stronger than his ill-willed brother, Alto, the one who reclaimed the Surebrec name, discarded by the Caines’ family and left to find his own love, his own life.
“Stop slouching, you look ridiculous,” Natas spoke, watching as the entrance of his home grew larger as he approached. “You know the deal. Meet here at the same time tomorrow.”
Regto was a pawn, one that could easily blend in with both the locals and the royalty. Lake and Iron never questioned how Regto could walk in the richer areas of the Sphere without getting kicked out, figuring that he was just some scandal that the guards got used to. In reality, Regto was more than that. Judas’ brother, Joses, had children of his own. A mirror image of his sibling, however, his appearance differed, as he had black hair and dark eyes, reminiscent of Leba, their long-lost ancestor. Joses separated from the Caines’ family long ago, not wanting to partake in their own corruption and ideals, though they were bound by blood and inherited the insanity that was passed along.
Joses instilled in Regto the importance of the Watchman series, the pieces, and the power they held. No one knew how he came by this knowledge—given the man’s insanity, he seemed like a dreamer, one who could access any information he desired simply by gazing at the sky.
‘My dreams are different than yours. Mine becomes real.’
“Want to hear a riddle, ToTo?” Joses asked, his wide, unsettling eyes fixed on Regto. Regto nodded, having grown accustomed to his father’s odd inquiries. He sat up straight, ready to listen.
"I am the ghost of violence made flesh,A silver thread stitching past to present.I do not bleed, yet I remember blood.I am stronger than what created me,Yet I mark the place where strength was tested.Some wear me proudly, some hide me with art,Some share with me only in the dark of the heart.Seen or unseen, I quietly attest:What name do I bear when wounds have come to rest?"
“That’s obvious,” Regto scoffed, “Scars. Everyone has them. Internally and externally.”“The scars! The scars, boy! Look for the scars, and they’ll lead you anew!”
Regto nodded to end the conversation, oblivious to his father’s riddles, which he commonly spoke in.
“Uh huh…Alright dad.” He spoke as he sat up. “I’m going to-” Joses spoke, interrupting him as he sat down on the floor.
“The three houses rose and fell,A Three-headed dog commanded the hells. A Horse, the great tinkerer of twelve, time turning in endless flow,The Leviathan, forgotten long ago. It’s memories, spoken with ease:I am vast and deep, I cover the Earth, with secrets to keep. My surface may shimmer, but darkness I reap. I'm salty and blue, with waves that pursue, I'm home to great beasts and treasures too…”
A shiver ran down Regto’s spine. He was used to his father’s maniacal riddles about the Sphere, the Heavens, and the Watchman series, but this was one he had never encountered before. Joses swayed back and forth, cradling his knees, staring at the ceiling above him while tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes.
“My tides ebb and flow, as the moon comes and goes. I connect distant lands, where the horizon grows. I can be calm or rage with might, with storms that can pierce, but life in my depths continues to thrive. What am I?”
He stopped swaying, his head slowly turning to look at Regto. He took a step back, his breath hitching as Joses stared at him, waiting for an answer.
“I-I…” Regto mumbled, “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything salty and blue…”
“The ocean.” His father said clearly. “It’ll come soon. Connect the distant lands again. Bring us together. Just… you… wait.”
Joses stopped rocking, lying down on the floor as he reverted his gaze to the ceiling. “The ocean will come… wash it all away. The pain, oh the pain… make it go away…”
Regto had a plan to get out. After his father’s death, the Caines took him in as their own, keeping him hidden away in one of their smaller, quieter homes not too far from theirs. They used him as a tool to hear what the Sphereites were thinking of The Government, a spy to infiltrate the lower ends, used to convince them that their ideals were wrong.
When Regto stole the book, it was then that he realized he could change those ideals with just a note—one that could alter perceptions, change thoughts, and make people forget what had happened. It wasn’t always accurate, particularly for those who were mentally unstable, who always seemed to know the truth.
He felt the power of the book in his hands as he carried it, the same insanity that his father had within him. If it fell into the wrong hands, it would put the stake of every Sphereite's life at risk. Regto never considered himself one with the Sphere or the Ground, but knew deep down inside that he’d never want to be a part of the Caines’ family as a whole.
After Iron’s death, Regto couldn’t bear the burden he carried anymore. He used the book on Natas, altering his thoughts to make him forget his betrayal.
“Leaving?” Caines spoke, sitting in his office chair, “And why would you be doing that? Your life is in my debt.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Natas. You killed Iron. You killed my best friend.”
Regto didn't speak. He'd never call Natas by Caines. He couldn't. Natas carried all of the problems and rage that Regto grew to see. Caines was a cover-up for someone he wanted to forget. He'd be the reminder for him.
“I loved him,” Caines spoke, silently but sternly. He rose from his chair, leaning against the edge of his desk. “However, I know that it was a higher debt, because I know my duty. I know who I am.”
It hadn’t been long since Caines murdered his own father, taking control of the Caines’ house. He had more control than ever, his power coursing through the veins of the Sphere and turning it into his own prophecy. Regto knew where his loyalty lay, and it wasn’t with his cousin.
“Goodbye, Natas.” Regto turned on his heel, carrying the book. He swiftly opened it, writing in the dark pages as he heard Natas behind him. He knew his own cousin more than anyone, and knew that Natas’ only fix for issues was to solve them in violence. He held his blade as he paced towards Regto, spinning it in his palm.
He raised the blade, lowering it to his back, only to be stopped by himself. A sharp pain swam to his forehead, his body falling to the floor as he gripped his head in pain. Memories of Regto became faceless. His memories with his friends, one body fading into a mysterious shadow. Regto walked away, pocketing the Watchman book, leaving Natas.
He never looked back, adopting the Surebrec name into his, just as Alto did. It was his own form of rebellion. If Natas ever grew to relearn his memories, he'd know who to look for. Regto wasn't scared of him.
Years passed since Regto left everyone behind. He knew that his friend, now called Illarion, had two children of his own—ones he had never met, but he felt an undeniable connection to. Iron had spoken of you often, claiming he had no favorites, yet it was clear that you held a special place in his heart.
Regto continued to stay silent, making a home in a house not too far from the rich neighborhoods of the Sphere. He lived comfortably alone until he had heard news of Alto’s killing spree in the Heavens of the Sphere. He killed multiple members of The Government, probably for good reason, before being caught and exiled to the Pit. Though they were bound by blood, Regto never met Alto. He disappeared from the Caines’ family long before he was taken in.
One thing that Regto did know was the son that Alto left behind. Rudo. Joses’ words came as a subtle reminder of what has followed in the years of meeting Lake, Natas, and Iron. Regto never thought his father’s riddles were real– until they were.
First, it started with Lake. Learning about the oceans people was a close enough reminder of his father’s riddle. The greatness Iron saw in his secondborn was a firm reminder of a probability to come. Secondly, came Rudo. Regto had wandered around the area that Alto supposedly lived in, waiting for days, trying to find his lost nephew. He was desperate to find him before Natas did.
Weeks passed before he finally encountered Rudo, whose hair was a striking blend of white with black ends—a testament to the Caines and Surebrec resemblance. His arms were bandaged and sore, a painful reminder of what had plagued him since birth.
“The scars! The scars, boy! Look for the scars, and they’ll lead you anew!”
He took him in and raised him as his own.
It was his goal to make sure Rudo never knew of his history or background as a Surebrec, and he would be damned if he ever let the child find out about his connection to the Caines’ family. Natas’ child was growing older, a young teenager around this time. His name was Tamsy. A devil, surely the same as his father. There was a slight possibility that Rudo could have been easily swayed to live with them if he were found, a risk Regto never wanted to take.
But the truth of it all? All lies come to light.
The rubble crunched under your feet as you walked alongside Fu. Hii managed to get you a good distance to where the raiders were camping. Each step you took filled you with anxiety. You clutched your bag closer to you, peeking at the contents inside.
The book moved in the bag with each step you took. Was this the right thing? You can’t wield the book yourself. Who's to say Zodyl wouldn’t take it for himself and fully destroy the Sphere, killing everyone and everything on it? No… he wouldn’t. He can keep a promise. Right?
Your mind spiraled. There had to be a way you could make sure of your goal and his. He wants to destroy the Sphere. At first, you wanted to as well. The more you thought of it, the more everything made less and less sense.
What if Caines didn’t sign his wife to take his place instead? If he does, will you kill him afterwards? What if everything goes haywire? Instead of destroying the Sphere fully, why not bring it back down to its rightful place?
Why not… bring it back down… to its rightful place?
You look up to the sky, a new idea blossoming in your mind. If Caines were to sign his wife into his place, she could establish a new foundation. The Government could get dismantled, and the people– both of the Sphere and the Ground– could make a new one. The Sphereites would have tolearn to survive in the polluted world they had contributed to.
Fu gently grasped your hand, halting your steps and pulling you from your thoughts. You blinked, focusing on the building before you.
Remember your goals. First Zanka, then your deal.
“We’re here…” Fu shrank back, fear evident on his face as he regarded the entrance.
“Thank you, Fu. You’ve done more for me than I can express. I owe you,” you said sincerely.
You ascended the stairs, knocking on the door. The sound echoed behind it as you took a step back, waiting for a response. Moments later, Cthoni appeared, yanking the door open.
“You.” She spoke coldly, “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to Zodyl.”
“A deal. Give me Zanka, and I’ll offer myself… and this.” You pulled out a piece of Tamsy’s clothing and the book, holding it up for her to see. Cthoni’s eyes widened momentarily before she slammed the door in your face. You tucked the book back into your bag.
“Looks like our time’s up, Mr. Bad Attitude,” Jabber remarked as he escorted Zanka to the entrance. Leaning against the wall, he scanned Zanka’s form with a grin. “Don’t forget about me, m’kay?”
“How could I?” Zanka leaned in, “You were a pain in my ass the entire time.”
“I know you don’t mean that.” Jabber smiled, his arm hooking around Zanka’s waist, pulling him in. “Always so mean till the very end.”
“This won’t be the last time you’ll see me.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
Zanka fell silent, pushing Jabber against the wall with a firm forearm pressing against his chest. He leaned in quickly, placing a kiss on Jabber’s cheek.
The door flung back open, and Zanka was roughly pushed from the entrance by Jabber. You caught him in your arms and fell to your knees, holding him tightly against you. He sighed as he felt your fingers run through his hair, wiping away any strands from his face. You frantically observed his face, weary of any cuts, bruises, or new scars, but to your dismay, there were none.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, hugging you back. “You didn’t have to come for me.”
You pulled back, fully being able to see Zanka. He looked fine, a little skinnier, but that wasn’t a shock. The raider’s food cabinet was nothing like the Cleaners'.
“I was so scared…” You pulled him in, your forehead pressed against theirs, “I thought you were dead, Zanka I… I blamed myself for everything. E-Everyone did. I-I couldn’t leave you here.”
“What?” His eyes bore into you, anger apparent on his face. “You did nothing wrong. How could they?”
“They were scared, Zanka. They didn’t want to lose you.”
“So you come back for me to give yourself in? You don’t have to do this! Don’t be dumb!”
Zodyl appeared at the doorway, looming behind Zanka.
“You have the book?” He spoke. You nodded. “Let him go. Come in.”
“What book?” Zanka asked.
You took one last glance at Zanka, pulling him in for another hug. You whispered in his ear. “When you get back to the headquarters, tell Rudo to tell you everything. Tell him everything that happened here.” Your voice shook as you felt Zanka hug you tightly, “Tell him I’m sorry.”
“What book?! What book do you have?!” He asked again, only to be ignored.
You pulled away, slipping from Zanka’s grip as you stood up, walking into the building. He watched the doors close behind you, frustration bubbling inside of him. He slammed his assisstaff on the ground, staring at the wasteland.
“WHAT BOOK?! Ugh!!” He placed his hands on his hips, “Where the hell am I supposed to go?!”
“I-I could help you,” Fu whispered, standing closely behind him. Zanka jumped, raising his staff defensively.
“Where the hell did you come from?!”
“I’ve been here the whole time…”
You trailed behind Zodyl, slipping into a dimly lit room within the building. Setting your bag down on a weathered table, you took a seat across from him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he settled in.
“How did you get the book?” He asked, starting his interrogation. The same as usual, quick and straight to the point. No waste for extra words.
“I stole it,” you replied, the words rolling off your tongue with a sense of defiance.
“Unsure. He’s a Sphereite. Probably took it from up there.”
You paused, holding your breath. This was the right thing to do. It was the only way.
“I need your help. I’ll trade you the book for whatever power you’re after. In return, I want a ride to the Sphere and a team to help dismantle it—not destroy it, but restore it to its rightful place.”
“You want to bring the land back down?”
“So, you’re willing to become a Raider now?”
“No. I’d never become a Raider. I guess I’m more of a nomad.”
You watched Zodyl’s demeanor never change. He looked away, thinking for a moment.
“This is all purely transactional. Just like… us,” you whispered, hoping to pierce through his stoic demeanor. He looked back at you, eyes narrowing in contemplation.
“With what team do you expect to take down the Sphere? Mine?”
You sank deeper into the chair, uncertainty creeping in. You hadn’t planned that far ahead, which felt like a gaping hole in your strategy.
“You either become a Raider or stay a Cleaner.” His words were firm, leaving no room for debate.
“Why do I have to pick a side? I don’t align myself with any ideals from the Cleaners or the Raiders. While one wants to learn the mysteries of the world and adapt to this shithole, the other wants to destroy the oppressor. While I find nothing wrong with both, I want to make an actual change.”
“My team will consist of those who’ll willingly fight alongside me. Cleaner or Raider, it doesn’t matter.” You spoke sternly.
Zodyl’s gaze flickered past you, landing on Jabber, who loomed in the doorframe. A subtle nod passed between them.
Suddenly, you felt a sharp prick at your neck, your hand instinctively flying to the spot as warm blood trickled down. Zodyl leaned forward, snatching the book from your bag and flipping it in his hands, fingers gliding over the hard leather cover.
“We’ll discuss this further in a few days,” he said, his tone dismissive. He had a new item in his grasp, one he could easily use on you, or foresee his promise and help you.
It was all in a matter of his hands what would happen next.
Your head grew heavy, tilting back as your vision blurred. Jabber’s smile twisted into something unsettling as multiple versions of him danced in your fading sight. He scooped you up, carrying you to another room and laying you down on a hard bed.
“Don’t worry, it’s not the hard stuff,” he chimed, jingling keys in his hand. “Just a paralyzer. You’ll be up in no time!”
He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
