#attempted comedy

Life in a small village was mundane, but it was peaceful. Every villager knew everyone. Newcomers were welcomed with home-made pie, produce, and flower wreaths.

Your eyes burned. Your laptop monitor glared at you from its perch, with what you believed was disdain and disbelief. Its voice seemed to echo in your mind.

“Really? You’re sitting on your ass for so long to do this?”

The page was an atrociously blank slate. Your cursor blinked in and out of existence, while you scrounged for words. The keyboard remained silent in the absence of your feverish typing.

You tried everything: listening to music; checking social media (which led to doomscrolling); reading your favorite books. Your efforts were blessed with the sound of failure, blank and meaningless.

A sigh disturbed the silence. Footsteps, dragging on the floor, followed the screech of a chair. You carefully closed your laptop monitor, even if you wanted to risk thousands of thaumarks to appease your annoyance.

The click of a lock drowned in the cacophonous laughter of playing children. Their brief greeting accompanied waves and smiles directed at you. You wondered whether they were happy to see you, or they thought how funny you were: spat out by an awful Monday with your frizzy hair, twitching fingers, and dark circles around your eyes.

A walk in the forest might do you some good. This village was on the outskirts, where it was far from cities belching smoke and the exhausted grumblings of the working class. The air is clean, so you’re not worried about contracting lung cancer.

You quietly winced. Maybe, existential dread can be willed away with fresh air and sunshine.

Your feet seemed to latch onto the ground. An ache in your back persisted. Even if you tried to puff your chest out, you deflated like a withering balloon. You stepped into the shade of the forest, and you felt as if you dove into a cool oasis.

Light spilled through the gaps in the trees. A breeze rustled the leaves, some falling in a spring shower. Soil crunched under your feet, being shaped by the sole of your shoes.

“This is nice,” you mumbled. “Maybe, I need this. Nothing could go wrong with a stroll…”

You should’ve known that you would jinx yourself.

Before you, a child blocked your path. You found an aurora, gleaming under what little sunlight in this dark forest, in the boy’s irises. Silver hair framed his cherubic face, a natural flush painting his chubby cheeks. Your curious gaze drifted from his face to his hands, fingers resting over a scrape on his knee.

“Ah,” the boy muttered. There was no emotion on his face, aside from quiet serenity. Although, you swore you saw sparkles and blossoming flowers around him.

“Hello. Can you help me, please?”

You stared. A little boy, with perfect enunciation and manners, was not in your bingo card. Kids his age usually cried their heart out and yelled for their guardians. Yet, this child was calmly asking for your help, as if he was asking for you to reach the cookie jar on the overhead shelf.

You didn’t know if you should be impressed by his maturity, or worried about the atypical behavior of this kid.

Princely vibes aside, you wondered why a child like him was in the forest where the village children avoided. Their parents sold the story (complete with scary faces and clawed hands) about monsters in this place, after all.

Concern outweighed caution. Regardless if this was a new scheme concocted by some crime syndicate or not, you knelt before the boy.

He silently withdrew his hands from his knee. You squinted at the wound, shallow scratches that oozed a bit of blood. Aurora irises shimmered in spite of his stoic face.

“Where are your parents?”

“Father is away,” he murmured. Your forehead creased when his face slightly paled. You chalked it up to his pitiful pain tolerance.

Tactfully, you didn’t ask about his mother. That was a can of worms you’d rather not have chucked in your face.

You sighed. Before you could offer to bring him to your house for medical care, the little boy asked, “Our house is nearby. I can take you there. Is that okay…?”

Losing my life or money be damned. It’s only been five minutes, but if anything happens to him, I’ll kill the ones responsible then myself.

His polite tone threw your doubt out of the metaphorical window. Before you knew it, he led you to a humble cottage with his hand in yours.

No bandits nor minions in a crime syndicate ambushed you. Only your questions and his curt answers filled the silence, while you disinfected his scrapes. A first-aid kit was open on the table, while the boy sat in front of you. You introduced yourself as you did.

“My name is Silver,” he said. You felt his stare boring holes into your head, hovering over his knee. You set the cotton aside to gently slap a band-aid over his scratches.

You paused. Your teeth bit into the plush of your bottom lip. Gentle fingers patted the band-aid, before they reached for another. Your gaze drifted from his knee to his hair, shining under a patch of sunlight from the window.

Whoever named this adorably polite boy, you hoped that may be the only horrible thing they did to Silver.

After swallowing your giggles, you plastered another band-aid over a scrape too long to be hidden under the first band-aid. “Why did you leave home when your dad isn’t here?”

Silver pouted. He looked down to check his knee, just as you bit your lip to stifle a squeal. His cheeks appeared chubbier, like a dumpling, than before.

“I was looking for berries,” he whispered under his breath. Somehow, you managed to understand what Silver said.

Still pouting, Silver explained himself. You couldn’t help but linger on the subtle lisp in his speech. You held yourself back, or else you might suffocate this poor boy by accident.

“I want to make berry jam for Father before he comes back. I tripped, then you came.”

You covered your mouth with your hand. Suddenly, you hunched with your elbows digging into your knees. As Silver asked if you were okay, you thought of one thing.

This boy is so sweet. Holy crap, I wish he was my kid.

After you took a deep breath, you lifted your head and asked, “Do you want me to help?”

That was how you ended up in the kitchen with Silver. The latter stood on a step stool (one you found sitting in a corner), while you watched the jam boil in the crockpot. Juice stained yours and Silver’s aprons. The basket on the counter had some berries left, which your temporary charge suggested to make a pie with.

“And… done!” You turned the knob, the fire dying on the stove. Silver tried to stand on his tiptoes to peer over the rim of the pot.

You instinctively put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. The other hand scooped a bit of jam with the wooden spoon. The corners of your lips twitched into a smile.

“Give it a try,” you urged Silver. Before he did, you quickly added, “Better blow on it. You might burn your tongue.”

He did just that. Silver blew on it with his hands gripping the edge of the counter. You gestured for him to swipe some jam with his pinky finger.

You watched Silver’s cheeks puff, before he put the jam into his mouth. His face brightened, and his cheeks gained a delighted flush. You swore you saw flowers and sparkles around him again.

“This is good!” Silver exclaimed. Curious, you swiped some jam on your pinky and put it in your mouth, too.

Just as the sweetness coated your tongue, the slam of a door rang in your ears. You and Silver turned to look at the source of the noise.

Flowers spilled out of another basket, laying on its side and forgotten. A young man stood amidst a sad, pathetic shower of petals. Sunlight overwhelmed color, nothing but a shadow of a young man and his rucksack stretched on the floor.

“Who are you?” He asked. His tone promised things that would violate TV guidelines for a general audience. “What are you doing in my house?”

Suddenly, your limbs grew cold and heavy. Your soul was on the verge of leaving your body. All you could think of was how this person (who had two tufts of hair out like bat ears, mind you) was somehow more terrifying than that granny who mistook you for a thief.

You will never forget the fury of an old lady with a purse.

Before you could say something, Silver jumped off the stool and dashed for the stranger.

“Father!”

You collapsed. Your helpless gaze stayed on the boy hugging the legs of the man, who was as tall as the average tween on the cusp of puberty.

A layered bob, with strips dyed in magenta, framed a pale face with red irises, a button nose, and fangs. He wore a plain shirt with an ascot (An ascot? In the big 2000s?) and denim pants, paired with mud-stained boots. His rucksack looked close to bursting, sharp angles poking through the overstretched fabric.

You decided not to speak for your safety. He could swing that bag on you, and you’ll die without finishing your novel.

The tips of his pointed ears peeked through his dark locks. You nearly fell flat on your face.

I’m dead.

Your hands cupped your face. Something hot seared through your cheeks. Tears began to gather in the corners of your eyes.

I’m so dead. If he swings that rucksack like that old lady did, I’m done for!

Oblivious, your arms pressed against the wooden floor. One of your hands ran through your hair, revealing the regret of poor life choices and a torrent of sweat expected of a criminal.

Even without that, he’s fae. Fae! I’m so fucking dead!

“Father—” you looked up to see Silver tilt his head back to talk to his dad— “this nice person helped me with my knee in the forest. Can they stay?”

Cold sweat beaded on your temple. You tracked his sight, landing on Silver’s band-aids to you, who seemed about ready to prostrate before him.

If looks could kill, you’d be dead where you sat.

‘Father’ knelt to his son’s level, then he ruffled Silver’s hair. You try not to clutch your chest and hunch over, as if the cuteness aggression gave you a heart attack.

“Let me talk to our guest first, Silver. Could you stay in your room for now?”

The death knell rang in your head as soon as the child nodded. You watched him shuffle towards one of the cabin doors, as if you watched a traitor from the execution platform.

Once they heard the sound of a closing door, he sighed. Without another word, he tucked his rucksack onto the living room couch. His hands gripped the back of two chairs, wood rings glaring at you for disturbing their peace.

“Sit.”

He dragged one of the chairs across his. His mercy left you scrambling to shakily sit as he commanded.

Without Silver, that gentle smile never existed. The corners of his mouth curled into a sharp smile. His eyelids drooped, blood-red stare piercing through your soul.

Piercing, not peering. It felt as if he held a dagger to your throat.

“Now—” he sat on the other chair. His elbows found his knees. His chin rested atop intertwined fingers. You prepared yourself for either incarceration, or to be buried in the backyard.

“— thank you for taking care of Silver.”

“Wh-wha?”

You watched that smile grow soft. Although, the sharp edges of his mouth remained. Your fingers curled, nails digging into your palms.

You thought this was better than being subjected to magical horrors you’d write about, if you lived through it.

“Of course. I mean,” your fingers fiddled with each other, “I can’t leave him alone. A kid stuck in the forest isn’t exactly safe.”

He hummed. His gaze swept past your hair and your face, then it lingered on your fidgeting hands. You swore the sparkle in his eyes dimmed for a moment.

That glimpse of something disappeared in an instant. He smiled wider, cheeks gathering under his closed eyelids.

“Where are my manners? I’m Lilia Vanrouge.”

Blood-red peered through the small gap between eyelids. “And you are?”

You couldn’t help but sense that, if you gave your name, you’d be stuck here forever. He caught your hesitation in a heartbeat.

Lilia chuckled. “No worries. Giving your name won’t bind you to me.”

Other than those damned sparkles, glee twinkled in deep red. “Unless, you would like to?”

You stifled a groan. The fear gave way to embarrassment, pink faintly coloring your cheeks.

This is going to be disastrous, you thought to yourself. Lilia waited for your answer with that unwavering grin.

However, it had to be done. The Astral Express had practically groveled at her feet, and Herta couldn’t risk angering them. They were such a convenient tool, and if she wanted her experiments to go smoothly, she could not afford to neglect the maintenance of tools that made her world run.

Hence, she found herself cracking open one of the strangest mysteries that had fallen into her lap in several amber eras. A world looked upon by multiple aeons, only to be hidden from the cosmos for who-knew-how-long. How dare this inconvenience be fascinating. She couldn’t even be mad!

Her first attempt to crack the barrier of Amphoreus had been a minor success. With her data spirit technology, she’d managed to take a quick peek around and find traces of Stelle and Dan Heng. Then everything fell apart with the appearance of that non-organic lifeform, Lygus. Arrogant robot, assuming to know her well enough to manipulate her. His last threat had been that of a Lord Ravager. It was a calculated warning that would have been sufficient for most people.

But when ever had she been ‘most people’? Ha!

If only to cover her true motives, she’d pretended Lygus had won the argument and retreated with her tail between her legs. In truth, even a genius like her couldn’t be flippant of a Lord Ravager. However, the opposite side of that coin was that a Lord Ravager was able to be defeated or avoided. A true deterrent, it was not. Simply a puzzle that needed to be carefully cracked. A bomb that needed to be strategically disarmed. And who better to ask about bombs than Screwy?

Other than Chadwick, but that was neither here nor there.

Hence she brought Screwllem into the fold, and the two dove into their research head on. Yet, that research… she was not liking where this was going. Noting the characteristics observed from Amphoreus, Screwllem hypothesized that this world was tied to an Emperor’s Scepter.

Aeons above, who would have guessed the thing that slipped through the cracks would grow to become a tragedy ready to explode all over the cosmos? As much as she wanted to dive headlong into this mystery, tackling that vile little piece of equipment, she agreed with Screwllem that their priority was to remove the Nameless asap then solve this mystery before it was too late to stop.

Seeing as her first attempt to enter Amphoreus was even more limiting than she’d originally thought, she and Screwllem organized a second attempt at entry. With Screwllem’s previous research into the innerworkings of another rogue scepter, Herta felt quite confident this entry would be far more successful. After imputing all previous data from her first entry, from Screwllem’s research, and the launch data from the Astral Express itself, Herta and Screwllem projected themselves into Amphoreus.

Herta looked at her surroundings, at a crushed temple barely lit by a couple torches. “What. A. wreck!” she cried, kicking at the rubble by her feet. It didn’t move, of course. She was just a ball of data here with the mission of collecting further data points to more accurately pinpoint the two missing Nameless. “Can’t these people clean up a bit? They have geniuses walking among them.”

“Herta.”

“Yes, Screw—”

She turned around. There, plain as day under the night sky, was the Astral Express car perched on a pile of rubble.

“Well, good to know they had a smooth landing,” she sarcastically drawled.

“Mermoria is often strongest when tied to an intense emotion, and strong emotions often accompany large events,” Screwllem spoke. “Given the appearance of a most unfortunate landing, it is highly probable that the two nameless left imprints within this area we can collect data from.”

“I already see some,” Herta mentioned, pointing out faintest of blue-purple threads trailing out of the train car. Following that smoke-like ribbons that glimmered with chintzy pieces of mermoria, she could see clouds of similarly blue-purple crystal shards that dancing in the air. Gather enough of those shards together, and memories would play out like holographic projections.

With a wave of her hand, Herta managed to interact with them. Mermoria, after all, was simply data, same as she. And data could always affect each other.

The shards collected, forming into a figure of Dan Heng carrying a lifeless Stelle in his arms.

“Their crash was not without catastrophic consequences,” Screwllem said.

Herta’s lips pursed as she watched the memory. “It’s a good thing I saw them alive at another point. That Twerp isn’t allowed to die on me. She’s become too valuable to my research.”

The scene faded, but the mermoria was still strong in this area, dancing like little crystals around. The whisp of a ribbon trailing off form this memory to the next.

“Ugh, why does Fuli have to leave such disasters everywhere,” Herta whined. “You’d think someone who likes recording memories would be more organized.”

“From another perspective,” Screwllem countered. “Their system is organized via location rather than person.”

“It’s inefficient.”

“What is efficient to one might be contrary to another. Fuli’s followers live on an alternate plane of reality, and it is possible that the differing dimensions factor into the efficiency of their organizational system. Logic: the Garden of Recollections system might be more organized due to their altered existence.”

“Yet another reason I hate the Garden of Recollection. Cheaters.” She stirred the next closest ball of mermoria together, hoping to come up with another memory imprint.

This time, Stelle was alive and well, hovering over Dan Heng as she leaned over…

They were kissing.

“Uck!” Herta swished a hand through it, halting the scene. “I did not need to see that. If this is how the Astral Express starts its missions, it’s a wonder you get anything done!” Her sharp eyes scanned the scene, noting the mermoria ribbon leading away from the scene. “Let’s go, Screwy. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and limited time.”

“From my calculations,” Screwllem spoke, marching quickly after Herta. “I believe we have anywhere from ten to thirty minutes before a breech in the firewall is detected.”

“Wow, all the time in the world.”

They hurried along a path, finding a few more mermoria pockets to gather and collect. One depicted a character suddenly disarming both Stelle and Dan Heng. Well, well! He’d be a fascinating specimen for the simulated universe with that speed and agility. Then entered a second character, one much smaller, who was able to manipulate time.

“How interesting,” Herta commented, grin growing as she hustled onwards. They had much ground to cover, still. “Powers granted by gods? I wonder if they corelate to the aeons that gazed upon this place.”

“It is possible the scepter is only emulating those gazes,” Screwllem countered. “With as limited research as we have and as unpredictable this place has become due to the addition of an Emperor’s Scepter, I believe it best to take all previously known data as speculative.”

“A fair point. The scepters were designed to simulate and aid in the destruction of organic life. Could it be they wished to calculate what the direct contribution of aeons could add to that equation?”

“It is too early to form a solid hypothesis on the matter.”

They kept traveling along the marked mermoria trail, going for a while before finding yet another solid mermoria point.

“Huh. Strange,” Herta murmured, noting the mermoria cluster looked more like a log than a ball. “What’s this mess?”

“Judging on the shape this mermoria pile had taken on, it is likely the Nameless were traveling while this memory took place.”

“Again, this is why I hate memokeepers.” Herta stuck her hand into the middle of the line of mermoria, calling it together.

 The words of this memory, though strong, were distorted a bit, forcing Herta to keep swishing the crystals together until she got a clear enough picture.

“… cover story include?” Dan Heng spoke.

Ah! Finally.

“Let’s start with our first kiss.” Stelle answered. “You said we’d talk later. It’s later.”

“Again?” Herta flatly complained. “What is it with you two and smashing faces?”

She didn’t wait for Screwllem’s input before moving down the line and trying again. Maybe she’d get some actually useful information.

“…details of our marriage.”

“On your homeworld, with their customs,” Stelle swiftly answered. “But… ugh, the sky secret again. Um… your hometown.”

Dan Heng nodded. “So that if there’s any significant item that signifies a marriage here, we can simply say it’s different where we came from?”

“Yeah, I guess that, too.”

“Marriage?” Herta cried. “Since when did that little Twerp get married?”

“I cannot recall of any conversation or profile data indicating such,” Screwllem answered.

Herta scoffed. “We all would have known. Even if that twerp didn’t tell me, she would have told Asta. And Asta wouldn’t have been able to shut up about it.”

“I believe there was a more important piece of information demanding our attention. What is this ‘sky secret’ they mention?”

“Good catch, Screwy. In context, it seems they are not able to talk about Dan Heng’s homeworld.”

“Is it possible that any information beyond the sky is taboo here?”

“It would make sense for a hermetically sealed world to want to stay that way.”

They kept going, Herta dragging her hand through the mermoria at various points as they went. Once again, that speedy fighter from before appeared.

“She clearly trusts you a lot, too,” the newcomer mentioned.

“I’d hope so, considering we’re married.”

Again, when did that Twerp get married? It was actually irritating to know her knowledge on her favorite test subject had holes. Hopefully, the twerp wasn’t planning on retiring or whatever now that she was hitched. There seemed to be a strange correlation between marriage, pregnancy, and turn-over rates among researchers at this station. And do you know how inconvenient it was to have to replace people?

Not that she did it, but any flux within the pace of research did not go unnoticed.

“Huh. Sorry, I didn’t realize. But then again, I guess I’m not the romance titan.” The fighter chuckled nervously.

“The previous mermoria character also mentioned a titan,” Screwllem remarked, watching the mermoria crystals scatter about as the memory disipated. “Could these titans be the equivalent of aeons in this experimental world?”

“What powers could a romance titan hold?” Herta questioned. “Did Idrila see fit to cast her gaze upon this world?”

“Hypothesis: each of these mentioned titans correlates to an aeon. The Emperor’s Scepter could include the direct intervention of each aeon in their calculations, much like your Simulated Universe.”

“Now that’s an interesting hypothesis, Screwy. If we had the time, I’d help you test that theory. But, better question: any way we can speed up travel a bit? I worry this is going to take longer than we have.”

Screwllem pulled up a screen before him, typing in something Herta couldn’t see nor cared to pay much attention to. Screwy knew what he was doing.

In the blink of an eye, the setting changed. Darkness gave way to a red sky, and the calm yet empty pathways were a stark contrast to the current chaos and screaming.

Herta ignored the people who were running past them in droves. They couldn’t see her, anyway, and even if they could, she doubted they much cared than anything other than escaping the apocalypse. “Burning skies, shattered statues, corpses strewn everywhere... What a mess. If this is what the inside of ‘Amphoreus’ looks like, it's truly shocking. I wonder how the Nameless were able to survive in this disaster.”

“Considering the state of chaos amongst the people, it appears this situation was altered shortly prior to our arrival.”

“It wasn’t that long since I last arrived.”

“Counterpoint: the Emperor’s Scepter alters the flow of time itself. Therefore, what could have been a short time to you might have been different for Amphoreus.”

“That is true. If the flow of time is different, I wonder what the conversion rate is. If it’s too fast, we may be too late to save the Nameless.”

“We should still try to locate their mermoria,” Screwllem stated. “If this is the state of Amphoreus as of present, then it is imperative to extricate the Nameless.”

“No kidding. We needed to pull them yesterday. It’s not the first time I wish science could be rushed.” Herta reached for the closest pile of mermoria, connected to the trail they were following. With a swish of her hand, she called the shards together, the crystals forming into the missing duo.

“Are you sure?” Stelle asked.

“I don’t like it,” Dan Heng confessed. “But this is for the best. Phainon and Mydei need all the help they can get so they can deal the final blow once you return.”

“Well, it seems they were fighting something,” Herta mentioned. “But with the state of the world, can’t say I’m surprised. At least the twerp would be in fighting shape when they retur—"

… they were kissing again.

Was that really necessary?

Thankfully, they kept it brief. Herta would have waved them away had it gone on any longer. Instead, she watched as they marched off to their awaiting group who looked grave, as though preparing for facing a battle. The next instant, a portal appeared, summoned by the tiny red head, and the nameless plus one of the other fighters disappeared through it.

“Teleportation? Oh! How fascinating.”

“Could that power also be tied to a titan.”

“Which one?” Herta questioned, her eyes practically sparkling with curiosity. “If we had the time, I’d go scavenging the city for an answer. A shame.”

The trail of mermoria here was much stronger than where they’d previously landed. Herta had a good feeling as they followed the trail deeper into the heart of the chaotic city, and that good feeling was confirmed when the trail proceeded to spread out in every which direction.

“Alright, Screwy. Question: How do you untangle a trail that looks like a ball of yarn that Ruan Mei’s creations batted across the space station?”

“A ball of yarn has a beginning and end. One would start at one end and patiently unravel it until they reached the other.”

“And when the hourglass is ticking?”

“Logic: the strength and pattern of mermoria trails indicate the Nameless inhabited this city for an indiscriminate amount of time. Conclusion: the strongest mermoria trails will lead to their place of residence.”

“Sound reasoning. Let’s try to find the strongest trails, shall we?”

Seeing as they didn’t know how much time they had left in this space, they had to hurry. They managed to weave their way through the markets, ones emptying out as people ran for whatever form of safety they could find. By the time they found a teleporter to a higher ground, the city was practically a ghost town behind them.

Upon taking the transporter, Herta decided to start waving her hand through the streams of crystals, seeing if one strong memory would form and give them yet another data point. Considering the strength of mermoria trails here, the Nameless had walked this way countless times. Surely there was one memory that would stick out over the others.

And what do you know, Herta eventually conjured one. Either it had to be recent or it was an impactful memory.

“Dan Heng!” Stelle ran up the path to Dan Heng. He turned around, catching her in his arms. “I’m glad you’re—”

And then he tilted her back and kissed—

“Good Nous, do you two do anything else?” Herta hissed.

“I cannot say I understand the emotional component behind romantic relationships. However, I acknowledge this is common behavior among couples.”

“It doesn’t have to be this common.”

“You’re okay,” he spoke, a statement that demanded confirmation.

“Y-yeah, I’m…” She released a breath. “Well, I’m fine after that. Wow.”

An old warrior Herta didn’t recognize cleared their throat. “Forgive my interruptions, but… did you get the message?”

The warrior from before that Herta wanted for her Simulated Universe project looked very distressed. “What do you mean Lady Aglaea is deceased?”

Herta knew they only had limited time, but she stopped to listen to the old warrior ramble about how this woman, this “Lady Aglaea” was pushed off the top of the bathhouse. Dan Heng asked how communications were still up, to which the two other warriors mentioned this lady’s powers still functioned somewhat, her remaining connections keeping Amphoreus running, although it was now on a strict time clock.

“So, without this woman, everything fell apart at the seams,” Herta muttered, watching the memory fade away. “Fascinating. If her powers correlate to an aeon, then which one would she be? How do they work if this entire world seems to demand she stay alive.”

“Considering this memory came up as opposed to others,” Screwllem speculated. “It is possible this is very recent. Hypothesis: the death of this ‘Lady Aglaea’ is in direct connection to the current state of this world.”

“I’d believe that.”

Herta and Screwllem pressed further into the large bathhouse. Threads were everywhere here, so they followed whichever direction seemed to hold the most threads at any given time. Then came a spot where the thread split off into two directions, one heading up to a bath elevated above the large one here and another trailing deeper into the palace.

“Do you think they stayed up there?” Herta asked, looking up toward the second floor.

“From my perspective, the second level houses a tier of baths above the rest. My assumption would be that space houses and provides for leaders or important dignitaries.”

“Good point. Doubt our Nameless would earn such a title. Then again, they’ve surprised me before.”

“Calculation: though there are more mermoria crystals in the path leading toward the second floor, there are more threads leading the opposite direction.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

The duo marched further into the bathhouse, weaving through hallways and various outdoor spaces until—

Aha! Jackpot. “Found you.”

That door held countless threads. This was undoubtedly their lodgings. Herta pushed open the door, finding mermoria everywhere. The bath, the bed, the balcony. The threads and crystals of mermoria clogged the entire space.

She held her hand in the air, ready to stir together some memories before she hesitated. The last mermoria she’d scrapped together had been a kiss, declaration of marriage, a kiss, and a kiss.

And she was about to stir up memories within the confines of their private bed chambers.

“If I see you two doing the horizontal tango,” she grit out. “I am leaving you two to your doom.”

“Regardless of what is conjured,” Screwlem spoke. “We cannot abandon them. Furthermore, it is us trespassing into their private rooms. We are the intruders and therefore cannot be upset by the information we stumble upon.”

“My point still stands, Screwy! I’m not the one who can conveniently erase pieces from her memory!”

With a wave of her hand, a memory came together, revealing the duo standing in what suspiciously like wedding attire.

“Cerces tree,” Stelle commented, toying with the capelet that draped down from one of Dan Heng’s shoulders.

“Aglaea seemed very fixated on that metaphor.”

“It’s kinda growing on me.”

“Stelle, may I see my bride?”

Her hand fell away as she took several steps back. “Yes. What do you think?”

“I think your ass would look better in the simulated universe than it does in that dress,” Herta snipped, dismissing the memory in a wave. “When I get you two back, you’ll be my guinea pigs for life. My life; not yours.”

“Madam Herta, you cannot expect indentured servitude over the equivalent of multiple amber eras in exchange for this. The trade is not equal.”

“How about one amber era?”

“Considering the numerous dangerous curios the Astral Express has obtained and transported for you, as well as the intensity of several simulated universe runs, I would once again argue the trade is unequal.”

“Half of one?”

Screwllem did not answer, yet she could feel his disappointment.

Oh, for Nous’ sake. How could a non-organic lifeform silently express disappointment so clearly without facial features? That was just infuriating.

Ignoring him, Herta marched to the balcony, looking out upon Amphoreus. From here, she could see that the landscape had already changed from when they’d first arrived to this city. The evacuations must be nearing completion, at least for the city, yet she could still hear the cries that made their way down the mountain as the red sky grew more oppressive. It was as though this world was collapsing in on itself.

“Herta,” Screwllem said, stepping up to her side. “I believe we are out of time. As much as I’d love to indulge your curiosity for more—”

“I understand,” she said. “The Nameless are our ultimate objective, but even after we extract them—that is, if we can—we cannot leave this place alone.”

Their data began to fizzle out, and when Herta once again opened her eyes, she was back on the space station. “Were you able to track our data, Screwy?”

Screwllem tapped away at his screen. “Yes. My calculations were able to collect the mermoria data points and trace a path between them Furthermore, it was able to accurately lock on to the home base of the Nameless.”

“Good. We can use those points as anchors to return, correct?”

“If need be, yes. With the collection of these data points, our transportation of our data entries will be increasingly accurate.”

“Good to know. Since we’ve all but confirmed your hypothesis of Amphoreus being an Emperor’s Scepter, I have no doubt we’ll need to transport ourselves back yet again. After we get those Nameless off, of course.”

Screwllem gave her a nod. “We should report to the others. They are eagerly awaiting information on their companions.”

~~~

With Sunday marching at his side, Welt walked back to the Astral Express, his mind reeling with the information he’d learned from Madam Herta and Screwllem. First and foremost, Stelle and Dan Heng had landed safely on Amphoreus, and there was evidence that the duo were still okay for the time being. That above all else was the most important piece of information he’d gotten from that whole conversation.

However, that’s not to say it was the one that occupied the majority of his thoughts.

“By the way, when did the gray twerp and gloomy guard get married? I know everything about her, but that is new information to me.”

The bomb Herta had dropped on him had confused him only momentarily. “Ah, they must be pretending. Considering they lost signal with us, they might have decided to put on a united front for the time being. It’s not the first time such a protective measure has been employed by the Nameless while exploring unknown territory.”

Herta had not looked convinced. “They sure did a whole lot of kissing for a pretend couple.”

That had thrown Welt through a loop. Even if pretending to be a married couple, a public display of a kiss was hardly necessary, nevermind multiple displays. There were many other ways to show closeness, and Welt had no doubt Stelle would make up for where Dan Heng lacked. They were close enough to present a convincing act as a married couple if they put their minds to it. Yet, hearing that not all their displays had been made in public settings indicated there was more to their story than a pretend marriage, which confused Welt even further.

It wasn’t an understatement to say Welt walked back to the Express in a bit of a daze. Sunday seemed to be just as overwhelmed, but Welt doubted it was simply from the confusing information regarding the nature of Stelle and Dan Heng’s relationship. The news of an Emperor’s Scepter and a Lord Ravager were extremely concerning.

Welt found it regrettable that Sunday had only just joined the Nameless crew, only for this overwhelming incident to occur. This was far from how he wished to welcome Sunday into the group, yet if he looked back upon the track records of how the other trio joined their ranks, Welt couldn’t say they had a smooth transition, either. Maybe a chaotic entry was just par for the course.

When they arrived back at the train, Welt headed toward March’s room. Himeko rarely left March’s side anymore, so if he wanted to inform her of what he’d learned, that was where he’d go. It would have the added benefit of telling March, who may not be conscious but was still part of the crew. It felt wrong to leave her out, even considering her current state.

“You don’t have to join me,” Welt told Sunday. “If you want to lay down for a while, feel free. That was a lot of information to take in. I don’t mind relaying it to Himeko.”

“If you don’t mind,” Sunday answered. “I think I’d prefer to join you. I’m still… a bit confused.”

“What on?” Welt asked, walking through the halls.

“Um… most things. I’ve lived in the realm of Penacony for so long that most of this is new to me. I’m still trying to rationalize it. Furthermore, I still worry about Stelle and Dan Heng. If anything, I fear for them more after learning what Madam Herta and Master Screwllem had to say. The memories they relayed were also… confusing.”

“Yes, I have to say they are one of the most confusing parts of that entire conversation.” Welt knocked on March’s door before cautiously peeking in.

Himeko turned in her seat to meet his gaze. Her smile didn’t erase even a trace of the weariness from her countenance. “You’re back.”

“Yes,” Welt said, entering the room. Sunday trailed after, politely shutting the door behind them. “Has there been any improvement?”

Himeko shook her head. “I can’t say so. If anything… she’s grown worse.”

Welt looked over March, noting the way her six-phased ice had almost blanketed her entire body. Icicles even protruded from her bed like fortress guards. He reached out, slowly stroking her hair. It was times like this he understood the pain of parents seeing their children in a hospital bed. This broke his heart, seeing March in this state once again.

“Did you learn anything hopeful?” Himeko asked.

Welt straightened, turning to Himeko and Sunday. “I’ll put this in as basic terms as possible: Amphoreous is likely created by an escaped Emperor Rupert’s Scepter—a rogue genius’s dangerous creation—” He explained to Sunday specifically, “That had escaped notice. Herta speculates this scepter is handled by an intelletron by the name of Lygus, and this character likely controls the fate of Amphoreus. As of their last visit, the world seems to be in an apocalyptic state. This is not a surprise seeing as the scepters are used to simulate or aid in the destruction of the human race. Right now, the current situation stands thusly: Madam Herta and Screwllem must find a way to break the test tube known as Amphreous’s simulation while also not releasing the Lord Ravager that is contained within. Whether that Lord Ravager was contained by the scepter or created because of the scepter’s simulations have yet to be determined. Either way, it’s a precarious situation.”

Himeko frowned. “What of Stelle and Dan Heng?”

“Madam Herta has found traces of Stelle and Dan Heng on Amphoreus. They have landed successfully, and they seem to have found a place to settle and made tentative allies.”

“That’s at least a little relief.”

“Yes, well… there’s…” He cleared his throat. “A bit more to the story than that.”

Himeko quirked a brow. “Oh?”

“Do you remember, back before we had the other three aboard, when we were trapped in the wilderness without connection to the outside world?”

For a moment, Himeko mulled Welt’s words over before recognition sparked in her gaze. “I recall that. One of our more adventurous missions. You had to pretend to be my husband to keep the village elder from wanting to take me as a concubine.”

Welt sighed, this story already making him feel exhausted all over again. “To this day, I worry it was hardly believable. I am much older than you.”

Himeko waved a hand of dismissal. “The village elder was even older than you. What you believed to be doubt was most certainly jealousy. I must say, it was quite fun playing it up.”

Warmth bloomed in his cheeks, recalling the flirtatious way Himeko had publicly treated him during their stay. “At least you covered my poor acting skills.”

“From my perspective, you played the part of cautious and careful husband to a tee. I promise, you were the envy of every man in that village. And I appreciate you sacrificing your comfort for me. It showed, but it was to our advantage.” With that, she shot him a wink.

He simply shook his head. He was thankful they’d never needed to employ that tactic again.

“Anyway, if you’re bringing that story up, my guess is Dan Heng and Stelle took a page out of our book? Actually, I can’t say I’m surprised. It would be a wise idea, given the circumstances.”

“Of that, I agree. However, Herta found multiple memories that seemed to suggest that they… were not pretending.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sunday, for the first time, interjected, “From what Madam Herta and Master Screwllem described, Dan Heng and Stelle were a real couple. I never suspected they were in such a relationship, but it seems neither of you suspected that, as well?”

Welt certainly hadn’t. From what he saw, Dan Heng treated Stelle and March as a protective older brother. Vice versa, March and Stelle were overly affectionate younger sisters. They were an almost inseparable trio, and at a glance, some might suspect the trio knew each other for far longer than they had.

“I can’t say I never suspected it,” Himeko answered. “Stelle was rather obvious. It was Dan Heng I could never get a read on.”

“Really?” Welt questioned, surprised. “That’s news to me.”

With a sigh, Himeko quietly muttered, “men.” She sat up straight. “I do have to wonder what sort of memories Herta saw to suspect such a thing.”

Welt chose to ignore her snide remark. “Well, kissing in private is rather convincing evidence, given what I know about both of them.”

Himeko’s eyes took on a sparkle that slightly camouflaged the bags under her eyes. The woman needed some sleep, and Welt had every intention of sending her out to get some as soon as he could slip it into the conversation. “They are definitely together, then. Oh, March will be sad she missed this.”

Speaking of which. “Himeko, why don’t I watch over March? You should go get some sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“Correction: you need to get some sleep.”

She sighed, her shoulders instantly sagging under the weight of the world upon them. “That obvious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“But you two are certainly tired.”

“I would be happy to watch,” Sunday offered. “I am not the one who has been playing nurse nor the one reasoning with geniuses. I’ve been a spectator thus far. Please, allow me to assist.”

Welt and Himeko shared a glance. Although Himeko clearly wanted to protest, Welt shot her a warning look.

Glancing away, Himeko relented. “Alright. I think that would be wise. Thank you, Sunday.”

“Of course. Get some rest, both of you.”

“Thank you, Sunday,” Himeko said as she left the room.

Welt pat Sunday’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They left the room, shutting the door behind them. Although, they didn’t go far seeing as Himeko’s room was right next door.

Before she slipped into her room, Welt put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be fine. I have to believe it. We managed to pull her from her ice once. I’m sure if need be, we can do it again.”

The sigh that escaped Himeko was heavy with exhaustion. The way she crossed her arms in front of her made her appear small. The fact Himeko was usually so brimming with confidence made this action appear even more drastic. “It’s not just her.”

Welt pursed his lips to keep them from turning into a frown. “I know.”

“Would it be weird to say… I feel like we’re about to lose all our kids?”

“Only if it’s weird for me to admit I understand the sentiment a little too well.” Despite Dan Heng likely being older in years, Welt took pride in being regarded as the elder of the Express, and as such, he felt responsible for taking care of the others. And he knew that Himeko, being the one who brought the Express to life, the one who called everyone aboard and started them off on adventure, also felt personally responsible for every single person aboard the train. They may have pretended to be a married couple once before, and they joked about being parents more than once. But as of this moment, it wasn’t all just pretend.

“Get some rest,” he softly encouraged. “We’ll need it to keep fighting for ‘our kids’.”

And all because it had been advised that Hogwarts invested in an ‘expert on magical item maintenance’ after one too many parents complained that their child’s wand or broom had stopped working correctly. Apparently, they’d agreed that Hogwarts needed someone on-site to fix their issues right away. Enter Tadpol.

“My Thunderbolt XII won’t lift off the ground!”

Tadpol sighed as the student, a Third Year, slammed her broomstick on his desk with a huff. His little figures of the Chuddley Cannons Quidditch team (which usually waved their brooms around and wobbled their oversized heads when he spoke), rattled on their bases and glared at her.

Children these days, thought Tadpol, had absolutely no regard for their property and expected all magical things, especially broomsticks, to work to perfection all the time. It wasn’t the same as in Tadpol’s day, when kids had Nimbus 2001s or first-model Firebolts and knew how to look after them.

He didn’t even need to examine this one closely to figure out what was wrong. There was a clear fracture running right through the centre of the handle, and Tadpol had a sneaking suspicion that the student had broken it and then tried to repair it with a clumsy spell. It might have worked, had this been an old model like the Cleansweep, but brooms nowadays were just far too complicated for a single Reparo spell.

And especially not one done by an insufferable, inexperienced Third Year.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take it apart and rearrange the internal damage,” he told the student tiredly. “Perhaps even order a new core.”

The student stared at him. “Can’t - can’t you just fix it?”

Tadpol glared at her. “That’s what I am going to do, yes,” he said with carefully practised patience, “But it may take some time. I do have a line-up already.” He gestured towards an umbrella stand by this desk, which was filled with broken, battered brooms. A couple had magical chains wrapped around their handles to prevent them from flying around the room.

“Well,” said the student bossily, “I need mine today for Quidditch practice. I’m the Ravenclaw Keeper, you know.”

“I understand that,” said Tadpol slowly, “But I cannot give you special treatment because you happen to be on the Quidditch team. Even if I were to begin repairing it now, it could take a long while before the broom trusts you again.” That was another mistake, he silently added to himself. Semi-sentient brooms. They were absolute buggers when you tried to repair them. The student went red. “W-Well,” she stammered shrilly, “I need it fixed today!”

Tadpol closed his eyes. He counted to three. Then he opened them and gave the student a well-versed smile.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a false brightness. “I will send a note to your Dormitory when it’s ready.”

She huffed again. “Good.” She turned on her heel and stalked out, leaving Tadpol with a battered Thunderbolt XII and a steadily growing headache. As he picked it up and discarded it in the bin with the others, Tadpol realised that he’d forgotten to record the student’s name.

“Accio,” he said tiredly and a coffee mug drifted into his waiting hand. It turned out to be empty.

˖·˳☾༺✶༻☽˳·˖

That was pretty much how Tadpol’s days went.

Can you repair this for me, please?

“Have you tried using Reparo?”

My Rememberall’s been red for days, I think it’s broken…

“Your tie is undone every time I see you.”

I’m afraid our Probity Probe is having a few issues, Mr Tadpol.

“Have you tried updating the Probity Charms, Professor?”

My broom’s going so slow, I think someone’s tampered with it!

“You’ve tried to cast an Acceleration Charm seventeen times when it wasn’t even in flight! You’ve clogged up it’s memory!”

And to make it worse, he was perhaps the most underappreciated staff member in the school. Oh sure, all the Professors liked him, but that was because he could fix all the new-fangled gadgets that the Ministry had decided had to be mandatory now in Witchcraft education.

He knew most of them could figure it out on their own - they were Professors after all - but it was just easier to send the items to him. And they could get rid of their worst students for half an hour while they waited for him to repair it.

And don’t even get him started on the students.

Tadpol yelped as the Sneakoscope he was currently working on spurted green sparks, almost singeing his fingers. The figurines on his desk grinned with silent amusement.

A paper crane swooped in through his open door and he only just managed to catch it before it plummeted into his little boiler-shaped fireplace. It unfolded in his hands and he suppressed a groan as he read it.

Apparently, the Defence Against the Dark Arts class was having some trouble with its Foe-Glass. Tadpol crumbled the paper, threw it into the fireplace and swept out of his office.

He’d told the Professor that she’d need to wipe the dust off of them only yesterday.

˖·˳☾༺✶༻☽˳·˖

Tadpol’s door slammed open with a bang. He jumped then cursed (not literally) as the Pheonix feathers he’d been trying to delicately insert back into a student’s broken wand blew out of his hands with the sudden gust.

He snapped.

“I’ve had quite enough of this!” Tadpol roared, slamming his hands on his desk in a fury. “If it’s cracked, use Reparo, if it’s out of focus, give it a dust and if it’s that cursed Remberball, Finwick, then that tie had better be done up properly-”

He stopped. Standing in the doorway, their eyes wide, were the last three students he had expected. Albus and Lily Potter and Scorpious Malfoy were staring at him as if he’d grown three heads and turned into a Threshal. Clasped in Albus’ hands was a crumpled old piece of parchment, which looked far too old and stained to be his Charms homework.

Slowly, Tadpol sank back into his chair. He cleared his throat.

“Ah, my apologies,” he began awkwardly. “I’m afraid you may have caught me at a bad time.” He suddenly remembered the Pheonix feathers, which were now scattered on the floor by his feet. He beckoned the students to come in as he hastily accioed the offending feathers into his hand.

“W-We have a problem, Professor Tadpol,” Lily began, shifting her feet nervously.

Tadpol relaxed marginally. He quite liked the Potters and the Malfoy boy, although that didn’t really have anything to do with the whole ‘saving the Wizarding World’ bit. Ever since he’d been instated as the ‘Wandie’, the Potter children had always called him Professor. And, well, he wasn’t going to be the one to correct them.

“What can I help you with?”

Without a word, Albus placed the parchment on his desk and gingerly rolled it out to its full length. It was blank. Tadpol stared at them for a moment, more than a little confused, until his brain kicked back into gear. Large, old parchment that seemed blank. Three guilty-looking students. In his office for Magical Items Maintenance.

He shot to his feet with a cry. “You - is this -?”

“We mayyyy be in a bit of trouble,” Albus admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“Um, understatement of the century, much?” Scorpius fired back, looking slightly panicked.

“How - how did you even get this?” Tadpol demanded, examining the map desperately for damage. Because that’s what this blank parchment was. A map. A very, very, very important map.

“We just wanted a look!” Lily cried. “And it was made by our grandfather and given to the school by our father, so we should be entitled to a peek! But, uh…”

“It’s not working,” explained Albus anxiously. “The magical words you’re supposed to say to make everything appear. They aren’t working. The map’s just… blank.”

“We tried everything!” Scorpius added. “Charms, Enchantments, saying the words this way and that way, with a falsetto and a baritone-”

Tadpol stopped listening. He was too busy taking in this chance. HIS chance. A chance to do something more than sit in an office working with stupid students and condescending Professors all day. If there was something wrong, seriously wrong, with the Maurader’s Map and he was the one to fix it, well, he could be up for a promotion! A commendation! Maybe the Headmaster would say something like ‘Wow Gibbon Tadpol, you are the smartest person I know!’ and let him move out of this tiny little space into an actual office, with room for all his figurines and moving posters and-

“-So we tried, over and over again, ‘I solemnly swear I’m up to no good!’ and it just won’t WORK-”

Tadpol stopped. The parchment drooped in his hands and his heart slowed down a bit as he processed what Scorpius had just said. No. Surely not. Surely, he’d heard the boy wrong.

He had to check. “What did you say?”

Scorpius looked taken aback. “I-I said, ‘it just won’t work-’”

“No, before that. What words were you using to activate the map?”

“Uh… I solemnly swear I’m up to no good?”

Tadpol’s excitement tapered off and he felt his spirits sink. That chance slipped out of his reach like water through his fingers. And he thought he’d gotten a break.

“Young Malfoy,” he said, returning to his well-practised, patient, Wandie manner. “The incarnation is not ‘I’m’. It’s ‘I am’.”

The students’ mouths fell open.