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Chapter Text

It was nice to emerge victorious.

The Astral Express sent over leverage for the IPC using the transmitter Aventurine had given the Trailblazer in the beginning. It included a recorded confession from the Dreammaster and Sunday.

This condemning evidence would easily win Penacony for the IPC. A confession to following Order… that certainly explained why Sunday’s mind-controlling curse of Harmony had been so oppressive.

The Trailblazer seemed rather soft on Sunday, if his retelling of what happened was any indication. “Sure, I do kinda want to hit him with a train in the face again,” Caelus said inexplicably, “but he genuinely wanted to save the world and protect his sister.”

“I get the feeling you’re about to ask the IPC for clemency,” Aventurine said dryly.

“I’m asking you, you’re the one who insisted upon becoming friends.”

“The death sentence can be avoided,” Aventurine said, because he doubted the IPC cared enough either way. “Other than that, I can make no promises.”

Caelus looked at Aventurine, momentarily shedding his unserious mask. “I want you to convince him that nothing will happen to Robin. As for his fate, that’s up to you.”

Aventurine didn’t receive any intel that Robin and the Astral Express had spent time together. It seemed like they’d gotten the chance after the false death.

“You make friends everywhere you go, friend.” Obviously the Astral Express would be displeased if Aventurine threatened Robin. More importantly, their walking Stellaron would be upset. He sighed a little and smiled. “Why didn’t Robin ask for his safety?”

“That’s not what Sunday would want,” Caelus said ruefully.

“Sounds like you all became closely acquainted,” Aventurine surmised.

Caelus shrugged. “That’s what a few hours of interactive theater will do to you.”

Were all Nameless so odd, or was Mr. Stellaron just unique?

According to Topaz, the Bloodhound Family was holding Sunday captive. Aventurine decided to visit the Halovian before the inevitably rigged trial and judgment.

Before, getting an audience with Sunday had been painfully expensive. Thanks to Topaz and Jade’s ministrations behind the scenes, as well as the coverup by the Family, Aventurine could move easily in Penacony despite almost destroying the dreamscape.

The Bloodhound guard at the door didn’t look pleased to see Aventurine at all.

“Once the paperwork is done, I’ll be taking him out of your hands,” Aventurine said, glancing at her nametag. “Aren’t you glad, Coty?”

Coty looked at Aventurine warily. “Us Hounds do not gossip behind others’ backs, sir.”

“Not even about Sunday?” Aventurine raised his brows. “Didn’t he boss the other lineages around with his holier-than-thou halo?”

“I cannot comment on that, sir. You’d have to ask my captain.”

“The Oak Family has plenty of blood on their hands, Coty. There’s a case being built against him,” Aventurine said. “And his sister.”

He didn’t miss the way Coty’s lips twitched down when Aventurine mentioned Robin. “Miss Robin has nothing to do with it,” she said firmly. “She left Penacony long ago.”

Aventurine wasn’t surprised. That was the consensus, whether in the Reverie’s reality or in Dreamflux Reef. Robin had garnered goodwill around the cosmos. Even without the Astral Express’ suggestion, the IPC wouldn’t have bothered her, much.

Because of that, Aventurine did not understand why Robin wouldn’t have directly asked for her brother’s safety. Instead, she’d wanted the Trailblazer to ask Aventurine to tell her brother that she was safe.

He entered the room the Bloodhound Family had created for Sunday. It wasn’t as lavish as Dewlight Pavillion, but it was far better than any prison Aventurine had survived. It looked like a simple hotel suite with a bed and a circular seating area similar to the ones in the Reverie.

“Looks like they’re treating you well in your cage, Mr. Sunday. You even get a nice window view of what’s left of Penacony,” Aventurine said. He eyed the bottle on the table. It was open, but Sunday hadn’t taken more than a few sips. “Drinking your sorrows away with SoulGlad?”

Sunday barely turned around from where he stood at the window, back facing Aventurine as if he didn’t care. “Your gamble of death was a success. Congratulations.”

Aventurine laughed. “To the victor belong the spoils.” He took out an IPC patented scanner and checked for listening devices within the room. After finding nothing, he sat down in a chair across from Sunday. “Please, sit with me.”

“If you have come to negotiate, I am no longer a representative,” Sunday said. His voice took on a sardonic edge. “Mine is a case of ambition and insanity, ending in a fiery conspiracy.”

Aventurine guessed that was, indeed, the defense the Family was going to choose. “Oh, Sunday, this is as much a negotiation as what you allowed me.”

Sunday finally turned his face. His gaze rivaled the winters of Jarilo-VI, cold yellow and purple. “An execution before the farce of a trial? That’s hasty, even for the IPC.”

Aventurine smirked. “We can have another round of twenty questions plus seventeen hours of fun. I don’t mind.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t be hasty now. Your sister would sing sweetly for your freedom.”

Sunday tensed, then looked at Aventurine with such seething hatred that it felt like a supernova was shining at him. “What would your sister have thought about who you’ve become, Kakavasha?” he asked.

“I don’t understand you, Mr. Sunday,” Aventurine said lightly, voice saccharine. “You happen to know the type of person I am, so why would you still provoke me where it hurts? I have, after all, nothing to lose anymore.”

Sunday’s lips thinned. His hatred waned into regret. “I wished to prevent tragedies like Sigonia,” he said, voice quiet. He sat down across from Aventurine. “Aventurine, answer my questions and I will answer yours truthfully.”

Aventurine leaned back in his seat. “Just don’t ask about destroying the world again. It spoils the mood,” he said wryly.

Sunday’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing to that. “Robin and I once saved a Charmony Dove whose wings were injured. We nursed it back to health and let it fly free. It died soon after. Would you have given the bird the chance to fly again even if it risked a fatal fall? Or would you build it a cage to keep it safe?”

A Charmony Dove, just like the festival. Aventurine hummed, wondering how far Sunday’s streak of idealism truly went. “If the bird is anything like you, I would throw away the key.”

Sunday’s lips curved up. The smile didn’t reach his distant, icy gaze. “My sister almost died while touring in Kasbelina-VIII,” he said. Voice softer, but it resonated far more. “A bullet in the throat, yet she never admitted to it until the Dreammaster told me. She wanted to help the weak through the song of Harmony.”

Aventurine felt his smile freeze on his face. “You plan on asking two questions in a row? You play so unfair, Sunday,” he drawled.

Sunday inclined his head, but at least he waited to see if Aventurine was going to add a threat. Aventurine tsked and said, “Go ahead. Might as well finish your follow-up.”

“Would you have supported your sister in her dreams, even if they might have led to her demise?” Sunday asked. “Or would you create a perfect world where she, and others, would be safe from harm?”

Aventurine laughed. Tasted ashes in the rain, fire and flesh. “You’re fond of cruel rhetoric, aren’t you?”

“It is a sincere question.”

“I’d support her no matter what,” Aventurine said flatly, more truthful than he had been in years. “She would’ve died to see my dream come true. Of course I’d give her the chance to die for her own.”

Sunday flinched. This time when he stared at Aventurine, he seemed stricken. Awake, free from the dormancy of ideals. Aventurine thought he looked good like this.

“Ask your questions,” Sunday finally said.

Aventurine considered it.

When Sunday had believed his sister dead, had he wanted Aventurine to destroy Penacony for the sake of finding Robin’s killer?

How was it, to usurp an Aeon? How close had Sunday been to ascension? What did he think of Xipe now?

Did he know how lucky he was, to be able to lose and still keep his sister safe?

There was one question Aventurine no longer needed to ask, and that was why Robin asked for this favor above all. If Kakavasha’s sister could’ve done the same, she would’ve tricked him into believing she was off on an endless, exciting journey. And no matter how dark the nights, Kakavasha would’ve held onto that hope that his sister was doing well.

Since being given carte blanche regarding Penacony, Aventurine knew Diamond wouldn’t care what ultimately happened to the former head of the Oak Family. He could choose any ending. Bad ones would’ve been easy to spin, more profitable for the IPC.

Ah, it was a little irritating. Sunday probably mentioned his real name and his sister not to truly provoke him, but to prime them in Aventurine’s mind. That way, they’d be at the forefront as he listened to Sunday talk of how much he loved his sister. The play for sympathy was surprisingly effective, but only because Aventurine could tell his love for Robin wasn’t false.

“Want to join the IPC?” Aventurine asked, smirking.

“Join the IPC?” Sunday asked blankly.

“I am the leader of the Non-performing Asset Liquidation Team. You don’t need to worry about passing the interview,” Aventurine said. “See how nice I can be? I’m not even following up with mind control.”

Sunday frowned. “Why?”

“We never waste a potential asset. It’s impressive, your will to resurrect a dead Aeon. Plus, Ena and Qlipoth are said to have allied together before. Wouldn’t it be fitting for us to walk side by side?”

“It surprised me you walk on the path of Preservation, and not Destruction or Nihility,” Sunday said pointedly.

Aventurine smiled. “Come on now, Sunday,” he drawled, looking at Sunday through his lashes, “I thought we agreed to not talk about destroying the world again. You can’t be all take and no give.”

Sunday fell silent as if he were truly considering it, but Aventurine was sure he was just pretending to not be desperate for the chance of helping his sister out. “Why would I join you?”

“Don’t you want to see your Charmony Dove continue to sing and fly freely?” Aventurine said what he knew Sunday wanted to hear. He leaned forward, stretching a hand out. “Clockie’s ticking.”

“If you would say it again,” Sunday murmured. “Do you promise to keep Robin safe?”

At least this time, the Halovian’s special ability didn’t feel as oppressive and soulsucking. It still produced a nudge to speak the truth though. “If you join me, I won’t let the IPC hurt her.”

Sunday closed his eyes. When he opened them, he smiled. The smile reached his eyes for once, happier than anything Aventurine had seen from him before. The halo above his head gleamed with a hint of true radiance instead of the beautiful lie Sunday had been talented at selling.

“I accept.” Sunday clasped Aventurine’s hand.

“Remind me why they didn’t cut off your tongue?” Aventurine asked mildly.

“The other lineages know I’d be worth more to the IPC with my body whole, of course.” Despite this, Sunday’s relieved smile didn’t sway at all.

At least Sunday did know how lucky he was.

Aventurine laughed, his eyes gleaming shades of magenta and lilac. “Don’t bleed out on me then, Sunday,” he murmured. “Every drop of Halovian blood counts.”

“So, you're concealing this recruitment as a favor to both the Astral Express and Sunday, even though it lets you win Penacony for the IPC?” Ratio asked, frowning.

“Yes. Doctor, we’re no longer pretending to hate each other, so I’m not sure why you continue to sound so disapproving.”

“Who said I was pretending?” Ratio huffed, though he seemed amused. “I must say, gambling with an enemy that almost turned you into a mindless slave seems foolish, even for you.”

Aventurine shrugged. “Revenge isn’t on his mind.”

“But it is on yours.”

“Revenge?” Aventurine blinked, then blinked again. “The Katicans are long gone already, doctor. I thought you read my file.”

“Consider this a friendly reminder. I advise you to not use a Halovian as a weapon. These things don’t turn out well.”

It was friendly enough a reminder. At least it didn’t sound like Ratio was against the idea of Aventurine taking revenge in general. It would’ve been quite inconvenient if the head of the Intelligentsia Guild opposed him.

“You wound me. I am in shambles,” Aventurine said, though his interest was piqued and he was grateful for the tip. He’d look deeper into the history of Halovians. “Would you give me a bandaid for that, doctor?”

Ratio rolled his eyes. “Go drown in some SoulGlad. Now leave, gambler, I have more important matters to attend to.”

Aventurine laughed. “Catch you later,” he said, waving as he got kicked out of Ratio’s hotel room. If he wanted to bring Sunday with him off Penacony, there was much to prepare.

First, it was time to call Jade.

Chapter Text

“You want an Emanator to join your side?” Jade asked. “Coexistence with one who worships Order doesn’t seem your style.”

Aventurine wondered how accurate that title was. Emanators were directly granted power by THEM, but Ena the Order had been long absorbed. Sunday had used a Stellaron to bring back Ena. Did that make him an Emanator of a dead Aeon? Was he still close to Harmony?

Sunday had given Xipe of thousand faces one extra set of eyes—Ena’s. Dead eyes that Sunday had pried open just so he could force the Aeon to glimpse at him for a moment.

“Sure, why not,” Aventurine said. “He can be my personal assistant and get me my Monday coffee. Imagine that.”

“Mm. As long as he remains cooperative and profitable.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Someone like Sunday wouldn’t allow Aventurine to exist. That was what would make this so fun.

“What will you stake in return?”

“What I always bet, of course. My life.”

“Alright. You can bring Sunday to your meeting with Diamond. He will decide,” Jade said, sounding amused. “You know, Diamond won’t be pleased with what you’ve done with your Cornerstone.”

“Really? I think I’ll get a promotion.”

P46 was so close that Aventurine could taste it. It already wasn’t enough. This hollow hunger for victory was voracious, how could it be sated?

Still. He knew he would win, and win, and win.

It wouldn’t be so bad to gain a spectator who’d bet against him.

When Aventurine entered the dreamscape and arrived outside Dewlight Pavilion, Topaz was in the middle of a new area already. A few Family and IPC members looked at each other with distrust as Topaz conversed with a mustached man in a top hat.

Aventurine whistled, strolling over. “Topaz and Numby. You two work fast.”

The debt collector smirked at him, though her brows drew together slightly. She wasn’t as ecstatic to see him as Numby, who hopped up and down. Seemed like Trotters could enter dreams too? “It’s thanks to Sir Whittaker’s cooperation,” she said.

“Mr. Aventurine,” the man said. He was difficult to read, with a cold, piercing gaze and an equally steely voice.

“The orderly head of the Nightingale Family. It is my pleasure,” Aventurine said.

“I may value orderliness, but I humbly follow the Path of Harmony.” Whittaker didn’t let the insult slide. Humbly, though, was a funny word.

“So you do denounce the Oak Family, Sir Whittaker?” Aventurine asked. “I didn’t get the memo.”

“All of the Family denounces Sunday,” Whittaker said, correcting Aventurine. “He strayed from the Path of Harmony.” Despite the words of condemnation, he spoke emotionlessly.

Aventurine was sure the rest of the Strategic Investment Department would have control of Penacony by the end of the profits quarter. They’d definitely have their hands full if the other Family heads were like Sir Whittaker, though.

“I’m going to borrow my friend here,” Aventurine said. “See you around Dreamville, Sir Whittaker.”

“Mr. Aventurine.”

They walked to a private office in the new wing of the Dewlight Pavilion. The corridor was filled with Strategic Investment Department members who quickly gave Aventurine a wide berth, trying to avoid his attention.

“You walk like you’ve been here before,” Topaz said. “Did you get to thoroughly explore the dreamscape?”

“Something like that,” Aventurine said dryly. “I got to see it from a whole different perspective.”

They entered a room with tall ceilings. The windows let in light, but the ambience remained dark and moody.

“So, what’s up?” Topaz asked, locking the door. The key jumped out of her hand and scampered away into a corner of the room, causing Numby to make an alarmed noise. “Really?” Topaz groaned, shaking her head. “The memoria in Asdana… No wonder the higher ups want to harvest it.”

“The Memokeepers will have something to say about that.” Aventurine grinned and walked around the room. There were already bookcases lined with books—they seemed familiar. Topaz must’ve borrowed them from the Family. “By the way, I’ll be taking Sunday with me out of Penacony.”

“What?”

“He’s joining my team.” Aventurine looked up at a stone nightingale that blinked its judgmental eyes at him. “Ahh, Penacony has too many birds. Why not change the statues into something more pleasant, like Trotters?”

“Trotters are cute, but the Family has eyes everywhere. If you blind too many, they’ll start a revolt,” Topaz replied. “And wait, what do you mean you’re taking Sunday?”

“Revolts aren’t very harmonious,” Aventurine mused. He turned around and smiled. “I mean what I said. He agreed to join my Non-performing Assets Liquidation Team.”

Topaz peered at him. “He agreed,” she said slowly. “I’m impressed. Before he became the head representative of Penacony, the Family had been willing to strike deals with the IPC under the table. After? Not so much.”

Aventurine knew that already. Previous IPC agents had been turned by Sunday. Aventurine had wondered if it was Halovian powers, individual charm, or plain old bribery and threats.

“What can I say, looks like the victor gets to choose their reward.”

“And you chose the captive leader of the Oak Family… who agreed to go with you,” Topaz said.

“Yep.”

“I’ve seen weirder, I suppose.” Topaz shrugged and took Numby into her arms. “As long as you guys leave Penacony alone.”

“Why would I mess with Penacony? I’m not a sore winner.” Aventurine saw Topaz smile a little at his words. “Plus, Diamond did tell me to prioritize a peaceful resolution.”

“You and Sunday both almost destroyed the Planet of Festivities. Fighting the same Nameless. At the theater. Aventurine, I don’t think ‘peaceful resolution’ is in either of your databases.”

Aventurine’s lips twitched up. “I’ll get out of your hair soon. Topaz, thanks for trusting me. I appreciate your contribution.”

“Just don’t forget to mention it to Diamond.” Topaz patted Numby on the head, lips quirking up. “Maybe he’ll have you call me to promote me next time.”

“I look forward to it,” Aventurine said, smiling. He spread his hands out. “Now, let’s go over the details.”

After returning to the Reverie, Aventurine synthesized a simple meal for dinner. He showered and then sat back in his soft Reverie bed, scrolling through his tablet. Most of the IPC’s files on Halovians talked about how they expanded the influence of Harmony for the Family. He had long studied them before coming to Penacony. The Interastral Peace Guide was flattering but vague when it came to Halovians, and his high rank gave him no access to other details.

Halovians are a beautiful species blessed with halos and wings. They have the power of telepathy and use their powers for peace. Halovians serve the Family and Harmony on Penacony.

Every entry was much more flattering than what the IPC had on the Avgin. It was due to the support of an Aeon. Xipe had looked at the Planet of Festivities. Gaiathra Triclops had looked at the Avgins, and…

No. Aventurine supposed SHE had only looked at him.

Aventurine shook his head. He decided to request files on Halovians from the Intelligentsia Guild. Would Ratio let the request through? The doctor did seem like he’d tell Aventurine to look harder elsewhere, even though he’d been the one to dangle this lead in front of Aventurine in the first place...

Half an hour later, Ratio sent him a message.

> Idiot. Where do you think the IPC’s files on Halovians came from?

Aventurine tapped back his response at once.

< You must know more. I’ll give you 100k credits for the unabridged version

< jk don’t block me please!

< how about 1 million credits?

< help an idiot out?

> Were your eyes a natural mutation?

< the auctioneers always said so

Aventurine saw the dots signifying that Ratio was currently typing. Guilt trips did seem to work on Ratio. Aventurine curiously awaited the response.

> Don’t play the pity card every time you speak.

> To condition you out of this bad habit, I will let you find the truth yourself.

> Just don’t go asking our two esteemed Halovians. They won’t know.

Aventurine sent a sad sticker to Ratio, which was predictably left ignored. But, he wasn’t blocked, so he’d consider that a win. The truth behind Halovians…

Despite Ratio’s words, Aventurine wanted to ask Sunday about the abilities and origin of this angelic species, if just to mess with him by implying there was more to know.

When lunchtime came around the next day, Aventurine decided to visit Sunday again.

This entire floor of the Reverie was once again filled with Bloodhound guards on duty—but there was also an unsurprising visitor. Robin was dressed like she was about to go out on a performance, dress flowing behind her gracefully. She was sitting down, waiting outside Sunday’s gilded cage.

“Mr. Aventurine,” Robin said. She didn’t seem surprised to see him. Aventurine supposed someone must’ve told her about his visit.

Aventurine gave Robin a smile. “Miss Robin, enchanted to meet you again.”

Tension weighed down on Robin’s shoulders, but she smiled back at Aventurine anyway. “I’m sorry for what my brother did to you.”

“What did he do?” Aventurine asked, surprised.

Robin’s smile turned sorrowful. “Well, I’m not sure of the details. He’s refused to talk with me. But Caelus told me how you two found me ‘dead’. I can only imagine…” she trailed off.

Robin was good at hiding it, but for the briefest moment, the liveliness in her eyes turned cloudy. Her makeup was perfect, as was every strand of her hair. Aventurine wondered how long she’d spent making herself look fine just to be rejected at Sunday’s door.

“I don’t blame him,” Aventurine said. “It was nothing personal, just a misunderstanding. I’d prefer we all be friends.”

Robin nodded. “I would like that too,” she said. She glanced at the closed door wistfully.

“I told your brother that nothing bad will happen to you because of the IPC,” Aventurine said. “And I meant it.”

Robin nodded. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. She looked at him for a few moments. “May I ask, Mr. Aventurine, what you plan to do with him?” she asked calmly.

“I invited him to join my team at the IPC. He agreed. We’ll have good team synergy, at least I hope.”

“The IPC…” Robin’s lips parted. “Which division are you?”

“I was worried he’d speak ill of me, but looks like he didn’t speak of me at all,” Aventurine said. “I’m from the Non-performing Asset Liquidation department.”

“Oh.” She clasped her hands, looking down. “It might do him some good to get away from the Family.”

Aventurine didn’t think it’d do the world outside of Penacony any good though, but he nodded. “I will try to help him. Even if most people consider IPC contracts to be cages.”

“Cages…” Robin’s confusion quickly gave way to understanding. “Did he also tell you about the Charmony Dove?”

“Yes. I get the impression he’s attached to the symbolism of birds.”

Robin smiled. “People might not believe it, but he is still the more idealistic of the two of us,” she said softly, like it was a precious secret. “He always was.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Actually… could I add you as a friend? I asked around for your number, but people said they’d report me for trying to invade your privacy.”

Robin’s smile seemed to freeze on her face before it recovered its warmth. “Alright,” she said, taking out her phone so they could share friend codes.

“Wonderful. I look forward to being friends. Hmm… I usually give my new friends credits to make a good impression, but you’re already an intergalactic star,” Aventurine said. “Will a hundred thousand credits be enough?”

Robin blinked. “Mr. Aventurine, you have a weird way of approaching friendship,” she said, standing up. “I won’t keep you. Hope you have a good time chatting with my brother. And don’t send me any credits.”

“Oh,” Aventurine said. “Oops, I already sent it.”

Robin giggled, but there was doubt in her eyes. “I’ll have to decline it,” she said, tapping at her phone to reject the transfer. Wise of her to do so. “See you around, Mr. Aventurine.”

Aventurine knocked once before entering. He swept his gaze over the room. It was still as tidy and clean as before. Once again, there was nothing much in the room except a few orange bottles of SoulGlad on the counter. Only one of them had been cracked open, barely consumed. Of course there was no synthesizer, but was the Halovian even given real food?

“Good afternoon. Do you have time for a chat, Sunday?” Aventurine asked. He took out his IPC scanner once again. This time, the light on it glowed red and it sent a wave out to cancel any listening devices within the room. He arched a brow.

“In my penance, all I have is time,” Sunday said dryly, not addressing the listening device in the room. “And SoulGlad.”

Aventurine huffed out a laugh. Penance. That did seem like something a Family member would do. “Is the Iris Family opening up auditions for comedians?” he inquired.

“The Kiwis comedy team are always looking for new additions. However, I’ve been accepted into the IPC already. How could I defect so soon?”

“So you plan on defecting eventually?” Aventurine asked, feigning hurt.

Sunday laughed. “I would never.”

Aventurine’s lips quirked up. Sunday had an incredible poker face, all serene and gracious, but his laugh always sounded a touch violent instead of harmonious and perfect.

“How may I entertain you today, Mr. Aventurine?” Sunday asked, sitting back in his chair.

“No need to be so polite. Even if I didn’t hear about how you held 107,336 souls hostage, we are going to be working closely from now on. Consider me your... friend.”

Sunday didn’t bat an eye. “Let’s not rush to deepen our friendship. Such things should be natural. You did try to commit mass murder, betting on an Emanator of Nihility to stop you.”

“You forced my hand.” Aventurine shrugged. “Only a few people even remember chips falling from the sky, supposedly as rehearsal for the Charmony Festival. Your show really overshadowed mine, Sunday.”

Sunday’s expression darkened. “And yet the curtains still fell too soon.”

“You can always start a new act. The IPC welcomes you. We value peace and Harmony as well.” Aventurine walked up, leaning down to look closely at Sunday’s halo. Perhaps that was the root of Halovian psychic powers. “Does this need polishing?”

Sunday smiled. “I hope you aren’t planning on selling my halo.” His voice was calm, but unlike his sister, this calm lured others into false security. Aventurine didn’t even believe in real security.

“Just curious. No need to be afraid, Sunday, I’m not treating you like an exotic good.”

“I see,” Sunday said simply. His eyes flickered to the commodity code on Aventurine’s neck. Unlike Ratio, he was rude enough to stare at it. After a moment, he added, “I was half expecting to get a matching tattoo.”

Aventurine’s skin prickled, feeling exposed, as if Order demanded him to peel his skin off as a sacrificial offering. “Matching tattoos? Aww, but we haven’t even gone on a proper date yet,” he said, reaching out to graze his fingers across the golden halo behind Sunday’s head. “Do you sleep on this—?”

The halo burned upon first touch. The metal was sharp enough to cut and a voice hummed in Aventurine’s mind, a reverberation that dredged up dizzying memories. He withdrew his hand slowly, distantly feeling the sting of pain.

Sunday let out a little laugh. “You’re lucky you still have your hand.”

“Message… received. I guess touching halos must be at least second base,” Aventurine said. He sat down.

“It’s not quite that intimate,” Sunday said.

“So you let people polish it?”

Sunday smiled in return. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Whatever. Here’s a new phone for you.” Aventurine slid the modified phone onto the table between them, the silver case matching Sunday’s hair. “It has the usual restrictions you’d expect, but it’s got virtual quark chess and other games to soothe your boredom.”

“How kind of you.”

“There are also some contracts for you to read over.”

Out of the phone screen popped a detailed holographic contract.

“Did you sign a similar one?” Sunday asked as he scanned the content.

“Not quite,” Aventurine said. “I bet my life. You’re going to be selling your soul directly.”

“You mean transferring it from the Family to the IPC.”

Aventurine laughed. “Oh. How unusual to hear Family slander from the former leader of the Oak.” He waved a hand. “Don’t worry—an IPC solicitor has already sorted out the legalities.”

Sunday fell into silence as he read the contract. Sitting back and reading so calmly, he created the illusion that he was in control.

“I have to help you secure five qualifying planets worth of revenue stream for the IPC within the next decade,” Sunday summed up. “The IPC agrees to not interfere with Robin’s life so long as I work for the IPC.”

To Aventurine’s surprise, Sunday signed the contract without delay.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” Aventurine said, arching a brow, “but even beggars know to ask for legal counsel before signing their lives away to the IPC.”

“Did you?”

“Touché. Say, I really am curious about Halovians. How many are there left? Your species is so enigmatic.”

“Witness the last survivor of Sigonia throwing stones,” Sunday said. “Why don’t you tell me about your eyes, and I’ll tell you about my halo? That seems fair considering both are redacted from the IPC databases.”

His eyes?

Aventurine thought about the trade deal. Sunday offering useful intel seemed ridiculous. He didn’t strike Aventurine as the type to ever give anything away unless it was meaningless. If Sunday had a Cornerstone, it’d be safely tucked away in the depths of dreams, never gambled.

Aventurine was willing to begin a friendly flow of information between each other. What Sunday wanted to know was revealing in itself.

But honestly, Aventurine didn’t get it. What about Aventurine’s identity captured Sunday’s attention? He’d already asked about it again and again.

“Sure. I love story time. It’s always good for teammates to know each other better,” Aventurine said. His voice lowered, turning wry. “But why the fascination with me? You already know my name and that I’m the last survivor of my clan. I’m an open book, Sunday, you pried my covers open.”

“And every page inside you is a lie,” Sunday said. “An Emanator of Nihility stopped you from becoming a galactic threat, even severing my curse on you. The Nameless play along with your innocence, a Knight of Beauty saves you, and you waltz away as if you’re the final victor.”

Aventurine didn’t like the tone of Sunday’s voice. It made something shiver in him. “I thought you were busy putting on a play. The Family really sees all, huh?”

“I may have failed,” Sunday said, bitterness seeping into his words, “but I felt your true desire to destroy the world with your own two hands. Don’t pretend you’re here to pick up a Halovian trophy to play mind games with. You share the aftertaste of failure.”

Aventurine stared, smile turning acerbic. His heartbeat quickened. It had been terrible to be seen by what he’d thought was a follower of Xipe. To be glimpsed by Sunday, who apparently wanted to save the world, as misguided as he might’ve been—why did this feel worse?

A part of Aventurine felt the sudden urge to be truthful, like maybe if he confessed his sins, Sunday could grant him salvation. The nonexistent truth lodged in his throat, the aftertaste of surviving what should’ve been death. What a reckless urge.

The halo behind Sunday’s head seemed to glow, just like his citrin eyes. Was he using some sort of telepathy on Aventurine? Regardless, Sunday still didn’t understand.

“Fine, I will admit that I’m not here just because you’re pretty and I’m petty. I think you can help me.”

“If you want me to help you destroy the world, that will never come to pass.”

Aventurine smirked. “They say Ena the Order brought prosperity and splendor to every world THEY guarded—for only a brief moment of light before total darkness. If that’s the type of world you want, then you don’t have the right to reject the ensuing doom. Unless you think yourself as strong as an Aeon.”

Sunday’s eyes flickered over Aventurine’s face, searching. “Of course not,” he said, but there was something about his expression that looked far too knowing. Why? What could Sunday still be hiding, even after all this? “That would be blasphemy.”

“Sunday,” Aventurine admonished. “That is what concerns you?”

“I make no excuses. Even if that brief moment of starlight precedes inevitable darkness, I thought myself strong enough to hold it back.”

“Really? That sounds an awful lot like an excuse to me.”

Sunday seemed torn and frustrated, like he was enduring the second existential crisis this week. He looked to the window, exhaling. Warm sunlight filtered into the room from a distant window, far out of reach.

Aventurine’s mocking smile faltered at the sight. Something… unpleasant… unfurled in his chest. What was it Robin had said? Sunday was the more idealistic one?

But what did that matter? Sunday might’ve looked like a caged angel right now, with his soft white wings and numinous aura, but that was surely the ultimate hoax of Penacony.

Sunday was a cagemaker. Now, he was locking himself in. Penance, that was what Sunday had called this.

“Anyway, why do you want to know about my eyes?” Aventurine asked.

Sunday looked at Aventurine again with an odd intensity. “They’re captivating,” he said. “Like eyes one would see in a dream. Yet yours exist in reality. Did all Avgins share your eyes?”

Aventurine pouted, resisting the urge to glare. “You insult me incessantly, and then praise my eyes. Am I going to end up waking up in a Reverie pool with my eyes gouged out, Sunday?”

Sunday laughed like the idea interested him. “Halovians are gifted halos when we are very young,” he said. “They enhance our psychic senses and allow us to interact with other minds more easily.”

“So you levitate the halo?” Aventurine asked. “Do you take it off when you sleep?”

“I wear a new one every day.”

Aventurine blinked, then laughed too. “Oh. Hearing you make a joke—I think—is definitely worth telling you about my eyes.”

“Then tell me,” Sunday said, with the audacity to sound encouraging. Voice lower, like he was worth confiding in. What a natural actor. Aventurine had needed to practice his smiles and seduction in the shards of broken mirrors. He wondered if Sunday’s aura came naturally.

“I was born with them,” Aventurine said.

“A mutation?”

“More of a blessing from the god we believed in.”

“In the Golden Hour, you spoke to yourself about Gaiathra Triclops. Is that your pagan god?”

“Why ask when you obviously eavesdropped?”

“Indulge my curiosity.”

Aventurine considered it. “Indulge mine first. Let go of your halo,” he said. “I want to touch it.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes. After a moment, he said lightly, “You’re like a magpie transfixed by gold, aren’t you.” He stood up and placed a palm out. The halo behind him levitated, moving from behind his hand to hover over his palm.

“Again with the birds,” Aventurine drawled as he got up from his seat and stepped closer. He stared down at the halo, touching it again. This time, it didn’t burn, but there was a low humming of power.

“The design is reminiscent of Dominicus, the Wisher of the Harmonious Choir,” Sunday said. “It is nothing like a Cornerstone.”

Aventurine laughed, only a little surprised. “You really see right through me,” he purred. He glanced up, meeting Sunday’s eyes, fluttering his lashes. “Sunday, I know trust doesn’t come easily, but you signed the contract. There were several clauses to ensure Robin’s safety. I hope we can get along from now on.” He released the halo. “At least pretend to trust me and make this fun, won’t you?”

“If that is your hope, then how did you get my sister’s number, Aventurine?” Sunday asked coldly as he put the halo back on.

Aventurine blinked at him. “Sunday, have you been under the impression I stole it?”

“It is securely guarded.” Sunday tilted his head. “The people who know it… are not able to speak of it without explicit permission.”

Aventurine laughed. “Do all Halovians have that weird mind control power or is it just you being an Emanator of Order?” he asked teasingly.

“It is fortunate that I have the ability. Otherwise those who try to throw cash gifts around would succeed,” Sunday said wryly, but his voice tightened slightly. There was definitely a story there. Sunday had revealed that Robin once received a bullet to the throat—was that related?

“I get it,” Aventurine said. “It’s not like that though. I asked her politely for her number. We met outside your door, actually. She said it might be good for you to join the IPC, leave Penacony.”

Sunday sucked in a breath, expression falling. He turned away.

“You can say goodbye to her before we leave on Monday,” Aventurine said. “That gives you three days.”

“I cannot.”

“Everyone who’s anyone already knows of your attachment to your sister dearest, and the IPC won’t crucify her for talking to you. Plus, the public is sympathetic to her tragic situation. So no, I don’t know why you cannot. This risk is minimal.”

“Her path and mine have diverged, like two intersecting lines that will never coincide again,” Sunday said. “The Dreammaster and I tricked her into the path of Order instead of Harmony. She is finally able to choose her own path now.”

“And you still won’t let her,” Aventurine marveled. “You’re such a control freak.”

Sunday’s eyes sharpened as he smiled at Aventurine. “If you try convincing me as Kakavasha, perhaps I will listen,” he said.

“Ah, you’re not very nice. What do you really want from me, Featherhead,” Aventurine wondered. “Do you just like dipping your hands into everyone’s pockets, regardless of what’s inside? Even speed dating doesn’t involve as many questions as you’ve asked me.”

“You’re asking what I want?” Sunday shook his head. “We’ll be working together in the name of the Amber Lord now. As you said: It’s always good for teammates to know each other better.”

Aventurine grinned. “I’m glad we’re on the same page of lies.”

“I don’t enjoy deception, Aventurine. Your impression of me was, regrettably, tainted by the unique circumstances. Mine of you was, in all likelihood, accurate.”

Aventurine sighed. “Sunday. Let’s bet,” he said. “I bet that you’ll never be able to make me truly trust you.”

Sunday let out a breathy laugh. A glimmer of amusement in his eyes diminished the emptiness within them, which felt like a victory to Aventurine. His smile was beautiful—Aventurine hadn’t exaggerated when he called him the most beautiful on the Planet of Festivities. “You will,” he said, with such casual arrogance. The same way he’d expected an entire planet to bend to his will.

Sunday could be Aventurine’s brief moment of light before endless totality.

Aventurine smiled, excited. “I hope you succeed,” he said sincerely.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Wood,” Sunday said. The dewy leaves of the Moment of Oasis glimmered gold. Harmony chanted THEIR song here, peaceful and sweet. He looked up, piercing through the cloak of endless sunshine. “How can I continue to forgive the guilty who seek divine atonement without penance?”

“My child, the Great One seeks to tolerate all.”

“Even the unforgivable.”

The violet raven uttered a sigh that entered the dreamscape around them, heavy with the weariness of a hundred thousand souls. Sunday felt it too. “Do you know why the universe watched as the Order was absorbed by Xipe?”

“I have a feeling you will tell me.”

If the Dreammaster was bothered by Sunday’s impertinence, they never showed it. “The world can only accept Order if it is absolute. When we rise into the sky… there will be no more evil,” the raven said. “Only you.”

“I hope you do not think so little of me that you would promise me forgiveness, Mr. Wood.”

“I would not do that to you,” the raven said. “So you may as well learn to endure the guilt now.”

Sunday let out a laugh, and found that he could not stop. Stardust burst in his lungs and when he exhaled, he heard the whimper of the stars that had died long ago. “I’ll learn,” he vowed. He could not wither, for he needed to create a star that would last forever. He’d promised.

The raven stayed by his side, watching silently, the witness to all his evil.

A patch of discolored wall sullied the left corner of the room. Four ice cream cones wide, it was likely the consequence of a spill not properly cleaned. There was nothing purposeful about it.

The imperfect wall’s lack of purpose haunted the edges of Sunday’s vision. Nothing he did in this place would fix it. Even with the memoria around Penacony, Sunday could not resonate with Ena’s choir or Harmony’s hymn right now.

This was not a dream. Dreams didn’t have any stains. Sunday hadn’t allowed them to. Look at what had happened to the other dreamscape. Sunday had wanted to clean that place up.

(He didn’t want to allow this either.)

Sunday did allow this—being caged. He’d lost, and it was the victor’s prerogative to punish. But Robin had been so forgiving, still imploring Sunday to fly with her.

When Sunday glanced over, hand twitching, the stain was still there on the wall. Ominous as the shadow of IX. His thoughts trailed to that Self-Annihilator who’d posed as a Galaxy Ranger. If only she hadn’t—

Ding.

A notification cut through Sunday’s thoughts. He walked over to the table to see a series of messages glowing brightly in the darkness of the room.

> Hello friend

> Look at what I won in the Golden Hour today!

> [ClockiePicture.img]

Sunday was unamused by the mocking photo of Aventurine posing with Clockie memorabilia. Slot machines were visible in the back of this photo that had been transferred out of the dream.

It wasn’t as if Sunday would ever be welcomed back into the dreamscape. If he tried slipping into it, the Hounds would treat him as a traitor and mercilessly wake him up. Yet some part of Sunday still felt… heavy. Like all of these motions he’d made, after Penacony’s dream had been destroyed, was just sleepwalking.

Aventurine’s eyes gleamed extra brightly under the eternal warmth of the Golden Hour. Neon pink, purple, blue. Shades Sunday had seen in his dreams and wanted to bring to reality.

It was widely known that Aventurine of Stratagems had incredible luck and striking eyes. Everyone whispered that he’d been born blessed. After all, luck was a coveted power. Even when first researching the threats to the Charmony Festival, Sunday had deemed Aventurine a particularly discordant party.

The hallucination of that little child named Kakavasha, playing in the dreamscape with such innocence… that had been surprising to see.

Sunday didn’t understand why Aventurine followed Preservation. Why not Destruction? Nihility? Perhaps the Self-Annihilator had helped Aventurine because she saw a kindred soul there. Or even Elation? Enjoying destruction could be a path to joy.

What Sunday could understand was why the IPC would keep the gambler. Someone who kept winning the riskiest plays—that was profitable. That Emanator of Preservation Diamond, one of the wealthiest people in existence, would certainly approve of that.

Sunday picked the phone up. At the very least Aventurine gave him something to focus on other than that stain on the wall.

< Congratulations. How many times did it take you?

It was a genuine question. How far did Aventurine’s unnatural luck go?

> That’s between me and my Aideen tokens!

> Btw did you know there’s a guy throwing up rainbows who gives tokens away?

< Did he inspire you?

> Ha!

> Also, I ran into the Trailblazer. He’s directing a Penacony film

Ah. The colorful cartoons featuring characters such as Clockie, Brother Hanu, Old Man Wood, and the crocodile Boss Stone.

> Your sister was there too

Sunday frowned. That Nameless was strong, following the path of the Trailblaze. His sister was charmed by the Nameless’ faith in the weak. Echoes of Sunday’s defeat rang in his mind.

It was… potentially beneficial… that Robin had become friends with the Astral Express. But the idea that Robin might join them was terrifying.

< What film?

< Why is Robin with the Trailblazer?

> You have her number

What a meaningless reminder. As if Sunday was not constantly aware of how close and far away Robin was. But Sunday knew if he agreed to meet Robin now, something terrible would happen to her.

< Did you ask why they are reviving the Watchmaker’s films?

> ?

> I thought the Family would shut you out. How do you know?

< It’s only a guess.

> Aideen token for your thoughts :)

Because it was the worst possibility: the Watchmaker’s influence seeping back into Penacony now that it was no longer under Order’s control.

Aventurine’s bet surfaced in Sunday’s mind. I bet you’ll never be able to make me truly trust you. It was a ridiculous bet, because to Sunday it sounded like a prayer—please show me a way to trust you. Sunday was used to hearing desperate pleas. Dressing it up in a bet made no difference. The fact that Aventurine had said it in the first place would only lower his own guard.

< The Iris Family deals with filmmaking. The Watchmaker made films, and his hat went to the Trailblazer. If the Iris are involved, it’s either for a coverup or the Trailblazer wants to spread the Watchmaker’s ideas.

> Isn’t that crocodile the IPC? These cartoons don’t paint him in a good light. Why aren’t you a fan?

Sunday didn’t see a point in answering those questions.

< What was Robin doing there?

> Sunday, you really go and guess what’s happening but then ask the simplest question

> She wants to help, of course! The film is supposed to fix that big red slash on the movie screen

> I personally think the screen will lose a lot of flair. What a shame.

But then what? Would she embark on the Astral Express with a walking Stellaron? The possibility made Sunday’s chest ache, his heart sink. He’d hoped Aventurine would give more information. The IPC agent seemed to think talking about Robin would hurt Sunday when they both knew he was the one denying her visitation. But the Family knew it hurt far more to never mention her name at all.

Sunday didn’t want Robin to associate with them. Like Akivili, the Nameless didn’t have good endings. Sunday knew that several had landed in Penacony in the end, after all, devastated by their chosen routes.

At least the Knights of Beauty deluded themselves into believing Idrila still lived. At least Sunday had tried to bring back Ena, just enough to wield THEIR power. But Akivili’s followers willingly chose the unprotected path of a dead Aeon. Plus, there was the sealed Stellaron, Caelus. The one who collected glances like a hobby, or perhaps like a divine right. Robin…

(And you still won’t let her. You’re such a control freak, Aventurine said, smiling as if amused, impressed, how dare he—?)

Sunday typed slowly, carefully.

< I see. Thank you.

> Of course! What are friends for

> By the way, did you hear her new album?

Song filled Sunday’s mind. Light, harmonious, and gentle, but the lyrics were devastating. It was the kind of hope that knew sorrow, yet persisted into daybreak. Robin had always been able to sing even in the face of battle.

Sunday was grateful she had her voice back. He remembered her telling him, delaying the truth, that she could hardly even speak. But it’s been alright, because she was trying out this wonderful Xianzhou tea that was supposed to be good for the vocal cords.

I’ll find a way to heal your voice by the Charmony Festival. Until then, let’s share some berry ice cream again, Sunday had said. Another indelible promise, yet this time…

Had she suspected at all? Sunday hated that she might’ve and didn’t say anything about it until she couldn’t say anything at all.

And then she’d still sung, for her allies, for the weak, for…

Ding.

The room had slipped back into darkness, but the phone glowed in the dark to reveal the new message.

> I can get a copy for you

Sunday laughed at the audacity, feeling the husk of dead stars encasing his soul.

< No. I have heard it already.

Time passed in the lonely dark. When Sunday had controlled the strings of Penacony’s inhabitants, he had not needed to endure such an unnerving silence of reality. He had been able to catch glimpses of the paradise he weaved.

Time passed in this ruined tapestry. It had been four days since Sunday had lost. In two days, Aventurine was supposed to come take him away from Penacony.

Sunday couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know what would happen if he did. Would he sleep like the dead, or join the living in one of the Moments? Having lived half his life in dreams, wading in memoria—

(It’s a deal! Robin’s voice drifted through his mind, warm and hopeful.)

Sunday couldn’t sleep. Recollecting the past when he could no longer control the future, how could he sleep now? At least there was running water to take a simple shower, surprising as that was.

He’d wait until they were out of Asdana. Then, perhaps, he would let himself sleep like the dead. Just for a while.

As the hours slipped by without a talking clock in sight, Sunday thought about preening his feathers. His wings for flight were wound tightly around his abdomen, under layers of white. Pain only really radiated when he stretched them out. It wasn’t exactly a secret Halovians had wings for flight, but Sunday had always hidden his away.

But the privacy in this cage was not real. They gave him tainted walls and cures in orange bottles. Was the Family hoping he’d beg for food or freedom? No, that wasn’t the style of Whittaker, who’d no doubt spearhead the dissolution of the Oak Family, along with the IPC. Whittaker and the other heads knew Sunday well enough from years of association.

(“I know what you did to the Dreamjolt Troupe,” Whittaker said.

Sunday smiled. “What did I do?”

Whittaker’s emotions were unreadable, despite their connection to Harmony. “Become the Dreammaster’s most trusted, it seems.”)

Sunday shut his eyes. It was better to put his attention on what he would do once he started working with Aventurine, the head of the Non-performing Asset Liquidation Specialists. Sunday would surely have to deal with Diamond.

The door opened suddenly, letting in light before it shut again.

Sunday braced himself for a visitor. It was Aventurine, somehow waltzing in like he owned the place again. Sunday bristled. The Bloodhounds were far too lenient with the IPC.

“Hahaha, rise and shine, Featherhead!” Aventurine said, doing a fantastic impression of a Masked Fool. “It’s time to collect you, we have to go early.”

It… was not time to collect him. Sunday’s heart skipped a beat, his soul twisting out of alignment with reality. Was it not one more day? He glanced down at the bag Aventurine held. No suitcase, but according to the Reverie, Aventurine hadn’t checked any baggage in except that bag of ‘gifts’.

“I know I said we’d leave on Monday,” Aventurine continued smoothly, not even pretending to be apologetic, “but this is a time-sensitive trip. Plus, we gotta go get you ready for interstellar travel as a new IPC agent.”

Sunday resisted the urge to bite his tongue in fear he’d bite through it. “Alright. Let’s go. I’m ready,” he said. Smile. It wasn’t as if he could've said goodbye to Robin anyway. Smile.

Aventurine’s lips curled up in an inspiringly false smile. “That’s it?”

“Surely the IPC will provide me with the essentials,” Sunday said. “Why, did you want me to call your bluff?”

“It’s always fun when someone tries,” Aventurine said. He walked closer and stopped beside an orange bottle. He grabbed it to twist the cap open, but paused. The cap came off easily, having already been opened. Aventurine peered down at the bottle that looked full, thoughtful. A magpie always lured in by shiny things. 

Sunday reached a hand out and caught Aventurine’s wrist. “Don’t,” he murmured.

Aventurine froze as if subsumed under Remembrance, but his smile only widened slowly. His pulse raced under the skin of his fingers, Sunday could tell.

“Ooh, you’re getting touchy, should I be flattered?” Aventurine drawled. This was purposeful, the way his voice hummed with flirtation, a hint breathy. Sunday tensed. “I’ll just take one sip. You opened it already, we shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

Aventurine stared at Sunday, waiting, waiting. Sunday tightened his grip, feeling the pulse jump again even though Aventurine’s mask stayed on, his pupils dilating. But this was more like prey freezing so as to not appear threatened. He was good at this, at making Sunday’s gaze flicker down to his lips, his bare neck. Sunday would’ve believed this peacocking if he weren’t Halovian and didn't still have the remnants of Ena’s powers in his bloodstream.

Aventurine’s fear filled the silence, a discordant shriek that made Sunday’s senses flare. The same way Aventurine had been afraid when Sunday had asked him if he wished to destroy the world.

Let him go.

“It’s gone flat already,” Sunday said, smiling as he released Aventurine’s wrist.

Aventurine laughed, putting the bottle aside casually. “Alright. It’s whatever, I’ve had my share of SoulGlad for a lifetime. Is there really Cumin-flavored SoulGlad?”

“Whatever flavor SoulGlad you can imagine, it’ll exist in dreams.”

“Steak?” Aventurine asked. “Cherry pie? Mung bean soda?”

“Ah…” Sunday thought about it, remembering old feedback received from Family members. “Perhaps not the last one. There were disagreements from the Alfalfa, Iris, and gourmet consultants.”

“The IPC’s secured better deals with the Xianzhou Alliance recently,” Aventurine said. “I should send them a note about mung bean SoulGlad.”

“That fermented soda features in people’s nightmares. I suppose you would be someone who enjoys mung bean soda.”

Aventurine laughed, setting his bag down beside the bottle. He stepped forward, closer. Sunday narrowed his eyes.

Fire and falling stars. When the Stellaron had destroyed Sunday’s home planet, only small pockets of Halovians had survived. They had done everything to be accepted by the Family, their saviors.

If you told the bird it could fly, it would yearn to touch the sky. But what of the magpie that had been caged again and again? Why did it stay near the threat—just to prove that it could survive?

Sunday looked at Aventurine critically. How this last Avgin had acted wasn’t the behavior of someone who wanted to revive their species. Aventurine’s discordant notes belonged to a swan song.

Listening to Aventurine's music was easier than hearing Sunday's own silence. It was also surprisingly tempting.

“Do you think so lowly of me? You wound me,” Aventurine breathed, eyes glimmering. Neon pink, purple, blue. Shades Sunday had seen in his dreams and now saw in reality. Other than the desire to orchestrate destruction, Sunday couldn’t see anything else in those blessed eyes. It was like looking into an empty galaxy devoured by Oroboros the Voracity.

Sunday’s stomach felt suddenly hollow with hunger, his empty husk constricted by his bound wings. Aventurine had burned himself on Sunday’s halo, and then asked greedily to touch it again.

Is that what you want from me? Sunday wanted to ask. To wound you?

But Sunday had already lost. A star that had long been extinguished, its existence simply a trick of the light, an undeserved mercy from Robin. The only song he wanted to hear anymore was the song of cherished dreams and indelible promises. Of a naive girl and boy who’d believed they were right.

Was I wrong?

They were really leaving Penacony today.

That was good. Sunday had to leave, after all. One way or another.

His mind went to the words Robin had admired, scraped out from ancient texts. Hope is the thing with feathers. I've heard it in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me.

Sunday didn’t want to do this. He didn’t seek atonement or victory or satiation. He just needed his sister to be safe. He couldn’t hurt Aventurine, what if Aventurine decided to pull Robin back into the line of fire?

“Cat got your tongue?” Aventurine asked. “You can speak your mind, Sunday. I’m not going to report you to our superiors for saying what you clearly want to.”

“I was just thinking,” Sunday said, “that you seem like the type of person who would only trust someone who wounds you.”

“Ouch,” Aventurine said wryly, drawing out the word like it was a bar of Sour Dreams soft candy. “Has anyone ever told you that you play too many mind games, Sunday?”

Sunday decided to not bite the low hanging fruit of hypocrisy. “I’m not playing mind games with you, Aventurine. I’m telling you plainly that I won’t hurt you on purpose. Gaining your trust like that would be too easy.”

“That’s…” Aventurine huffed out an annoyed laugh, disbelief real enough to falter his smile. Something flinty entered his expression. “I’m too easy, huh? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all, Sunday. I just don’t believe you,” Aventurine said. He turned away and got his bag. He paused, but ultimately left the orange bottle where it was on the table. “Let’s set sail then, friend! The cosmos awaits.”

They were so different. Sunday would’ve dissected whatever was in that bottle until every drop was explained. Aventurine was all or nothing, either recklessly drinking it or abandoning it altogether, unbothered by its unjustified existence.

Of course, there was not a drop of the cure left. Sunday had kept the bottles full of water for the sake of appearances. How could he have risked someone from the IPC finding the formula of what it once contained? How could he have allowed Aventurine to ask if he’d been tempted to drink it?

The raven, witness to his sins, was nevermore. But Sunday had still poured all of the SoulHeal away as soon as he’d found them lined in this cage. If he erased his memories and guilt, he would be no better than the other sinners.

Aventurine opened the door for Sunday with a flourish and paused for him to go first. Smiling as always, Aventurine moved like he was always playing a role, expecting to be watched—and watching Sunday in return.

“No need to wait for my arm,” Sunday said. “We’re not walking a red carpet.”

“Suit yourself.” Aventurine shrugged and stepped out.

As Sunday followed Aventurine out the door of this cage and away from the stains of Penacony, he felt his own heartbeat calm down. The only witness to his penance now would be Aventurine. His obvious distrust and hatred of Sunday were reassuring.

Otherwise, Sunday would have surely found both of their existences intolerable too.

Chapter Text

They made their way to the sleek black IPC spaceship that Aventurine had parked in the high security area that camouflaged visitor identities, courtesy of the Family. No one could snap unauthorized photos of Sunday or Aventurine, though it would be rather amusing if a leak made headlines on the Interastral Peace News.

It took some time to get to their destination despite it being so close. The Family members on duty looked at Sunday with shaken, angry, and confused expressions. The other Family heads were also to see Sunday off one by one.

The first to say goodbye was Oti Alfalfa, head of the Alfalfa Family. Aventurine knew Oti was already in talks with Jade and Topaz about the future economy of Penacony and potential Oti Mall collaborations, apparently eager to move on from Sunday and the Dreammaster’s oppression.

“It’s too bad what happened, Sunday,” Old Oti said. He gave Sunday a disappointed shake of the head, which made Aventurine raise his eyebrows. “I wish you’d listened and been more objective. The mess at the Charmony Festival was avoidable.”

Sunday smiled, eyes sharp with thinly veiled threat. “I’m sure you’ll reap the rewards regardless, Mr. Alfalfa.”

Oti Alfalfa tensed before turning to Aventurine and nodding. “Be careful with this one, Mr. Aventurine,” he said. “He can’t be trusted. He even acted against the Dreammaster when it suited him.”

Aventurine tilted his head. “Can’t be trusted? Would you care to bet on it?” he asked, then flashed Sunday a playful smile.

Sunday’s threatening smile faded, replaced by a bemused, exasperated look. The shift made Aventurine laugh.

They continued on the path. The Family’s parting interactions all boiled down to one thing: betrayed, with ever so slight smiles of satisfaction and righteousness. Well, except for Sir Whittaker, who was frigid as ever, but Aventurine could read between the lines that they didn’t like each other. Sunday didn’t even look at Whittaker as they passed him, and Whittaker didn’t say a word.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, Sir Whittaker,” Aventurine said.

“I would hope there is no need,” Whittaker said. “But the Family welcomes you back if you ever desire a sweet dream.”

Did that sound like a threat? Aventurine’s lips twitched. He couldn’t even tell.

It was like the Family was scorning a monster who deserved to be caged. They acted like they had won, too.

A little annoying, if you asked Aventurine. This had been his win, not theirs. But whatever.

Did Sunday hate this long walk of shame? If it ruffled his fluffy white feathers, he sure didn’t show it. Aventurine watched him bid farewell to each of the Family heads with empty, cordial smiles. Not a single head spat or openly sneered at Sunday—good for him, Aventurine supposed.

Aventurine finally let out his sigh once the doors to the ship slid shut securely behind them. “Well, that was tedious,” he said.

The ship was spacious, but occupied already—an Intellitron in blue greeted them.

Sunday’s entire demeanor shifted the moment the door opened. He looked abruptly mortal, there was no other word to describe it. The wings around Sunday fluttered, then curled in, so unusually animated. His yellow eyes widened with what might’ve been fear.

The ‘Intellitron’ raised her hands to take off her helmet. “Brother,” Robin said softly.

Aventurine half expected Sunday to scold Robin for being here, for chatting with and trusting Aventurine like this. Or perhaps he’d act like nothing was wrong?

Nope. Sunday looked so utterly lost and pained, staring at Robin like nothing else existed.

This probably wasn’t a show Aventurine should watch. “Ah, I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t worry, I’ll put up the soundproof barrier,” he added, heading to the cockpit.

Robin shouldn’t be here. Couldn’t. The Family wouldn’t have wanted their brightest star to be associated with Sunday after his downfall—but that was why she was disguised and in an IPC spaceship.

This was Aventurine’s fault—

No.

Not Aventurine’s fault, because that would mean nothing Sunday did would’ve made a difference. This was happening because Sunday had shown his hand to Aventurine too easily, a miscalculation. And now, here was Robin.

Robin.

Her smile was bright as always as she started humming a lullaby, soothing and sweet and familiar. Unbearable.

This was the lullaby he had hummed to her as a child to help her fall asleep. It contained no lyrics, since Sunday had never had the same talent for song as his little sister. But Robin made it sound so beautiful and hopeful.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve sung without Order in my voice,” Robin mused softly after she was done.

Order. If only Sunday had Ena’s power now so he could find the optimal words. How selfish to think that when Robin must’ve hated THEM. He let out a pained breath, chest aching. “Robin, I am sorry.”

“I know,” Robin said with a levity Sunday couldn’t bear. She handed Sunday this simple white and gold purse she brought. “But I’m not really the one you need to apologize to.”

Sunday took the purse, running his fingers over the pastel lilac accents, stopping when he saw his hand was shaky. “Then who?”

“The entire star system you would have destroyed would be a good place to begin,” Robin said, “but an impossible place to end.”

Why? “I could do it,” Sunday said quietly. He didn’t think of all that would entail, but if Robin asked him, he would surely be able to find a way.

Robin smiled at him with fond exasperation, tinged with sadness, like he wasn’t getting it.

“I packed you a brush and some other small things. I found a new brand that is supposed to help with dry feathers,” Robin said. “You’ll take care of yourself, right, brother?”

“Who will take care of you?” Sunday whispered, the words bursting out of him like he’d been thinking them forever. Grief inside him grew like an unpleasant bloom of brambles, dry and itchy.

Robin didn’t seem surprised. Just sad, and sad, and sad, as she placed a hand on Sunday’s cheek. Gently. She’d always treated Sunday like he was the one who needed protection. Sunday felt like he had failed her.

“Perhaps I was always meant to fly amongst the stars,” Robin said softly, but her words struck Sunday like a train.

“The… Astral Express,” Sunday said miserably. Witness the will of the weak. “Then am I… always doomed to watch you leave?”

“Perhaps we may never meet again.”

Sunday flinched in horror. The brambles instantly twisted viciously in his lungs, and he wasn’t sure he could ever breathe again. “Is that—your wish?”

“No, brother… no. I will never stop hoping to see you again, as long as you want to,” Robin said quietly, but firmly enough that Sunday could believe it.

“Of course I want to,” Sunday rushed to say hoarsely. “But it would be best if—”

“Lady Himeko is happy for me to continue spreading Harmony as we travel,” Robin interrupted. “As is the Family.”

“You’ve… discussed this?”

“In the past few days. Aventurine helped facilitate discussions. Did you know the Express usually only stops for a week? Your dream forced them here for longer, but we’re leaving tonight,” Robin said. “The IPC has been supportive of the idea of letting me continue as I wish. Aventurine even asked where I would go next.”

Sunday looked at Robin, whose halo shone and reflected light. Her song of emotion was one of boundless pain, yet soon even that would be out of his reach.

“I see,” Sunday said.

“They all asked me of my plans. But have you ever asked me what I want to do, brother?” Robin asked softly.

“No,” Sunday confessed, stricken. “But I know you want peace.”

“You ask me if I want a concerto or acapella,” Robin said. Her voice turned tremulous. “A beautiful dream or a sweet one. A song or a dance.”

Frustratingly, Sunday remembered Aventurine’s accusation. People within the Family had never quite dared to voice their disagreements with Sunday like that, but the way Aventurine had marveled at it like it was impressive. You still won’t let her choose. Control freak.

“I thought,” Sunday said, but stopped himself. I thought that was what you wanted. That would be an incomplete truth. He knew that the options he gave were what was safe for her. He had considered what she wanted, but she wanted things that would put herself in the crossfire, and so, Sunday limited the array of options. “Have I never given you any choice at all?”

“I know,” Robin said. “This is how you have always been, brother. Remember since we were kids? You’d ask if I want strawberry or blueberry ice cream. You’re not driven by malice.”

Sunday shut his eyes. How many people had come to him, telling him that they’d done what they did out of a need for survival? That they stole and lied because they had no other choice, not because they were evil? “I’m sorry,” he said again at last, uselessly.

“I know,” Robin said again, sounding weary. She sighed. “Sunday, do you know what Harmony is?”

“Tolerance of all.”

“Ah, yes, even the unforgivable. That’s what Mr. Wood always said,” Robin recalled. “But I don’t agree with him.”

Of course Sunday had listened to every one of Robin’s speeches and interviews. He’d felt utmost pride and heartbreak hearing some of the words she spoke before she’d pour her heart out into singing, even across battlefields and graveyards.

“Robin, you… you believe in hope and redemption. But even if you want people to redeem themselves, they still have to make that choice. Most don’t.”

Robin’s smile faltered. She laughed softly. “Ah, there you go again. At least this is more than I’ve heard you reveal from the bottom of your heart in a long time,” she said with fond exasperation. “Brother, can we pretend for one moment that you don’t know everything?”

Sunday blinked slowly before he processed her words. “Then what do you think Harmony is?” Even though he was sure these were the right words, they still felt so wrong.

“Solace,” Robin said. “Even in the darkest of nights, Harmony brings light, even if that light must be imaginary. Even if we cannot stop an immutable fate, Harmony brings us solace that we are not alone—be that in life or in death.”

Sunday stared, discomfort creeping up and enveloping him like layers of toxic dust. Such dark words coming from his sister who’d long grown up outside of Penacony.

“You… still believe so deeply in the hopes we had as children,” Robin said. Her eyes were watery, tears trailing down her face, but she persevered, keeping her voice as calm as possible. “You still want to be strong enough to keep every little bird safe. I never learned how to help you. I still don’t know.”

“You don’t have to,” Sunday said faintly, feeling sickened by her admission. If he’d succeeded, Robin wouldn’t have had to feel like this.

He really had failed her.

“I just want you to be happy, brother. Can you promise me you will take care of yourself?” Robin asked, looking at Sunday, waiting for a response. Her entire presence hummed with anxiety and pain and fear. “If the IPC tries selling you a future that preserves everything, promise me you’ll say no. I can’t—” She suddenly cried.

Sunday stepped forward, pulling Robin into a hug. Don’t cry. Don’t fall apart. Don’t break in front of your sister. “I promise,” he whispered. “I won’t let the IPC mislead me.”

“No, brother, I’m scared you’ll try to mislead them!” Robin said. “What if I’m not there to catch you?”

Then I’ll just hit the ground, shattered bones and all. Wasn’t that what should’ve been his ending already? Sunday wanted to assuage her fears. But he couldn’t muster heartfelt reassurances or humor to lighten the mood. He could only hug her more tightly. What could he say? That he knew the IPC wasn’t to be trifled with, which was why Sunday had never even liked it when IPC entered Asdana’s airspace?

Maybe… Robin didn’t know Aventurine had threatened her. Maybe she was under the impression that Sunday wanted to join the IPC on purpose, for some secret goal, when it was really just to protect her. If that was the case, it would probably make her feel worse if Sunday told her the truth.

Assessing the situation like this made Sunday feel a little calmer as he spoke next. “I’ll take care of myself,” he said, able to emit a calming aura around them. “I’ll be okay, Robin.”

“Promise?”

“Only if you’ll be safe too.”

Robin hesitated. “Yes. Of course,” she said through tears. Her aura emanated a soothing song. Sunday wondered if she remembered it was the song their mother had sung to comfort them before dying. “I’m… I’m sorry I said those harsh things, brother. I love you.”

What harsh things? “I love you too,” Sunday said, finally feeling a sense of relief. It was fine Robin was here. Another promise had been made.

He was safe. He had to be. Then Robin would be okay too.

Aventurine waited on the other side. A part of him had wanted to eavesdrop, but he wasn’t as rude as Sunday. He spent the time browsing his phone.

Eventually, he heard a knock from the other side of the barrier he’d put up. Aventurine hummed and removed it, standing up from his seat.

Robin stood in front of him as the disguised Intellitron again, the golden gleam of metal hiding her identity, or at least giving any Family members who saw her plausible deniability.

“Thank you, Aventurine,” Robin said from behind her voice changer, but her sincerity was obvious. As was the slight shake and forced cheer in her voice. “Talk to you soon.”

Aventurine laughed. “See you, Miss Robin.”

The door slid shut behind her, locking and sealing as Aventurine prepared the ship for takeoff. He paused upon seeing Sunday, who was standing there like a statue, expression blank as he stared at the floor.

“Hey there,” Aventurine said. Sunday’s feathers were, quite literally, ruffled, and his hair was slightly out of place. His eyes had a wet sheen to them that made Aventurine think he was hallucinating for a moment.

Sunday was holding the purse that contained the gifts Robin had brought for him tightly.

“I wanted to give you a surprise,” Aventurine said. “Surprise. But now that the cat’s out of the box, we can stay a bit longer in Penacony if you want. I don’t mind playing some more slots.”

“You’ve had a busy past few days,” Sunday said, voice devoid of inflection. His gaze flickered to Aventurine, and for a moment, Aventurine genuinely thought Sunday might be planning his murder. “My sister is joining the Astral Express.”

“They seem like a good bunch,” Aventurine said, and it wasn’t even a lie. Entire planets already worshiped the Astral Express, with TV shows already being made of the Trailblazer and his friends. Aventurine lowered his voice to sound more authentic. “Look, Sunday, she brought up joining the Astral Express. It’s not like my disapproval would’ve meant anything.”

“I kn—” Sunday cut himself off. After a moment, he spoke again. “You said you’d give your sister the chance to die for her dreams. Did you truly mean that?”

“Ha. Did persuading your sister to not follow the Trailblazer go that poorly?” Aventurine drawled, lips curving into a smile.

“Why do you think I tried to stop her?”

“You’re back to mentioning my sad origin story again. You only do that when using me as a punching bag.”

“I’m not using you as a punching bag, my questions are sincere,” Sunday said, frowning. “And I didn’t try stopping her. I… respect her decision.”

“Sure.” Aventurine arched a brow, receiving a glare. “I’m going to say something you’re really going to hate, but I think you need to hear it. You wouldn’t have been able to change her mind even if you did try.”

Sunday recoiled. He didn’t say anything, staring at Aventurine blankly, before he covered his face with a gloved hand. His shoulders shook slightly. Shit. Was he having an existential crisis? Crying? Aventurine was about to say something, anything, when he realized it was breathless laughter. He'd never heard Sunday laugh for so long before. His breath caught. It was like looking at a fragment of a shattered mirror.

“Ah. You’re right, Aventurine,” Sunday said. “I really do hate it.”

Chapter Text

Planets and stars blinked past in the corner of Aventurine’s eye as the ship flew out of the Asdana star system.

For a long time, Sunday didn’t say another word. The silence felt oppressive, like if Aventurine went closer, an abyss would open up and drag him under. The mechanical hum within the ship was muted, too. It was all so fascinating. Aventurine wanted to know more. To poke at Sunday’s invisible wall and see if it would come crumbling down, burying the both of them alive.

But he held back. It didn’t feel right, not when Sunday’s reunion with Robin had clearly… gone awry.

Aventurine put the ship on auto-nav and scrolled through his phone. He first answered Robin’s message of thanks, then scrolled through Penacony updates, most of them submitted by Topaz. She also texted Aventurine two hours ago.

> I ran into the Astral Express prepping for a celebratory feast. They even invited me!

> I asked them where Miss Robin was and Caelus said “LOL ask that sus gambler”

> [TrotterQuestionMark.jpg]

Aventurine typed back his response.

< I should put that as my new status

< Looking for leverage, Topaz?

Topaz’s reply came quickly.

> Not leverage, per se

> I just want to ensure we’re on the same page

> I have a meeting with the Family heads in an hour about their debt

< Don’t worry, Topaz, I didn’t kidnap Miss Robin. She’s free as a bird

> OK, that’s good to hear

That was cold. Topaz didn’t even deny worrying about that. Aventurine’s lips twitched up in amusement.

< I bet with Sunday leaving Penacony, the other heads are feeling more relaxed

< Old Oti should appreciate a collab with the IPC even if he pretends otherwise

< [MoneyBag.jpg]

> [TrotterHappy.jpg]

< I’ll send you more details. Also, would you do me a favor and discreetly get the bottles of SoulGlad in Sunday’s room tested?

> Thanks Aventurine

> Of course, will do

Aventurine leaned back in his seat, continuing to prepare for their upcoming destination as their ship sped through space. Traveling in this silence would probably feel awkward if it weren’t so tense.

News about Sunday’s betrayal and departure hadn’t gone cosmic, and probably never would. The Family and IPC wouldn’t want it to impact Penacony sales. It’d just be a small blip in the news at worst, strategically placed when the cosmos was focused on something more exciting.

A shared nightmare quickly forgotten, made easier by Sunday having stayed mostly in the shadows. Just as convenient as how everyone would forget Aventurine’s contributions in Penacony. All of it certainly made Aventurine and Sunday’s trip around the universe easier.

They traveled in silence for a few hours before Aventurine finally broke it. He found it a little hard to speak, so he cleared his throat lightly. “We’re almost at a nice Interastral Peace Mall. It has plenty of amenities and shops you’ll be free to explore.”

No answer.

“Shall we stay a night?” Aventurine suggested. “Some time to sleep away from memoria might be nice.”

“That’s fine,” Sunday said blankly. He didn’t even look at Aventurine, and it didn’t really feel like he was able to focus. He seemed miserable in his informal exile. Hadn’t he been the one to talk about perfecting a front, never letting others see the preparations behind the curtain? Yet he couldn’t muster up a proper conversation?

Aventurine took out a poker chip in his hand, idly flipping it up and catching it repeatedly like a coin as he thought about it.

It wasn’t as if bringing Robin here had been a favor to Sunday. Why would it matter if Sunday was disturbed? He hardly cared when he’d stamped a time limit on Aventurine’s free will and straight up ignored the desires of an entire star system to play god.

Aventurine felt a little irritated. A little envious, funny as that was. The Halovians’ home planet had been destroyed, but Sunday clearly got too used to being in control if meeting his precious, alive sister had ended up like this.

Aventurine was tempted to point out the broken standards. Sunday hadn’t cared enough to not stamp an expiration date on Aventurine (or an entire star system). People like Sunday didn’t shrink in silence and thinly veiled vulnerability like this when they hated something. They threw tantrums and hurt others. That was predictable.

So then what was this? Where was the lashing out? Aventurine felt this bizarre, surely misplaced urge to apologize.

Was Robin joining the Astral Express really that dangerous in Sunday’s mind? She had already been touring the galaxy and survived two Stellarons. How impressive was that? Yet all Sunday could see was the looming shadow of death, so much so that he’d rather be its harbinger.

Aventurine tried to step into Sunday’s shoes. He closed his eyes.

(“You’re our hope, Kakavasha,” she’d say. “I just want you to stay safe. Don’t be so reckless anymore.”

“But what about you,” Kakavasha would ask. And he would never get a real answer. At least, none he was willing to believe was real.)

If his sister were to ever express a desire to trailblaze, he would’ve been ecstatic.

The previous flare of irritation and envy turned to something else much dimmer, much worse.

Eyes opening, Aventurine tossed his chip into the air one last time before catching and vanishing it into his pocket. “Hey, Sunday. Diamond will probably want to holo chat with you at some point. Don’t be shocked if he suddenly contacts you.”

Aventurine wasn’t going to force the conversation now if he got no answer, but after a short while Sunday spoke. Maybe it was because the topic of Diamond seemed more important to Sunday.

“What is it like working under Diamond?”

Aventurine blinked and glanced over, smirking. “The interrogation vibes have returned.”

“This is not an interrogation.”

“I know, I know. I was only half serious.” Aventurine swiveled his chair around to properly look at Sunday with a cheerful smile. “Diamond, our dearest Emanator of Preservation, is the most generous leader of any IPC department.”

“Generous.”

“We’re not evil. The Family must also have a special team that liquidates non-performing assets,” Aventurine said. “Is the Family evil?”

Sunday stared, yellow eyes going unfocused for a moment. “So what assets are we ‘liquidating’?” he asked in lieu of answering.

Aventurine tapped the side of his chair to pull up a holo keyboard. “Have you heard about Ylisse-XIII? It’s the only Goldilocks planet in the Magatia star system, though just barely survivable. Until recently, it was ruled by the Dune Pharaoh.”

He typed the coordinates in. A hologram of the Ylisse-XIII planet showed up in glowing blue between them. He pulled up some of the key details for Sunday, such as the environment (a humid desert), main exports (special herbs and minerals), and gravitational pull (heavy).

Sunday stood up and got closer to look over the hologram, one hand behind his back. He looked so tightly strung, expression darkening.

“Robin was invited to sing there several years ago,” Sunday said, voice tense.

That explained it. Sunday was always extra Sunday when it came to Robin. “Did she go?”

“No. I shredded the invitation.”

“Oh, good,” Aventurine said, because of course Sunday had. “So you found out everything about their debauchery, I assume. I can skip my exposition.”

“The Dune Pharaoh had… eclectic tastes.”

“That’s very diplomatic of you,” Aventurine said, amused.

“Calling it debauchery seems diplomatic as well considering the Pharaoh enjoyed sacrificial rituals and deadly art exhibits.”

“Well, technically,” Aventurine said, “the Intelligentsia Guild’s files describe him as being fond of debauchery. I’m just following their lead. Anyway, good news—the Dune Pharaoh was overthrown recently.”

Sunday frowned. “By whom?”

“Abundance,” Aventurine replied. “Get ready for landing, friend, we’re gonna land at a nearby Interastral Peace Mall.”

“An Interastral Peace Mall?” Sunday echoed.

“We’ll stay a night at the hotel,” Aventurine replied smoothly, but something in his chest ached to know Sunday really hadn’t heard him earlier. “Let’s shop and prepare for Ylisse-XIII. It’ll be fun team bonding.”

Sunday fell silent again. Aventurine didn’t look over, letting the conversation die so he could focus on landing the ship in this bizarre silence instead.

Some IPC Malls focused on technology, others on selling souvenirs. Aventurine’s favorite ones were the ones that ran legally dubious poker games, but the feeling was never mutual. He told a story to Sunday after they landed, walking out of the ship. Aventurine with his bag, Sunday with Robin’s purse.

“Last time I was at an Interastral Peace Mall, two foxians with a centuries long blood feud had a truce just to hire a hit on poor little me.”

“Poor little you,” Sunday said dryly. “How did you survive?”

“Let’s just say their plan backfired spectacularly.” Aventurine sighed. “Let’s hope we have a better time here.”

This Interastral Peace Mall was located on one of Ylisse-XIII’s two moons. While it wasn’t as big as the one on Pier Point or at the center of the universe (which was how the flagship mall was advertised), it still didn’t know the word moderation.

They walked through the high-tech anti-threat devices at the entrance, followed by a team of armed robots who checked them for illegal contraband. After finding nothing, they beeped and let Sunday and Aventurine pass through the tall white arch.

The ambience was refreshing and light blue instead of warm gold. Instead of SoulGlad and popcorn, this place drowned in designer clothing with too many belts and overpriced kebabs. Phew. Aventurine had had enough of the Golden Hour.

The Interastral Peace Tour: Selection, Planning, and Opportunity advertisement was playing on a large screen, echoing through the mall. ...Diamond seeks out the unique and the extraordinary…

“I need a shower,” Aventurine declared. “And a nap. Dreamless, preferably.” He smirked at his own words. “You hungry, Sunday?”

Sunday narrowed his eyes at Aventurine like he thought the question was a trap. “No,” he said.

Aventurine shrugged and took out his wallet from his pocket, sliding out a credit card. “Alright. Let’s check in at the hotel first. Spend freely—this card I requested for you was approved.”

Sunday held the card up, looking perplexed. The card was white and had Sunday etched on it in rainbow diamonds. “An IPC Diamond Deluxe credit card. People kill for these.” He sounded surprisingly displeased about that fact. Aventurine supposed Sunday had dealt with plenty of greed while working for the Family. “Why would you give me one?”

“Enjoy the perks of being the friend of a Stoneheart! This is my welcome aboard gift to you.”

“You know bribery doesn’t work on me, so why take this unnecessary step?”

“Huh? I’m not bribing you, Sunday. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You know fake bribery won’t work on me,” Sunday amended. “What is the point?” He sounded bemused.

“Not acting,” Aventurine said, tsking. “Come along now, the hotel’s this way.”

The Interastral Peace Hotel was grand, connected to the main mall through a side entrance. The doors opened automatically, welcoming them into an area with a soft floral perfume and a huge, dazzling snowglobe that showed a mini Ylisse-XIII in its desert glory. With a giant IPC logo swirling around it, of course.

It was luxurious, but Aventurine doubted Sunday would be impressed. Aventurine challenged himself to find at least one thing in Magatia that would impress the Halovian.

The hotel lobby was just as grand as the Reverie’s, though it wasn’t as filled with as many people. In fact, it was surprisingly low in visitors, just like the rest of the mall.

Aventurine and Sunday went up to the receptionist, who was a native Ylissan based on their sharply tipped, long ears that extended sideways. Their uniform had the emerald flowers and swirling sand that the Ylissans were fond of. They wore the typical IPC set of glasses that secretly scanned the information of everyone they saw, which meant they must’ve been the manager of this Hotel.

“Two jewel suites, please,” Aventurine said with a bright smile.

The receptionist smiled politely, not swayed by Aventurine’s rank or charm. “Mister Aventurine, your suite is ready.” They looked over to Sunday, clearly recognizing who he was, but also unsurprised. They’d been expecting this arrival.

“He’s with me, so let’s skip all the usual shebang,” Aventurine said, waving a hand.

“Of course. Let me get a keycard for your companion’s suite right away, sir.” The receptionist—Violet, according to the nametag—tapped on the screen before them, but their eyes stayed on Sunday for a few moments. “May I ask how long you and your companion expect to be staying with us?”

“A month,” Aventurine answered.

“Would your friend like the entire VIP package as well?” Violet handed a new keycard to Aventurine, who handed it over to Sunday. Sunday held it instead of placing it into Robin’s purse.

“He’ll decide after seeing the full menu,” Aventurine said. “Thank you so much. And, Violet, this is for you. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Violet didn’t bat an eyelash at the 10,000 credits, but did accept them. Aventurine supposed the reputation he’d cultivated had spread to this Mall hotel as well. “Thank you, Mr. Aventurine.”

They headed to the elevator. The IPC radio station music started playing, but it sounded fainter, like something Aventurine couldn’t hear was rippling through it.

After the door slid shut, Aventurine pressed his palm to the hidden scanner on the elevator wall. There was a soft beep, and the elevator started to move sideways, before it ascended to the hidden floor for the Cornerstones. Sunday made no comment.

Aventurine glanced thoughtfully at his companion. “Even you are awkwardly silent in an elevator.”

“I am not,” Sunday said.

They arrived at their stop with a pleasant ding. An automated, robotic voice spoke: “Welcome to the Interastral Peace Mall, Aventurine and Sunday.”

They entered the corridor of the thirtieth floor. It was beautifully decorated with Arcanian paintings and statues, as well as IPC achievements.

“So what is up with that, anyway?” Aventurine asked. “Are you emitting sound waves normal people can’t hear?”

“What do you mean?” Sunday asked, neutral.

“It’s like everything is more silent around you,” Aventurine said. “Can you control that?”

Sunday tensed, but seemed to know exactly what he meant. “You’re sensitive,” he said. “Chalk it up to a Halovian quirk.”

“That’s suspicious, I love it.”

“You’re not a trusting person,” Sunday said.

“You’re just a kettle with feathers,” Aventurine laughed. He halted their steps before a door. “This is your place. If you don’t like anything, call the number on your keycard. If you think you’re in trouble, call the second number—or better yet, just call me. If you’re bored, also call me.” He winked.

“Haha,” Sunday said. “Who exactly is behind the second line?”

“No idea. Never used that service. I wouldn’t trust it, probably someone who would want to fire you.”

“I see. You are a pot filled with money.”

“Right at the end of the rainbow bridge,” Aventurine said. He blinked at Sunday worriedly. “You’re not with me for my money, are you?”

Sunday gave him a charming smile that was so fake it looked like a Fool’s Mask. Aventurine couldn’t help but still find it charming. “Every last credit.”

Aventurine laughed again. “You’re hilarious, Featherhead.”

“Thank you,” Sunday said, smile dropping like a stone as he swiped his keycard to open the door.

Aventurine went in and looked around, getting his scanner to look for eavesdropping devices. Nothing found. “Alright, we’re good. You can keep this. It scans for eavesdropping devices by default, but you can switch it to an EMP or a recorder by tapping the side.” He plopped the scanner on the bed. “I’ll see you later. Want to meet for dinner?”

“Why don’t we meet in the morning?”

“Sure,” Aventurine agreed easily. Sunday probably wanted more time alone. “I recommend trying the new recipes they added if you get the chance. Topaz recommended the Crystal Lizard Satay.”

“Thank you. That sounds… interesting.”

Aventurine hesitated, glancing at Sunday. The Halovian looked mostly fine. Good, really, for someone who’d almost taken over a planet by using a dead Aeon’s powers, though Aventurine didn’t have that many points of comparison. How many people could say they weren’t executed for such blasphemy?

But it wasn’t like Aventurine could stay, nor did he feel welcome. He had a call to make. Dealing with Diamond first took priority.

Within seconds of entering his suite and shutting the door, Aventurine’s phone rang. He took a steadying breath and held it up to his ear.

“Aventurine,” Diamond greeted.

“Diamond, sir.”

“Curious that you so abruptly bought a ship to head to Ylisse-XIII instead of HQ. One would think you were avoiding me.”

“Why would I avoid a promotion, sir?”

“Is that what you deserve?” Diamond asked. “Why don’t I forge you another Cornerstone? Why shouldn’t the IPC reward such reckless use of Qliopoth’s gifts?”

Aventurine brightened. “I would happily take a punishment as well, sir.”

“I am aware,” Diamond said, “but I am fair.”

Aventurine held back a laugh. Fair? Diamond was hardly fair, they both knew it. The Emanator was a gambler who rigged the game, even if his gambles don the cloak of calculated risk. The IPC was never fair, and Diamond was the IPC.

“You did well in Penacony, Aventurine. I have granted your promotion to P46, effective immediately.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As was standard procedure, Diamond declared the improvements in pay and benefits. Then, he added, cutting as the edge of a gemstone, “Not that any of that matters considering the contract you signed.”

Aventurine laughed. His contract. Just one of the many ways to say collar. “I appreciate the thought. At least I know how much more Jade gets in bonuses now.”

“Why did you plot a new course to Ylisse-XIII?” Diamond asked. “Ylisse-XIII was not in your assignments.”

“A few months ago back at HQ, I ran into this agent who fainted from how bad the revenue plummet was. When he woke up, he asked me if I could fire him. I thought I should help, try my hand at Ylisse-XIII.”

“Gemstones may be polished by the rough, but throwing one back into the dirt is a waste.”

“Sir, if you really wanted to keep me away from Ylisse, I would’ve never found out it qualified as a non-performing asset.” This wasn’t flattery, simply a fact. An entire star system could be wiped by the Antimatter Legion, and Diamond could’ve hidden that from Aventurine if he didn’t want Aventurine to know.

“I only allow it because it is a good first assignment for a newly-promoted P46,” Diamond said, sounding thoughtful. “In addition, you have collected a new asset worth polishing.”

“Sunday is more like a bird than a gemstone, isn’t he?”

“A flightless, songless bird may as well be made from stone.”

Aventurine’s lips parted, but he had nothing he could say.

A flightless, songless bird. That was cruel and pointed for Diamond to say so casually. Maybe Diamond and Sunday had more interactions in the past than Aventurine knew. Did Diamond want Sunday to genuinely ally with the Strategic Investment Department? It wasn’t too hard to imagine. Order had demanded an unwavering control that was similar to the unchanging path of Preservation.

Still, a holo chat between the two of them suddenly sounded like a terrible idea.

Aventurine considered Diamond’s words. Diamond said he thought Ylisse-XIII would be a suitable job for him after a P46 promotion. “Sir, I found out about Ylisse-XIII months before I was assigned to Penacony,” he said, wondering what Diamond had planned for him, wondering how it strayed from his own plans. “I appreciate the faith you placed in me.”

“I always offer my best agents the best incentives.”

“How about a Cornerstone? To secure the win in Ylisse-XIII.”

“A shattered stone was enough for you to sink a colossal whale. With the Halovian by your side, I trust Khali won’t be an issue.”

Aventurine lowered his head. “Of course, sir,” he said. “Ah, I was wondering about the history of Halovians. They seem to have some eccentricities that are not on file.”

“You should focus on your own history before pursuing that distraction, Aventurine,” Diamond said. It was hard to tell if his amusement was genuine. “Why not ask the stone bird?”

With that, the line went dead.

Aventurine stared at the curtains. Shouldn’t he feel satisfied? He’d been promoted, entrusted with Ylisse-XIII, and allowed to keep Sunday by his side. What more could he ask for?

He shut his eyes and rubbed his face, lying onto the bed. His hand stopped on the brand at his neck and his expression dimmed.

Sunday. What was Aventurine going to do with him? After joining the IPC, Aventurine had never traveled with someone who was so…

“I may have failed, but I felt your true desire to destroy the world with your own two hands. Don’t pretend you’re here to pick up a Halovian trophy to play mind games with. You share the aftertaste of failure.”

The aftertaste of failure, huh. Its bitters were enough for Aventurine to crave a glass of Sweetened Mood from the Penacony bar. He couldn’t sweet talk like this.

“Ahhh,” Aventurine sighed. “IPC Assistant, play INSIDE on shuffle.”

Lighthearted notes of Robin’s new album started playing, brightening the room.

Badump. Badump. Badump. Aventurine pressed a hand over his chest, unnerved. He thought about his sister. His parents. His own younger self. The silence around Sunday was preferable to this.

What was it the more depressed people of Penacony would say? To die, to sleep—to take a nice dreamless nap that would only cost one kidney.

Aventurine set an alarm. He grabbed the pillow and used it to cover his face, blocking the sliver of light from the window, and went to sleep.

Sunday had never been in an Interastral Peace Mall before. But the Asdana star system would no doubt add IPC promotions to the Oti Mall. It was hard to imagine Alfalfa saying no to increased quarterly profits. As long as that old man could live in luxury, he didn’t care about other people. If the Interastral Peace Corporation favored daylight robbery, Penacony the Land of Dreams had always opted for nighttime kidnapping.

Not that Sunday had anything to do with the Family anymore.

Clinically, he ran a checklist of everything in the hotel suite. Nothing seemed out of place, not a single tile or stain. After washing his hands a few times with the sweet, subtly spicy flower-scented soap that boasted the ability to get rid of 99.99% intergalactic germs, Sunday went back to the purse.

Carefully, he pulled at the purse clasp that kept everything inside, placing every object into a line on the table. Based on the refracted rainbows on the surface, it seemed like the table was made from diamonds.

One hairbrush. An elegant design. Pressing a button on it morphed the bristles, turning it into a featherbrush. It was so soft, yet durable.

One travel-sized bottle of condensed polish, perfect for preventing rust on Asdanian gold. It was the same kind Sunday had used for Robin’s halos when polishing them in the past. It could last a year if Sunday was careful.

A moisturizing cleanser crafted for Halovians, for Halovians. Approved by nine out of ten wingcare experts. It wasn’t the brand that had sponsored Robin before, though.

A disk holder that contained a physical disk as well as digital download options. The case was black. On it, in a shimmering glitter ink, was Robin’s handwriting—to my brother Sunday. Love, your sister Robin.

Sunday went to take the last item out.

It was encased in special resin you could buy from the IPC if you wanted to preserve it for eternity. Long and asymmetrical, it was a gorgeous, pure, flawless white, nothing like Sunday’s unsightly corruption.

Sunday carefully, shakily, cradled the gift in his hands.

A single flight feather.

Chapter Text

Vermillion light spilled into the hotel suite from the artificial sunrise on the window.

Aventurine yawned, glancing at his watch. It was still early. He snoozed for another ten minutes before getting up to his alarm. He threw his clothes and hat into the wash-n-dry machine. He’d have to change into special gear for Ylisse later. Hopefully the tailor could make something suitable for Sunday.

After a warm shower, Aventurine dried his hair with a towel. He paused when seeing his reflection in the mirror. Combined with the spicy, floral scented Ylissan soap, he was reminded of back when he’d had longer hair.

An hour later, Aventurine sent a message to Sunday.

< Good morning, Sunday☀️

> Good morning, Aventurine. Hopefully you had a restful slumber.

Aventurine smiled. That sounded kinda threatening coming from Sunday.

< Did you get to consume something other than soda?

> A zoologist said the crystalline by-product of Crystal Lizard Satay can be eaten occasionally.

> I’d rather choose an item reviewed by a chef, not a zoologist.

< Haha!

< That would explain my stomach discomfort last night

> How many skewers did you eat?

< I just wanted to forget the taste of Clockie Pizza…

> Ylisse exports the ingredients for Lethe’s Kiss.

> You should look into it.

< No thanks! I heard that amnesia drug tastes terrible.

< Are you amenable to meeting in 15 minutes in the lounge next to your suite? Let’s start the day with coffee

> Yes, that works.

< Wonderful :)

They met up in the lounge area of their hotel floor as they agreed.

Sunday looked much refreshed, his hair smooth and his feathers looking softer than ever. Even his halo seemed shinier. He was already sitting with a bottle of water and a Traveler’s Guide in hand. “Rise and shine, Aventurine.”

“I’m rising and shining,” Aventurine said. “Say, is your halo shining brighter than usual?”

“Perhaps,” Sunday said softly.

Aventurine took a seat in a bejeweled chair. He tapped the chair handle, scrolling through the menu to order a hot coffee. “I guess I’ll try the Ylissan special,” he said.

A few moments later, a tiny robot slid out of the drink machine, flying with a claw to hold the coffee cup. It dropped the coffee into Aventurine’s waiting hands.

“Now, please tell me what we are doing here,” Sunday said.

“Gear, food, souvenirs… This is an IPC mall. Don’t tell me you’ve never been to one.”

“Why we’re here in Magatia, Aventurine.” Sunday spoke with an impressive amount of patience. “I noticed that they don’t offer mung bean soda from the Xianzhou Alliance. Or any recipes, for that matter.”

Aventurine blinked. “Aw, were you looking to buy some for us? Don’t worry, I’ll get it for us next time,” he promised, flashing Sunday a delighted smile. “You did your research quick, Sunday.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would tell me.”

“I was, of course. We’re on the same side, after all.”

Sunday tilted his head. “So, we are working against an Emanator of Abundance?”

“If you want to make an omelet, you’re gonna have to break a few eggs. Sometimes those eggs are IPC contracts,” Aventurine drawled. “And Lord Khali broke a lot of contracts by shutting down exports.”

Sunday didn’t seem enthusiastic. “By all accounts, the old Pharaoh was a tyrant.”

“The new Lord could be worse.”

Sunday gave him a cool smile. “What if she isn’t?”

Aventurine shrugged and casually faked a sip of his coffee.

Sunday decided to elaborate on his thoughts. “This Lord Khali’s identity is dubious. There are no bounties on her, the Intelligentsia Guild has no entry on her, and neither did the Family.”

Aventurine peered at Sunday. “How come your phone gave you access to the book of bounties and the Guild’s intel?”

“Does yours not? My phone seems to have been unlocked since we got here.”

Must’ve been Diamond. “Sure it does,” Aventurine said wryly, “but I didn’t get access for a long while.”

Sunday’s smile turned disturbingly knowing and sympathetic.

“No need to act like you care, Sunday. This is plotting against an Emanator, not a confessional.”

“I suppose it’s a habit,” Sunday said with a hint of melancholy.

“Acting like you care?”

Sunday tilted his head at Aventurine, feathers looking so soft as they brushed against his hair. “No,” he said. “It’s a habit of yours to plot against Emanators.”

Aventurine laughed, amused. “Mea culpa,” he drawled. “Ah, did you just admit you’re an Emanator? It wasn’t quite clear. You’re lucky you could skip a lot of hoops because Diamond approved you himself.”

“Emanator is only a word,” Sunday replied, which made Aventurine want to roll his eyes. The difference in power between Emanators and normal people was astronomical. “Have you heard of the Mirror Holders?”

“Sure, the followers of Idrila the Beauty.”

“Unlike the Knights of Beauty, the Mirror Holders believe Idrila is dead. They are dedicated to reviving THEM.”

(“Are you looking for THEM in this dreamscape?” Aventurine asked.

“Indeed. There is much beauty to these dreams,” Argenti said earnestly, staring into the memoria that warped the space around it. “I can sense that in its beating heart, the dreamer wants an unending paradise for all.”

“Is that why there’s a black hole threatening to destroy everything?” Aventurine asked dryly.

“Its shadows led me to our chance meeting, did it not? And you are beautiful, your eyes dazzling. I must be on the right path to finding THEM.”

Argenti didn’t speak with an accusatory or flirtatious tone. The sincerity and unwavering faith were sobering. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Aventurine said.)

Aventurine wondered why Argenti didn’t join the Mirror Holders if it was so important to him that his Aeon was alive.

“The Genius Society and Intelligentsia Guild both follow the Mirror Holders’ progress as they seek to revive Idrila. They recognize powerful Mirror Holders as Emanators. Neither would’ve supported our Sky Choir,” Sunday said.

“Why?” Aventurine asked curiously.

“With Order and Harmony, reviving one Aeon meant forcing the other to be a spectator. A mortal who knows how to usurp an Aeon must die.”

“...Ah. I thought we were talking about Emanators,” Aventurine said in realization. “You’re talking about Diamond approving you to join the IPC?”

“Yes. I expected an execution,” Sunday confessed, though he didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Maybe it wasn’t a confession, but merely a statement. Like Sunday had expected the sky to be blue, rain to fall wet, and a blade to slice through his neck.

Aventurine stared at Sunday and just couldn’t figure out why Sunday had expected the death penalty. The IPC wouldn’t have thought that profitable. But now that Aventurine thought about it, what was Diamond after, letting Sunday join Aventurine’s team?

“Although, this also explains why no organization would officially classify me as an Emanator,” Sunday said. “Punishing an Emanator comes with rippling consequences.” He let out a laugh. “A Mirror Holder might even have opposed my execution.”

“Diamond wouldn’t have let you live if he thought you were truly a threat to Qlipoth.” Aventurine’s heart sank a little for some reason at that thought.

An execution…

“Diamond leads the Strategic Investment Department. He may not see eye to eye with other departments. Say, your friend in the Intelligentsia Guild.”

What had Ratio said regarding Sunday, after the whole ordeal? Mostly, the doctor had led Aventurine down the path of wondering about the history of Halovians, and then he’d vanished from Penacony. Now leave, gambler, I have more important matters to attend to.

No. No, Aventurine didn’t want to think poorly of an ally (especially one who had chosen to not backstab him). He hardly had any left. He looked at Sunday, lips curving up sharply. “For someone who spoke for Harmony, you’re really good at this.”

“At what?” Sunday asked, but he smiled back.

“Sowing seeds of distrust.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. I want to foster trust between us.”

Sunday was unbelievably bad at it, Aventurine thought wryly. “Sure, it’s easier to get someone to trust you if they mistrust the rest of the world,” Aventurine drawled. “Isolate them, pluck their feathers, feed them out of your palm.”

Sunday gave Aventurine a look. “How… specific.”

Aventurine waved a hand. “Now, if you really wanted to gain my trust, you’d share with me what you know about usurping an Aeon.”

Sunday frowned. “You’re fortunate that I’m preventing our words from reaching anyone else, Aventurine. If Diamond is as devout to Qlipoth as people say he is, he would not approve.”

“I don’t know, he approves of a lot of things, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. I feel like you’re the one who disapproves of me.”

In response, Sunday looked at him disapprovingly.

Aventurine sighed, disappointed as he held the coffee cup to his lips. “So, is anti-eavesdropping another fancy Halovian quirk?” he asked.

“There’s a reason the Family did not bother trying to eavesdrop on us.” Sunday seemed willing to let the previous topic drop.

“Wh—you could’ve said that before I waved my scanner around so many times. I even gave it to you and ordered a new one!”

“You did it for show,” Sunday said, exasperated. “I know the scanner’s model can remain constantly activated.”

“I wanted you to feel more comfortable,” Aventurine said.

Sunday went quiet instead of scoffing, looking puzzled. “We digress,” he said finally. “You asked me what I think of Lord Khali.”

“My coffee’s going cold already, Sunday.” Aventurine pouted. “I don’t even remember what I think of Lord Khali at this point. Why don’t we head to the mall and do some shopping?”

“Fine,” Sunday said, like he was allowing it. But when he stood up, his gaze trailed Aventurine heavily for a moment. He spoke before the silence steeped too long. “It isn’t my intention to sow discord between you and your friends.”

“I might’ve been a tad defensive there,” Aventurine said, smiling. “We just got to Ylisse and you’re already thinking so much about everything. There’s only twenty two hours in a Ylissan day. Learn to go with the flow, Featherhead.”

“Alright,” Sunday said, probably lying through his perfectly white teeth.

The mall was large, to say the least, with a dizzying number of sections. Like any IPC mall, you could buy almost anything an average shopper would want.

Aventurine led them up to a floor with a huge banner with curvy, green letters: Ylissentials.

“Cute,” Aventurine said. Done with his coffee, he tossed it into a nearby trash can. “Do you mind if we head that way first? I have to pick up equipment at Munch’s.”

Ground Gears was a store run by a bearded Ylissan weaver who had chased every other IPC quartermaster out of the Magatia star system. After explaining this, Aventurine added, “Weaver Munch could give Old Oti a run for his money.”

“Eh. And you are?” Munch asked, eyeing the two of them as they walked up.

“Aventurine from the Strategic Investment Department.”

“Ah, you’re the one who ordered the fancy equipment,” Munch said. He peered at Sunday. “Mr. Aventurine, did you kidnap this Halovian?”

“No?” Aventurine asked.

“No,” Sunday said.

Munch’s frown cleared. “Good. As you know, mercantilism has been banned. If anyone catches you with an illegal import, you’ll say goodbye to your head even if you’re a Stoneheart.” He did a slicing motion at his neck.

Mercantilism was how Ylissans and the IPC had referred to sapient species trafficking, used for rituals on Ylisse-XIII.

Sunday must’ve found all of it distasteful by the fake smile he wore. Or maybe he was just annoyed Munch asked if Aventurine had kidnapped him. “Thank you for the concern,” he said.

Munch stared at Sunday consideringly before chortling. “Yeah. Definitely not kidnapped,” he said. “Come on then, allow me to give you an overview of our top-of-the-line collection.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Sunday said, not batting an eye.

“None at all,” Munch said.

Deeper in the store were fabrics hung up and artifacts almost like they were in a museum. There was another employee typing away behind a counter, appearing busy, but it was otherwise just them.

“We highly recommend our special lightweight, breathable line of clothes,” Munch said. “Not only is the patented design comfortable, it also keeps you from getting gnawed on by local wildlife.”

A video with an infomercial voiceover played, showcasing cartoon renditions of a tourist getting attacked by various monsters.

“…but don’t worry. You too can walk away without a fatal injury thanks to our Ground Gears Armor. Dress for survival and style, two in one. Survivalnotguaranteed and dependsontheindividual, talktoyourinsurerformoreinformation...” As it finished speaking, it cheerfully speed ran through the liability fine print.

“I think this outfit would look great on you,” Aventurine said, pulling the scarf on a mannequin. “White, elegant… it even has a bird motif.”

“Weaver Munch, I notice you use the phoenix in many of your designs,” Sunday said, a question in his voice.

“It is actually a fire-breathing falcon we call the Vrisaya, the symbol of vitality,” Munch said. “It went extinct centuries ago but has been spotted again since Lord Khali’s descension.” His eyes gleamed as he spoke.

Descension. Not ascension, Aventurine noted.

“Do you support Lord Khali?” Sunday asked.

Munch shrugged. “I don’t want trouble. I just support whoever’s making the laws,” he said. “As long as there’s no war, I’m happy.”

Sunday smiled. “Yes,” he said, voice light. “That’s not a bad sentiment to have.”

Munch stiffened, gaze snapping over to Sunday.

Aventurine glanced at Sunday, curious. Munch’s admission of just wanting to stay out of trouble was a common one, one Aventurine could hardly fault when he didn’t know more about the fabric weaver. Even if Sunday could say it wasn’t a bad sentiment to have, it still felt like he was judging.

After they looked at the different designs of Ground Gears Armor, Munch showed them to a different section for combat and safety enhancements.

“You need to keep this orb on you as you travel,” Munch said. He seemed to have recovered from whatever Sunday did to him. “It purifies a two meter radius around you so you non-Ylissans can breathe without getting intoxicated. Our planet’s air contains substances that other species can’t handle, often sending them into a state of bloodlust.”

“How does it work?” Sunday asked, taking a palm sized orb into his hand.

It was entirely translucent, like a ball of water. In fact, it really did look like a ball of solid water. Were they getting scammed?

“The magic works thanks to a local beetle,” Munch said, “but the rest of the formula is proprietary. We change the form so you can keep the orb in a convenient pendant, belt, or chain.”

It didn’t seem all that convenient when it was so easily stolen…

“And please remember,” Munch said, “I’m just a Weaver trying to help tourists survive on the ground. I’d rather not go against the NDA with my supplier.”

“Not even for the right price?” Aventurine asked.

Munch huffed. “There’s no price for betrayal in Magatia,” he said, eyeing Sunday. “Besides, Mr. Aventurine, shouldn’t the IPC respect contracts?”

Funny Munch should say that when Lord Khali didn’t respect any of the planet’s existing contracts. But the fact that Munch brought up this line of discussion out of the blue was extremely suspicious.

“We don’t pick and choose which we respect,” Sunday said.

Munch grunted.

They spent some more time looking around Ground Gears. The place probably would impress a regular tourist, but Aventurine found all of this fancy equipment bland. Not due to its price or quality—the items here certainly rivaled what he currently wore. But the gear wasn’t likely to help Aventurine. Even if Aventurine wore nothing at all, Ylisse-XIII wasn’t enough to kill him.

“So, Sunday,” Aventurine began, strolling back to Sunday and Munch after picking up the bag of the equipment he had ordered days ago.

“I’ll take a set of Snowy Radiance,” Sunday said. “With all of the enhancements.”

Munch nodded. “Alright, let me take your measurements, if you’re good with that.” He brought up his tablet, scanning Sunday’s form. “Not to worry, I’ll adjust all the gear to match your bone density and wings, Mr. Halovian.”

Sunday smiled. “That would be helpful,” he said pleasantly.

As Sunday double checked everything with Munch, Aventurine had the other employee hand him the gear he’d ordered before.

“Thank you so much for your help. I know you must be busy,” Aventurine said, smiling. “Here, take this.”

The employee looked at Aventurine’s hand blankly, like they were failing to find a suitable reaction to Aventurine. Mutely, the employee nodded and took the proffered credits before quickly going back to their station.

Sunday paid with his shiny new credit card, which Munch didn’t seem to find surprising. VIP statuses came with the territory of Sunday walking around with that kind of aura, Aventurine supposed.

“Look, Sunday! The souvenirs are on sale.” Aventurine started walking towards the souvenir shop, which dripped with luxury and overpriced items. That was something you could count on no matter what star system you were in.

“Are souvenirs not typically purchased after the trip is over?”

“Well, this mall might not be here by the time we’re done.”

Sunday gave him a critical look that made it clear he personally thought it was better if the Interastral Mall did get kicked out of the Magatia star system.

Aventurine picked a few fun souvenirs for himself, including a snowglobe with crimson light glowing ominously over a temple. He couldn’t wait to shatter it.

“Sunday, check these out,” Aventurine said, pulling out a postcard from its stack. The selection of postcards had plenty of beautiful moving images that showcased the beauty of Ylisse. “They’re scented with Ylissan perfumes: Dew of Oasis, Crimson Sun, Desert Dessert, Sweet Spice...” Aventurine covered his nose at the scents as he placed the card back, eyes prickling. Ah, he did not like that sweet and spicy perfume.

Sunday walked over. He looked melancholic again, head dipping as he assessed the postcards. Thankfully, otherwise he’d have noticed Aventurine holding back a sneeze.

“Your sister would love to get one of these from you,” Aventurine said.

“I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?”

“She used to send me postcards and gifts from where she toured.”

Aventurine… didn’t see how that was relevant. But Sunday hadn’t brought anything with them other than the clothes he’d already been wearing. And Robin’s gifts, of course. Was he upset the postcards were gone, or…

“Are you wondering if she'll continue sending postcards to you from the Astral Express?” Aventurine asked.

Sunday’s jaw tensed.

“If you don’t know what to say, you don’t even have to write anything on it,” Aventurine said. “She’ll know who it’s from.”

Sunday was silent for a few moments. “Do you intend to live vicariously through me, Aventurine?” he finally asked, voice flat.

Aventurine’s smile froze on his face. He blinked at Sunday, blinked, and then—

“Achoo.” Aventurine put a hand over his chest for a moment, shivering.

Sunday stared in absolute disbelief like he’d never seen someone sneeze before. “Are you alright?” he asked slowly.

Aventurine sniffed. “Ah. Must be allergies,” he said.

“…Must be.”

“Your perplexity is hilarious, Featherhead. Do people not sneeze in dreams? Who asks if someone is okay after a single sneeze?”

“There is no illness in dreams,” Sunday said. “Only sickness of the mind.”

Aventurine supposed that was true. “For what it’s worth, Sunday,” he said, “if it weren’t for the Family’s fervent censorship, Penacony’s dreamscape would’ve been far more lucrative.”

Munch told them to return in the evening. Sunday suggested they continue their research until then.

“By research, you mean shopping, right?” Aventurine asked as they arrived on their hotel floor.

“Scouring the mall for intel seems less useful than reading about Ylissan history and culture. Go shopping without me.”

“You’re starting to sound like Dr. Ratio. Next you’ll tell me about the forty-seven deadly Ylissan snakes.”

Sunday gave him an odd look. “I don’t mean to insult you.”

“I love how that’s the first thing you think about.”

“It’s what you and the doctor wanted me to think about.”

Aventurine grinned at Sunday’s irritation. “Okay, we can split up like all the horror movies say not to,” he said.

Sunday looked like he had no idea what Aventurine was talking about.

“Because splitting up preludes the first blood,” Aventurine elaborated. “Really? Sunday, remind me to send you some horror movie recs.”

“You’re starting to sound like Maeven Ellis.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.

Sunday was so shady. “That’s not fair,” Aventurine protested, amused. “I compare you to a friend—you compare me to the head of the Iris Family, whom you clearly dislike.”

Sunday was probably too dignified to roll his eyes, but his exasperation was still clear. “Our schedule is rather slow paced for how quickly the IPC usually works.”

Aventurine gestured around the nicely decorated hotel floor. “This is basically paid vacation,” he said cheerfully. “Why not enjoy the time here?”

Sunday looked at him, dubious. Seemed like he was the type to throw himself into work after going through stressful situations, such as believing his sister had been murdered.

“By the way, I’m sure we can still retrieve or reprint them,” Aventurine said. “Robin’s postcards,” he clarified.

“My accounts and possessions, if any remain intact, would have been seized by the Family.”

“Then we’ll buy them back.”

“I’m sure you know not everything can be bought, Aventurine.”

Maybe Sunday needed a different line of reasoning to accept. “It would be smarter for the IPC to remind you how much you care about your sister. Destroying a memento is only two steps away from killing a hostage. Which Diamond is too smart to ever do,” Aventurine said dismissively.

“You say that is smarter for the IPC to do. What about you, Aventurine?” Sunday asked coldly.

“What about me?”

“Is helping me you being smart?”

No.

It really wasn’t. Especially not when Sunday always seemed so knowing. Aventurine’s heart sped up. Sunday could probably hear it, the Halovian he was. Aventurine let out a languid laugh. “Some might consider this me being stupid,” he said as he stepped closer.

He gave Sunday a sweet, smitten smile, taking Sunday’s gloved hand and placing it over his heart—it wasn’t as if Sunday couldn’t already hear the quickened pulse. Whenever Aventurine gave someone a loaded gun, some would pull the trigger before he did. What would Sunday do?

Sunday narrowed his eyes, but he seemed captivated.

“I do want to help you,” Aventurine said. “You’ve been stressed—why wouldn’t I want to help my friend out? It would be mutually beneficial.”

Sunday leaned in slowly, like he was telegraphing the motion, the cotton candy soft feathers of his wings brushing against Aventurine’s bared throat. Aventurine half expected the Halovian to bite.

Instead, Sunday tilted his head to capture Aventurine’s lips in a kiss. His eyes stayed open, memorizing Aventurine’s reaction, searching for a tell, but whyever would there be any?

They were so pretty, glowing yellow like a mosaic sun. From this up close, Aventurine could see the glimmering specks of different shades in Sunday’s irises, the purple darker than usual. Shimmering like a mirage.

When Sunday withdrew, Aventurine chased him forward. Sunday’s body radiated heat, life, but the chaste, soft kiss didn’t transfer any of it. Aventurine wanted to try again, to see what Sunday looked like when he wasn’t wearing layers of masks (and clothes).

Feathers rustled against hair. Aventurine froze, realizing Sunday had just shaken his head.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Sunday said. People always loved to talk about Aventurine’s eyes. “But… there is nothing in them.”

Hilariously, Sunday made what should be a compliment sound like a conflicted lament. “Mm. Your pillow talk needs work,” Aventurine said. “Although, knowing your usual way of conversing, I’m not surprised.”

“Do you want me to call your bluffs, Aventurine?” Sunday asked. “Ask you what you’re really doing in Ylisse? Pluck your lies off like feathers?”

Sunday reached out his hand to trace the side of Aventurine’s neck, gentle enough to be mistaken for either a lover’s bruise or a knife’s kiss. Aventurine’s eyes went half-lidded. You’d have to claw this off, he thought. I’m not a bird.

“Not bluffing, Sunday. I already thought about getting on my knees for you back in Penacony,” Aventurine said. “Wouldn’t you like to fuck my mouth?”

Sunday tensed, breath catching. His expression flickered with something dangerous as he glanced down at Aventurine’s lips. For a moment, it looked like Sunday was genuinely tempted to shove him to the floor.

But then Sunday withdrew his hand, frowning. “You taste like lies even when you tell the truth,” he said, half to himself.

“I didn’t know that lies had a taste.” Aventurine said. He licked his lips. “What’s next, will you tell me that lies have a sound, too?”

There was a telling moment of silence.

“I…” Sunday trailed off, lips thinning. The unfinished sentence and hesitant look caught Aventurine off guard. “Deception is discordant. Yours is… sweet.”

Aventurine stepped away, surprised by the unexpected confirmation that Sunday could sense deception in speech, even without the obvious mind-controlling trick he did. Without the haze of lust, Aventurine thought he should probably be afraid.

But Sunday wasn’t wrong in what he really meant to say: there is nothing in you.

Aventurine smiled. “Sweet? Thank you,” he said. “You’re sweet as well, Sunday.”

Sunday stared at him, not pleased at all.

“Anyway, I get it, no workplace dalliances,” Aventurine said easily. “It’s good to know about your Halovian tricks, they’re bound to be helpf—”

“Aventurine,” Sunday interrupted. For some reason, he looked torn. Aventurine waited in anticipation. Finally, Sunday sighed and gave Aventurine a bland smile. “Would you recommend a postcard for Robin? I’m sure you’re familiar with the Ylissan landmarks.”

Sunday could’ve asked plenty of other questions about what Aventurine was doing here in Ylisse. He could’ve interrogated Aventurine’s familiarity with the mall layout, or any of the other breadcrumbs left behind since they got here. Aventurine had expected that—been excited about it.

Aventurine felt a wave of fear. He had a sincere enough answer on the tip of his tongue—but Sunday wouldn’t let Robin be used in other people’s gambles or games, right? So he was… genuinely asking. Why?

How Aventurine felt never mattered. Plotting against the universe was almost too easy. Inevitable suffering, inevitable victory. Sunday was the last person Aventurine expected to pull the curtain back, forcing Aventurine to break character like this.

Some people were romantic optimists, hoping to find light within a black hole. Why would Sunday keep looking at Aventurine when he knew there was nothing in him?

“Aventurine,” Sunday said lightly.

Aventurine should’ve just gotten onto his knees a few minutes ago, it would’ve made things much easier. He laughed a little. “Yeah. Just send Miss Robin a regular letter instead, Sunday,” he said. “Ylisse doesn’t deserve commemoration.”

Chapter Text

• Too familiar about Ylisse
• Munch (who’d chased other IPC quartermasters out) did not recognize him, yet he knew what gear to buy
• Too vague about his plans
• Unconcerned by his own physical symptoms
• Eager to usurp an Aeon (Qlipoth?)
• Knows there are 47 species of deadly Ylissan snakes
• Sweet to kiss

Sunday paused in reviewing his mental list, annoyed.

He didn’t make the same mistakes twice. After Penacony and the act with Dr. Ratio, he knew Aventurine was one to reveal his bleeding wounds as bait even if they weren’t painted on. So performative.

Being able to hear the discordance in voices and heartbeats when people lied wasn’t helpful when it came to Aventurine. The only times he lost the saccharine overtone was when the truth didn’t make any sense. The truths were the most unbelievable parts of Aventurine.

I wanted you to feel more comfortable

I’m sure we can still retrieve or reprint them

I do want to help you

Sunday didn’t understand this insanity. He shouldn’t have told a liar like Aventurine that he could sense deception.

You’re sweet as well, Sunday

Sunday didn’t know how to be sweet. But Aventurine had meant it.

I already thought about getting on my knees for you back in Penacony

DING.

Shuddering, Sunday opened his eyes, waking from his light nap.

After a few beats, he stood up from his hotel suite’s chair. He went to get the cup of hot Ylissan coffee from the drink maker that had just finished brewing. He took a cautious sip.

It was bitter—a consequence of most Ylissan ingredients naturally tasting bitter, just like the amnesia-inducing mielossan herb that went into Lethe’s Kiss. Sunday only knew this because he knew the ingredients for SoulHeal.

Sunday put the cup of coffee down with a porcelain clink, lips curving down.

Aventurine had tasted sweet.

Aventurine had been about to recklessly down the drinks in Sunday’s cage, yet refused to consume the IPC hotel prepared coffee. Was he truly allergic and knew to avoid the coffee? But why bother pretending he wanted to drink the coffee? If he really wanted to hide he’d been to Ylisse before, likely as a mercantile commodity, he surely wouldn’t have made it so obvious.

Leaving breadcrumbs everywhere, eager for Sunday to ask how Aventurine knew so much. It was purposefully, irritatingly messy.

Sunday wanted to piece the puzzle together, but Aventurine had handed him too many extra pieces. As if saying, My weakness is whatever you say it is, mockingly. As if saying, I can be whatever you want, with an unbearable emptiness in his glassy gaze.

It was difficult to think when there was an echo of desire rattling his mind, the insistent, haunting sweetness. Wouldn’t you like to—?

Sunday took another sip of the darker than black coffee.

When Sunday was thirteen, Mr. Wood told him to watch, now, carefully. See how they could use their Halovian powers to open up the hearts of the corrupt—see how they were one of the few blessed with the ability to see them? With practice, Sunday would also be able to do this, and far more.

“What is this?” Sunday asked, frightened by how easy Mr. Wood made it seem.

“Unison,” Mr. Wood said, using the Pepeshi’s voice. He laughed softly. “Although, an old friend of mine might’ve called it clockwork.”

Later, Robin happily sat down with her stuffed toys. She sang to them, hosted tea parties, and invited Sunday to join. And after telling him about her singing class, she asked how his day had been.

Sunday stared at the pink stuffed bunny that sat with them at the table and knew there was no way he could tell her. Sunday knew Halovian powers of persuasion and control weren’t something Mr. Wood would teach Robin. She only wanted to learn how to spread hope and happiness through her melody.

Puppetry, Robin. We went to see puppets at the theater today.

Even if puppets had no strings, Sunday could still recognize them. The people in this mall swayed to an unknown tune, but they marched in unison. He was certain Aventurine had noticed something off as well. Even if no one knew their identities, they should’ve received attention simply for what they were: wealthy travelers with wings and striking eyes. Targets of salespeople. Marks of Ylissan mercantilism.

A thousand puppets in the mall—only a few were out of sync. Violet, Munch, and several other employees, only when speaking with Sunday and Aventurine.

As if someone was controlling all of them, hopping between minds when necessary. Earlier today when Sunday had tried delving into Munch’s psyche, looking for the strings, he’d found the puppeteer. And the puppeteer had felt it, too.

Now he needed to uncover who exactly this was. How they managed to apply a buzzing static to all of these puppets’ minds, blocking Sunday out.

‘Munch’ looked at him warily as Sunday entered the store by himself.

“Why don’t we start over with introductions,” Sunday said.

“We know,” ‘Munch’ said, “Sunday. We know what you are. Does the IPC?”

“The halo is hard to miss.”

“We can sense that stifling silence called Order around you, Emanator of Ena,” ‘Munch’ said with a sneer. “As wise as it is to keep this from the IPC, do not lie to Lord Khali.”

Ah. Khali didn't know that the IPC did know all about what Sunday was. The IPC knew what Sunday had done in Penacony. But none of that knowledge was listed. Aventurine had helped skip the paperwork, Diamond wouldn’t formally acknowledge Sunday was a caged Emanator of Order on paper, and Penacony’s Stellaron disaster was a fast-fading nightmare.

“The IPC doesn’t know,” Sunday said, then smiled. “Aventurine wouldn’t tell them.”

Khali scoffed. “You two do seem friendly.”

“For someone who supposedly follows Abundance,” Sunday said, “you’re not very friendly at all.”

Khali narrowed her puppet’s eyes, then shook her puppet’s head. “We seek no quarrel with you,” she said, sounding displeased. “Take your friend and go.”

“The IPC will make your planet suffer if you aren’t willing to negotiate,” Sunday said. “You cut off all trade and refused to assume the Pharaoh’s debt.”

“Do not speak of what the Pharaohs owe,” Khali hissed, eyes briefly flashing scarlet before returning to Munch’s flat brown.

“My apologies.”

Khali scowled. “If you think we cut off all trade without communicating a thing, you’ve been misinformed. We requested to renegotiate the contract in good faith shortly after taking the throne. Instead, the IPC sent the leader of the Non-performing Asset Liquidation Team.” She laughed scornfully. “And a Halovian who tries to delve into minds without permission.”

Hypocrite. Khali already acted just like any ruler.

“Aventurine’s reputation precedes him,” Sunday said.

“Reputation, you say,” Khali said. “Violet has access to his accolades. We saw the warnings that hotel managers shared about him. He caused the destruction of an entire Interastral Peace Mall last year.”

Sunday’s lips thinned.

“We see you didn’t know,” Khali said.

“Aventurine may be prone to understating his experiences.”

“Pray tell, did you come to mind control Lord Khali into reviving the merciless contract?” Khali asked. “Do you know how many suffer for the sake of what the IPC called mercantilism, or did he understate that too?”

“I am here in hopes of finding a peaceful alternative. My views don’t align with the IPC’s. Perhaps you know of Penacony’s history with the IPC.”

“Yet,” Khali said, frowning, “why would you not choose your good friend’s side over ours?”

Sunday wasn’t convinced Aventurine had any real allegiance. Although the records surrounding Sigonia’s extinction event were vague, and Aventurine seemed to be a valued Stoneheart…

if you really wanted to gain my trust, you’d share with me what you know about usurping an Aeon,” Aventurine had said, voice filled with serrated honesty.

It would be easy to tell Khali what Aventurine was. Destructive. Vengeful. An Avgin who had bad blood with Ylisse-XIII. Unlike what Khali believed, Sunday didn’t consider Aventurine a friend. Unlike Aventurine, Sunday didn’t practice the delusion that people like them had friends.

“Aventurine can be persuaded to choose my side,” Sunday said instead. The risk of revealing this wasn’t worth it—and it didn’t seem right when Aventurine had hid it from his records. “Why don’t you focus on convincing me you truly want the best for Ylisse, Lord Khali?”

“How dare you question our intentions.” Khali gave Sunday a look of disdain. “It must trouble you that your Halovian blessings are ineffective on us.”

Sunday thought about what ‘Munch’ had said about Halovians earlier—asking if Sunday had been kidnapped. It seemed misaligned with Khali’s thinly veiled dislike of Halovians.

Although… this dislike could be a result of Sunday trying to pry into Munch’s mind earlier, trying to follow and find who was manipulating the strings.

“An entire mall of people acting like mindless puppets. A self-proclaimed Lord of Abundance without any history, yet can hear and recognize my hymn. Those are what trouble me.” Sunday tilted his head. “After all, Yaoshi ascended after Ena’s fall.”

Khali laughed. “Even if we didn’t recognize you for what you are, from the way you act, we would never have believed you to be a speaker for Xipe,” she said. Munch’s voice buzzed with distaste. “If we were as cruel as the last Pharaoh, your tongue would have been ripped out as well.” This time, her words flooded with raw emotion.

Sunday didn’t need to be Halovian to sense the ripples of vicious anger.

“Come to Ylisse. We will show you that this star system’s connection with the IPC must be severed,” Khali continued, even though just minutes ago, she had told him to leave.

Perhaps getting rid of the Pharaoh had been a burst of personal vengeance from Khali. Everything else felt like reckless, unplanned improvisation. A refreshing but unpredictable honesty… Rather unlike Aventurine’s planned, unbelievable honesty.

“Then I look forward to it,” Sunday said, wondering what terms would satisfy both Khali and Diamond. Wondering how Aventurine’s plans might throw a wrench in them.

It didn’t matter at the end of the day. As long as Sunday fulfilled his IPC contract and kept Robin safe, Ylisse was simply an afterthought.

Khali sniffed. A moment later, the way Munch’s body moved changed, expression duller. “Alrighty. Come get your gear, Mr. Halovian,” the puppet said, now appearing to move on its on. “Wouldn’t want you or the Stoneheart to get cooked under the sun right after Lord Khali banned cannibalism, eh?”

Sunday felt exasperated. What else had this Lord Khali banned using an iron fist and mind control?

Using his keycard, Sunday returned to the hotel’s secret floor. The playful beeps of a video game resonated from the lounge.

Walking over to the game room, he came across Aventurine gaming away with the latest Masked Fool-sponsored console and another cup of coffee at his table. “Welcome back, Sunday. Wanna play? They’ve got billiards, darts, Aetherium Wars…”

“I am entertained enough.”

“That’s good, I hope your interrogation went well. Sounds like you had fun!”

Sunday stepped closer. “I was under the impression you didn’t want to discuss anything serious.”

“Not really, I was getting around to the serious stuff. We just got slightly distracted last time.”

Distracted. Sunday stopped, standing over Aventurine’s couch.

“I wanted to give you more time to decide what you think about Ylisse,” Aventurine said sincerely, but continued using his controller to play his game. He wasn’t even watching the screen anymore, eyes focused on Sunday instead. “If you want to hang out with the weaver for longer, that’s what we can do.”

“Munch asked about you.”

“I hope you didn’t slander me too much.”

Aventurine openly embraced what the Intelligentsia Guild had written about Avgins: scheming and alluring.

“No,” Sunday said. “There was no reason to tell him you’re an Avgin.”

Aventurine tilted his head to look at Sunday, eyes empty as he smiled honey sweet. “Well, Sunday, what did you find out?”

Sunday looked at Aventurine. Was he always like this? No, he knew that wasn’t true. He’d caught a glimpse of a young, innocent Kakavasha before having to confront Gallagher.

Beep. Boop BOP. Powerrrr UP. Choose your next baseball bat upgrade! resounded in the room.

Waiting patiently for a response, Aventurine paused his tapping, unsurprised he’d advanced in his game.

“Aventurine, did you know Lord Khali requested a peaceful renegotiation of the contracts?”

Aventurine blinked up at him, appearing puzzled. “I must’ve missed the memo,” he said.

Did you decide to come here before or after? Sunday wondered. Did you hate the Pharaoh? Did you want to see who stole revenge from you?

Sunday brushed some stray hairs out of Aventurine’s eyes. Aventurine didn’t react outwardly at all.

It struck Sunday abruptly that this was unusual. Previously, he’d been too distracted to realize it. Most people would reject their private space being invaded, or resent they couldn’t stop it. Aventurine had trained himself to not care at all.

“Let’s head to Ylisse’s capital once you are ready,” Sunday said, withdrawing his hand. It was too late to apologize. “We still have the hotel booked for several weeks.”

“Once I’m ready? I can’t tell if you’re really this considerate, Sunday,” Aventurine said, eyes curving into amused, fond, empty crescents. He looked at the console, back to tapping his controller again. Level UP! “Let’s go in the morning.”

Sunday looked at himself in the mirror, finished with putting on his earrings and polishing his halo. His new outfit wasn’t too different from his old one in color. It was graceful and ornate in design, with shades of white and light arctic blue. It still let him hide his pointless flight wings. Munch had altered the outfit’s design with a good idea of how much space needed to be left.

The Ylissan fabric felt incredibly light and loose when worn, and the anti-dust scarf was soft to the touch. They were supposed to be able to stop claws, beetle bites, and infectious blood storms.

Like Aventurine said, this mall might not be here by the end of this. Sunday couldn’t purchase better storage options now, so he decided to carry Robin’s flight feather with him. He kept it in a mini, downsized box, slipping it into a secure pocket within his sleeve.

When Sunday reached their parked spaceship, he found Aventurine tinkering with the ship’s systems. He raised his head to greet Sunday.

“Oh, look at you. Dazzling as always,” Aventurine said, smiling brightly.

Aventurine was wearing the new set of clothes he’d bought ahead of time. Instead of his usual peacock green, black, and white fur, he was clad in an outfit more Ylissan than what Sunday had chosen. It made him look almost like a dancer instead of a desert traveler.

Aventurine was decked out in unnecessary belts and elegant jewelry, including two red feather earrings—Vrisaya, the Ylissan extinct phoenix. He wore tight black sleeves that extended into gloves, with red accents and golden bracelets curled around his wrists. His outfit came with a hood that he didn’t put on yet.

“You chose even more revealing clothes,” Sunday said, eyeing the lack of fabric over Aventurine’s stomach. “Are you trying to appeal to Lord Khali?”

“Does it appeal to you?” Aventurine asked suggestively, clearly posing on purpose.

Exasperated, Sunday took his seat. “The desert heat will get to you if assassins don’t,” he said, taking out his phone.

“Assassins, in this economy?”

“You do have a high bounty.”

“Huh, I stopped checking after it hit a hundred million.” Aventurine went back to tinkering with ship settings.

“Was that before or after you destroyed an IPC mall?” Sunday asked casually.

Aventurine laughed. “Before,” he said easily.

Didn’t you say two foxians tried killing you at a mall? Sunday thought. As lucky as Aventurine was, some of the situations he ended up in seemed ridiculously unlucky.

“Let’s refrain from an encore,” Sunday said, keeping his gaze on his phone, idly strolling through news about the Astral Express (of which there was still none). “Otherwise you might be blamed for surviving an assassination attempt again.”

It was a guess, though Sunday rarely threw guesses out without being more certain. But Sunday heard the reaction because he was hyperfocused on Aventurine who was only a few steps away. That near imperceptible, sharp inhale, paired with an abruptly quickening heartbeat.
Outwardly, Aventurine laughed lightly, not missing a beat. “Why? I don’t see my bounty rising as a bad thing, Sunday,” he drawled.

It wasn’t deceptive, so Sunday didn’t know what to do with it. He filed it away into his growing mental file on Aventurine.

It didn’t take long for Aventurine to pilot their ship near Ylisse-XIII’s capital, Shal-raha, the City of Herbs. Even with the shades of the spaceship’s windows to filter out harmful rays, Sunday could still see the crimson light of the Magatia sun.

Sunday braced himself for enemies. He didn’t want to fight in the air. It was an irrational fear for a Halovian to have. But knowing the situations that Aventurine got himself in, Sunday doubted this trip would be peaceful.

In the distance, Sunday saw the landing zone of a gorgeous city with plenty of greenery and tall fountains. It looked like it flourished despite all the dunes surrounding it, though the tall trees that swayed in the breeze looked menacing, not welcoming. They reminded Sunday of photos he’d seen of Vonwacq.

“You’re a good pilot,” Sunday said. “When did you learn to navigate?”

“I get assigned teammates,” Aventurine said, “but they rarely stay the same. Thought I’d learn.”

“Then—”

SwoooOOO—

It was difficult to discern outside noises from inside the tightly sealed ship, but still, Sunday sensed these vibrations early enough for him to warn Aventurine.

“Missiles!” Sunday hissed.

Aventurine tensed but didn’t hesitate. He flipped a switch, putting up the ship’s shields, and then snapped his fingers. The hum of Imaginary power surrounded Sunday, layered with Preservation’s warmth. A golden shield shimmered around him. Unnecessary considering the ship’s defenses were only depleted 4%.

“Teleport to the coordinates I just sent you, Sunday,” Aventurine said over the swooshing sounds of more missiles—and absorbed explosions. “I’ll send the ship on autopilot to lead the ship behind us away.”

Hesitation was the root of failure, yet Sunday paused, the wings curled around his body feeling too tight under his closes. After a moment, he pulled the eject lever beside his seat.

The ship teleported him out with an unnerving zap. He would never get used to this sensation of endless falling as the mind struggled with the spatial displacement.

Falling.

(“What if I’m not there to catch you?” Robin asked.)

Sunday wondered if Robin was free to use the Nameless’ space anchors now.

Sunday materialized standing on soft, red sand, disoriented.

The crimson sunlight made the entire landscape look like it’d been set ablaze. It was surprising even though he’d seen the postcards of it. At least the crimson wasn’t so overpowering that it eliminated other colors.

Ylisse was the planet of an eternal sunset. It would be beautiful if Sunday wasn’t under the impression that this planet’s history was written in blood. Then again, no planet was unscarred.

Sunday heard a groan. “I hate crash landing,” Aventurine sighed under his breath, hanging off a precarious-looking cliff. How many times he had crash landed before…? Was that why Aventurine had learned to pilot a ship?

Sunday followed Aventurine’s voice, walking over to the ledge, cautious in case the ground gave way. A monstrous growl came from nearby, but it was too dark to see into the chasm.

Sunday reached down. Aventurine managed to grab his hand to get pulled up. He was heavier than Sunday expected.

Aventurine smiled. “Not worried I’ll pull you down?” he asked, voice teasing and sweet, but his hand was shaking as he let go of Sunday’s.

“You can try,” Sunday said as he walked further away from the chasm, as anyone with common sense would do.

“That sounded like a sand tiger,” Aventurine said, intrigued. “Their pelt sells for a lot.”

“Come,” Sunday said. “Save your poaching for another day.”

“Poaching? Nope, it’s perfectly legal. Even hunting people is legal on Ylisse.” Despite being spoken like a joke, Sunday didn’t doubt it had been true under the Dune Pharaoh’s reign.

Aventurine adjusted his clothes as he followed Sunday. He didn’t seem injured, but he did seem tired. The gravitational force must’ve hurt for him to fight against.

“Are you okay?” Aventurine asked.

“Yes. Do you have your purification orb?” Sunday asked.

“My ear’s not been ripped off, so I imagine I still do. Why, do you need an extra?”

“My two ears will suffice. Taking someone else’s ear has probably been banned,” Sunday said flatly, put off by the potentially sincere offer.

“What?” Aventurine asked, huffing out a laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re joking, Featherhead.”

The crimson light continued to shine down on them. It wasn’t searing hot. The protective sunscreen the hotel suites gave them did help with feeling cooler.

“Where did you teleport us?” Sunday asked, an edge to his voice.

“I’m not sure,” Aventurine said. “There was supposed to be a house here.”

“How do you know?” Sunday asked, not letting Aventurine get away with his knowledge this time.

“I lived there for a few months,” Aventurine said, like it was easy to admit.

Sunday glanced over in disbelief. “Is that where you were… isolated?”

“Sure, sure. Feathers plucked, fed out of someone’s palm,” Aventurine said, echoing what he’d said yesterday.

Sunday stared. “You don’t have feathers,” he finally said.

Aventurine laughed. “I can still preen,” he said.

The answer didn’t make any sense. Sunday shook his head, refocusing on their surroundings. He scanned the dunes around them to find a safe haven or signs of life as they walked on the uneven sand.

There wasn’t anywhere to seek cover nearby, unless they deigned to explore beneath the cliff line. But there were no air vessels sweeping the dunes for them either. Just green-winged lizards and ivory vultures that shrieked ever so often, circling them but not diving down. At least not yet.

Sunday doubted Khali would’ve tried shooting them down like this after their conversation… which meant someone else was trying to kill them?

But the missiles used to attack them had been slow, hardly powerful enough to take out any remotely fortified ship. The only reason their ship didn’t have much offensive power was because Aventurine had bought it from Penacony, which strictly regulated assault-type space ships.

“That was rude,” Aventurine said, tapping away at his phone as he walked beside Sunday. “They didn’t even bother hailing our ship. So much for Yaoshi’s—benevolent nature.” His voice went uneven for a moment.

Vaguely alarmed, Sunday looked at Aventurine to double check he wasn’t injured. Aventurine seemed fine.

“You believe Lord Khali wanted to shoot us down with that half-hearted attempt?” Sunday asked after a delay.

“Don't you know, benevolence has a fine print? Violence is fine for Abundance—just not death.” Aventurine made a shrugging motion but stopped midway. His gaze caught on something and he paused before typing.

“What is it?” Sunday asked.

“I’m getting some drones to retrieve debris from the missiles that struck us,” Aventurine said. “Their analysis will give us a—place to start.”

Liar. But Sunday couldn’t imagine what Aventurine would be doing instead when his offhand excuse seemed perfectly believable. Aventurine knew Sunday knew he was lying, too.

“You seem well prepared for this exact situation of getting stranded in the middle of nowhere,” Sunday commented, sending Aventurine a thinly veiled glare.

Aventurine laughed. “Don’t get your—feathers ruffled,” he said. “I really did set up a few things in case we needed to airdrop supplies. Or call for backup. It’s—standard protocol that—just happened to be useless in a dream.” He coughed a little.

“I wouldn’t call flying to a hostile planet alone like this standard protocol.”

“I’m not—alone,” Aventurine said earnestly. He then added, “I am sorry about the rough landing.”

You shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Sunday thought. Not to mention what Aventurine was apologizing for was ridiculous to begin with.

“Even if you’d crash landed on purpose, I wouldn’t have been surprised,” Sunday said wryly, enough to acknowledge he believed Aventurine hadn’t. “Don’t waste your breath. If you lose your voice, we’ll have to communicate telepathically.”

Even Sunday was feeling the effects of the heat, the unusual sunlight, and the coarse sand that was everywhere, but it was simply discomfort. His Ground Gears outfit and purification orb seemed to work just fine.

“Thank you, Sunday. It’s always so good to know what you think of me.”

Sunday looked at him. A whisper of guilt in his mind said he should really talk with Aventurine, to at least mention his conversation with Khali. But Sunday had already revealed to Aventurine far more than any non-Halovian was allowed to know.

“Oh, was that just asking me politely to—shut up?” Aventurine asked curiously. “I couldn’t tell. Last time was much less subtle. Since you just promised to—take my voice away.”

Promised? What a strange way to say threatened.

But maybe to Aventurine, there was no difference.

“It won’t happen again,” Sunday said. This time, it was closer to a promise, more than he could remember giving anyone outside of his sister or mother. It was a kindness, though he didn’t dare gift wrap it like one.

Aventurine wasted a tired breath on amused laughter, like the coldness of Sunday’s words soothed him in this weather. “Again with the threats, Sunday.”

With anyone else, Sunday might have been offended by the flippant attitude. But Aventurine brimmed with delight. Even under this sunsetting morning sun, his eyes gleamed bright purple and magenta. Like if Sunday were as cruel as the last Pharaoh, ripping his tongue out, he’d still get the last laugh.

Sunday looked at the endless dunes with an inexplicable ache in his chest. A beat of guilt, a pulse of fondness. Perhaps the crimson desert was getting to him too.

Chapter Text

hello

you must be his latest toy

if i’m a toy

are you a doll, ▮▮▮▮▮?

With the skies splashed crimson, the simmering heat barely kept at bay with his featherlight equipment, and Sunday eerily silent, Aventurine closed his eyes, spun around, and pointed randomly to where they should head next.

“What are you doing?”

“Navigating.”

“I thought you would at least have a map before sending away our ship.”

Aventurine reached into his water pouch, tossing a solid water into his mouth to soothe his throat. “Fun fact,” he said, “I did this for Penacony too. That’s how I ended up witnessing a tragedy.”

“Let’s hope we find a signal beacon soon,” Sunday said icily. Still so elegant, wisps of fabric flowing behind him. Still attached to that pure white color scheme. Aventurine couldn’t argue it didn’t look good on Sunday.

“You don’t trust my good luck?”

“The same luck that landed you into witnessing the false murder of my sister?” Sunday asked. Whatever had softened his voice earlier was now gone, probably because Aventurine had accidentally alluded to Robin’s ‘death’. Oops.

“It led me back to you,” Aventurine said brightly.

His throat felt strained again, which was becoming inconvenient. Magatia really wasn’t ideal for his health. He didn’t remember being this sensitive to the planet’s sharp odors, sandy air, and unpleasant humidity before. The deserts of Sigonia had certainly never affected him like this.

This was the first time someone else had ever survived a ship crash with him. He supposed that could be why.

Ylisse-XIII’s tentative peace was the eye of a storm. Where were the flame serpents? When would the pterodilians swoop down? It was like animals knew better than to get too close to them. Sooner or later, something without self-preservation would strike.

By the time they reached a signal beacon, the slant of the rocks’ shadows indicated barely any time had passed, but Aventurine knew better than to trust the fickle reality of the Ylissan desert. It was always possible it had been hours.

“It’s nice the Nameless set up these space anchors everywhere,” Aventurine said, hiding under the shade of the beacon tower. It provided a refreshing respite from the merciless red sun. “Too bad we can’t use them.”

Sunday looked balefully at the space anchor beside the tower. It shone blue, bright even in the Ylisse desert.

Topaz
> Aventurine, I couldn’t find the bottles you were talking about. The Family cleared Sunday’s room quick

Topaz
> But through my convos I learned about a drug: SoulHeal

Aventurine refreshed his messages.

Topaz
> It suppresses bad memories and flattens out emotions. Withdrawal symptoms can be deadly.

> I can’t send the recipe, the Family owns sole synthesis rights

> Do let me know if you need anything else. I’m meeting with Jade

Aventurine felt a little dizzy at the prospect of Sunday drinking SoulHeal on purpose. No wonder Sunday had mentioned Lethe’s Kiss. And to think Aventurine had told Sunday no thanks, it tasted like shit.

Aventurine
< Thanks Topaz :) Have fun

His message finally sent, the planet’s interference preventing it from going through earlier.

“We’re an hour away from Shal-raha,” Sunday said, looking at a map on his phone. “We can seek an audience with Lord Khali there.”

If he were suffering from withdrawal, Aventurine would surely be able to tell…

Hopefully Sunday hadn’t consumed enough SoulHeal to feel aftereffects.

“Sure, we can see there whether she’s really out to help people,” Aventurine said. “Once we see some actual people.”

Sunday glanced at him like he had something to say about it, but ultimately said nothing.

a doll?

no. sigonian boy, i am here to ▮▮▮▮ you

Step. Sink. Walking along the sand dunes with his vision too red, it was hard for Aventurine to not recall his broken fragments of memory.

Step. Sink. Remembering what had happened in Ylisse was like holding snow in a desert.

Step. Sink. There was no snow.

Step, step. Just blood and pungent spice…

Hm? Aventurine paused in his stride, looking down. He’d stepped on something hard. “Loot,” he declared. His throat still strained, like there was something that itched, but the occasional solid water cube helped.

“This is the fifth time you’ve managed to step on bone.”

“Lucky me,” Aventurine said. When he brushed sand off of what he stepped on, he saw a dull ivory painted crimson by the accursed sunlight. “This time it’s actually a skull.”

A mammal skull? No… Dr. Ratio would know. Or maybe Aventurine had known this person before they’d ossified. But he wasn’t sure he’d recognize them even if they were still alive. He didn’t even remember who had helped him, after all.

“We’re almost at Shal-raha,” Sunday said. “Pull yourself out of delirium and move.”

Aventurine wanted to laugh, but crimson sunlight was getting to him. The dunes were squiggles in the desert, and he was an X that marked the spot. When would the next attack come? “I’m not delirious.” He squinted, kicking the bone out of the sand. “If I collect the bones and build a skeleton—”

“Don’t carry deadweight, Aventurine.”

—I still won’t be able to bring anybody back whole. Aventurine didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Sunday’s voice seemed to hold a quality that was neither frustration nor sympathy. He managed to sound quiet, solemn.

Aventurine smiled. “Deadweight. Is that a joke?”

Sunday gave him a witheringly blank look. “I cannot believe you wanted to come to a planet with all your allergens.”

“But I’m not allergic.”

“That was your excuse for sneezing yesterday.” Sunday resumed walking. “You may use it as an excuse for acting delirious now.”

Aventurine laughed. He caught up even though his legs felt like sludge. How much sludge would be enough to taint Sunday’s white feathers? What was heavier, a ton of bricks or a ton of bloodied feathers?

“Thank you, my feathered friend, for the suggestion.”

Step. Sink. One of the only clear moments Aventurine had of Ylisse included waking up to the crimson sunlight, metal digging into his neck. The rest had been drenched in desperation.

So this wasn’t sinking into delirium, but boredom. A festering hollowness that gnawed at his own bones. Knowing that he was never able to pay the people who had helped him back.

“I’m not delirious,” Aventurine said. “But I probably am allergic to something in the air. I don’t usually get sick.”

“Ever?”

“Not naturally.”

Sunday spared him a glance, eyes flickering down to the skull. “Why don’t you message your doctor friend when we happen upon a signal beacon?”

“I should,” Aventurine said. He brushed some sand off the skull he was holding. “Should I tell him you said hi?”

“Look there.”

“That’s a no, I’m guessing,” Aventurine said dryly as he followed Sunday’s gaze into the distance.

Outside the walls of the City of Shal-raha, away from the oasis of herbs and twinkling palace towers, someone was trekking with a wagon behind them.

They walked closer to see it was someone with antlers and hooves wrapped in bandages, dressed in damaged armor and holding onto a wagon, pulling it slowly, painfully behind him. He was injured, the metallic scent of blood mixed with incense on his person flooding the air.

He didn’t seem close to death, but death could’ve been mercy. His joints creaked, twisted in unnatural angles, and one of his hands was clawed and discolored with necrosis.

A deeper red trailed behind him, and the trail of his wagon seemed deep. The wagon was filled with so much it seemed like it might topple over. The weird part was that there were trails in the sand in the direction he was traveling, too. Like he was walking in an endless circle without a destination.

This Antlers person was so deeply entrenched in his misery that he jolted upon seeing the two of them approach, standing up straight in alarm with a wet, disturbing crack.

“Hello,” Sunday said. “We are travelers from Asdana. We come in peace and with Harmony.”

The antlered person blinked slowly. One of his antlers looked like it had been snapped in half. “My mind. It plays tricks,” he said. “They’re tricking me, tricking me… there is no one left…” He looked over Aventurine, at his hands. “Why are you holding a skull?” he asked hollowly. “Do you think our lives are a fun souvenir too?”

Too? Aventurine tilted his head. “Well,” he said, turning the skull in his hand and holding it up for all to see. “I was thinking it could be someone I used to know. Do you want it?”

Antlers looked afraid. “No—”

“We mean you no harm,” Sunday said soothingly, cutting Antlers off without hesitation. “Look at me. Listen.”

“Halovian,” Antlers echoed. “Far away.” He stared at the wings protruding from Sunday’s neck, placing his free hand onto his head, expression distraught. “I’ve seen wings like yours. The crown prince had a set mounted over his bed.”

Aventurine went still. He tried to recall if he had ever seen severed wings mounted above a bed. He could not recall. But it seemed obvious why. The crown prince, like the rest of his bloodline, enjoyed collecting exotic species of sentient beings and carving them up.

“Why would he do that?” Sunday asked.

“He admired this Halovian girl,” Antlers murmured, like he was entranced. “An up and coming songstress, but she never came to Magatia. We captured a stray Halovian for him…”

Aventurine raised his brows. He honestly had not expected this land mine, though in retrospect he should have.

Sunday’s aura suddenly turned stiflingly cold and silent, like his patience had snapped.

Antlers’ expression contorted in horror. “Y-You’re the same as that thing, aren’t you, you’re messing with my head,” he spat out. He raised what he was holding—a dagger that seemed far fancier than the rest of what he wore. A ceremonial dagger. “I just want to be left alone. No more experiments. Leave me alone.”

Aventurine stared, expression going blank as a disjointed memory entered his mind.

if you offend the wrong alchemist

they’ll chop you up and call anything they do to you an enhancement

so you threw me into a crazed prince’s bed instead

i’m just giving you a chance to decide your own fate

just be ▮▮▮▮▮▮ and say you’re using me too, ▮▮▮▮▮

“I said get the fuck out of my head! Monster!” Antlers shrieked, shaking his head violently. He dropped his knife to the ground. The noise cut through Aventurine’s fragmented memory, which was already rice-paper thin anyway.

Antlers’ begging seemed to have no real impact on Sunday, whose eyes were distant, lips pulled tight, like he was speeding through a horror immersia. It was funny that Sunday seemed disturbed when Aventurine hardly felt a thing.

Aventurine waved a hand in front of Sunday’s face. “Sunday, what are you doing,” he said. “Is your need for control this strong?”

Sunday didn’t hear him. Or maybe he didn’t care to answer.

“Or are your ideals of saving people this weak?” Aventurine asked, amused.

That got Sunday’s attention, but he was still looking into the distance. “He was a palace guard. If you saw what they did to mutilate people, you would not defend him.”

“My memory of Ylisse’s prince may be spotty, but I would remember a guy with antlers,” Aventurine said, shrugging. His throat stung. “Surely he doesn’t deserve you ripping through his mind like you did with me.”

Sunday faltered in apparent dismay. Antlers went silent, too, shaking his lowered head to himself, like a soldier toy that no longer walked on its own. A broken music player that had been muted. 

“The antlers were added on recently through unethical experiments,” Sunday said, frowning. “You are not known for your… restraint. Why are you stopping me from gathering information, Aventurine?”

Aventurine laughed. He picked up the knife that had fallen and held it up to the sun. The silver blade glinted blue, and his hand trembled slightly. He could blame the desert heat. “This time it’s real loot,” he mused. “Varl gold, that’s what they call this enhanced metal. It slices through stones and metal, flesh and sinew just. Like. That.” He swiped it through the air. “Wonder where the sheathe is?”

“Take off your mask and look at me,” Sunday said, clearly displeased but still speaking fairly quietly, like he wasn’t about to burst with anger. It was an odd, pained melancholy he wore so well. “Aventurine. We were enemies, yes, but are you not the one insistent that we are friends? Tell me what you are after. If you hate Ylisse, tell me. Let me help you.”

a doll?

no. sigonian boy, i am here to h e l p you

Ah. Yes. That was what that voice from his hazy past had said. She had been offering help. He didn't remember her name anymore, but he got the feeling that she hadn't liked looking behind his mask.

Neither would Sunday. Maybe he had something real behind his facades, but Aventurine didn’t. Sunday liked being the savior, but there was nothing to judge as worthy or wanting. Aventurine’s gambles with fate had no room for salvation. 

(“Jade, where are the people who helped me on Ylisse-XIII?” he asked. Eventually he’d be high ranking enough to head back to that cursed planet without being attacked on sight. How could the Dune Pharaoh afford starting a war with the Stonehearts?

“Oh, they’re all gone,” Jade said, sounding regretful. “The Pharaoh wiped out that pocket of the Resistance after you killed the prince who bought you.”)

“I don’t care what you do to Antlers. Kill him for his sins, saw off his antlers for fun, do what you will,” Aventurine said, waving the ceremonial dagger in the direction of the silenced Antlers. “But messing with people’s heads to keep your hands clean, your feathers white—”

Sunday hissed. “That is not what I do—”

“—It’s disappointing,” Aventurine sighed.

Sunday shook his head, looking stunned, horrified, morbidly fascinated. “I see. You are not… delirious,” he finally said, voice a whisper like it was some sort of epiphany. “This is insanity. You’re stopping me because you prefer I slit his throat.”

“I’m not hiding it,” Aventurine said, blinking at Sunday. “Ah. Death doesn’t exist in Penacony. Have you never held a blade, Sunday? The Family bleeds people of their life savings, but Death is always a step too far, right? You like elegant, bloodless theater. Not this.”  

Sunday’s expression darkened. “Halovians do not kill.” He said it like it was an unbendable truth. An order to reality. “It is wrong to succumb to violence. That has nothing to do with what I like.”

“It would be easier if you did succumb, you know.”

“Easier?”

“Easier to win,” Aventurine said. “I heard you went around trying to get people to agree with you. You could’ve just snapped their necks while they were asleep or something.”

Sunday made a noise of disbelief. “It is not victory that I sought.”

“I don’t believe you.” Aventurine’s lips curved up. “Here, I can do it for you, just this once,” he drawled, spinning the ceremonial dagger, his other hand still holding the skull he’d picked up. His hands were steady this time. “You don’t even need to ask nicely.” He half-laughed, half-coughed, tasting blood in his mouth.

“No,” Sunday said. “And never offer that again.”

Why? Does it tempt you? 

“I guess you and the Emanator of Abundance will get along swimmingly," Aventurine said lightly. 

Sunday’s jaw tensed. Like in the spaceship, his silence was all-encompassing. Aventurine idly drew a circle with the ceremonial dagger in the air, like he could cut through the thick silence with it.

After a tense staring contest, Sunday spoke, voice clipped. “You may wish to cover your ears.”

Aventurine didn’t. He looked down at Antlers, who seemed to be yelling without sound, silenced by whatever Sunday had done. Suddenly, Antlers screamed, hoarse and loud. He touched his neck with his hands—the claws on his left hand dragged beads of blood down his skin. He heaved a broken breath of relief. “Thank you,” he blabbered. “Thank you, praise Harmony…”

“Harmony,” Aventurine said dryly. It was still a terrible sight, but something in him relaxed, if only a little.

“We will bring him to Shal-raha. This criminal’s fate falls under Lord Khali’s jurisdiction,” Sunday said, though he didn’t sound pleased about it. Maybe he too was wondering what sort of reign was Lord Khali’s, to have a malleable criminal walking around in circles, pulling a wagon filled with graveless skulls.

Aventurine went to the wagon. “I don’t know who filled this up,” he said, “but it is pretty messed up, huh?”

He glanced at the skull in his hand that he’d found earlier. There was a little bit of blood on it. He cleaned it with a cloth from his pocket.

Then, he placed the skull carefully onto the rest of the pile within the wagon, and stepped back. The ivory white gleamed atop the dozens of other skulls, some whole, others with cracked craniums and missing jawbones.

“If we were in Penacony, they would be chit-chattering away,” Aventurine mused. “Advertising the best coffins and—”

“Aventurine,” Sunday said, emotion fraying his voice, but Aventurine could not decipher what it meant. “That... is… enough.” His words were almost, almost an order, the kind Aventurine couldn’t say no to. Aventurine wondered if Sunday was tempted to use his powers on Aventurine again.

Ah. That was right—the trigger for Sunday’s patience snapping and digging into Antlers’ mind had been the mention of Robin.

“I bet you’re glad you never let Miss Robin perform here,” Aventurine said, remembering Sunday saying he’d shredded the invitation.

Sunday frowned. “She… would’ve wanted to,” he said with regret, but perhaps not guilt. His voice sharpened. “Drink a healing potion and stop straining yourself. You need a healer once we are done with Ylisse.”

Aventurine wiped at his mouth, curious. That was the first time Sunday had said we and sounded like he meant it, too distracted by everything else. When he pulled his hand back, red stained the back of his black glove. The smear was hardly visible. He blinked, wondering what sort of poison or curse this was. It made sense for a planet where blood had always flowed more freely than water… all too similar to Sigonia-IV.

“Don’t worry, Sunday. I’m sure there’s an abundance of healers in Shal-raha,” Aventurine said. “Unless Lord Khali really did try to shoot us out of the sky, she’ll probably give me access to one.”

Sunday let out a pained exhale. When Aventurine looked over, his eyes were shut.

“Sunday,” Aventurine said. “A thousand and one Alfalfa coins for your thoughts?”

Sunday opened his eyes just a sliver, like it hurt to look at Aventurine, but he couldn’t help but look anyway. Twin yellow crescents gleamed in the dark afternoon of Ylisse. The way crimson light cast a glow over him, he looked… demonic. Completely at odds with the gentle lilt of his voice. “It’s simply the buzzing of desert pests,” he said softly. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Aventurine.”

Chapter Text

Aventurine took a tiny drop of the travel-sized healing flask he’d brought for himself. The sweetened liquid soothed his burning throat somewhat.

“Hey. Antlers. Why the endless walking?” Aventurine asked.

Antlers flinched at Aventurine’s voice and then fidgeted, scratching his abnormal claws.

“Answer,” Sunday said flatly.

“I must not stray from my punishment,” Antlers mumbled.

“What punishment?” Aventurine asked.

“I cannot stop walking until I forget what all of us have done. But then I can finally be… left alone.” Antler’s voice turned to a hoarse rasp.

“How about sustenance? Don’t you need to eat?” Aventurine asked.

“No, I have an enhancement,” Antlers said. “I cannot perish.”

Aventurine eyed Antlers’ antlers. “That does sound like a blessing of Abundance, but calling it an enhancement does not bode well,” he mused. “What’s with all the skulls?”

“They are my dead,” Antlers rasped. “Please, I beg of you, Master, give me the sin carver…”

Aventurine felt sick hearing someone call him Master. He handed the ceremonial dagger over with a light sigh.

“That would’ve been worth at least a hundred thousand credits,” Aventurine said mournfully.

Sunday’s expression twitched with a revulsion he could not hide. “It is for cutting organs out of the living.”

“And it’s very good at it. What do you think of this punishment, Sunday?”

Sunday shook his head. “Amnesia cannot wipe blank a slate of sin.”

Antlers made a terrible noise. “I am promised forgiveness,” he said, voice going more urgent. “If I, if I suffer enough, it will be enough to forget…”

Sunday’s expression was one of pity. Aventurine didn’t disagree with his words—how could forgetting cleanse someone’s sins? But Sunday spoke with such… authority. Judgment.

i am sorry, but you won’t remember this

Aventurine’s breath stuttered and he felt a stab of pain in his head, and a wave of angry disbelief.

How dare someone take his memories away, leaving behind only the bitter taste of mielosan and guilt, and apologize?

“Aventurine?”

How funny that one of his only tells that he could not control was so easily noticed by Sunday. “Then what punishment can bring about redemption, Sunday?” he asked. “A rotting corpse walking endlessly in the desert, chained by guilt, with no hope in sight? If that’s the case, I will need a sturdier pair of shoes.”

“This world is flawed. It must be remade. In a world without sin, punishment would not be necessary.”

Aventurine considered that. “Is that how to usurp an Aeon, Sunday?” he asked, fascinated by the way Sunday could speak like he was someone who could regret an entire universe. “Believe in an ideal so strongly that you are blinded to everything else?”

Sunday narrowed his eyes. “If it were that easy, Aventurine, Aeons would not be so few.”

They walked with Antlers towards the city. Altering his path of punishment, if only for a while.

“What did you do to Antlers, anyway?” Aventurine asked.

“Why do you enjoy giving nicknames?”

“It’s not nefarious, Featherhead. He didn’t introduce himself and I saw no name tag,” Aventurine said. “He mentioned some monster experimenting on him, and how there’s no one else left.”

“Not… quite,” Sunday said. “He called me a monster.”

“What about the other part?”

“Perhaps you can ask Lord Khali.”

“Antlers went from calling you a monster to thanking you in the blink of an eye,” Aventurine said. “I could ask her about that too.”

“A ‘thing’ experimented on him. His mind is fragile after all the ingestion of poisons. It was not my doing.”

“Awfully personal, to experiment on the Pharaoh’s guard using the Pharaoh’s favorite herb.”

Sunday, rather tellingly, gave no response. Did he think Aventurine would not like the answer? Aventurine didn’t have high hopes for whether this new ruler was different from the old tyrant, but he wasn’t against the idea either.

He just needed to know.

i am sorry, but you won’t remember this

He needed to remember. Betrayal was just a part of the game, entertaining. But apologizing beforehand was just so gauche.

“If this is his official punishment and we’re not killing him, we might as well leave him to it,” Aventurine said.

“No. He comes with us.”

“Why? What happened to his fate belonging to Lord Khali?” Aventurine asked wryly.

“I want Lord Khali to look this filth in the eyes and deny being cruel.”

Was that Sunday resenting hypocrisy? Aventurine supposed hypocrites usually did. But it was so specific and pointed that it made him curious about what Sunday was actually hiding about Lord Khali.

But he and Sunday were both still half-heartedly upholding the pretense that Sunday wasn’t hiding something grim. Aventurine didn’t mind. It was Sunday’s first excursion with him, and it was only right to watch Sunday choose the role he wanted to play.

The main difference between Sigonia-IV and Ylisse-XIII was rooted in their flora. The herbs grown beneath the crimson sun were too profitable—they drew in the IPC’s loving embrace. The IPC glorified the religion that bled innocents at the feet of the Dune Pharaohs throughout the Amber Eras.

It was childish—yet Aventurine was angrier at these stupid plants than at cruel monsters. People proved depravity had no limits. But how could a thing as arbitrary as planetary flora dictate the fate of entire civilizations?

Aventurine stopped and examined the vines on the quartz walls. A thick blanket of vines climbed up, up, up the walls of the city like green eels waiting in ambush.

Aventurine tugged on a vine experimentally.

“Aventur—” Sunday began warningly, but it was too late.

The vine, previously swaying tepidly with the desert breeze, abruptly opened up, revealing sharp teeth. It bit down around his arm as if sensing his hatred.

Aventurine felt pain shoot down his arm. The sets of teeth tried to scrape his flesh off.

“Definitely carnivorous!” Aventurine said. He expected an ivory vulture to swoop down and bite the plant or something else unusual yet likely to save him. Maybe spontaneous floral combustion?

Surprisingly, a blade slashed through the vine like it was water, and then hands pulled Aventurine back away from the wall.

Yellow eyes were sending him a glare of disbelief. Sunday tossed the ceremonial dagger onto the sand several meters away like it was disgusting.

Antlers’ joints creaked as he struggled, kneeling down and picking the dagger back up, cradling it like a precious bounty. “Thank you kind master, thank you…” he mumbled. But Sunday didn’t spare him a single glance, like Antlers wasn’t even a real person to him. What had Sunday called Antlers again?

“Why didn’t you shield yourself?” Sunday demanded, releasing Aventurine after he seemed convinced Aventurine wasn’t about to run to the vines again.

“I was waiting for my knight in shining armor,” Aventurine said. He wasn’t about to tell Sunday he’d spent his energy casting a shield around him earlier on the ship.

“Was getting saved by a Knight of Beauty not enough?” As Sunday spoke, he rummaged in his pocket, taking out a spray bottle and shaking it.

“Knight of Feathers sounds better to me.” Aventurine glanced at the spray bottle. Pancosmic Panacea. “I see you ordered the hotel suite’s advertised brand of healing spray.”

“I cannot control non-sapient lifeforms,” Sunday said sharply, ignoring Aventurine’s comment. “If I were one second slower, your arm could’ve become compost.”

Aventurine filed that information away. No control over plants or other non-sapient lifeforms… he was pretty sure sapient plants existed, but it seemed like this one wasn’t.

“Replacing an arm is quite expensive, but it’s nothing Diamond couldn’t afford. Besides, I’m fine. Turns out Weaver Munch’s gear actually is plant-proof.”

Sunday pulled Aventurine’s sleeve down to check. He gave Aventurine a look like this was his fault, and put his healing bottle away. “Fortunate for us,” he said.

“By the way, your halo isn’t sapient, right?”

“It’s a special material,” Sunday said, so exasperated he actually replied. “With over forty seven species of deadly plants on this planet, whyever would you touch any of it?”

Aventurine laughed. Sunday was still thinking about his offhand comment about local snakes? That was too cute. “It looked exceedingly climbable.”

“Nothing prevented us from walking along the curvature of the walls.”

“And shatter my dream to scale a city wall by climbing vines?”

“Which part exactly entices you, Aventurine, falling to your death or being strangled by a bloodthirsty plant?”

You, Aventurine thought wryly.

They resumed walking in sync. Antlers followed them, the sound of pained, lanky steps in sand.

“That’s harsh, Sunday.”

“I meant the question.”

Aventurine thought about it, staring at Antlers who was trying to make himself as small as possible behind Sunday. “Mm. Falling is quite a rush, to know there is a definite end. I guess it’s different if one can fly… Can you fly?”

“It is impossible to choreograph an act with a wild vine unless you moonlight as a plant whisperer. Do you pray to Gaiathra Triclops every morning for this kind of luck?”

Aventurine smiled. “Oh, sorry. Flight—touchy subject, got it.” He idly rubbed his arm the vine had dug into, the arm Sunday had briefly touched. “But it is important to know you can’t fly so I can take that into account.”

“Just as it would be mutually beneficial if I knew the conditions of your blessing.”

“I’m always the final victor, Sunday,” Aventurine said, amused. “That’s not a variable or an exaggeration.”

“How much bleeding can you sustain before you magically heal? Or would you bleed out?”

“You sound so curious. You should stab me next time to find out,” Aventurine suggested.

Sunday’s lips twisted up. “You don’t need more indulgences,” he said, hand behind his back. The hand he’d used to hold the blade.

Huh. Aventurine abruptly recalled what it was Sunday had called Antlers. Filth. The Halovian clearly thought himself above all that filth, probably hated touching that dagger.

Yet he still held the blade himself, cutting through the vine to help Aventurine.

Just to throw it away, forcing Antlers to crawl and pick it up.

Aventurine didn’t understand Sunday at all.

Aventurine’s vision was beginning to feel hazy again by the time they reached the city entrance. He expected the haze to clear up as he set foot inside the city, where there were strong purification street lamps everywhere, but nothing really changed.

The wondrous and terrible City of Herbs, Shal-raha. Some called it the Light of Magatia, which was funny when the shadows cast under the walls seemed to wriggle like starving maggots. Vines slithered around the entrance, but these did not attack.

The streets were lively. Ylissans went about their day, holding file folders, purses, food, drinks. It just wasn’t the same without public torture and screams, but perhaps those were time slotted for later in the day.

Oh, but that wasn’t right. Ylisse was meant to be different now. New ruler, new planet. Time to see if the tall signal beacons scattered around the city were functional.

Aventurine pulled out his phone, and he saw Sunday do the same. “Signal seems fine,” he said. Technically Stonehearts were supposed to message Jade or another handler during their missions, but Aventurine didn’t think Diamond cared about such an update. Go big or go home, and Aventurine hadn’t hit big here yet. There were no urgent updates, so he put the phone away.

They walked through the flower-laden streets and into a bustling bazaar where kids ran after each other. Aventurine stepped aside out of their trajectory, blinking. Someone yelling thieves, thieves! chased after them.

Onlookers laughed. “Finders keepers, man!” one hollered.

No one gave Sunday and Aventurine a second look, much like in the mall. Except this time no one reacted to Antlers and his skull-filled wagon either. That meant whatever was affecting Ylisse wasn’t contained to the Interastral Peace Mall.

Antlers reacted to them, though. He whimpered, head bowed. Unlike the others on Ylisse-XIII, Antlers remained… lucid. Or whatever.

“Guess thievery is the only sin not going anywhere,” Aventurine said, laughing. “Shall we find a coffeehouse?”

Sunday’s gaze flickered over. “It would be rude to not promptly announce our arrival to Lord Khali.”

“We would have been prompter if we’d scaled the walls,” Aventurine pointed out.

Sunday stared at him blankly.

“Plus, Ylisse has top of the line surveillance equipment. Even if you’re blocking out our voices, I’m sure her guards can still see us.”

“Being seen does not equate announcing our arrival to a foreign leader.” Sunday sighed. “Why a coffeehouse?”

“Talking at the local bar is a great way to get intel, buuut I thought you might prefer a more… elegant location.”

“I would have preferred a temple.”

“Very on brand of you,” Aventurine applauded. “Come on, Sunday, it’ll be fun. You can try the drinks too.”

Sunday looked at Antlers and the wagon of death he carried behind him. “This is a terrible idea,” he said flatly.

“He can park the wagon outside. What’s the worst that can happen?” Aventurine asked.

Instead of incredulous and wary, Sunday’s expression turned resigned. He nodded.

They entered the first coffeehouse they found. It was a cool, refreshing place. Antlers knelt down beside the soothing water fountain, staring at the jets of water like he saw something else.

“Pretty sure that used to be blood, by the way,” Aventurine said, amused because he felt like he could see that something else too. “Not water.”

“Pretty sure? Have you been here or not?” Sunday asked dubiously.

Aventurine shrugged. He had no recollection of this place. “I admit, I just meant to see how badly you wanted to meet with Lord Khali,” he said.

Upbeat music played in the background, a mix of string sounds and chimes.

They waited in line. Aventurine ordered a glass of Ylissan coffee.

“Of course, sir,” the barista said with a polite smile.

“This place lacks the classic Ylissan vibe,” Aventurine said, tsking as they sat down. “They used to sell drinks that are banned in most places, and definitely banned in Penacony. I’m surprised the citizens have taken these drastic changes in stride.”

“Indeed,” Sunday said, disinterested.

Aventurine grabbed a few options from the magazines, comic books, and graphic novels on the table. One of them caught his eye.

“Ah, the classic Peaceful Chronicles of Lord Hualan,” Aventurine said, flipping through the comic. “Heard of it?”

“No.”

“It’s a story about the peaceful adventures after the protagonist finishes saving the world,” Aventurine said, smiling as he looked at the art of a party picnicking across magical strawberry fields, and celebrating the new year’s first snow together.

Clink. “Enjoy your drink.”

Aventurine looked at the Ylissan who brought the drink, voice a low rasp. He blinked in surprise to see she was glaring back at him with a pair of scarlet eyes. Both of her long ears were wrapped in white bandages. Before he got the chance to speak, she was already walking away. He glanced after her, puzzled.

“Anyway,” Aventurine resumed. “The series hit bestselling on the Interastral Peace Reads’ a few Amber Eras ago because of its charm. Watch carefully.” He flipped through the pages quickly.

Sunday placed his newspaper aside and looked at what Aventurine was showing him: a winged knight wielding a sword and slaying a dragon.

“It’s an ancient way of animating the inanimate,” Aventurine introduced with a flourish. “A flipbook. Every book in the series has its own little story told through the flipbook.”

Sunday, no longer appearing resigned, looked so confused instead. It was unfair how adorable that was. “I see. What is the moral of the tale?”

“It’s a cute slice of life, Sunday. Can’t a story just be a story?”

Sunday stretched his hand out. Aventurine handed the book over for Sunday to examine its artwork.

“No,” Sunday said succinctly. “What is the ending?”

“Who knows? The author vanished before finishing the story.” Aventurine lowered his voice playfully. “Fans theorize they were either a foxian struck by mara, a Vidyadhara who went on eternal hiatus, or someone from the High-Cloud Quintet before they broke up.”

Sunday flipped through the book. As he did, his expression softened.

“If Clockie’s not to your taste, Lord Hualan Chronicles: The Animation could be more up your alley.”

Sunday laughed a little. “No. My alley was the Penacony Grand Theater.”

“Your favorite place was a ruinous Stellaron?”

“Penacony’s grandest performances took place there.”

“When did you find out that it was a Stellaron?”

“After I became Head of the Oak Family.”

“So when the Dreammaster passed his vision to you.”

Sunday turned frosty, his yellow eyes flickering up to meet Aventurine’s.

“We can talk about something more pleasant,” Aventurine offered. He didn’t believe any of the good reputation of the Dreammaster. Penaconians had deemed him a saint, and people said he’d been Sunday and Robin’s guardian.

“There is nothing to avoid. The Dreammaster is dead.”

“I did hear that all the crows in Penacony died.” Aventurine sighed. “Our coworkers think you killed him.”

“And you?”

“Of course not, Sunday. If you had, I don’t think Antlers would still be in one piece. But then who did?”

Sunday smiled blandly. “Are you having fun gathering intel from me?”

Aventurine rested his cheek on his hand, smiling back. “Yep. It’s so flattering that you’re fine with chatting with me like this.”

“Focus on what’s around you, not me.” Sunday gave him a disapproving look. He stood up. “Shall we check on Antlers?”

Aventurine nodded. “Sure. You go first, I’ll be right there. I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He went to find the barista who was wiping a table in the back clean.

“Pardon me. My friend and I are new here. We’d love a tour guide. You wouldn’t happen to be free, would you?”

The girl turned to look at him, frowning. “Why would we wish to help you?” she asked with unnerving bitterness.

I don’t want your help.

“I’ll pay you,” Aventurine said, shaking away the errant thought that matched this Ylissan girl’s bitterness. “How about five hundred thousand credits for the day? No? Please, name your price.”

“Life has no price,” the Ylissan girl snapped. She gave Aventurine a sweeping look, scarlet eyes flashing with displeasure.

Aventurine inwardly faltered, though his smile didn’t.

“If you come to cause chaos, you are still free to leave in one piece.”

“No, that was not my intention at all,” Aventurine said, pain lodging in his throat as he lied.

“We are late for our next order,” she said. “You are not welcome. Take your friend and leave this shop.” She went back to the counter.

Aventurine coughed, tasting blood. He stared at the back of the Ylissan barista. There was something unforgivably familiar about her, yet he didn’t recognize her at all.

Aventurine headed to the exit, not bothering to take his coffee with him. “You didn’t check on Antlers yet?” he asked Sunday, who was waiting by the door.

“I was waiting for you,” Sunday said. But he was looking at the barista like he did recognize her.

Maybe Aventurine would find out later.

Aventurine vaguely remembered the first time he’d heard about Ylisse-XIII. It was a long time ago, his clanspeople arguing about what the IPC had done to Sigonia.

We wouldn’t want to join this Sigonian Sovereignty with the IPC anyway. We cannot be like those heartless Ylissans.

Someone had said, But the world already thinks we are!

And his father had retorted sternly, No. We don’t eat our own.

It was only after arriving in Ylisse that Aventurine realized how literal his father had been.

(“Foxian meat is overrated,” the Prince said. “It’s rough and sour even if you add a sprinkle of silversand pepper. But, my best Alchemist says that if I want immortality, Foxian is a good bet. So I’m trying their bone marrow today.”

He raised a bone white chunk of marrow to 73131’s lips. “Have some,” the Prince offered. In the kitchen, the Foxian was still crying. “Don't worry. I added much more than a sprinkle of silversand pepper. It’ll taste heavenly,” he added.

Silversand pepper was not a pepper at all. It was the only naturally sweet ingredient that belonged to Ylisse-XIII.

Ylissan blood.)

His memories of his months in Ylisse were shrouded in a red fog, obfuscating what he knew was awful, things he needed to recall.

Oh, he remembered being owned just fine. Every memory of that was excruciatingly, thankfully vivid, so he knew exactly who he was killing. But how he knew the only venom that could kill the Prince was the Sunstrike Serpent had made no sense. How he knew exactly what the Prince liked to see had made no sense.

So when he saw Antlers carving himself with that ceremonial dagger, Aventurine was honestly more confused than anything.

The Pharaoh’s bloodline had espoused cannibalism. The strong ate the weak, quite literally. People didn’t pray for rain or protection—they would’ve devoured the flesh of an Aeon if they could. Everyone who’d been to Ylisse-XIII knew that.

Yet here Antlers was. Headless. He’d managed to decapitate his own head and was now blindly removing excess flesh and substances from the skull, washing the antlered cranium in the water fountain. The fountain was now spewing blood so dark it was black everywhere.

Sunday looked disgusted, feathers fluttering around his neck, but he didn’t seem shocked. He must’ve already known this was what the ceremonial dagger was for. And he’d still used it to help Aventurine.

Wow. Aventurine would’ve rather had his arm gnawed off than to see what it looked like when Sunday so easily assumed Aventurine’s life was worth more than anyone else’s.

“So that’s what those skulls are,” Aventurine said. “They’re his own. You knew this?”

“I saw in his mind. He has done plenty worse to his victims,” Sunday added, like it was meant to be reassurance.

But it wasn’t like Aventurine cared. “So this is Lord Khali’s version of an eye for an eye?” he asked curiously.

Kneeling by the blood fountain, the enhanced torture victim was regrowing its head. Blood gushing, marrow peeling, disturbing sounds echoing.

“Come. It is time to seek an audience at the palace,” Sunday said.

Around them, citizens continued walking around, going about their day, the skies bright and the streets otherwise clean. It said a lot about Lord Khali that she didn’t just let this happen. She wanted it to. It was meant to be a punishment.

“What about him? We’ll need a new name for him,” Aventurine said.

“Let him kneel. He is not in a condition to walk the rest of the way. If Lord Khali is inclined to grant sinners forgiveness through amnesia, granting a name would only be another memory to forget.”

Wow. Aventurine let out a startled laugh of amazement and irritation.

He stared at the monster’s creation who now had a different sort of head growing from his spinal cord. No more antlers. Instead, it was a face with pale translucent skin. A set of magenta and cyan eyes looked back at him.

(“I tried recreating your eyes,” the prince said, petting 73131’s head. “Apparently my Alchemist can’t get the formula right, so she wants to scrap the project. Too many subjects dropping dead before their eyes can be harvested.”)

It would be like looking into a mirror. Alas, those new eyes melted like candlewax and he shrieked, begging nobody who cared for forgiveness. He reached for the ceremonial dagger again, but his slippery clawed hand dropped it. The dagger splashed into the blood fountain. “Help me, help me, please, kind masters…”

There was no doubt Lord Khali was using the Court Alchemist’s formula. The antlers, the claws, the hooves, his eyes.

Aventurine noticed Sunday was already walking away. He caught up to Sunday, falling in step beside him.

“I’m impressed, Sunday. You’re more cruel than I thought. I was under the impression you wanted to give a paradise to everyone, even the filth, but you didn’t even offer him a healing spray.”

“Did I ever deny being evil?” Sunday asked wryly, though that wasn’t even the accusation Aventurine had chosen. “I never thought everyone deserves to be saved. But I wanted to regardless. Now, I strive to protect one, and she is not on this planet to witness my hypocrisy.”

Aventurine’s irritation sharpened into something else. Something worse, like arsenic blazing in his veins. Yes. Caelus had said something about wanting to hit Sunday in the face with a train again. Wait, no. The other thing—

“He genuinely wanted to save the world and protect his sister.”

“What we do with Ylisse is your choice, Aventurine. What do you truly want from Lord Khali?” Sunday whispered. Expression soft. Voice inviting. Trustworthy.

Aventurine didn’t trust Sunday and his gentleness at all, but he suddenly wanted to.

“So if I decide Ylissans need to go extinct for the IPC’s sake, you would let me kill everyone?” Aventurine asked, eyes narrowed.

“I wouldn’t raise a finger,” Sunday said, implying he would neither help nor hinder.

“It’s your enchanting voice I’m worried about. Not your finger,” Aventurine said wryly. “Look, Sunday, I’d bet my life that even if you killed me right now, Diamond wouldn’t harm your sister. He abides by contracts and is actually quite honorable. I’m not interested in hurting her either.”

Sunday gave him a look. His gentle expression twisted into a mix of annoyance, wariness, and incredulity. “What is wrong with you, Aventurine?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Must you act so paradoxically?”

“I don’t see an issue.”

Sunday let out an exasperated sigh, like he was suffering a fool. After a moment, he said, “When we meet with Lord Khali, don’t tell her what I did on Penacony.”

Aventurine blinked at the non sequitur. He was surprised to hear Sunday say what I did instead of what happened. Then again, it made sense. Sunday had no problem with assuming responsibility. He didn’t understand what was wrong about taking away other people’s freedom.

“It’s not a big deal,” Aventurine said dismissively. “Even if the Ylissans find out the truth about Penacony, about you, why would it matter? Lord Khali is cutting off the outside world anyway. Besides, many factions already know what you did—they simply don’t know where you are.”

“She agreed to negotiate with me, Aventurine. Not you.”

Aventurine was surprised by the sudden admission. “Because she, too, finds you so charming?” he asked.

“No,” Sunday said dryly. “Because she could sense I’m an Emanator of Order and believes I still lead the Oak Family. When I went to collect my gear, she invited me to Ylisse for a discussion.”

“Well,” Aventurine said slowly, smiling in delight. “That’s wonderful to hear from you. But why would you reveal your hand? I thought we were sharing a nice cup of pretense together.”

“We just watched a nightmare chimeric experiment scalp his own head and wash it in a fountain, Aventurine. Who knows how many monsters are carrying wagons across the dunes? Whatever vision you have for Ylisse-XIII, I doubt it could be worse than this.”

“That’s fair,” Aventurine said. He drank another drop of his healing flask, soothing his throat again.

After a while of walking, Aventurine broke the silent bubble around them with a giggle.

“What is it?”

“You know, I really thought Lord Khali was only pretending to be an Emanator of Abundance. But that torture looked pretty Abundant to me.”

Sunday let out an almost inaudible sound that might’ve been a genuine laugh. “I know. It did,” he said. “I suppose you’ll find out soon.”

“I will, won’t I?” Aventurine asked brightly.

Chapter Text

[CHATROOM: Aventurine, Topaz, Ratio]

Aventurine
< Guess where I’m at :)

< [aventurineselfie.jpg]

Topaz
> Looks like the fallout of a blast site! Need backup?

> But the people in the back seem calm. Are you staging a scene with paid actors?

> [TrotterQuestionMark.jpg]

Ratio
> The debris appears to be coated in the distinct shades of varl, which cannot be adequately captured by most lenses.

> Based on a quick reconstruction, that is Ylissan architecture circa 1700 AE, repopularized by the Dune Pharaoh Amon. In conjunction with the crimson sky, it is clear you are in what was once the Royal Palace of Shal-raha.

Aventurine
< Extra points to the Doctor for the stunning and swift analysis

< But I think you’re both right

Topaz
> So it’s a photo op?

Aventurine
< Since we got to Magatia, it’s felt like we’re in an uncanny play

Ratio
> From one theatrical production to another. How exhausting.

Aventurine
< Any clue how an Emanator of Abundance could get their hands on mass mind control powers?

Topaz
> The Plagues Author is infamous for causing widespread mental corruption, I wouldn’t be surprised. What exactly do you mean by mind control, Aventurine?

Aventurine
< Ylisse had 80%+ fervent support for Pharaoh Amon. That’s more than enough to elevate a despot into a god.

< But everyone here goes about their day like nothing happened…

< And people treat us with uncanny respect when we do talk with them.

Topaz
> I’m not very familiar with Ylisse-XIII, but I do know the IPC has heavily invested into their alchemy labs. You may find more useful evidence there.

Ratio
> It frankly astounds me that you brought a Halovian to another psychic’s sandbox and expect it to end well.

Aventurine
< Wonderful idea, Topaz!

< And Sunday’s been great, I’m sure everything will be fine :)

Topaz
> Your smileys are not reassuring at all, FYI

Ratio
> The gambler does that on purpose. He misbelieves it to be charming.

Aventurine
< :(

Topaz
> It’s ok Aventurine. Numby finds you charming!

Aventurine
< :)

Ratio
> Spare me.

> Know that the alchemists’ labs have either joined the palace as rubble or been overtaken. The Intelligentsia Guild no longer receives bare minimum automated research reports.

> Someone powerful has their eyes set on inciting worse relations between Lord Khali and the IPC. See if you can catch their tracks. And Aventurine, do not blow Ylisse up.

> In case your brain cell is confused, I mean it literally. Do not use any explosives unless you want to expedite your demotion.

Aventurine
< Thank you, Doctor. I’ll keep an eye out for mysterious forces.

[AventurineWink.jpg]

Topaz
> Is it fun working with Sunday? What’s he up to?

Aventurine
< He seems willing to play in someone else’s sandbox, at least for now

Topaz
> Be careful Aventurine

> I’d love to hear more, but the Charmony Festival is about to start. Robin is going to give a speech!

Aventurine
< Have fun, friends

< I will update you later if the planet goes kaboom

< :)

Ratio
> Ugh.

Topaz
> Wait. Are you actually there to blow Ylisse-XIII up?

> Dr Ratio?

> OK. If this chat gets pulled in discovery, I want it known that neither Numby nor I have any foreknowledge of what Aventurine is planning

Even if Sunday couldn’t sense deception, Aventurine’s good mood was what would’ve convinced him that Aventurine had really suffered in Ylisse.

So much cruelty in this star system, and all of it normalized. Aventurine hadn’t been shocked to see the unthinkable. deathless self-destruction. He treated it like it was nothing but another work day.

The Shal-raha palace’s dome had been blown open, white quartz blackened, letting in crimson light. Opportunistic plants grew freely from the debris, reminding Sunday of the disturbing, teethed vine that had attacked Aventurine.

“The palace looks like a ruin,” Aventurine said, looking delighted about it. He idly kicked a chunk of the ceiling away. “Now this would make for a good postcard. Allow me a moment to share it with our coworkers.”

The palace was only mottled rubble. It reminded Sunday of the fragmenting Penaconian dreamscape—fragments everywhere and shadows where they shouldn’t be, almost looking illusory. Blink and they faded away with the dust.

Sunday watched Aventurine snap a few photos with his phone.

“Want to join our group chat?” Aventurine asked.

Sunday shook his head. He watched Aventurine type away on his phone.

(Music has the power to heal. Especially our voices, Robin wrote in a letter to Sunday. I’m sure if you sang again, everyone would love it.

After already deciding he wouldn’t, Sunday wrote back that he’d consider it. He just didn’t have it in him to sing again, not like Robin did.)

Sunday knew his sister could sing miracles into reality, but he had been right in that this star system did not deserve her presence.

If this had been Sunday’s mission, he would’ve done due diligence. Dig through lab records, servant profiles, financial records, criminal activities in the area…

But he was here with Aventurine, who kept taking nonsensical gambles. Not just with this planet, but with Sunday. Based on how he’d acted in Penacony even before Sunday forced his hand… Aventurine must’ve had something planned.

Sunday looked away from Aventurine.

The world outside of dreams was different. In Penacony, everything was manufactured. From dreamscape architects picking the perfect number of mottled bricks to musicians brainstorming the best piano songs to seamlessly loop within a plaza.

They were details dreamers didn’t notice, yet all played into their overall addictive experience in Penacony. Sweet air of candyfloss, buttery caramel popcorn, refreshing SoulGlad waterfalls. The number of shades to go into the glistening lights. How soft the sand should be in the Moment of Oasis, its scoopability for sandcastles. Silky smooth shells that were meant to be collected and redeemed for rewards. Lush grass and perfect temperatures, with the occasional breeze infused with flavored sea salt.

Compared to the dreamscape, this world was hideous.

Ylisse was filled with scents and sounds and colors that lacked cohesion, forethought. Now that they were no longer in the sandy dunes, and after witnessing the punishment of ‘Antlers’, Sunday’s skin felt uncomfortable, his wings too tense.

Sunday looked around. He watched as puppets walked around, dressed in servants’ and workers’ garments, their minds protected from his interference. They pathed around chunks of ceiling and pillars and broken screens. The once enhanced tiles no longer glimmered.

Other than ‘Antlers’, the other Ylissans had a buzzing interference around them that was too great. If he used more force to tear into any of their minds—well, Lord Khali would notice again.

Sunday would never have allowed something like this to happen. His paradise had been for everyone to enjoy in peace. Order wouldn’t have allowed death.

Sunday walked a few steps away before stopping under the palace entrance archway to wait for Aventurine. The other’s heart rate had been consistently elevated since they’d crash landed and was still not slowing down.

Sunday would need to do something about Lord Khali’s influence.

“Did you message your doctor?” Sunday asked.

“I adore how you refer to him like he’s a normal medical doctor,” Aventurine said, laughing. “Yes, I did. He warned that another party is interested in Ylisse.”

“Of course. I imagine many are. Ylissan local specialties thrive in the dark corners of cosmic markets. This supply chain disruption will surely alarm the Family once they notice.”

“Indeed. Prismfyre Ecstasy, Lethe’s Kiss, adrenalizers, fear serums, Revitalization-310, tuzhen… So many mind-altering drugs use Ylissan herbs that are hard to substitute.” Aventurine arched a brow. “Next time, do stop me before I sound like a walking Nebula Boutique ad.”

“I thought they were quite friendly with the IPC.”

“With the Marketing Development Department. Not the Stonehearts,” Aventurine said. Before Sunday could ask why Aventurine felt the need to pointedly make this distinction, he continued. “What did the Family put in those fizzy orange bottles?”

Sunday paused. The SoulHeal that he had replaced with water did contain Tranquility and mielosan from Ylisse. Was it a mere guess that led Aventurine to this conclusion, or did he already know?

“It was a mockery of standard Family protocol,” Sunday finally said. “Penaconian prisoners are given a special concoction that makes them more cooperative. I suppose they thought it amusing.”

“Your protocol?”

“It significantly lowered suicide rates.”

“And here I thought Death doesn’t exist in Penacony.”

“Without Order’s protection, it does now.” Sunday didn’t wish to talk about this any longer. “Come closer.”

Aventurine blinked, before smiling and stepping forward to Sunday. His boots tapped on the delicate remains of what was likely a statue. “Is it time to kiss or mind control me?” he asked playfully. “We should get a room.”

Sunday ignored the flirtatious suggestion. “Would you consider turning into a mindless husk worse than being a prisoner to damnation?”

“Well that’s not ominous at all,” Aventurine said dryly. “I hope you’re not telling me to choose the lesser of two evils, Sunday.”

“You wouldn’t choose the greater?”

Aventurine smiled sweetly. “You want me to choose you?” he breathed.

Sunday’s lips curved up, though he didn’t share Aventurine’s amusement. The shiver down his spine had nothing to do with attraction. Nothing. “Yes, I am letting you choose. I can establish a psychic shield around you, or you risk getting turned into a puppet.”

“A skull-collecting puppet like Antlers?” Aventurine asked mockingly.

Sunday looked pointedly towards the several people who meandered around the palace, talking about their day meaninglessly. They might as well have been husks of a grad student who majored in AI studies but was failing their first semester project.

Aventurine’s eyes went dim, but his smile only widened. “That’s too bad,” he said.

Sunday gentled his voice. “The moment of connection will not last long,” he said. “I will not hear as much of your heartsong as last time, but I will be able to glimpse into your mind.”

“Better the devil I know, right?”

Devil. Sunday disdained that comparison. “If you are sure,” he said. “This is akin to letting a puppeteer attach strings to you and betting I won’t ever use them.”

“Well, now I feel special,” Aventurine drawled. “This feels like the first time you’ve asked for consent, you seem so hesitant. Go on, my dear Puppeteer. Glimpse away.”

Sunday fell silent in concentration, and Aventurine went quiet as well. In essence, this would work as a psychic shield. Anyone trying to look at Aventurine’s mind would be unable to find the path to what his heart desired. However, it was because Sunday would have to block the path himself.

Aventurine’s expression twitched with discomfort. He could probably feel a wave of power, hear the glorious, soothing hymn of Order.

That was true. Sunday had never actually done this to anyone who knew what he was doing. He tried to make it painless, brushing against Aventurine’s mind.

It was like dipping his hands underwater. Aventurine’s surface-level thoughts were scattered within these dark waters.

Hello, Order my old friend

There’s that warped feeling again

Aeons, you’re so pretty, what if I just kissed you right now?

Sunday’s jaw tensed. “Focus on keeping your mind empty, Aventurine,” he said, keeping his lulling voice soft. “I need to go deeper to block off your desires so others cannot take advantage.”

What would be the fun in that?

You sound so soft right now

Are you taking advantage of me?

Do you want to?

Do you think you can?

It’s not like there’s anything to see

Sunday released his hold as if he’d been bitten by a shark beneath the water. He stared at Aventurine, irritated. “I know you don’t want me to see into your thoughts, but this is necessary. That thing is far less merciful than me.”

“Alright. Just remember to use my thoughts against me, Sunday,” Aventurine purred, eyes gleaming.

Sunday’s lips curled up. “If you say so.”

“Come, try again.” Aventurine looked… eager. Sunday couldn’t tell how genuine that was.

Sunday delved into Aventurine’s mind slowly again. This time he dove deeper, reaching further beneath the waves.

Sunday was surprised to feel an eerily peaceful calm washing over him. It was so hollow he wanted to see… just a little deeper. He looked for the path towards Aventurine’s desires.

Wherever Sunday touched, Aventurine’s mindscape bloomed violet and yellow, luminous ink spilling into the water with heavenly echoes of music. In reality, he could hear Aventurine inhale sharply. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound.

Everyone is dead, my father, my mother, my sister. They will pay for this

Desolation. This world deserves it. I will win. I will win against Fate

Sunday went a little deeper… Curious. Concerned. Fascinated.

if i fight against an aeon, surely i cannot be the final victor then

sunday, sunday, sunday, do you know how to ▮▮▮▮ an aeon?

It wasn’t just a surface-level thought, but a deep, true desire. Aventurine wanted to ask him that, wanted to know... Wanted to know from Sunday, enough that his mindscape could sing Sunday’s name in such a chaotic, discordant way.

Shaken, Sunday promptly sang the hymn of Order and blocked the path to this mindscape off. The resonant frequency of these waters rang in tune with Sunday’s now, and no monster would be able to get in, at least not without alerting him.

Aventurine’s mind rippled, and Sunday withdrew with a gasp. They stared at each other in tense silence until Sunday laughed, finding it ridiculous. “If a Doctor of Chaos saw that desire,” he said, “or anyone else—”

“Just you,” Aventurine said, smiling. “Do you like what you see, Sunday? Is this a favorite pastime of yours—digging up memories people would rather forget?” After he spoke, his eyes went distant like he’d realized something. His uncertainty struck the rest of the tension in the air, dissipating it.

Did Sunday like what he saw? He wasn’t going to answer that. How could Aventurine still be alive with such a reckless, insane goal?

“I don’t blame you for looking around, you can’t help yourself,” Aventurine continued. “Had I agreed to become a Masked Fool, I’d be concerned about you stealing my Mask.”

“After everything, I have come to the conclusion you offer up traumatic memories as bait,” Sunday said flatly.

“I am offended,” Aventurine lied. “My clan’s corpses littered and burned, reduced to psychic bait.”

“You’re… unpredictable. Bringing up your own trauma is the only consistency.”

“You bring it up too! And the first time wasn’t even me,” Aventurine said. “You ripped the thoughts out of my head.”

“Do you want me to rip them out? Are there memories you want me to suppress for you?”

“Wow. Is this payback for me offering to kill someone for you?”

“A friendly eye for an eye.”

Aventurine laughed at that saying, though he had used it earlier first. “I wish,” he said, voice sincere even though the words made no sense.

Sunday stepped away, distance falling between them. “I see you can speak without pain now,” he said.

Aventurine cleared his throat. “Interesting,” he said, voice smoother than before. “I do feel a lot better. My dizziness is gone too.”

That meant Sunday’s theory had been right. What he did to obstruct Aventurine’s desires from anyone, anything else, worked.

“Mind explaining what happened?” Aventurine asked.

“You were inhaling dangerous particles that could affect your perception. Rather than wait, I took matters into my own hands.”

Aventurine rubbed at his neck idly. “A pervasive psychic plague… Putting the Plague in Plagues Author, huh. Does that mean you knew what I was ‘allergic to’ this entire time?”

“No. Not the entire time.”

Sunday didn’t think Aventurine would enjoy finding out free will did not exist on this planet where people danced and bled on command. For some reason, Aventurine preferred murder over mind control. It was… different. Did it stem from Aventurine’s experiences in Ylisse, where he’d likely been controlled by drugs?

“It’s surprising to me. How come you so easily accept the idea that you’re evil, Sunday?”

“You must think so lowly of me to expect me to deny it.”

“Thanks, Sunday.” Bizarrely, Aventurine’s smile turned smaller, fonder. Sunday memorized this sight, slotting away in his mind with his list of Aventurine’s peculiarities.

Aventurine’s sincerities never made any sense.

The palace was filled with tall shards of crystalline prisms that stood precariously. Their cracks leaked a jarring mix of obsidian and gold that should have been pretty, but combined into a toxic-looking sludge. It was difficult to tell whether these were remnants of palace structures or weapons that had been used to destroy it.

They explored the palace—or what was left of it.

Sunday heard heels clicking on the floor.

“Mint,” a voice said quietly. “It truly can grow everywhere.”

A female Ylissan with a red feather necklace walked beside Sunday.

So this was Lord Khali. Despite there still being functional signal beacons in Shal-raha, no one had uploaded any photos of her.

Golden jewelry on bronze skin. A gorgeous, rounded face with sparkling blue eyes. She wore a red gown that flowed to her bare feet, turning to dark wisps. With a white floral crown, she looked like a princess who’d strolled out the pages of a fairy tale.

“Sunday of the Family,” she said, regal. “Aventurine of the IPC.”

“Lord Khali of the Planet of Dunes,” Aventurine said respectfully, hand over his chest and a sweet smile on his face. “It is so good to see a new face on the throne.”

Puppets came up to place down food that ought to be mouthwatering. Colorful fruits and desserts filled the plates. Aventurine seated himself to the left of Lord Khali, and Sunday went to sit on the right.

“Thank you,” Aventurine said, smiling at the servant. He received a polite nod.

“We will have to decline the food,” Sunday said.

“I don’t mind,” Aventurine said. He grabbed one of the desserts, a light blue, chunky snack that seemed like a starch-based confection. “Lord Khali, you must understand that I cannot return to my boss with an empty hand. Magatia may be secluded, but it’s had a flourishing mall for centuries. Its mercantilism has been a linchpin of certain interastral commerce sectors—”

“If you wish to revive Magatian slavery, blood money, cruelty, perhaps we should not allow you to return at all.”

“Such threats are surely unnecessary,” Sunday said mildly. “Are we not here to seek an alternative?”

“We are willing to remain peaceful as we exit the interastral market.”

Aventurine hummed. “This is very good. What’s in this, silversand pepper?”

Sunday recognized silversand pepper as a local ingredient mentioned in the brochures, but was uncertain of the significance. It clearly hit a nerve.

Khali’s expression contorted with fury. “We serve no cursed herbs or blood. We condemn the actions of Amon’s bloodline.” Then, defensively, she added, “We created this dish from cryobloom petals and honey.”

“My apologies. My friend doesn’t mean to offend,” Sunday said.

“Is that so?” Aventurine asked, amusement sounding like he was directing it at Sunday more than Khali. Which wasn’t surprising. Sunday expected Aventurine to be uncooperative during negotiations.

Honey, cryobloom, weren’t these all foreign ingredients? To think Khali was wasting these precious resources on guests. Was it that she didn’t understand the consequences of blocking off intercosmic trade… or she didn’t expect the planet to survive long enough to matter?

“I must admit I am worried, Lord Khali,” Aventurine said. “By refusing to assume the previous contracts of your planet, the IPC would not let your star system continue with intercosmic trade. No more honey—“

“Do you think we hold ingredients above people’s lives?” Khali snarled.

“No textiles, no high tech conveniences, no films, no signal beacons…” Sunday said, continuing with the point Aventurine had raised, showing his outward support for Aventurine’s words. “Immortals need their creature comforts, their bread and circuses.”

“This is comfort for us,” Khali said, voice rattling. Her blue eyes flashed a fleeting crimson. “After dwelling underground with no light for centuries, clean air is a luxury. This… is what we dreamed of. Sunday of Penacony, you should understand the importance of dreams.”

Sunday fell quiet. If this was what got a rise out of her enough to make her reveal her true eyes, it must be something she cares about. This dream of hers.

“But why not be greedier?” Aventurine asked, voice soft, alluring, greedy. “Don't you deserve all this luxury and more? With Amon and his Alchemists—“

“Do not speak of what you know not,” Khali said acerbically. “We see your friend has neglected to tell you anything.”

Aventurine’s expression warmed with amusement. “Sunday is too nice. I think he sympathizes with you,” he said, “but knows I won’t like hearing what it is you have done to Ylisse.”

“Done… to Ylisse?” Khali looked at Aventurine, brows furrowed with confusion. Whatever regal air she had held earlier was mostly gone now, her fists tightly curled, her frame vibrating with anger.

“We saw what you did to Antlers,” Aventurine said.

Khali was silent for a tense moment. “What antlers?”

Sunday felt a flicker of amusement.

“The person. The bloody guy outside your city who’s got a wagon full of skulls.” Aventurine made a hand gesture of cutting off his neck. “He said it’s the punishment you gave him.”

“They’re getting exactly what they deserve,” Khali said.

“And what about everyone else in your society?” Aventurine asked. “Your people, like the lovely ladies who handed us this dish, do they not care?” He looked over to a servant who was sweeping up dust with a broom in a corner, ignoring the shattered rubble right beside her.

“They all share our opinion.”

“And your opinion is that the IPC cannot be allowed in Magatia?”

“No. Our opinion is that our local specialties cannot be allowed out of Magatia. If we let even a single IPC agent in, you will take every rotting herb out.”

Rotting… herb?

“What else does Ylisse have to offer? Here,” Aventurine said. He took a data chip, tossing it over for it to be caught easily by Khali. “Your royal treasurer, wherever they may be, should take a look at this information.”

Khali glared. “The treasurer is currently preoccupied with her punishment. We deal with everything. What are we supposed to do with this?”

“Her… punishment?” Aventurine asked slowly.

“All the criminals have been merged together,” Khali said impatiently. She raised the data chip.

“You merged Treasurer Lilium with Antlers,” Aventurine said. He paused. “I was unaware she had done anything to deserve an eternity of pain.”

“Every member of the Pharaoh’s djadjat deserves punishment.”

“Well, if you would please click the button on the data chip,” Aventurine said. There was something almost… sad in his expression. Confused, too, like he’d remembered something puzzling. Did he know the treasurer somehow? “It will project a summary of your star system’s debt accrued in the past month since the embargo.”

Khali seemed suspicious, as though she was not acquainted with this common IPC technology. She tapped the button. Blue light radiated out. Her knuckles whitened before she relaxed her grip on the chip. “The numbers do not matter,” she said, and proceeded to toss the chip to the ground. She crushed it with a heel. “What matters is that the evil of this world must be wiped away.”

“And after?” Aventurine asked.

“After?”

“Even if you kept the IPC out of Ylisse, what would happen to Ylisse? We would remove every trace of our tech from your planet. Every foreign string woven into your fabrics. Purification orbs, relics, honey, cryobloom petals. Everything. We can discuss limiting the export of herbs. But if you refuse to negotiate this term—Ylisse has nothing else to offer the IPC.”

“We refuse.”

“Do you understand that useless planets are dismantled? Your people’s blood will be squeezed out for more silversand pepper, your skulls crushed to fine bonedust, your sand mined for minerals… Can you imagine this happening to immortals?”

Khali made an inhuman, whirring noise of displeasure and frustration. “Then that is what we deserve,” she said. “But your demand for herbs… That will be impossible.”

Sunday remembered Mr. Wood teaching him how to control other people’s emotions. People’s diction was revealing. Aventurine frequently used the idea of deserving. He’d commented on ‘Antlers’ not deserving Sunday ripping through his mind. Ylisse not deserving commemoration. And now, here Khali was.

Both of these two believed in who deserved punishment, who didn’t, and both had such warped views.

“Such finality in your voice. Did you destroy all the fields of herbs?” Sunday asked.

Khali leaned back in her throne, jaw tense. “No,” she said. “But they are rotting away without the nourishment of ceremonies.”

Aventurine seemed to know exactly what that meant, before he let out a quiet laugh.

“Why don’t you show us what exactly is so intolerable about your home that it must be quarantined away?” Sunday suggested. “If it is truly deserving of such a fate, perhaps the IPC would agree with you.”

“Would they?” Khali asked, voice bitter. “This planet was only cursed because of the IPC in the first place.”

“How about this,” Aventurine said brightly. “Let’s bet, Lord Khali. If you can convince Sunday that your planet is a lost cause financially, I promise I will convince my boss to leave your planet alone.”

…?

Sunday already thought this place was a lost cause. Why would Aventurine bet that? When Aventurine said he couldn’t return to Diamond with an empty hand earlier, he’d meant it.

Sunday had technically signed a contract saying he needed to regain five qualifying planets worth of revenue within ten years.

“Why would you bet that?” Khali asked, voicing Sunday’s confusion.

“Life is boring without gambles,” Aventurine replied.

“And if we fail to convince you?”

“Well, we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” Aventurine said. He was about to pop another cryobloom snack into his mouth when a servant who was walking past swiftly took the plate away.

…

Sunday judged that Khali had minimal control over her puppets, perhaps her attention stretched too thin across all of them. After all, she did not have a Stellaron to enhance her powers.

“Any idea where I could get another one of those snacks?” Aventurine asked.

It was the right question to ask. Khali’s hostility seemed to wane, and she looked upset instead of furious. That was a step in the right direction, Sunday supposed. “We shall prepare more for you tomorrow,” she said. “When the sun rises at 11:00 noon, let us meet again. The darkness is closing in now.”

It was late. The night was quickly washing everything in a subdued, mysterious maroon. Time passed quickly in this 22 hour day, or perhaps it was just an early dusk.

“We accept your bet. Now leave us be, followers of Order and Preservation,” Khali said. She made a shooing motion, dismissing them.

Sitting in the hazy dark of the ruined throne room, Khali looked lonely despite being surrounded by servants. Sunday stared at her for a moment, their eyes locking, and smiled before he walked away.

“She didn’t offer us a place to stay,” Aventurine lamented, after they left the palace, returning to the busy streets of Shal-raha. “And the servants took my plate away before I was done.”

“Is this what you wanted, Aventurine?”

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d try some of that tasty cryobloom snack,” Aventurine said honestly.

Sunday gave him a flat look, suppressing the wave of discomfort, to know Aventurine truly wanted him to try a snack because he thought it tasted good. “Did you want to spare Ylisse this entire time?”

“I didn’t exactly know Lord Khali’s intentions until now. She seems to really hate the local specialties. But spare?” Aventurine looked thoughtful. “My judgment doesn’t matter. Although, it’s a little more like doom, isn’t it? This civilization could not survive on its own.”

“It survived before it entered the intergalactic economy.”

“That was before…” Aventurine trailed off. “Well, Lord Khali will show us the fields tomorrow. You’ll find out how the herbs are grown and harvested.”

“Through ceremonies.” Sunday thought of the ceremonial dagger, of the grisly memories he’d glimpsed in ‘Antlers’ mind. “You partook in them.”

“Yes,” Aventurine said dryly. “I partook the same way a lamb partakes in slaughter.”

“No need for sarcasm.”

Aventurine smiled. “I can’t help it. The face you make when you’re impatient with me is cute.”

Sunday stared at him. Cute? First Aventurine called him handsome, then sweet, then cute. “Don’t you think you’re laying it thick? Perhaps you should stay away from honey dishes, your pot is already overflowing with it.”

Aventurine laughed. He was about to speak when he looked up.

The soft, distant pitter patters of water on sand and rock interrupted their conversation. The maroon skies were turning stormy.

Aventurine held his breath. He stared at the skies and outstretched his hands, cupping them as if he wanted to catch the rain.

The rain that fell sizzled upon hitting an invisible barrier.

Aventurine’s lips parted, an almost inaudible breath out. “Ah. Of course. The purification orb filters out the rain,” he said.

Sunday watched as the rain left behind oily puddles of black that glimmered gold. Plants and people all avoided the rain. After seeing this, Sunday realized the crystalline prisms from earlier in the palace—they’d been tainted by rain.

“Toxic precipitation is common here,” Sunday said, controlling his voice to sound impassive, neutral. “Have you never seen it?” It was possible Aventurine had been trapped in a windowless prison.

“Of course I’ve seen dreadfall. It’s just different now that I’ve got a purification orb. You know, dreadfall doesn’t actually hurt. It just numbs you as it eats away at your flesh. It helps local flora flourish in the dunes, but kills everything else. When it touches particles of blood, it gets all gold and shimmery.”

Ah. That was why it was partially gold after splattering on the ground. Sunday’s lips curved down, thinking about how much blood particles were on this pavement now, revealed by the dreadfall.

“Mm… Do you like rain, Sunday?”

Could Aventurine be more infuriatingly casual? Sunday felt a breathless tide of emotion. A sort of anger.

How odd. Sunday was angry to know Aventurine hadn’t expected the purification orb to filter the rain. Yet his first instinct had been to look up with his two glassy blessed eyes with self-destructive excitement as if they could never be blinded. To catch the rain.

Why? Why was this what made Sunday feel this intensely chilling wave of anger and… concern? It was different from the frustration upon seeing Aventurine touch that vine. Aventurine had seemed pensive then, doing it on purpose.

This… wasn’t.

Sunday remembered Mr. Wood teaching him how to control his emotions, veil them so that they could never be used against him. But now there was this unpredictable factor in his life. Someone who didn’t just take risks through calculation, but instinct.

Without that blessing of luck, Aventurine would have surely been dead by now. Kakavasha would have died, long long ago.

Those blessed eyes looked up at the deep maroon skies, devoid of emotion,

(“Do you pray to Gaiathra Triclops every morning for this kind of luck?” Sunday asked. )

How cruel. Why had Sunday said that.

(“I’m always the final victor, Sunday. That’s not a variable or an exaggeration.”

“How much bleeding can you sustain before you magically heal? Or would you bleed out?”

“You sound so curious. You should stab me next time to find out.”)

Just because he wanted to see Aventurine react? To see him invite cruelty and violence as if it made him feel better?

Sunday suddenly thought what a painful curse it was for Kakavasha to survive his entire family. And yet nothing Aventurine did successfully invited death.

“It does not rain in Penacony,” Sunday said quietly.

“I know,” Aventurine said, blinking. “But do you like rain?”

What… a question. Sunday couldn’t understand how this information would serve Aventurine any good. Why did the Avgin ask questions about Sunday that had no apparent motive? Cartoons, comic books, rain.

Did one need to know these things to control another? Mr. Wood had never addressed this, and Sunday had never bothered either. Halovians were powerful enough with Order’s support to never need to care for such trifling details.

Paradise meant broad strokes of contentment for everyone. No pain, no death, no loneliness, no grief. No sins, no inequality, no imperfections. Sunday knew all the terrible things and sins that Order’s power could remove from the equation of life.

That had always been enough. The only details of paradise Sunday had wanted to see for himself… had been Robin’s. He’d needed to save the Charmony dove. He’d needed to fix things.

Sunday suddenly felt a wave of grief in addition to this anger, which was becoming directed at himself. Perhaps it was the inherent melancholy of rain, or maybe it was the way this dark rain corroded what it touched, repelled by his purification orb’s aura.

Robin had liked the rain when they were kids. She’d hosted tea parties and sang in the rain before Penacony brought them perfect weather.

Did she still like rain? Or had that changed too in the time she had left? Sunday didn’t know. She had been on a planet with a sentient species that swam underwater. In her letter, she’d spoken of beautiful underwater creatures, talking manta rays that left streaks of luminescence in their wake. Sunday hadn’t asked about it, only telling her it was wonderful and he hoped she enjoyed the rest of her tour there safely.

How could Sunday not know something as simple as whether his sister liked the rain.

Sunday’s grief plummeted into an inexplicable stab of fear as he recalled his parting conversation with Robin, his sense of helplessness. Fear, sadness, anger. Sunday could not afford so many emotions.

“Hey, Featherhead,” Aventurine said. “Aren’t I the one who should be freaked out by rain?”

Sunday looked at him, oddly surprised by the reminder Aventurine was there. He’d walked a bit closer, but was still an arm’s length away. The reminder came with a strange realization that Aventurine as alway so careful to not overstep physically.

“I am not ‘freaked out’. Rain has its beauty. Many cultures believe it washes away sin and brings nourishment… And it is fitting that in Ylisse it is black as tar.”

“But turns gold sometimes,” Aventurine said. “Well, most of the times here.” He laughed. “There’s a popular saying among the locals—even mint can’t grow under the crimson sun.”

Sunday tilted his head. “Can it not?” he asked after a moment.

“Every herb that is harvested here grows from a unique process. This isn’t called dreadfall for nothing. Everything it splashes on is drenched in the primal fear of death. It even kills outerworld plants.” Aventurine shrugged. “No wonder Ylissans used to eat each other all the time. There was little else to eat.”

The dreadfall rain had picked up, splattering everywhere now, but its sounds were muted.

“Is that… why you wanted to touch the rain just now?”

“Did I?” Aventurine’s lips twitched up. “I don’t think dreadfall would wash away my sins, Sunday,” he said playfully.

That was obviously not what Sunday had meant. But he found himself not knowing what to say, unable to predict Aventurine’s reaction. Aventurine had definitely reached his hand out to catch the rain without much thought, like it was ingrained in him to cup his hands for rain.

“I heard Sigonia had severe droughts. Do you like rain?”

Aventurine looked thoughtful, and then amused. “No one’s ever asked me that. If I tell you I hate it, can you tell me if I’m lying?”

Sunday breathed out a laugh. He considered it briefly, before he decided to reveal this. “It won’t work if you don’t know whether you’re lying, Aventurine. Not unless you want me to dig through your mind even deeper.”

Aventurine hummed, thinking it over. “Well, I like dreadfall. It sounds like cacophony and wakes you up like nothing else.” He looked up, one hand slipping into a pant pocket. “But what could be better than pouring rain?” he murmured softly.

It was harder to dissect Aventurine’s tone when he asked a rhetorical question instead of giving a statement. However, he could tell Aventurine meant it when he said he liked dreadfall, as awful as it was.

Aventurine took a flask out of his pocket, pouring the healing potion he’d used for his throat earlier out. It spilled onto the pavement.

“Just because you’re safe from a psychic plague does not mean you can’t get injured, Aventurine.”

Aventurine placed the cylindrical flask on the ground. He stepped back, enough for the orb to no longer interfere with collecting the rain. “Rain was so rare on Sigonia,” he sighed. “We would catch a few precious drops whenever we could, saving them as a reminder that rain still did exist.”

“Then what is this—a memento mori?”

“How poetically morbid. No, this is just an idea for our department. If you don’t think the planet is doomed, then perhaps the IPC can still reap profits from this.”

“I doubt she would willingly let you collect anything like dreadfall.”

“Yeah,” Aventurine said. “I don’t think she would. I heard alchemists would do something with dreadfall to make varl gold.”

Ah. Just like that ceremonial dagger. So varl gold required blood for its creation.

Sunday focused on the silencing aura that protected them from eavesdroppers. With his exhale, he let it go, let it fracture enough so that unpleasant sounds could enter.

The rain suddenly became dissonantly loud, making Aventurine wince. He blinked, looking around in a blend of fascination and disturbance.

Dreadfall. Splatters. Howling desert winds. The sound of rattling metal, uneven constructions, untethered household objects rolling around with the gale.

“I didn’t realize you lowered the volume of our surround sound this much.”

“They can hear us now.”

When was the last time Sunday had heard anything like this? Dreadfall splattered everywhere, on the sand, on the pavement, a chaotic song.

With a sort of childish excitement, Aventurine went back to pick up the flask even though it was wet. His gloves seemed to protect him from the flask’s effects. He smiled at the black tar-like rainwater that shimmered gold before stuffing the flask back into his pocket.

They stood there like that for a while longer. Sunday was relieved the purification orb prevented the rain from falling on his feathers. The way the dreadfall clung to everything it struck like a deformed, bubbling paint splatter was disturbing.

Sunday hated this. The cacophony of unplanned sounds, the fracture in his auditory shield, the way Aventurine kept asking questions Sunday didn’t know the answer to because he’d never practiced them. The way Aventurine asked Sunday a question Aventurine couldn’t even answer himself.

Even mint can’t grow under the crimson sun, Aventurine had said, even though Sunday had seen with his very own eyes mint growing out of the palace’s cracks.

Someone had recently introduced mint seeds to Shal-raha. Lord Khali, or someone else? The third party Dr. Ratio had mentioned? Very likely. Khali didn’t seem that technologically or socially aware. It could’ve been an actual Emanator of Abundance.

It would be best to raise this concern now. But Sunday looked at the rain and Aventurine a little longer. Tomorrow they were visiting the fields with Khali. The truth would come out soon.

Would Aventurine try to kill Lord Khali if he knew what she had done? Was it possible for him to succeed, without a Cornerstone?

Would Sunday be willing or able to help?

“A hundred thousand Alfalfa coins for your thoughts?” Aventurine inquired.

Sunday let out a light laugh. “The number goes up each time. Alfalfa would disapprove of such rapid inflation.”

Aventurine laughed too. Around them, people walked around with umbrellas, hiding from the rain, closing their stores calmly. No one had any purification orbs, which had been sold by Munch as a Ylissential. Yet, no bloodlust. No sickness.

Did Aventurine notice, or was he distracted by memories of rain? Part of Sunday wanted to know how Aventurine would react, the other part felt the need to cover Aventurine’s eyes. He’d already normalized enough. Why let him get used to more?

Sunday felt his decision settle in, chasing away his useless emotions. He could help.

After seeing inside that broken mind and hearing thousands of insane voices screaming inside one shared body, Sunday knew, like ‘Antlers’ had said…

There was no one left.

Sunday could help Aventurine because Ylissans weren’t puppets. They were mindless hosts to a pointless, selfish, self-sacrificial, disgusting lord.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday, do you know how to kill an Aeon?

Yes. But oh, Aventurine. Exterminating the Swarm didn’t count as killing.

Chapter Text

The inn they found not far from the palace was, all things considered, pleasant.

The Tigerheart Inn was wide with plenty of columns. The patterned quartz gave the place a sleek, modern aesthetic, reminiscent of the palace. Just without the rubble.

Aventurine and Sunday walked past the segmented pools before the inn. Like the fountain from the coffeehouse, these smaller pools were devoid of water (or blood). Instead, they’d been pelted with dreadfall. There was soil strewn around, as if someone had manually plucked herbs out of the ground here without patting the soil back down.

The pools were gleaming gold. The design of this inn had clearly taken into account the… abundance of blood that was everywhere. Dreadfall fell from the skies into the dips and curves of architecture, filling out ornate, purposeful designs.

Aventurine stopped in front of one of the pools, curious.

“This is like cloudseeing for Ylissans. Or divining from a teacup. I see a clownfish. What do you see?”

“A murder scene.”

“My, my. What dark humor you have, Sunday.”

“I do not jest. The amount of gold dreadfall here is concerning.”

A laugh was caught in the pitter patter of dreadfall. “No, you’re probably right. Two travelers walking in the rain, arriving at an inn, only to happen upon a closed room murder mystery…”

A sigh was barely missed beneath the laughter. “You know, children who get a sugar high suffer when they crash afterwards.”

“I can really tell that you expect every story to need meaning. You even grace my cute little murder mystery hypothetical with a moral.”

“Children also pout when they are reprimanded.”

“Aw. Now I feel very reprimanded.”

“Liar.”

Aventurine giggled. He looked at Sunday, who was glancing at him from the edge of his eyes with exasperated amusement.

It wasn’t that Sunday didn’t smile often—he smiled almost as much as Aventurine. But those were perfunctory, perfect, hollow. This one seemed so reluctant, small, like he didn’t realize he was smiling.

Maybe it was because Aventurine had promised he’d leave the planet alone if Sunday said it was a financial lost cause. Even if Lord Khali was suspicious, Sunday seemed to immediately know Aventurine wanted to leave Ylisse alone.

So, Sunday, smiling. Happier. Even his feathers seemed lighter, swaying gently with his gray hair as he walked.

It was really unfair how attractive Sunday was. Aventurine held his breath before he could remind himself to breathe.

Sunday’s smile widened, turning polite. Vaguely and inexplicably apologetic. “I wasn’t truly reprimanding you,” he said.

“I know. I have in fact seen you when you’re mad,” Aventurine said dryly, and he meant both definitions of the word. “Let’s go in, it’s starting to get cold.”

After suggesting that as a deflection, he instantly regretted it. He should’ve just said he wanted to kiss Sunday again. Why hadn’t he?

Aventurine knew a lot of impressively, annoyingly observant people who reaped insights from him with too much ease. That was why he played along, exaggerating what should be weaknesses. Because then, they were his to use—he’d know exactly what others would try to abuse.

Attraction was a double-edged weapon, and he didn’t care when it cut himself to pieces. He just needed to remind himself that.

Maybe he should try seducing Sunday again sometime soon?

They walked past the pools and into the inn. They were welcomed by an interesting centerpiece. It pulsed, dark wisps flowing from the heart-shaped sculpture. The metal looked striking, shifting between liquid and solid states.

“Tigerheart Inn,” Aventurine said, glancing at his phone. “I found the reviews for this place. Want to see?” He held out his phone.

Recent customer reviews:

10/10 would recommend!!

Not for people with a weak stomach. But if that’s the case wtf are you doing in Magatia?

Top notch customer service, but the chef yells if you complain…

The souvenirs here are way overpriced. Better to get trophies from the arena

Top notch customer service, but the chef yells if you complain…

The souvenirs here are way overpriced. Better to get trophies from the arena

Top notch customer service, but the chef yells if you complain…

The souvenirs here are way overpriced. Better to get trophies from the arena

Due to suspicious activity, the review function has been temporarily halted. If you are the business owner, please contact IPC’s customer service.

“They start repeating from three months,” Aventurine noted in surprise. “That’s… two months before Lord Khali took over and started the embargo. The IPC must’ve known something was wrong.” He went to check the reviews of other nearby tourist locations—they had all been flagged.

“Perhaps the change of rule was sooner than you were told.”

They walked up to the receptionist.

“Two rooms, please,” Aventurine said, spinning his Diamond Deluxe card out of his pocket. “The best you have.”

“Of course, Mr. Aventurine, Mr. Sunday. Here you go,” the receptionist said. He handed them two keys, not even pretending to not know their names.

“Thank you, Kellen,” Aventurine said, eyeing the name tag. He tapped his card to the digital tip box and heard it make a chiming noise.

“Your generosity is appreciated,” Kellen said, but it sure didn’t sound like it.

Not that Aventurine had expected anything different.

“You’re unerringly polite to everyone,” Sunday commented as they walked to their rooms on the uppermost floor.

“Surely it’s preferable to you pretending they’re just backdrops. Who are they to you—Townsperson A, Townsperson B?”

“Do you want to know my answer?”

“You make the most innocuous phrases sound ominous, Sunday.”

“I do rarely bring good omens,” Sunday said wryly. “But there is no need to play along with this farce of a society.”

Aventurine smirked. “When in Ylisse, do as the Ylissans do.”

“Impressive. That manages to be one of the worst things I’ve heard you say.”

“If that’s not a glowing review of this planet, I don’t know what is. Anyway, I would rather not treat this like a ghost town and loot whatever I wished. What if they’re conscious but locked inside?”

Sunday blinked slowly. “I suppose, yes.”

The Tigerheart Inn suite was all curved and beige walls, soft brown colors inviting and warm. Terra-cotta carpets and cushions decorated the room, and there was a grand, half-circle window that let him see the view outside. Emerald and turquoise paintings adorned the walls, modern decor of bronze and gold figures adding a splash of elegance.

Aventurine’s gaze was drawn to the large fish tank in the wall across from his bed.

He had once felt a childish awe and dismay the first time he’d seen colorful fish who got to swim around happily in spacious tanks filled with precious water. He imagined Sunday would’ve had something symbolic to say about that.

But this tank was markedly… Ylissan. It didn’t hold a fish, not really.

Instead, there was someone resembling mermaids of classic fairy tales. Top half humanoid, bottom half fish. The scales looked like they might have been decaying, gray in parts that should’ve glimmered.

(So many cages, so many different people.

“If you offend the wrong Alchemist, they’ll chop you up and call anything they do to you an enhancement. You would have hated that, friend.”

“So you threw me into a crazed prince’s bed instead?” He shook his head, body still aching. “I obviously offended you greatly. I don’t want your friendship.”

“I’m just giving you a chance to decide your own fate.”

“Just be honest and say you’re using me too, ▮▮▮▮▮.”)

Aventurine blinked hazily. His fragmented memories of Ylisse had never come as easily as they did after whatever Sunday had done to his mind. Sunday had said he was putting up a psychic shield. A part of Aventurine had wondered eagerly, trepidatiously, if he does this, will I be able to remember?

And he did. He was remembering more, even if it was still behind a foggy crimson haze. After this memory settled in, solid pain filling the blank cracks in his mind, Aventurine laughed. Joy burst in him like popping candy. He couldn’t wait to remember what else he’d forgotten. The IPC offered mental health services, as well as Remembrance affiliates, but they’d never been much help before.

He walked closer to the tank and noticed an elegant card that had been left on a table by the tank.

Male human x thalassan
Fights back ✨
Juicy. Best enjoyed medium rare
Contraceptives not necessary

Delight rotted inside him, gone just as quick as the fleeting rush of satisfaction that followed a successful gamble.

He didn’t even feel sick or surprised.

Funnily enough, this feeling was also just like the aftermath of a successful gamble. A sugar rush without the sweet, a vertiginous crash without a ground to catch him.

Aventurine walked closer to the tank, pressing a hand to the thick glass surface. He peered through the glass. There was a screen beside it that had various features, such as draining half of it or transporting the captive elsewhere.

Hm… This sensation was familiar, how curious. He knocked on the glass and the surface bounced harmlessly, like gel. But when he slowly pressed against it, it felt hard and unbreakable again.

(”You’re the 73,131st to try that,” she said. “It only took once before we adjusted all the glassware.”

“So the Alchemists didn’t see it coming the first time?” he muttered.

She sighed. “Smile.”

“Unlike you, I’d rather be beat than praised.”

“You need to learn to use a smile as a weapon. The prince likes toys who smile when he hurts them.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t imagine why he likes you then,” he said. “You never fucking smile.”

“Why would I,” she said. “He doesn’t hurt me.” )

Aventurine was surprised out of his flashback when he saw the figure swimming closer. There was the captive, then. The half-thalassan didn’t seem to notice Aventurine though. They were swimming in circles?

“Hello,” Aventurine said. “May I know your name?”

The person in the self-cleaning fish tank looked over serenely. “Hello, Mr. Aventurine,” they said with a burst of bubbles. They stopped in front of Aventurine, right on the other side of the tank.

“I’ll make sure nobody hurts you anymore,” Aventurine said.

“Thank you.”

It was like talking to a robot with excessive limitations. Like a docile pet.

Aventurine hid a grimace. What a terrible thought. He looked at the nameless half-thalassan whose scales were dim, lightless. The large, pointed scales looked familiar. Like a platter of fish on the prince’s dinner table.

Aventurine shoved that pointless memory away. He’d killed the prince already. It didn’t matter. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Go ahead.”

“Were you always part thalassan?”

“No, I am a product of the Alchemists.”

Aventurine’s lips twisted down. He expected as much. “Is there a place you want to go?” he asked.

“There is nowhere to go,” the half-thalassan said. Eyes lifeless in the water, maroon light of the tank casting eerie waves around the suite.

The conversation ended there. The half-thalassan went back to swimming without a care in the world.

Preparing for a shower, Aventurine turned the bathroom’s lights to a mellow blue. It eventually chased away the afterimages of maroon and crimson.

As he removed his jewelry, he paused and looked at the red feather earring.

Khali had been dressed in the immortal bird Vrisaya’s colors. She’d glanced at his earring a few times during their meeting—Aventurine had looked forward to asking about the bird that was supposed to have been resurrected. Yet Khali had said nothing about it.

Aventurine didn’t remember learning about the Vrisaya, but when he’d browsed the Ylissentials collection, he had recognized the red feather. He had a feeling he’d learned about the bird and then forgotten about it.

Resurrected… Perhaps the legendary fire-breathing falcon was related to how Antlers became cursed with immortality?

Aventurine sighed. What a messy mission. The new ruler of Ylisse seemed to care deeply about banning exports, and she clearly despised the old tyranny. But punishing the Treasurer, and who knew how many others who weren’t evil, just trying to survive…

(“Treasurer Lilium’s an old cranky hag, but she’s not that bad.”

“Does she know you steal from the treasury?”

“Well, the Treasurer almost dices my hands off every time she catches me. But you know what that means, right? When someone only almost hurts you.”

He wanted to shake his head, to tell her about his family. He wanted to ask if that was love on Ylisse.)

That was the memory Aventurine had recalled during their meeting, and he’d felt… saddened. Now, he was getting a headache.

Aventurine placed the feather earring onto the counter.

Maybe these memories would come back faster than he thought.

After brushing his teeth to chase away the phantom taste of fish in his mouth, Aventurine felt a wave of weariness. His stomach grumbled but he had no appetite. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling from the bed.

Too quiet. Maybe he could listen to some radio.

Aventurine found the Interastral Peace Broadcast app on his IPC phone.

[RADIO TURNING ON. STATICKY NOISES, FOLLOWED BY WARM MUSIC.]

Welcome to the Interastral Peace Broadcast. Good morning everyone. This is your host, Steve. We have fascinating news for you today. Lucy is coming in live from Penacony, Land of the Dreams. Hi Lucy.

Hi Steve. The 2158 AE Charmony Festival has been absolutely stunning so far. I’m on the Radiant Feldspar, a ship so grand and magical I feel like I’m in a five-star fairy tale. The cosmic songstress Robin announced the biggest news of the Era so far. Robin is joining the Astral Express—yes, that Astral Express.

This is wonderful news. What else has she said?

The Astral Express helped immensely in suppressing the Stellaron threat on Penacony.

What about a song collab between the Nameless and Robin?

[WARM LAUGHTER.] I knew you were secretly a Robin stan. Lucy out. I’ll keep you updated.

T-Thank you Lucy. Tune in tonight for more information on Penacony during our Peaceful Prime Time broadcast. Now, going back to our review of the pop romance drama Star Crossed Lovers Across Andromeda…

“Radio off,” Sunday snapped.

The broadcast went silent.

The logo of the IPC continued to glow on his phone in the dim lighting of the room, the maroon haze from outside the windows casting jagged shadows.

Robin had given the Charmony Festival speech of this Era. She seized the opportunity to declare herself a part of Astral Express. Thanking the Nameless so profusely, telling the universe the Astral Express had gone out of their way to help Penacony…? Sunday couldn’t imagine Alfalfa signing off on such a public declaration of alignment, but… at least Alfalfa wouldn’t be able to do anything against Robin.

Before this year, Sunday wouldn’t have been able to imagine the Nameless aligning themselves with Penacony publicly either, nor the IPC clearly supporting the partnership.

The hourglass on the table swished, spinning upside automatically as it reached midnight. The inn they found was, every detail considered, miserable. The sands silently dripped into the other end of the hourglass, starting the day anew.

Sunday waited for the synthesizer beside the hourglass to create a new set of essentials, including a towel and toothbrush. Exhaustion pulled at him like a particularly annoying Memory Zone Meme.

He did not like to place his halo down anywhere, so he would shower with it and then dry it clinically with the freshly synthesized towel. He took out his pocket inventory and rummaged for the purse Robin had given him. He took out the hairbrush, condensed polish, and moisturizing cleanser and placed them by the basin.

He briefly uncurled his wings, stretching them through the ache. He ran his fingers across the straight, sharp edge. He would need to clip them again. His next molt cycle was in a month.

It was certainly no accident that Robin had chosen to… not include wing clippers.

(“Falling is quite a rush, to know there is a definite end. I guess it’s different if one can fly… Can you fly?”)

Aventurine always asked such rude questions. No one else dared. Not that it was common knowledge his wings were clipped—Halovians kept their secrets to themselves. But who in Penacony would ask Sunday such a personal question?

How utterly Aventurine it was to yearn for a final fall instead of the flight. Knowing that he meant it made the question more bearable now, at least in retrospect.

Sunday hadn’t been able to fly in reality for a long time. Then again, he hadn’t truly been in this kind of restrictive reality for a long time. Penacony had been sunken in dreams and Order.

He gingerly tried out the moisturizer Robin had gifted him, just a few dewdrops. He dabbed them on the visible feathers by his neck. His flight wings hardly needed it.

He used some polisher on his halo. It glinted, humming with power. A radiance he could not be moved by.

After his routine, he decided to sleep at the desk. He kept a piece of his mind alert in case of an attack. The room’s thermostat still worked so he switched it to a more comfortable temperature.

He soon realized that there was no comfortable temperature. The humidity control felt off as well. It had been much easier to sleep in Asdana.

That was… fine. Sunday could still close his eyes and drag himself under into his own dreamscape. In his dream, he could go over everything that had happened, and everything he would do for the rest of the trip. He factored in his new understanding of Aventurine.

Sunday, a bird that could not fly.

Aventurine, wingless yet unable to fall.

Water dripping down from the ceiling. Sweet, spicy cologne reminiscent of the herb fields. Laughter in his ears, sinister and mocking, and an unwelcome hand possessively curled around his hip. A scourge flaying him open to the bone. Smile.

Aventurine awoke with fear criss-crossing his ribs like a violent lattice and a smile fading from his face. It was hard to catch his breath, and he looked around, belatedly realizing why.

He groaned, having fallen onto the floor during his nightmare. He’d managed to land on his back, but his back hurt now.

So much for all his thoughts about wanting to fall but never hitting the ground. He was the butt of this cosmic joke.

Aventurine stayed on the ground for a while. He could still feel a ghost kissing him hauntingly, still remember how he’d smiled and asked for more pain. How ridiculous it was to have a nightmare about that now.

He wondered if Sunday had nightmares too, or if he dreamt of the nightmares of others.

Aventurine suddenly felt a chill down his spine. He sat up slowly, eyes wide. He looked straight forward and saw a set of creepy eyes looking straight back at him.

His half-thalassan roommate was staring, uncannily intense. As if… possessed.

“Hi there,” Aventurine said, smiling, still a bit breathless and pained.

His roommate’s eyes flashed an alarming red before they turned dull again. “Hello,” he said politely, before going back to swim.

Aventurine stared at the tank. It was obvious whatever thing was possessing his roommate, they didn’t want to talk.

Aventurine checked his watch—it was only 5:28 in the morning. At some point, it had stopped raining.

After that nightmare, he was hardly going to sleep again, so he’d decided to go for a stroll.

Shal-raha was just as lively as yesterday morning. He walked through the streets of people. Vines slithered in the shadows, away from him as he walked.

He heard broken strings of conversations. Did you hear the fishing rods are on sale? Old Kino’s having an affair with both of the twins down on Ninth Street. My daughter graduated with honors from a Xianzhou University.

But the excitement was muted, like they were underpaid actors who’d lost their passion years ago. Aventurine was sure he’d seen ghost towns with more personality.

A part of Aventurine wanted to speak, to ask, but it felt like he was breaking a rule. Breaking the fragile sense of peace here. Breaking script.

(After dwelling underground with no light for centuries, clean air is a luxury. This… is what we dreamed of.)

Aventurine supposed that for someone who’d never seen anything better than this, this did seem like peace. Like a happy dream.

He heard a drop of water, echoing in a cave. He waited for more memories to surface in his mind, but none did, so he continued wandering the streets.

Honestly, walking through the streets of the night in Ylisse alone was pretty stupid. Predators and plants came out more often at night in most cities.

He walked past bookstores, restaurants, trinket shops, until he finally reached outside the coffeehouse they’d visited yesterday. So much golden sheen coated the fountain, sprayed in a disturbing pattern.

He stood there for a while before he heard footsteps. He turned his head to see the barista with bandaged ears and scarlet eyes. She was cradling a batch of glowing blue flowers and decidedly ignoring Aventurine as she walked past.

“Hi there,” Aventurine said.

The girl heaved a sigh. “What is it?” she asked. Some of yesterday’s hostility in the coffeehouse seemed to have waned. Perhaps it was the softer colors of nightfall, or the cooler tones of the cryobloom in her hands.

Aventurine walked just a few steps closer, enough so he could discern the blisters on her hands from the persistent cold. “May I know your name? Mine is—”

“Aventurine. We know.”

Aventurine hesitated before smiling and nodding. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d introduced himself as Kakavasha. “Yes.”

The Ylissan eyed him with judgmental scarlet eyes. The moment stretched, before she huffed and resumed walking.

“Wait. I was wondering,” Aventurine said, the casual words stinging his tongue, “have we… met before?”

She stopped in her tracks, but did not turn around. He couldn’t see her expression. “…Have you been to Ylisse before?” she asked, tone guarded.

“It’s been almost a decade. Maybe that’s why you don’t recognize me anymore.”

She fell silent, grip tightening on the flowers. She turned around, staring. For the first time since they’d met, she looked lost, expressionless. Fragile and pretty, like a—

Like a doll.

The details were hazy and his head ached, like water trying to squeeze too fast through a sponge. Something about the memory felt wrong, like the details didn’t match up. The hairstyle, the eyes, the way she moved. Had her eyes been red?

“Do you recognize us?” she asked.

Aventurine decided to take a gamble. “Yes, but I can’t quite remember.” He smiled. “I believe the prince did a number on my memory.”

She tensed. “Prince.”

“The crown prince. Second eldest. Though I suppose succession doesn’t matter anymore, not with a much better ruler on the throne. Perhaps… he affected your memories too?”

His words had an obvious effect. She frowned more deeply, with a mixture of disbelief and anger. Whatever conclusion she came to though, she didn’t share it aloud. She practically rushed to the coffeehouse door and shut it decisively.

Maybe she valued her own freedom above everyone else’s. Maybe she didn’t care that everyone else was being mind controlled. That would be selfish, and usually Aventurine wouldn’t mind prodding, provoking.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

He was sure she had been the one to help him, to befriend him. But if she had also been in the lab with him, it made sense if she’d forgotten him too. Of course amnesia would be common in a place that produced the main herb for it.

Aventurine could sense the incoming yawn of the sunrise as red colored the horizon. He headed back towards the hotel.

Ah. Another weakness. People who’d helped him. He wouldn’t have considered that an issue if it weren’t for the fact that he always became their weakness in the end.

Aventurine

< Sunday, would you like to watch the sunrise with me? :) I’m on the roof

Aventurine took seven flights of hotel stairs up to the rooftop, which had surprisingly few safety features to prevent guests from being pushed to their death. Sunday’s theory that this was some popular murder hotspot was definitely right.

The gold and black was beginning to dissipate from the rooftop already. In a few hours, it would probably look like a normal white roof again.

Shortly after sending the message, Sunday arrived at the rooftop too. Aventurine heard the way silence coiled him like a protective bubble wrap, tranquil presence louder than any cawing bird or skittering insect.

“Are you planning to jump?”

Aventurine giggled. What a greeting. “I’d get a bruise. A broken bone if I’m really lucky. Not worth the hassle.” Plus, if he limped back into his room with another injury so soon, he was pretty sure his half-thalassan roommate (Lord Khali, perhaps?) would stare at him judgmentally again.

Sunday sighed. “Yes. Lucky.”

“Good morning, Sunday. I hope you slept well?”

“Good morning, Aventurine.” Sunday was staying quite far from the edge of the roof. Aventurine noticed but decided to not ask.

The Ylissan sunrise was hauntingly beautiful. Crimson light painted streaks over the deep maroons. Aventurine blinked to see it was day.

“I took a walk and ran into the barista with bandaged ears again.”

“Why?” Sunday asked warily.

“You’re asking me why I ran into someone?” Aventurine asked, amusement warming his chest until he realized he’d been quite chilly.

“Did you not mean to?”

“I think you dearly overestimate my control over chance. I can’t just hope I run into someone and manifest it,” Aventurine drawled. “That’s why I sent you a message instead of waiting for you to magically find me.”

“The roof would’ve been my second guess.”

“What’s the first?”

“The coffeehouse.”

“After getting kicked out? I try to respect boundaries, you know.”

“I know,” Sunday said. For some reason he didn’t even sound sarcastic about it. “Tell me more about your fortuitous encounter.” Nevermind, there was the sarcasm.

“She was carrying a bunch of cryobloom to the coffeehouse. I guess she’s our chef.”

“How lovely.”

“I know her from when I was on Ylisse last time.”

Sunday paused at that. “A captor?”

“More like a friend, I think.”

Sunday didn’t say anything.

Aventurine turned around after a while. Sunday seemed to have taken that time to prepare a look of sympathy. A well crafted mask he was certainly not used to seeing from the Halovian often. Aventurine felt a little taken aback.

“It is not your friend anymore, Aventurine.”

“It?” Aventurine echoed critically.

“Whoever they used to be, they are gone. Controlled by Lord Khali.”

“Really. Could you sense it?”

“Yes.”

“But she is aware. She gets angry. Not like Antlers, but not like the other Ylissans either.”

“It sounds like you’re proposing we spare this one.”

“Haha, that sounds like you’re trying to let me down gently.” Aventurine didn’t like Sunday’s choice of words, though. “Spare? What do you mean by that?”

Sunday smiled back. “Save, I mean,” he amended insincerely.

Aventurine felt annoyed, both at Sunday dismissing Aventurine’s words and at himself for not being able to just… say it directly. It was upsetting that this was important to him, different from his gambles.

Years ago, joining the IPC, he’d wanted to get strong enough to go back and help everyone who’d once helped him. He’d felt terrible after hearing about the demise of all who’d helped him along the way, including the Ylissan Resistance members. Yet here this Ylissan girl was.

Even if she’d been mind controlled, why couldn’t Aventurine try to help her?

“I want to make it clear,” Aventurine said, smiling, “to avoid confusion. It matters to me that she and anyone she cares about remain unscathed.”

Sunday seemed sad, then, though it looked like he forgot to look sympathetic now. He just seemed sad, almost resigned. “What was her name?”

Aventurine narrowed his eyes, smile sharpening as he guessed what Sunday’s logic would be. “Ah, I can’t quite remember.”

“You asked her?”

“I suppose she couldn’t quite remember either,” Aventurine said, evading the question.

“The fault does not fall onto either of you. The infested cannot remember their names. I am sure you have noticed that no one in Ylisse introduces themselves except Lord Khali.”

“I won’t give up on a friend, Sunday.”

“You said more like a friend. Not a friend.”

“...What?”

“When I asked you if she had been a captor of yours. You cannot remember if she was friend or foe, can you?” Sunday seemed to be getting more confident in whatever theory he was getting attached to, voice turning more melodious, purposeful. “And you didn’t want to lie to me.”

“She helped me. She was a friend,” Aventurine said, irritated. “What if you try to piece together the fragmented memories in my mind? Then I’d be sure.”

Sunday blinked. “Remembrance is not my path.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Aventurine said playfully, forcing the tension out of his tone.

“Most people dread the idea of Memokeepers or Doctors of Chaos picking at their mind. And you would invite me to see your repressed memories?”

“It’d be fun. Intimate.”

Sunday sent him a thinly veiled glare. “This… friend of yours, I will leave her fate to you if she is not a threat.”

“Thank you. I can tell based on your wording that you really wanted to not spare her. Sorry. Save,” Aventurine amended mockingly.

Sunday didn’t reply to that, glare less thinly veiled now, but it didn’t feel hostile. More like banter.

Aventurine felt a little worried for Sunday. “Just so you know, Dr. Ratio warned us to not blow up the planet,” he said. “So, I guess the IPC would be displeased if we did that. Let’s try to avoid explosives.”

Sunday arched a brow. “I had no such plan. But I understand. The IPC wants the planet whole.”

“Great.”

They enjoyed Sunday’s controlled silence for a while before Sunday spoke smoothly. “Do you require coffee, before we head to the palace?”

Aventurine glanced at his watch. 8:35. “Sure. Why don’t we go be tourists for a while? I saw a bunch of fun locations on the way here.”

“Why not?”

Aventurine gave him a bright smile.

Approximately 30 dune mounds eastward, in a coffeehouse.

Khali watched patiently as the frosty cryobloom petals were peeled off and placed into the pan. The kitchen was otherwise empty.

Lithe fingers held a blade, carving the chunks into smaller, edible cubes.

“It looks delicious. You’ve gotten so good at this, Hualan.”

Sharp pain jolted down Hualan’s hand, the surprise making her hand slip. She inhaled sharply, blood seeping into the ice. The cube turned an insidious, toxic green. After a few moments, she tossed the ruined ingredient into the trash and cleaned the area. She washed her hands through the faint sting until the finger wove itself back together.

“Is praise what you think I want to hear?” Hualan finally replied. She looked at Khali.

“Yes. I know it is,” Khali answered, voice soft and sweet. “Do you want to hear more?”

Hualan reached for the pile of cryoblooms and found her hand empty. Oh, she’d depleted the supply. No. She needed to make another batch of honeyed cryocubes, since Khali approved.

“I’m going to get some more cryobloom flowers,” Hualan said.

Khali smiled beatifically. “Go,” she said.

Hualan went, leaving the kitchen that had fifty plates all filled with the same dish.

Chapter Text

The district Aventurine led them down was obviously not to Sunday’s taste.

“Why this district?”

“For its sterling reviews, naturally.”

“I would not put weight on the reviews of the morally bankrupt.”

“This planet doesn’t exactly have family-friendly activities like Penacony,” Aventurine said. “Want a snack?” he asked as they passed by a vending machine.

“No thank you.”

Aventurine tapped his phone on the vending machine. It beeped in acceptance. “I guess these are the Ylissan family-friendly stores. You can hear the normal civilians having normal conversations about the weather and neighborhood tea.”

“With the backdrop being… a slaughterhouse, a casino, a gladiator’s amphitheater, and a brothel. All with dubious advertisements.”

“Won’t argue with the dubious part, but surely it’s not all horrid,” Aventurine said.

The vending machine was stuck. Aventurine gave it a kick. Two drinks fell out.

“Mirage Cactus Dew,” Aventurine said. “Solar Sizzle.”

“No thank you,” Sunday said.

“Who says I wasn’t going to keep them both for myself?” Aventurine asked playfully, popping open the first drink. He hadn’t expected, nor did he really want, to offer Sunday mysterious drinks, not after learning about the SoulHeal.

Aventurine paused after taking his first sip of the mysterious clear Mirage Cactus Dew.

“Would you like to leave a review?” Sunday asked, lips twitching up.

“The cactus tastes like watermelon, but this texture is too reminiscent of slimy vine residue. 1/5 stars.”

“Perhaps you will have better luck with the second drink,” Sunday said, amused, even if it might’ve been slightly at Aventurine’s expense.

Aventurine grinned. “Bottoms up.” He took a sip. Paused again. The Solar Sizzle tasted like… Hm… “I don’t understand. Surely these drinks are suited for tourists,” he said after a moment, vaguely appalled.

“Enough to make you miss SoulGlad?”

“Why, that almost sounds like SoulGlad slander, Sunday.” Aventurine hummed, looking around to find a trash can. “Ah, yes. Did you hear about the Charmony Festival?”

“What about it?” Sunday responded politely.

“No need to act unerringly polite. There’s more than enough of that around here. Please, speak your mind.”

“I have nothing to say about the festival.”

“Apparently the Masked Fool pulled a prank.”

Upon hearing that, Sunday frowned, concern obvious. “Sparkle,” he said with disdain.

Aventurine elaborated and told Sunday how there had supposedly been bombs on the Radiant Feldspar. In the end, they turned out to be a Masked Fool’s prank after she had been hired by the Stellaron Hunters.

“Ultimately, nobody was harmed,” Aventurine said.

Sunday’s eyes narrowed. He clearly disagreed.

They continued walking down the street. Sunday was pensive and more oppressively silent than usual. Aventurine didn’t give him empty platitudes about how Robin was surely fine. He was sure Sunday would’ve just politely, falsely agreed, and what was the point of that?

Aventurine spotted a store with musical instruments in the front. Compared to the other options in this alley, this really was rather out of place. “Fancy a trip, Sunday?” Aventurine asked, though it wasn’t quite necessary. They both came to a stop naturally.

“That is rather the issue,” Sunday mused.

“What do you mean?”

“Without someone to tell them what’s wrong, a music store is just as normal as everything else. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m going to sidestep whatever moral of the story you’re crafting here and just say, I wouldn’t be surprised if this place sells haunted instruments.”

Sunday huffed out a laugh. After a moment, his amusement faltered. “I suppose they could sell catgut violins.” He didn’t elaborate, but Aventurine guessed the disgust meant he wasn’t talking about cats.

The store wasn’t all that grand. It was adorned with iridescent wind chimes that swayed with gentle notes, reminding Aventurine of the prisms that had decorated the palace.

There were a few civilians walking around, smiling and talking. Their conversations were so mundane. Aventurine listened in briefly to hear a couple talk about the Aurum Alley and berrypheasant skewers.

“Do you play any instruments, Sunday?” Aventurine asked.

“It would be remiss of a Halovian to not know.”

Aventurine perked up. “Which ones? I would love to hear you play something.”

“Any of them. You can choose.”

Aventurine walked around the store to inspect the different instruments. Pan flutes and other instruments were carved out of wood that somehow seemed like they might slither and move if he looked away. He left the section to see the harps.

“This is so exciting,” Aventurine said. “I must choose a fun one.”

Sunday sounded reluctantly amused by Aventurine’s enthusiasm. “You haven’t had enough of my hymns?”

“After everything, drawing the line at hearing you play an actual piano would be pretty weird.”

Aventurine ran a hand through a stringless harp. The instrument released a concord of lyrical notes. Curious, he plucked a few more random, invisible strings.

Sunday walked beside him. “Allow me,” he said.

He waved a hand with casual ease, but it was clear he respected the harp. A harmonious tune filled the store.

Aventurine grinned, impressed. “It sounds so soothing.”

“As a lyre should.”

Ah. A lyre. Aventurine nodded, remembering it in case he needed to know the difference. Next, he went for the weirdest looking instrument. It was like a piano with countless rows of tiles, going up and outstretched to the left and right. They looked elegant. But also mesmerizingly disturbing, like endless teeth.

“An organ,” Sunday said, standing beside him.

Aventurine was puzzled. “Which one? I suppose the ivory does look like bone, but the rest of it doesn’t seem…” How could Sunday tell?

“No. An organ is a type of instrument. Although, this one does have more rows than is typical.”

Aventurine felt a flash of ancient embarrassment, from when Jade had needed to teach him about common things others knew from growing up and having a normal childhood on a normal planet. That’s an omni-synthesizer, a watermelon, a home-object finder, a movie, an interastral phone... He touched a tile, pressing it down. It produced an eerie, off-pitch sound. He tried a few more tiles, on different rows.

None of them sounded good, and Aventurine was pretty sure that wasn’t his fault. “This isn’t like the dreamscape pianos that play whatever you want,” he said.

Sunday sat down and started to play a tune. Aventurine listened attentively, drawn in by the music. It was a soothing melody inlaid with a haunting sadness. Melancholic, except the kind that might tighten a noose around Aventurine’s neck and kill him without a care in the world.

Too bad the person with the noose cared a bit too much about not killing. Aventurine sighed wistfully. “What’s it called?”

“Planning on setting it as your ringtone?” Sunday asked, more mocking than expected.

Taken aback, Aventurine fell back on a saccharine smile and insincere lilt. “Fantastic idea. It is beautiful.”

Sunday gave him an odd look. “Do you think so?”

“You can surely tell I’m not lying, Sunday,” he replied. “I’ve never heard any song so beautiful.”

Sunday shook his head. “This is nothing,” he said. “Robin…” he trailed off, expression shuttering.

Choosing a store that was supposed to be familiar to Sunday was supposed to be nice for him. Turned out Aventurine was wrong. He sighed inwardly. Maybe Sunday would’ve preferred a house of terrors like the slaughterhouse.

After exploring the Shal-raha entertainment district a little longer, it was almost noon. They followed their map to the palace, though Aventurine was pretty sure Sunday had somehow memorized the entire map already.

When they reached a busy street, a vaguely familiar voice yelled, “Thieves! Thieves!”

With a rush of air, someone running knocked into Aventurine. He stumbled back, startled, and then even more startled to feel Sunday catch him.

“Finders keepers, man!” onlookers hollered, before going back to conversing among themselves.

“Talk about déjà vu,” Aventurine said. That was exactly what had happened yesterday. He smiled at Sunday, leaning into his hold. “This is a nice development, though.”

Sunday let go of him at once and looked at him. “It would be best to focus on our current mission,” he said flatly.

Aventurine smirked. “Of course. No distractions.”

They eventually reached what used to be the throne room once again. Khali was seated already. Basking under the crimson sunlight, motionless.

They sat down too, in their seats from yesterday, which now had plates of those cryobloom snacks.

“Thank you for the breakfast,” Aventurine called out, but was ignored. He looked at Sunday, wondering what his reaction would be, but Sunday was looking at him with mild curiosity.

Aventurine tried a cryobloom cube. It tasted good, sweet and frosty, nothing like the abominable vending machine drinks from earlier. When he felt a chill down his spine, he glanced at Lord Khali, whose sparkling blue eyes were on him already. Her frown felt less hostile than yesterday’s, though.

“Sunday of the Family. Aventurine of the IPC.”

“Lord Khali of the Planet of Dunes. Good day,” Aventurine said pleasantly. It was quite royal of Khali to always plaster titles to names. He wondered idly why she’d chosen lord instead of queen or empress.

“It is noon. Are you aware of what that means?” Khali questioned.

“Noon is when the Alchemists would carry out the daily rituals,” Aventurine said. He looked up, though he couldn’t see the shape of the sun hidden behind the cinnabar clouds. “The clocktower is supposed to ring twice a day, noon and midnight.”

“Yes. It was mentioned in the Interastral Peace Guide,” Sunday said. “The sacred hours. I notice there have been no clock strikes.”

“We destroyed the clocktower. Mortals always come up with excuses for what they wish to do,” Khali said. She stood up and stared at Aventurine intently. “Do you know what noon means, Aventurine?”

When the memory came to Aventurine, he wasn’t surprised. He saw a field of torture, rows upon rows of people boxed up in glassy, unbreakable cages. Alchemists in the labs with their white and gold cloaks, handling flowers and herbs.

(“The herb grows with fear, yet yours hasn’t bloomed.” She examined the seed in front of him that refused to bloom.

“Is that why you always need new batches of slaves?” he asked, sore from bleeding all over the soil as he did every noon. “The fresher the fear the better?”)

“No. Please tell us,” Aventurine said earnestly.

“If you are ready, follow us,” Khali said. “We will show you what remains.”

Ah, great. More walking. Aventurine sighed inwardly.

They arrived at a temple not far from the palace. Citizens were noticeably giving the place a wide berth. Aventurine was surprised to see the temple looked whole, unlike the palace.

After walking through the entrance and a slew of elegant statues and paintings on the walls, they reached the heart of the temple. It sat beneath a vast skylight. They stood on a balcony, and staircases led down to the actual field.

The field smelled putrid. Not like it ought to, not like rotting flowers. It ranked like rotting flesh, sickly sweet.

Rows of soil had plenty of space in between them. Filled with empty glass cages and chains that looked just like what Aventurine barely remembered.

Other than a stretch of wall that had been curiously destroyed, there was plenty of vivid symbolism in this area—the crimson sun disk here, the Pharaoh’s mark there. Etches of runic letters that Aventurine’s synesthesia beacon told him were pharaoh, vrisaya, shal-raha, crimson sun.

Sunday’s expression twitched with distaste as he took in everything.

“This place was meant to be a holy place of power,” Khali said, leading them down a spiral staircase. “We have destroyed all of the labs already, but we will explain to you what was done.”

There was something weirdly distant about touring this place. Even though Aventurine was starting to recall how awful it was to wait every day for his new round of torture, it didn’t feel all that real.

A lord explaining what it was for; Sunday imagining it, scorning it, but unable to truly understand what it was like. Even if he’d rummaged through Aventurine’s mind before, this hadn’t exactly been on his mind. He idly scratched his wrists, finding it odd they were unshackled.

Maybe it hadn’t bothered him much anyway. Fear. What was there to fear? After all, it was just a field of decaying plants now. Billions of credits worth, as useful as rot.

So long as it stayed on this planet.

He remembered staring at these runes, the sharp curves branding his mind like lava as he waited pointlessly to stop bleeding. He remembered the strong smell of fertile soil, of blood. He remembered staring up at the skylight and enjoying the soothing splatter of dreadfall—it was distinct enough to help wash away the deafening screams of the others.

Aventurine remembered that at some point, he had stopped screaming.

“This field contains the deathrattler. It requires raw fear torn from the souls of those who die from a death chill to grow,” Khali was saying, probably.

They went to another temple.

“This field contains fire astyr. It contains a pungent, sharp spice often used in aphrodisiacs. You can imagine how it blooms."

And another.

“This field contains mielosan, which only blooms when the despair harvested from slaves exceeds a certain threshold.”

And another.

Khali continued identifying a flurry of different herbs. The way she spoke made it feel like she was carefully reciting what someone else had taught her.

Aventurine was tempted to message Dr. Ratio and say he was stuck in an impromptu herbalism 101 lecture. Or rather, a field trip. Khali didn’t seem to care that they’d needed to walk from temple to temple, one by one.

And another.

All of the earthy, pungent smells were mixing together. Aventurine wasn’t even sure how much time had passed. He was just walking, endlessly. Were they going in circles? He wondered what Antlers was up to right about now.

“This final field contains wraithroot. It causes hallucinations and requires fresh blood as nourishment…”

Aventurine’s gaze flickered over to the runes littered around the walls: pharaoh, vrisaya, shal-raha, crimson sun—

They repeated until he felt dizzy, their afterimages merging with his memories.

…Aventurine’s helper had been familiar with the herbs, hadn’t she? Perhaps she had spoken with Khali about them. Maybe she had introduced each herb to Khali. But that didn’t quite make sense. She’d forgotten about Aventurine, and…

(“You won’t remember any of this. I’m sorry,” she said. “No one who leaves the fields is permitted to remember the secret of Ylissan Alchemy.”

“What secret?” he asked.)

“Aventurine,” Sunday said.

Aventurine shivered, looking over, startled. Sunday was standing quite a few steps away, but his voice had drifted over to him like he was standing right behind him. Khali didn’t seem to hear, still droning on about the herbs of this particular field.

“Are the hallucinogens in the air affecting you?” Sunday asked.

“I don’t think so,” Aventurine whispered. He refocused on the tour, though he felt Sunday’s strangely sharp gaze on him. Was he suspicious that Aventurine was hiding something? Or worse, worried?

“We are done with the Shal-rahan plants. More herbs can be found in other cities,” Khali said brusquely after one last lecture.

“I think we understand how horrible these herbs are now,” Aventurine said. “Seeing the other herbs won’t be necessary.”

“Then we will hear your decision,” Khali said. “Are you convinced that Ylisse must be cut off from the rest of the world, Emanator of Ena?”

Fates of planets usually took more time for further discussion.

“These herbs,” Sunday began slowly. “How can they thrive off such… conceptual… suffering without the interference of a Stellaron or Aeon?”

“The answers are in the labs we have thoroughly destroyed,” Khali said, jaw twitching.

“Answers that you lack. How can you be certain that stopping exports will not prevent anyone else from replanting seeds elsewhere? Very few things are allowed to go extinct under the IPC’s ideal of Preservation.” As he spoke, his tone dipped in cold amusement, smile widening.

Maybe Aventurine should ask. Sunday was far more talkative than yesterday—he had an idea in mind, it was clear. But what idea? It was admittedly a bit difficult to think right now. Maybe the pungently sweet air was bothering him after all.

“We are certain,” she gritted out. “Ylisse is a financial lost cause.”

A part of Aventurine suddenly felt… Not bad, per se, because that would’ve made him horrendously bad at his job. But he realized that Khali took his gamble very seriously. Of course he had meant it—he’d do everything he could to convince Diamond to leave this planet alone, if Sunday was convinced too. But no one ever took Aventurine at face value.

An epiphany struck him, like the distant strike of a clocktower. If Khali took Aventurine at face value… why not someone else, too? “Lord Khali. Did someone assure you that stopping the exports would be enough?” he asked.

Khali’s frame was taut with restless tension. “How did you know?” she asked defensively.

“It is not so easy to crown yourself without support,” Sunday said, answering on Aventurine’s behalf. “Who helped you? Who wanted you on the throne?”

Aventurine was terribly curious too. He wondered if it was a different department of the IPC. The Genius Society, or some group with a vested interest in destroying Ylissan mercantilism.

Or if it was that girl with bandaged ears and scarlet eyes. Was she strong enough to overthrow an entire Pharaoh’s dynasty just like that?

Aventurine had a gut feeling, yes. But how? He’d have to find her again. There was so much he still needed to remember.

Khali glared, at a loss for words. “You do not need to know,” she bit out at last. A weak deflection.

Sunday spoke after a moment. Gentle. “Lord Khali. If there is one thing you could remove from this world, what would it be?”

It was easy to imagine someone asking Sunday that question too. What would’ve been Sunday’s answer—Death? Pain? Discord? It would definitely be nothing like Aventurine’s own selfish answer.

“Why do you ask?” Khali retorted.

“To see if you have an answer,” Sunday said lightly. “Or if you treat your crown as a mere accessory.”

Aventurine felt a prickle of unease at the hostile undercurrent directed towards Khali. Sunday was judging Khali and finding her wanting, even after everything they’d seen so far. Khali did care about what was right and what was wrong. But Sunday… disagreed about something?

Despite her unusual obliviousness towards technology and other things, Khali didn’t miss this hostility either. She sneered. “How dare you, Emanator of Ena—”

“Do not misunderstand,” Sunday cut in.

“Do not interrupt us.”

“My apologies. I am convinced that it is for the best if Magatia’s connection with the rest of the cosmos is severed,” Sunday said unapologetically. “But, ah… my friend and I are concerned that this third party does not share this belief.”

Khali looked like she had been backed into a corner. “There is no third party,” she stressed.

Aventurine rarely played the role of the friendly negotiator, but for some reason Sunday didn’t want it. Probably had to do with whatever plan he’d been brewing since setting foot and feather on Ylisse.

It was funny. Before getting to know Sunday better, he had been under the misconception that the Halovian was one to keep a perfect mask of benevolence up all the time. Mask, yes, but benevolence? Definitely not.

“We’ve seen a lot today, Lord Khali. Thank you for giving us such a thorough and enlightening tour,” Aventurine said. “Why don’t we say our goodbyes for now? It is almost night, and I’d hate to overstay our welcome.”

Khali relaxed minutely. “Very well,” she said, and turned to walk out of the temple.

It was anticlimactic as they watched her leave.

“Why give her an out?” Sunday asked after a moment, giving Aventurine a curious look.

“Why let me?”

Sunday sighed a little. “It would be rude of me to insist upon overstaying our welcome.”

Aventurine smiled at the predictably, disingenuously polite answer. He glanced back up at the runes on the ceiling, around the skylight.

The runes blurred until he was suddenly certain they all blended together to convey a single ideal, the one he’d heard the Prince sigh wistfully over.

Aventurine shut his eyes. Pharaoh, vrisaya, shal-raha, crimson sun. They all meant the exact same thing.

Eternity. Eternity. Eternity. Eternity

“Aventurine? Let’s head back,” Sunday said. “It’s a bit of a walk to the inn and we wouldn’t want to get… mugged late at night.”

That made sense, considering the thieves they ran into twice now. “We should see the labs tomorrow,” Aventurine suggested. “Or what is left of them. They aren’t on the maps, but I should be able to show you where they are.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sunday said. “The sooner we finish our mission and uncover the other party interested in Ylisse, the better.”

Sunday looked worried, staring at Aventurine. Perhaps he was thinking about Robin and Sparkle’s shenanigans.

Hopefully he would message his sister.

They each returned to their own inn room, agreeing to meet tomorrow morning. It was starting to dreadfall again. This time, Sunday let the sound in again, with a sort of tacit understanding between them that Aventurine liked the lively sounds of the corrosive, corruptive precipitation.

“Get some sleep, Aventurine,” Sunday said gently.

Aventurine shivered and nodded. It was only after he entered his room that he felt the wave of weariness. He yawned and stretched. Walking so much on this planet with a stronger gravitational pull was not his favorite pastime.

Falling asleep turned out to be too easy. He didn’t even think about closing the blinds on the fish tank so his new roommate wouldn’t have visual access to him.

He drifted out of his nap at some point and froze when he saw two glowing eyes in the dark.

“Oh, it’s you,” Aventurine said. It was his half-thalassan roommate. The brief jumpscare reminded him that he still needed to come up with that list of horror movie recommendations for Sunday. He smiled. “We really should get you a name, since you’re my roommate for who knows how long?”

His roommate swished their tail. “Why?” they demanded.

Aventurine leaned against the side of a sofa. “Don’t you want a name?”

The half-thalassan frowned. They flicked their tail in the other direction. “No. Why did you not tell us you were a slave?”

“Are you Lord Khali?” Aventurine asked after a moment. Longer than it should’ve been to decide he should reveal his suspicion. His nap had made his mind a little, annoyingly foggy.

Eyes narrowed. “We are Lord Khali.”

“Guess you have a name then,” Aventurine said. He had no idea what to think about a body (mind?) hopping entity who was supposed to be an Emanator of Abundance.

“Your friend knew what you were.”

“Sunday? Of course. He knows me well.” Aventurine tilted his head. “It was nice of him to not just tell you I’ve been here before.”

Khali looked at him warily, but did not sneer or scoff out any bubbles.

“See, I told you. He’s too nice,” Aventurine said. “Keeping secrets for me… For you. What is it?”

“What is what?”

“All the mind control. The people without names. The shared knowledge. The out of place conversations of people talking about the Xianzhou Alliance.”

Khali swam backwards, cautious.

Aventurine wanted to find out what Sunday had found out. Because whatever had happened in the past day, Sunday had come to a decision. One that made his gaze fill with a certain hostility when judging Khali.

“This… friend of yours, I will leave her fate to you if she is not a threat,” Sunday had said. Aventurine felt a chill down his spine remembering those words, the implication that Sunday wanted to control the fate of everyone else.

Which Aventurine found just a little dubious, after Penacony.

So it was good that Lord Khali was here to speak with him in private. At last. Aventurine had hoped that she would show up and reveal herself eventually.

“Your friend still did not tell you what we are,” Khali said.

“And I wasn’t going to ask,” Aventurine said, “but since you’re here, I might as well guess.”

“Guess,” she said darkly.

“Is the Vrisaya the one helping you?” Aventurine asked.“Or… are you the Vrisaya?”

Eyes widened, flashing scarlet. Khali let out a noise that didn’t sound like a human laugh. Bubbles filled the tank and Aventurine’s ears ached. “The… Vrisaya,” she said, with feeling and disbelief.

“The immortal flame falcon vanished centuries ago when the IPC started supporting the Dune Pharaoh’s reign. And now, when the Pharaoh vanishes, the people of Ylisse have found immortality. Abundance. Is your hatred for the IPC because of a centuries-long hatred?”

Khali seemed to have been stunned into silence.

Aventurine took his purification orb earring off, holding the red feather up. “You wore a feather necklace just like this. Was it real?” he asked quietly.

She stared at the feather earring, unblinking. The half-thalassan’s clawed hand came up to their neck, where Khali had worn the necklace in her own body.

Aventurine waited, seeing what the other would say. After an awkwardly long silence, he spoke. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. We can shelf this conversation—”

“If we say yes,” Khali said, “will you take the Emanator of Ena and leave Ylisse forever?”

“Nobody can promise forever, Lord Khali,” Aventurine said carefully. “But I might be able to convince Sunday to leave, if I know what’s going on.”

“I do not seek forever.” Khali scraped claws into the half-thalassan’s skin, drawing green blood. Desperate. She didn’t seem to notice what surely was a terrible, painful wound. Green slowly bled into the tank. “Just a little longer.”

I do not seek forever.

I do not seek forever.

Khali was really a terrible negotiator, Aventurine thought. Quite literally bleeding vulnerability. He waited for the explanation he knew Khali was going to give him any moment now.

Abruptly, Khali gasped. A flurry of bubbles went up in the tank, and when she ripped the claws out, green blood filled the tank everywhere. Fury flashed in her eyes. “Order,” she snarled like it was a curse.

And then she was gone.

Aventurine stood up, rushing to stand beside the tank, bewildered. The half-thalassan roommate was back now, though, with a dazed and empty look. They began to swim idly in circles. Aventurine was starting to hate all the circling that happened in Shal-raha.

“You’re bleeding!” Aventurine shouted warningly, slapping the glass. It squished like gel beneath his palm.

He watched, wondering if he should hail an IPC medic, if he should call the room service. The tank was quickly overflowing with a disturbing, toxic shade of green. He looked at the screen beside the tank, tapping through the features.

“Did you need something, Mr. Aventurine?” they said politely, blankly. The wound across their bare chest seemed to have stopped bleeding profusely. Which was good, since Aventurine couldn’t otherwise help, and he’d promised nobody would hurt them anymore.

“Just—wait there for a bit.” Aventurine stared in distant awe as the wound wove itself together. When the wound vanished, he let out a wry laugh. What an incredible ability of healing. “Just a little longer,” he said wryly, echoing what Khali had said earlier.

They didn’t laugh or sneer. They just waited there quietly, obediently.

In the darkness of the room, the maroon haze of the night felt more dangerous with the tank water now colored green.

Aventurine took a steadying breath, exhaled. He pressed the function to auto-clean the tank of blood, and then looked at his phone.

“Oh, Sunday,” Aventurine said. “What are you doing?”

Sunday
> Rest well.

Aventurine frowned. He couldn’t help but remember Sunday’s words, the calming lull as he told Aventurine to go sleep.

Sunday had better not have mind controlled him into taking a nap.

Aventurine
< No invitation for me? How will I be able to review the show? I'm wounded, Sunday.

Hualan was stirring a cup of coffee idly, sitting in the coffeehouse, when she suddenly registered that there was a monster staring at her.

Sitting right in front of her.

She froze, forcing all of herself present. Yellow eyes with purple rings were pinning her down, making her feel like dreadfall was melting her skin. The devil in the maroon moonlight was watching her. Wings stretched from his neck. When he saw her eyes focus, he smiled.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Hualan hissed.

“Long enough for your coffee to go cold,” the monster of Order said. “You were rather distracted. I’d hoped for Aventurine’s sake that your eyes would change color at some point…” He let out a sigh. “Sadly, they have remained scarlet the entire time.”

Chapter Text

Aventurine looked too calm, eyes too bright.

“Get some sleep, Aventurine,” Sunday said.

If Sunday were kinder, he might have offered a listening ear. Aventurine was clearly exhausted by not just their long day of travel, but also from what they had seen.

But then Sunday wondered why would Aventurine want his listening ear? He hadn’t exactly been kind to Aventurine this entire time. Aventurine wanted him to be cruel, relished self-destruction.

If Sunday were more cruel, he would have offered a shoulder to lean on, asking gently about what was haunting Aventurine, learning his secrets.

But as it was, Sunday couldn’t afford such a… distraction.

“Of course. No distractions,” Aventurine had drawled with a smirk.

Sunday shook the memory off.

Learning from Aventurine about how the Charmony Festival had truly gone, with the Masked Fool Sparkle’s unpredictable interference… Sunday hated being away from Penacony. He should’ve been there. He should eliminate the Swarm on Ylisse promptly so they could leave this Magatia star system, and then maybe their next planet would even have souvenirs and stories worth sharing with his sister. A cleaner, more pleasant planet.

He wanted to message Robin and ask if she was alright. But that wasn’t an acceptable first message. Too direct, too concerned, it would only push her to pretend everything was alright (again).

Sunday mentally tested different messages he could send his sister.

How was the Charmony Festival?

I hope the Festival went well.

How are you? Do give the Nameless my regards.

How have you been, Robin? I heard about your speech at the Charmony Festival. It was most impressive. The Astral Express and IPC are greatly invested in Penacony’s wellbeing.

I’m sorry I didn’t message sooner.

Sunday winced at the idea of opening up with an apology that invited a true conversation.

In the end, he was unable to craft the perfect message, so he didn’t send anything at all.

He sighed and sent Aventurine a simple message—rest well. After Sunday dealt with the Swarm and helped Aventurine secure the barista Ylissan, he was sure Aventurine would feel better as well.  

Feeling a pulse of dizziness, Sunday took out his small bottle of vitamins, eating just a single one of the pellets, commonly done by all Penaconians. He had no interest in eating that blue cryobloom snack or any other random meal.

Sunday walked through the streets through the dreadfall and frowned slightly at the sight of dirty gold on the ground again.

Yesterday, he’d memorized all the roads he might need to know, placing them into an easily accessible daydream. If a fight occurred, it was best to know where everything essential would be.

He passed by the entertainment district and thought back to his little trip with Aventurine. It hadn’t been useful. Aventurine had gravitated away from the inherently Ylissan stores, opting instead for a vending machine, a music shop, and relatively normal souvenir stalls.

Aventurine genuinely liking Sunday’s little musical display had certainly been surprising. Discomforting. It wasn’t like Sunday had never played music for anyone else before. What made this different? Because it was just a random tune he’d played without planning?

Sunday glanced down at his phone, opened to the Interastral Peace Guide entry on the Swarm.

The Swarm emits fibrous particles from their wings during flight—the inhalation of which can induce perceptual distortions and hallucinations. These visions feed on people's subjective experiences and long-term sentiments in order to take the form of what they personally desire.

He scrolled to the next of his saved entries: a research paper pulled from the Intelligentsia Guild’s archives. Do True Stings Dream? was the title. He’d been surprised and wary to find a paper on such a niche subject.

The paper contained specialized terms that gave Sunday a headache, but there was thankfully a clear and concise conclusion.

There is significant evidence to suggest that the Swarm can dream.

Sunday reached the dimly lit coffeehouse. Cautiously, silently, he walked into it.

The barista Aventurine had recognized was sitting by herself, scarlet eyes glassy, unfocused. Her hand held a mug of coffee, her other hand stirring it.

When Sunday sat down across from her. She didn’t even twitch, clearly not registering he was here, scarlet eyes glassy.

Sunday’s lips twitched down with displeasure. He’d wait and see.

Sunday glanced down at the comic book. Peaceful Chronicles of Lord Hualan. It was opened to the first page: Dedicated to my dearest friend, for whom I wish the happiest of afters.

After a few minutes, Khali suddenly registered that Sunday was present. She froze in alarm.

Sunday smiled.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Khali hissed.

“Long enough for your coffee to go cold. You were rather distracted. I’d hoped for Aventurine’s sake that your eyes would change color at some point…” Sunday let out a sigh. “Sadly, they have remained scarlet the entire time.”

Last time they were here, Sunday had already suspected this barista was different. Her attitude, her conscious movements. The perpetually scarlet eyes, not just flashes of crimson during intense emotions.

These were details that Aventurine should’ve noticed himself—if he weren’t in denial.

It was… disarming. Distressing. Aventurine of all people choosing to believe she was alive. Able to be saved. Aventurine was so nihilistic when it came to himself, yet oddly seemed to care about others.

And that was why Sunday was here now. As a sort of courtesy call. Aventurine wanted this girl safe, but there were two main possibilities.

One: She had chosen willingly to side with the Swarm, in which case he or a Doctor of Chaos could try to remove the allegiance.

Two: She was Khali’s preferred host body, and her consciousness was dead or trapped inside.

No matter what, Sunday still had to do his due diligence and check. He couldn’t not know for sure—that would be irresponsible.

“What do you want?” Khali snapped.

“Why this body?” Sunday asked. “Of all the hosts you could choose—”

“Host?”

“Such is the nature of parasites. I imagine you’re not a proper True Sting—and you’re certainly not Aventurine’s friend.”

Khali hissed and shoved at the table between them. She opened her mouth in a snarl. Sunday was entirely expecting the shell to molt and a monstrous insect to crawl out.

Reality was sometimes surprising. Instead of attacking, Khali clicked her mouth shut and started to back off.

Sunday wasn’t about to wait and see, not after how that infuriating Gallagher had ‘killed’ him in the dream. He emitted a noise pitched high and painful right beside Khali, meant to stun. Khali shrieked. Windows shattered, coffee spilled.

“Dream.”

…

…..

……….

Countless Amber Eras ago, existence had been loneliness.

Propagating only made life slightly more bearable. The Swarm all shared memories, but they were foggy, pointless. The wider the spread, the less awful the loneliness.

With so many clones, mutations occurred. Sometimes, this created powerful Sand Kings and Queens, Emanators of Propagation that terrified entire galaxies.

In this case, it created a defective bug that couldn’t clone itself. It should’ve died, but it burrowed itself into brains instead, absorbing what knowledge and memories it could. In people’s memories, it was no longer alone, even if none of it was real.

Unfortunately, the hosts always died within a moon cycle. The bug couldn’t keep itself from devouring all the memories until no gray matter remained, and then it would move onto the next host, starting all over.

It was caught by a girl with bandaged ears and scarlet eyes that saw through the host and stared straight at the bug.

“I didn’t expect a parasite to be the culprit of this jiangshi scare,” the girl said. When she touched the bug’s host, a scorching fire spread over the skin. Flames devouring. Purifying.

The girl obviously didn’t plan to stop until the host was nothing but charred flesh and toxic green blood.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” the bug said through the host’s mouth. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“You can clone yourself. You’re never alone.”

“Can’t… Propagate,” it gasped, still burning.

The fire continued to lick through muscle and sinew, but its ferocity relented. Overwhelming heat turned to something less lethal. “But you can communicate?”

“I want to.”

The girl seemed thoughtful. After a while, she smiled. Without waiting for a reply, she burned through the rest of the body, this time faster than before.

When the host was gone, there was just a little bug, curling up amidst the slick bits of brain. Shaking. It looked like a True Sting, except it was so tiny, smaller than a palm. It looked afraid.

The girl peered at the bug. “You could’ve fled your host before I burned everything away, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

(That sentiment echoed across the dream, layered and loud. Sunday frowned at the intensity. A fear of loneliness was common, but for it to warp the entire dreamscape was… a sight.)

“Well, that is good enough for me. I do enjoy making friends.” The girl smiled. “How about you get in this jar and I won’t burn you alive?” As she spoke, she crouched down and took out a glass jar from her sleeve.

Without functioning wings, the bug had to crawl. It crawled on its little legs slowly, until it stopped right beside the girl’s hand. Shivering as if cold, afraid.

“I just burned you with this hand, you know.”

The bug curled in a little closer. The girl’s hand emanated warmth. Not lonely. “I never thought a bug could look so pitiful,” she said, but she didn’t seem angry or disgusted.

They were silent like that for a long time.

“What am I supposed to do with this.” the girl finally said. But she sounded quieter than before. Lonely, too.

“My name is Khali. Stay in the jar, okay? We wouldn’t want someone to confuse you for the dangerous parasite that you are.”

It did not reply, because it could not speak without a host. But it listened.

And so, the bug wasn’t cold anymore.

Khali talked a lot as they wandered around Ylisse. Random musings, lessons on flora and fauna, the history of the world.

The bug liked listening a lot.

Khali wandered around Ylisse, taking odd mercenary jobs here and there. Emphasis on odd. She seemed content to spend money on ingredients and items it didn’t recognize. She spoke with people who came from all around the cosmos—Nameless, Halovians, Stellaron Hunters. But she never left Ylisse, never told them her name, and never mentioned wanting to travel.

The first time Khali told Hualan to parasitize a beast, the bug was surprised.

“That would kill it,” it said.

“Yes. Isn’t that your natural behavior, to parasitize,” Khali said bluntly. She didn’t elaborate or defend herself.

And so it began with a small mammal called a sand rat. It continued to larger ones—birds, reptilians, fish. All sorts of creatures. But they all dropped dead when it burrowed into their brains.

It never asked why it should do this. It trusted Khali had a plan.

Even if that involved keeping it in the dark.

(Sunday frowned as he watched the memory within the dreamscape. He was reminded about his own plans, and how much dark had been necessary for those.)

Eventually, the bug wished it could speak. Maybe Khali shared that sentiment, because one day she said, “I created an enhancement for you. You will be able to speak to me through it, but it will hurt.”

The bug crawled to Khali’s workplace, waiting patiently to be modified. Khali adjusted the angle of the lamp, the angle of the scalpel.

After some time, the bug learned how to transmit its thoughts outward using the enhancement without flinching in pain.

“Khali,” was the bug’s first word. “Khali Khali Khali.”

The next was, “Fruit?”

“Yes. Fruit,” Khali said dryly, handing over the chunk of bitter fruit that the bug bit into happily. “I’m glad you’re omnivorous.”

“Let’s brainstorm you a name,” Khali said as dreadfall fell around them. They were resting underneath the shade of a tree with twisting branches, but it did not attack them.

“Why?” the bug asked, peeking out from its tiny glass bottle in front of Khali. A leaf was held over its head like an umbrella.

Khali was idly sketching the bug as still life practice in her notebook. “We’ve been traveling together for years. Don’t you want a name?”

“I am a clone. Clones don’t need names.”

“You’re a defective clone. Which is good. It means you’re your own bug.”

“Better…?”

“If that’s what you want to hear.”

The bug thought about it. “What ssshould I be called?”

“How about Hualan? Where I’m originally from, it means orchid.”

“Hualan. I like it.” It felt a bloom of warmth, of belonging. Khali was always warm, and the name was nice. “What’s an orchid?”

Khali smiled. “It’s certainly not a flower you’ll find on Ylisse,” she said, and began to elaborate. “For one, it doesn’t try to kill you…”

Hualan enjoyed its life. It knew that Khali liked storytelling, so it encouraged Khali to share them with more people.

“I’m not good at telling stories,” Khali said, sounding bemused. “I studied the sciences.”

“You can share a scientific article,” Hualan suggested

“About what, the Swarm?”

“About how Propagation is superior to every other path.”

“Says the bug that can’t even Propagate.”

“I have you. I don’t need to Propagate.”

It was an easy fact of life to Hualan. But Khali paused, pen hovering motionlessly over the etchings of runes.

(To destroy a pathstrider, that was where you would begin: unmake THEIR ideal, knock THEM off their path. Sunday hadn’t thought it possible for something that followed Propagation, and certainly like this.)

Khali resumed drawing. Hualan couldn’t smile, but it wanted to. It settled for clicking its mandibles.

A century in, Khali watched Hualan climb out of a dead foxian’s brain and declared the experiment over.

Hualan was confused. “What are the results?” it asked.

“Meaningless,” Khali said, smiling. “Entirely meaningless. Don’t worry about it.”

“Can you read the draft to me?” Hualan asked, excited as it climbed onto Khali’s shoulder. “Is it ready?”

“Of course I will, my friend. After all, it is called The Peaceful Chronicles of Lord Hualan…”

If Hualan had a face, it would probably be blushing and flustered. “What are you ssssaying?”

“Shh. Are you letting me read or not?”

“Why isn't it Lord Khali?”

“I’d rather not write a self-insert. But this isn’t technically you either. See the art, the fluffy ears?” Khali tapped the cover. “This is Lord Hualan the foxian hero, not Bug Hualan.”

“Okay,” Hualan said, amused. It glanced at Khali’s bandaged ears and wondered why they were hidden like that, but it held back its curiosity.

“Now listen. Chapter One: After Lord Hualan slayed the grand demon king and saved the world, what would come after? Hualan pondered…”

Hualan listened. The stories were sweet. Idyllic, Khali called them. The life that she wished they could live.

“Why can’t we?” Hualan asked.

It did not realize the words were cruel until Khali went silent. It knew that there were things Khali did not share, things Hualan would not understand. There must have been a reason Khali did not have anyone close except Hualan, even though she called everyone she met a friend.

“You don’t know what I am,” Khali said.

“You’re warm,” Hualan said.

Later, Hualan would wonder if that was the right answer. If things might’ve gone better if Hualan had said something else.

(Sunday could hardly believe the amount of regret flooding the dreamscape, a helpless slate gray. To think a parasite could regret anything other than killing its host.

That was Hualan’s problem, Sunday thought crisply. You couldn’t start to regret after a disaster. That was how you’d get lost in your own thoughts, and then you might really need a dose of mielosan.)

“I am impressed the book has become a bestseller,” Khali mused. “It doesn’t even have a grand meaning, but apparently I’m writing in a hot new genre opposite to a power fantasy… a peaceful fantasy.”

“Traveling with you feels like peace.”

“My friend, if I wrote that, the readers would report it for being excessively sweet.”

“I’d travel with you even if you were war,” Hualan said.

Khali blinked, stunned. She looked away, expression conflicted, before she shrugged. “I’ll add that in the next edition of Lord Hualan’s Chronicles. Why not?”

(Sunday was stunned, too. To think a parasite of Propagation could romanticize their destructive, codependent relationship so poetically.

To think Khali had gotten attached enough to let a parasite say that.)

Traveling across Ylisse came to a stop one day when Khali suddenly started packing their things and said, “I came to an agreement.”

“What agreement?” Hualan asked.

“I will help the Pharaoh and IPC research how to kill an immortal. It doesn’t concern you, Hualan. It’s all just my alchemy.”

Hualan did not understand. Hadn’t they avoided the rulers and IPC for all these eras? But it trusted Khali so it continued keeping her company.

Even though the times that Khali spent keeping it company became shorter and fewer. Like stolen moments, Khali too busy with her mysterious experiments.

Over the next few Amber Eras, Khali worked diligently for every Dune Pharaoh. Sometimes, when Hualan was allowed to hide in a jar in Khali’s sleeve, it heard other voices call Khali Court Alchemist, among other things. Those seemed to be the days Khali wanted Hualan around most, enough to make the concession of bringing Hualan along. Hualan hoped its company helped.

Change was terrifying. Khali grew colder, more distant. She was doing something behind the Pharaoh’s back, and she seemed to prefer keeping it from Hualan, too.

Hualan hated the loneliness that surged like a tide now whenever it could not see Khali. But Khali told it to stay in their room, suggesting it was dangerous for it to leave. For either of them to leave.

This underground room they were in seemed more like a prison than anything.

“Why?” Hualan asked.

“Even if you can’t Propagate, anyone who sees you would still sentence you to death.”

“You could leave, Khali.”

“No. I can’t. Not until this experiment succeeds,” Khali said decisively, and that was that.

Hualan wasn’t sure what the experiment really was.

“Prince Akum was killed by a slave,” Khali said one day.

“Prince Akum,” Hualan echoed. “I thought you liked Prince Akum. And he loved you.”

“Hm? Yes. I suppose,” Khali said, disinterested. “He was supportive.”

In the Peaceful Chronicles of Lord Hualan, there had been hints of romance between characters, enough for Hualan to know about the concept of romantic love. But Khali hadn’t worked on the series for centuries. Perhaps the content was outdated now. Or had it never been genuine?

“Did you love him?” Hualan asked.

“Love?” Khali asked, sounding surprised. When Hualan pointed out the romance in the stories, Khali frowned in response. “It’s… The stories are for you, Hualan. Not me. I’ve never had an interest in these things,” she said brusquely.

Oh.

Hualan wasn’t sure why it hurt to hear that. It crawled a little closer to rest against Khali’s neck where it was warm. Khali didn’t move away.

A decade later, things had become even tenser. Khali had less time to spend with Hualan. It couldn’t remember when she had last read a story to it.

It sensed something bad was going to happen, but it was stuck in this room. It missed the crimson sun. It missed traveling, the sound of dreadful, the new sights they saw together.

“Hualan. I want you to possess a beast for me today.”

“What beast?”

“A bird. If you succeed, our… research will be a success.”

“A bird. The immortal flame falcon?” Hualan guessed.

“Yes, the Vrisaya. Clever bug. I know you can do it.”

“It’s been so long,” Hualan said, overwhelmed by the idea.

“My friend. It’s in your nature to parasitize. You will know what to do.”

“Tell me what this is about,” Hualan pleaded.

Khali replied swiftly. She had a reason prepared. “Pharaoh Amon has become a coward after the prince’s death. He wants to sell immortality in a bottle using the Vrisaya’s flesh. We don’t have much time before he will act.”

“I don’t underssstand.”

“Your confusion doesn’t matter. I cannot let the immortality curse be distributed, so you must kill it.”

“I don’t believe you. I feel like you’re lying to me right now.”

“Yes. I am lying to you,” Khali said briskly. “But that doesn’t change what I need you to do for me. If you don’t do this, people will be hurt. I will be hurt.”

Hualan felt very small and helpless in that moment. It wiggled forward, bumping its head against Khali’s fingers. An echo of their first meeting. “If I possess you, you will die.”

Khali inhaled sharply. She trembled, scarlet eyes blazing, heat in her veins. She looked afraid, and Hualan knew she was.

“So I… I couldn’t hide it from you after all.”

“You were trying to hide it?” Hualan asked wryly. “It’s okay. I never minded. You're my friend. I am happy to indulge you. Just not in this.”

“Hualan…”

“Find another way to stop the Pharaoh, Khali. Or maybe we can run away.”

“Hualan, there’s nowhere we can go.” Khali’s expression darkened. “I gave the Pharaohs my lifeblood, my light. I trained Alchemists on how to harvest herbs. I just want to die. That’s why I kept you alive two thousand years ago. I thought you might succeed. But my guilt has caught up to me. So much suffering because of my eternal blessing. It’s not about stopping the Pharaoh. It’s about stopping me.”

No.

No. Hualan didn’t believe this—this lie. Khali couldn’t be telling the truth. She surely wanted to live.

Because otherwise, she would’ve asked Hualan a long time ago to possess and kill her. She knew Hualan could kill her. She must’ve known since she stopped the possession experiments all those eras ago.

Instead, Khali had stopped asking Hualan to possess anyone.

(Then what was Khali even doing in these past centuries running experiments as the Dune Pharaoh’s Court Alchemist? Wasting time pretending to not know how to kill an immortal?)

“If you die, what happens?” Hualan asked.

“The sun stops hurting everyone,” Khali said. “It won’t be crimson.” She cradled Hualan in her hands. “It won’t be cursed by my life. No more evil wrought from these herbs. The Pharaoh’s regime will be toppled easily after that—“

“And I would be alone.”

Khali flinched. But she was holding Hualan so very gently in her palm, warmth radiant but not scorching. Hualan missed the immolating fire a little.

“You would be alive,” Khali said, voice a whisper.

“Khali,” Hualan said, “don’t do this to us.”

(As much as Sunday thought Khali made dubious decisions, this was the right one.

What was the sacrifice of two, of an entire planet, compared to the horror of commercialized immortality?)

“My fate is not my own. But yours can be. You must live on. With your new body, you’ll be able to brew coffee, enjoy new food, watch an immersia, visit Penacony. See the world outside of Ylisse—”

(Meaningless, and they both knew it.)

“Khali,” Hualan said. Even if it could smile, it never would again. “If this is what you really want, I’ll do it.”

The simple words were painful enough to make Khali’s doll-like, flawless expression of calm crumble as she broke down into tears. Hualan’s double set of eyelids both blinked.

“I have to do this,” Khali said.

“Then we will,” Hualan said. It was silent, and peaceful, and it would end soon.

“Live on a good life for us, okay?” Khali asked.

“I promise,” Hualan said.

(The moment in the dream stretched on unnaturally. A moment of peace. Idyllic and dreadfully fragile. Sunday could feel Hualan wanting to stay in that moment forever.

Tell me how it ended, Sunday beckoned after a while. They couldn’t get lost in this memory, he needed to know—)

And suddenly Hualan was digging through Khali’s skull, Khali suppressing her self-regeneration long enough to be killed in all the ways that mattered.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Red blood turned green, Abundance flesh malforming as it struggled with the intrusion of a parasite, even one that was so beloved. The flames of self-preservation kept at bay, just barely. The air smelled like burnt flesh and toxins.

But something went… wrong, afterwards.

When the sun of Magatia breathed in, and did not breathe out again—

Everyone in Magatia died with Khali. There was a blur, and then Hualan was suddenly standing in the middle of a destroyed palace, looking at the empty throne.

Khali
KHALI

“We’ll rule together,” Hualan whispered. “We’ll live together. We’ll be okay.”

K ha li

kHALI

(The dream was flooded with repetitions of Khali’s name, twisting and turning until they looked just like the runes in the temples, blurry and sharp at the same time. Khali resonated like a collective thought of thousands, heavy and overpowering and desperate, and Sunday couldn’t let the dream spiral out of his control. He had never seen such a... powerful obsession. It could break the dream if he wasn't careful. 

What happened? Sunday pressed, concerned. How did you Propagate and control all the other Ylissans? Why didn’t you let Khali’s body go?)

The dream collapsed into a pitch black abyss.

(Sunday withdrew mentally, shocked to see an endless darkness overtake the dreamscape. It was similar to a Memokeeper’s interference, or another Emanator’s ability to resist his abilities, but he hadn’t expected it now.

Someone else had interfered with Hualan’s mind, blocking the memories with much less subtlety than whatever had given Aventurine amnesia. It was a powerful shadow shrouding his vision.

It made sense if behind the scenes, someone had worked with Khali. Perhaps someone had made a deal with her, or threatened her into cooperating. Was it the third party that Ratio had warned Sunday and Aventurine of?

Did Hualan even know someone had blocked her memories out?

Did Hualan even care?

Doubtful. All the parasite cared about was not being alone. Angry, Sunday tried to drag them both out of the dream, but strings suddenly locked him down. Keeping him here, tangling him and Hualan both.

Scarlet eyes blinked at him. “No. Khali is here,” Hualan snarled in Khali’s voice. The Ylissan barista suddenly appeared in front of Sunday in this dark dreamscape, except Sunday knew it was Hualan possessing Khali’s body now.

Hualan was speaking towards Sunday with an alarming amount of consciousness for a bug that had never had lucid dreams before. “Let us sleep. Let us dream. You’ve woven the sweetest dream, how could you take her away now, Halovian?”

There was a story behind the familiarity of Halovians, but Sunday had no desire to hear it now. He slammed his own psychic shields back up, forcing Hualan’s skittish, hurt presence away. The dreamscape was a chaotic painful mess of shadows and loneliness, nothing like Aventurine’s hungry, beautiful sea. This was the type of nightmare that dreamweavers would’ve alerted Sunday to eliminate.

Aventurine.

Sunday hesitated, remembering what Aventurine had asked for. Her safety.

Had Khali been the one to experiment on Aventurine as a captor? Had Khali helped him kill Prince Akum as a friend? Either way, the real Khali was the one Aventurine wanted to keep safe.

This was just… an illusion.

“If I kill you, Aventurine will be upset,” Sunday said. Stalling, and disliking himself for it.

His own mind was unraveling a little as he could still see the afterimages of terrible squirming beneath skin, Propagation corrupting Abundance. He’d looked too closely, wanting to know what Hualan was thinking. He’d dragged them both too deep into a dream on a planet without the power of memoria.

This dreamscape was collapsing, and Sunday felt exhaustion making his senses heavy, weak.

“Is that so?” Hualan asked acidically. But its bitterness was overwhelmed by heartbreak that shouldn’t even be possible for a parasite.

“The mercantilism, the eternal punishment of Antlers, whoever tried to shoot down our ship. You don’t care. But someone does. Do you even know what force manipulated you? No. How could you. You didn’t even know how to read a simple data chip.”

“Someone—” Hualan broke off. A litany of annoying, angry buzzing. “I can’t remember.”

“No? You forgot how you managed to Propagate and possess all of Magatia? You don’t remember how you prevented other worlds from learning Magatia was wiped out?”

The questions were sending Hualan into a panicked frenzy. “I can’t remember. But why should I care about what doesn’t matter?”

Sunday hissed. “You killed everyone in your world,” he said witheringly. “How can you atone? Did you intend to live forever on this dead planet all by yourself—”

“Shut up,” Hualan screeched. “We are not alone. Everyone still exists, and everything is fine thanks to Lord Khali.”

“Rotting fields. Depleting resources. Soon, the wrath of the IPC. Your paradise wouldn’t last. It—” Sunday broke off, but Hualan didn’t notice, just continued to repeat Khali’s name.

Sunday’s head pulsed with an ache that spread everywhere. A paradise that could not last forever. Was it not enough?

No. It wasn’t the same. Sunday would have ensured everyone in Penacony could enjoy sweet dreams, even those who deserved hell. It wouldn’t have lasted forever, but—certainly longer than mortals could live by themselves. The good and innocent and weak would’ve been satisfied.

These Ylissans were already dead. It wasn’t the same at all. Sunday would’ve hated it more, but he knew Khali had just wanted to corrupt her own flesh with Propagation so it couldn’t be sold to anyone in the cosmos.

After all, every sane individual feared Propagation enough to exterminate it on sight.

“She made it so you cannot die,” Sunday said, frowning. After witnessing the memories, he didn’t think he could separate Hualan from Khali’s body to kill the parasite.

“We are not alone,” Hualan repeated, comforting itself.

Sunday reminded himself that Order’s Dream was nothing like this farce on Ylisse. Tayzzyronth’s pests had to be eradicated. Such was the will of Order.

Sunday refocused, scrutinizing Hualan—

A thousand silver strings glinted like iridescent cobwebs.

Ah. Sunday understood. In its panic and desperation, Hualan had pulled all the strings to its hosts taut, clasping them tightly like a person tensed their muscles when threatened. It made the connections visible to Sunday’s mind’s eye.

Technically, Hualan was not Khali. Technically, Sunday should not show a parasitic monster any mercy. But it was… difficult, after seeing Hualan’s core memories. After feeling the depth of despair and loneliness. The desire to live at someone else’s behest. Hualan had promised Khali…

Sunday had promised Robin that he would live on and be okay. It wasn’t quite the same, but the parallel alarmed him like a particularly dizzying clock strike.

Sunday breathed shakily. Stop. Too many racing thoughts. Reduce, simplify. Easier to retreat to Mr. Wood’s old lessons, where he was more in control, further away from what was happening.

Halovians didn’t kill. It was a specific warning Mr. Wood had given him.

Right now, if Sunday eliminated this bug, or at least told the IPC it was a parasite that needed to die, it would certainly feel like killing.

Sunday exhaled. He reached out, sharpening his own thoughts and mind until it was deadly as a varl gold knife.

“What are you doing, Halovian?” Hualan demanded, sounding afraid, and Sunday knew it was.

Truly, it was remarkable how a bug’s presence could be pitiful, enough for Sunday to feel a twinge of guilt. Was this what Khali had seen thousands of years ago?

Sunday released the attack.

Someone screamed. Something cracked.

Pain burst in both of their minds as the shared dream shattered into a thousand shards.

And then, a terrible rumble shook the earth. The collective buzzing of a frightened, uncontrollable Swarm that had lost its leader.)

Chapter Text

All Aventurine had to do was look at his phone and check the map to see Sunday’s location, but what a surprise it was to see Sunday’s blue dot at the coffeehouse.

He’d expected the palace or one of the temples. But this meant Sunday had been headed to see Aventurine’s friend. He frowned and rushed to head into the streets of Shal-raha.

He walked past the pools that were becoming slick with gold. As he entered the gloomy maroon neighborhood, the mind controlled civilians hiding from the dreadfall beneath umbrellas and store fronts. His purification orb blocked the precipitation out, though he wished it wouldn’t. The dry warm weather clung to his skin, which was hardly the right sensation for a dramatic confrontation.

Halfway to the coffeehouse, he heard a loud, violin-like hum, the world’s most torturous buzz. He looked around to see if others heard it too. Alarmingly, the others did react.

The civilians’ inane chatter around him halted. Everyone was opening their jaws far too wide, eyes blank.

The person in front of him didn’t look scared. The Ylissan just looked uncanny. Like wax figures trying to mimic horror and failing.

And then the wax started to melt.

Something toxic was bubbling beneath skin. Aventurine watched blankly as it crawled out of the surface of the skin, protruding at unnatural angles.

The person in front of Aventurine was quickly becoming not-a-person. Skin dripped in a way that suggested the body was never a normal body to begin with.

A bug was shedding the skin, immolating it from inside. The skin pulled taut and then snapped, popping like a balloon. What looked like a True Sting emerged.

So that was what it was.

Propagation.

Aventurine seriously doubted Sunday was on the Swarm’s side, but then what had he done for this type of show to take place? Angered Lord Khali? Aventurine thought back to his conversation with his half-thalassan roommate, who’d clearly been possessed by Lord Khali.

He hadn’t known the Swarm could be so intelligent. Emotional.

Aventurine watched, taking in the sight. He might as well have been a part of all of this show as a diligent audience member. He should feel horror, but he just watched with a distant curiosity.

The insect’s wings flapped and stretched as if it was trying to fly, but couldn’t. Toxic green drenched the insect like disturbing amniotic fluid.

“After Sunday’s cryptic comments about buzzing pests, I should’ve guessed Propagation,” Aventurine muttered. He took out his phone, preparing to call Diamond.

sscccRRREECH.

The insects all around Shal-raha let out a resounding, layered noise. Overpowering as an encroaching thunderstorm, and it didn’t stop. Dangerous.

Aventurine stared at the bug that was almost free of its human mask, just shedding the humanoid legs for bent, insectoid limbs.

Could a Swarm creature kill Aventurine if he wished it to?

The bug finished getting out of the outer layer of skin and tried to attack Aventurine. It felt like it was moving in slow motion.

But as soon as dreadfall splattered onto its head, the bug cried out and retreated. Aventurine stared for a moment before looking around. The other bugs were also retreating, skittering to hide under cover.

Ah, well. It had been worth a try.

“Aventurine,” Diamond said.

“Diamond,” Aventurine answered into his phone, dusting his shoulder, shrugging off his disappointment. He stood in the center of the street, sighing. “We’re encountering a bit of a Propagating issue on Ylisse.”

“And?” Diamond replied airily.

Aventurine let a sharp smile slip into his voice. “You could at least pretend to be concerned, sir.”

“I could pretend to be surprised it’s taken you a week.”

Diamond said it like he was truly offering a favor. “No thank you,” Aventurine rejected, just in case. He glanced at his watch. It was only an hour after midnight. “We need a medevac shuttle as soon as possible. These bugs don’t like rain. We can search for survivors.”

“There are no survivors, Aventurine. All sentient humanoids have been taken over by parasitic lifeforms,” Diamond said, apologetic in the way HR might sound apologetic before giving someone a severance package.

Aventurine blinked. He thought about the Ylissan barista. She was real. She had survived, she had escaped. Even if she had forgotten. Diamond was… rarely wrong, but Aventurine didn’t like the possibility that she was also just a parasite walking around.

“How did this happen?” Aventurine asked.

“You can ask Dr. Ratio. Or Sunday. Though if he hasn’t told you already…”

So Ratio knew, too. Sunday knowing wasn’t a surprise—why wouldn’t a Halovian of Order be sensitive to the Swarm? It was a touchy subject, surely, after Ena had been deigned useless for failing to contain Tayzzyronth. Fired from Aeonhood without much of a severance package.

“Haha,” Aventurine said. “Why all the secrecy? Why are we covering the Swarm up?”

“As I said, it is a suitable first mission for you after your promotion,” Diamond said. “And our new friend.”

Aventurine watched bugs congregate beneath a store front, destroying furniture. “Why did you send me here, Diamond?”

“Ah, but I didn’t send you, Aventurine,” Diamond said, as if he were being perfectly reasonable, and Aventurine was asking all the wrong questions. “You asked to come to Ylisse. I thought you would prefer seeing what has become of this world with your own eyes.”

Everyone was as good as dead.

Aventurine would’ve believed it. Disasters happened around the cosmos all the time, tragedies that would either get romanticized over the Amber Eras or slotted neatly into a history book, stats to be forgotten.

But no. Not everyone was dead.

“Lucky me. I found a survivor,” Aventurine said.

“Oh?” Diamond sounded interested. “And who might they be?”

“It’s always good to make friends. New horizons, new investment prospects.”

“We’ll see,” Diamond said. “I’ll send you an extraction shuttle to your location. After you leave the blast radius, we can eliminate the Swarm.”

Aventurine paused. He knew the standard protocol for dealing with a Swarm that had overtaken a planet was to destroy everything contaminated by using a star destroyer arsenal.

But Ratio had specifically warned Aventurine against blowing up the planet. Was that what Ratio had meant? Did he want something from this planet? Aventurine was partial to granting favors to friends. Ratio could’ve spoken more directly. Unless he didn’t want Diamond finding out?

And hadn’t Aventurine promised Lord Khali he’d make Diamond leave the planet alone? The planet was pretty obviously a financial liability. The Swarm was a catastrophe, too destructive to be profitable the way other wars were.

With both Ratio’s warning and his word to Lord Khali… Aventurine remembered those words from his half-thalassan roommate. Asking for not forever, but just a little longer. Aventurine didn’t feel right letting Ylisse be blasted out of existence.

“No need,” Aventurine said. “Why destroy the planet? It’s got its loot and secrets.”

“Perhaps,” Diamond said vaguely. “I will send you the extraction coordinates.” And then he hung up on Aventurine.

Aventurine stood there in the street, listening to the sound of wind and deadfall and screeching bugs. Diamond had plans he was still not privy to. He knew Diamond was preparing for something. Seizing more power, fighting a cold war with other IPC departments, taking more risks.

Aventurine didn’t want the Ylissan girl to get entangled in all this. But the alternative was to stay on Ylisse, with the Swarm.

Aventurine would have to ask her. It wasn’t much of a choice, but if that was what she truly preferred, how could he take this ending away from her? He wouldn’t.

The cold in Aventurine spread outwards, numbing. He turned towards a nearby bug that was taking cover under an outdoors table. As easily as aiming a dart, he shot a playing card at the bug. Sharp enough to kill any normal organic being, even inorganic ones.

The metallic card sliced through the bug’s head, clattering onto the pavement behind it.

The head that fell grew a second body.

“Oh. Shit,” Aventurine said, blinking.

Maybe the situation was slightly worse than he’d expected. Something about the unusual sight reminded him this was supposed to be an urgent situation.

Aventurine laughed a little. His sense of urgency wasn’t working properly. It was hard to feel anything past this numbness.

Still. Sunday. Coffeehouse. Danger?

Time to make haste.

Aventurine ran for the coffeehouse, puddles splashing beneath his enhanced durable boots. He waited for Sunday to answer his phone.

“Aventurine?”

“Sunday. Please tell me you didn’t knowingly release an immortal Swarm.”

“I didn’t knowingly release an immortal Swarm,” Sunday said with the tone of noblesse oblige. “You’re out of breath. Are you being chased?”

Compared to the first statement, the second one sounded much more convincing. Which was concerning in itself.

“Not at the moment. The rain seems to keep the Swarm away.”

“This is your fault, Halovian,” a voice snapped in the background, vaguely familiar, but much more pissed off than Aventurine had ever heard. “If you hadn’t broken our control over the Swarm—”

“Such control you have, for the strings to be so easily snapped,” Sunday said tartly, more distant. He must’ve turned his mouth away from the phone’s receiver.

“Is that Lord Khali?” Aventurine asked, hoping she hadn’t possessed the Ylissan girl.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“A manner of speaking? It’s a yes or no question!”

“It’s… complicated,” Sunday said.

Aventurine groaned, tired from sprinting. “Are you still at the coffeehouse?”

“Yes. We have barricaded in the kitchen.”

“Diamond’s sent an extraction shuttle to collect us,” Aventurine said. “You two wait there, I’m coming to collect you.”

“You told Diamond.”

“Of course. Eliminating Propagation is top five on the IPC’s list of priorities.”

“Tell your friend to be quick,” the voice beside Sunday said. “The Swarm will attack when the dreadfall stops.”

“I believe I adequately expressed the level of urgency, Hualan,” Sunday said testily.

It was surreal to hear Sunday argue with someone who was named after a character in a comic book. It was like having beef with someone named Brother Hanu.

“Make your way here, Aventurine. Stay on the line,” Sunday said, clipped. “Don't get lost.”

“Three orders in a row. So demanding,” Aventurine drawled. The drawl’s effect was a little pitiful since he was so exhausted.

“Hardly orders.” Sunday’s calm sounded so carefully crafted, yet it was still a hint strained.

Aventurine suddenly remembered he’d been angry at Sunday for leaving in the middle of the night. Then Aventurine realized how hilarious that phrasing was, as if he were some jilted lover.

He still didn’t know what exactly was going on with the Swarm, but he guessed it had to do with the Alchemists and their unwise experiments. Sunday had done something... Probably also unwise. Who was Aventurine to judge, really.

A memory swept across Aventurine’s mind, and he almost stumbled. This time, the memory in his mind was clearer. Like looking at the reflection within a lake while it was raining, at night.

(“I’m sorry, but you won’t remember this,” she said, and the scalpel in her hand was enveloped by a scarlet, magical flame.

“Why do you go along with it? Surely the Vrisaya that built this temple is strong enough to escape the palm of a Pharaoh’s hand,” he said, feeling betrayed despite knowing she couldn’t be trusted from the start. “What can they possibly have over an Emanator?”

He shouldn’t have been careless enough to believe friends didn’t betray each other.

She curled her lips up wryly. “Something as small as a parasite,” she said. )

It didn’t make any sense, not at all, but Aventurine breathed out a laugh, and thought maybe he’d known all along that this planet was infested. He’d just forgotten.

What was so alluring about Propagation to draw countless scientists and alchemists and Emanators to it? Where was the appeal in self-replication?

There was nothing desirable in endless life. Certainly not survival.

Aventurine treaded into the coffeehouse, which had its windows broken. Aventurine frowned at the innumerable shards of glass.

Aventurine opened the door. The insects of the Swarm were keeping away from the coffeehouse, at least for now.

He was too surprised by the sight to commit to his own anger.

Sunday and the barista were on opposite sides of the kitchen. Both of them looked awful, like they hadn’t slept in a week. Sunday stood against the counter, eyes covered by a hand as if he had a terrible headache. The barista was sitting on top of a table, legs crossed and hands pressed over her bandaged ears, body trembling. In her lap was a (coffee-stained?) copy of the Peaceful Chronicles of Lord Hualan.

Aventurine blinked.

Around them, the kitchen was filled with dozens upon dozens of blue cryobloom plates.

“I wasn’t invited to your dinner party,” Aventurine said. “Are we dreaming?”

“We wish,” the Ylissan responded harshly.

Oddly touchy subject. Sunday’s expression was also displeased. They both looked like shit.

“I can tell you two have been getting along well,” Aventurine said brightly. “You’re Hualan,” he asked, staring at the barista. His friend, and also torturer, until he’d forgotten both.

Hualan’s skin had something crawling underneath. Bubbling. The parasitic Swarm, Aventurine thought in horror.

Instead of losing control, she smoothed her skin over, but not before scratching it and leaving behind bleeding green marks.

The buzzing in the distance was growing more frazzled. Aventurine could hear it.

“Take your friend and leave,” Hualan said angrily. “Khali would have wanted you to live. That is the only reason we will let you go.”

So Hualan did know Khali. Something felt different, though. She’d dropped Lord Khali’s title. And what had Sunday meant by in a manner of speaking? Was Khali Hualan’s secret identity?

Aventurine looked at Sunday to check his reaction. Sunday looked at Hualan with such clear derision. Hualan was glaring back at Sunday.

“What do you mean,” Aventurine asked.

“When the dreadfall stops, you will not be able to escape,” Hualan said instead of explaining, frowning deeply. “You have less than an hour.”

Aventurine exhaled. Hualan seemed upset by the idea they’d die. “What did you mean, Hualan,” he tried again, needing to know. “Why do you say Khali would’ve wanted me to live?”

“Why would you listen to its words?” Sunday asked.

Aventurine gave him a bland smile. “It? And here I thought you two were getting along wonderfully.”

Instead of retorting scathingly, Sunday let out a breathless giggle that held too much amusement to be sane. He was really much worse at this sanity thing than Aventurine had once thought. “It is correct,” he said.

Hualan let out a strange chattering sound. Aventurine looked over to see her pushing down on her skin, healing where these acidic wounds appeared, cracking the exoskeleton of the insect-like limbs that were trying to break through. Her mouth was melting and turning wrong, but she was clearly trying to resist.

“Why is that happening to you?” Aventurine asked.

“The Halovian beheaded us from the Swarm,” Hualan said. “Now we are at the mercy of it.”

Aventurine wasn’t sure how that worked. “Hold on, Hualan. We’ll get you off the planet,” he said. “The shuttle will be here in the morning.”

“No,” Hualan snapped. “We are not leaving Ylisse.”

“Why?” Aventurine asked quietly. “You will die here if you don’t leave.”

“We are the planet’s lifeblood. If we leave...” Hualan hissed. “We cannot leave.”

“As if anything here is living,” Sunday said, lips twisting up cruelly. “For such beautiful eyes, you so readily wear wool over your eyes, Aventurine. Does it look Ylissan to you? Instead of what is happening to it, should you not ask what it has done?”

Aventurine laughed out of sheer incredulity. “Sunday. If Hualan here is letting us go because Lord Khali wished it—”

(“If you offend the wrong alchemist, they’ll chop you up and call anything they do to you an enhancement.”

“So you threw me into a crazed prince’s bed instead?”

“I’m just giving you a chance to decide your own fate.”

“Just be honest and say you’re using me too, Khali.”)

Aventurine blinked, dizzy. Khali would have wanted him to live? No. He suddenly didn’t buy that.

Sunday was wrong. Aventurine didn’t buy sweet lies and delusions. He didn’t sell them either—not anymore, not even though he had been their star merchant, as the last Avgin.

(“Fine. You were made to be used,” Khali said. “But a weapon can choose its user.”

He laughed. “Avgins.”

“No,” she said, slowly, like she knew something he did not. “You. You warp the fortune of all around you.”

He looked away, at the scalpel she held. The sharp, varl gold blade was enveloped by a scarlet, magical flame. She dipped it into a container of bitter, liquid mielosan. “I’m sorry, but you won’t remember this. You aren’t supposed to know any of it.”

He felt betrayed despite knowing she couldn’t be trusted from the start. He shouldn’t have been careless enough to believe friends didn’t betray each other. He wouldn’t make the mistake of caring about betrayal again.

“If you’ve told me so much, then why not tell me more?”

“It’s pointless. You will forget.”

“Then tell me one last pointless truth, Khali. What can they possibly have over the immortal Vrisaya?”

Khali curled her lips up wryly. “Something as small as a parasite.”

“What parasite can possibly infect an Emanator?” As soon as he asked, he considered it. “A True Sting?”

Khali shrugged. “Something like that.”

He couldn’t imagine her caring for anyone. But for the first time, her doll-like demeanor shifted, and against the eerie glow of scarlet flames, she looked afraid.

“Is that how I offended you?” he asked suddenly, wondering. Curious and pained at once. “My presence is threatening someone you love, but you can’t kill me, so you’re throwing me to the prince instead.”

“I don’t love anything.”

He paused, and then smiled. Sweetly, the way she kept telling him to smile. Hollowly, the way she always did. “You’re taking my memories from me,” he said. “You owe me this. Tell me, and maybe I’ll forgive you in your next life.” That was how Vrisayans lived forever, wasn’t it? They rebirthed bathed in crimson flames, undying.

“We won’t meet again.”

“Wanna bet?”

Khali tilted her head. “If we do meet again, I’ll tell you, Kakavasha.” She laughed wryly. “Or perhaps you would have to tell me.”

“Kakavasha?”

“Kakavasha—?”)

“Kakavasha?” someone asked, sounding worried, caring, all false care, nobody could care about him and still be alive—

He went still in the man’s grasp, dread curling around his spine. He blinked and stared until he recognized glowing yellow eyes and soft gray hair, the tantalizing sway of feathers. Halovian. Sunday. Featherhead. Saying his name again.

“Just a dizzy spell,” Aventurine managed. He pulled Sunday in closer, basking in his warmth, hands curling around Sunday’s arms. It wasn’t quite enough to chase away the chilling memories. He frowned. “Your halo is gone. What happened to you?” he asked. “Or should I ask what did you do?”

Sunday let Aventurine go, stepping back with a frown. “I kept your friend safe,” he said slowly. He had a remarkable poker face. He was good at pretending to not know. Probably had a lot of practice. But right now, Sunday looked annoyed and pained and like he had a headache.

“You mean Khali’s body.” Aventurine smiled a little at Sunday’s frown. “You didn’t want to break the news to me? I remembered the real Khali, she was very different. And you… you must be the parasite she sacrificed herself for.”

Hualan tensed. “That is not true.” It shook Khali’s head, skin breaking again. It was clearly holding itself together by its desperate strand of insanity. Aventurine wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed that before, what was as familiar as a reflection in a rippling lake.

Grief, in living on without someone they loved. Guilt, in survival.

Aventurine averted his gaze, walking around to find the kitchen synthesizer. He felt two pairs of eyes on him, but he needed a moment, so he focused on the synthesizer. Tap. Tap.

“What are you doing?” Hualan asked.

Aventurine held up two ice packs. “Gel ice packs.” He handed Sunday one.

Sunday looked vexed.

“Why, they don’t have these in Penacony? They’re good for headaches.”

“I don’t have a headache,” Sunday said pleasantly, a blatant lie. He eyed and gingerly took the ice pack like it was some suspicious foreign object.

“You, too,” Aventurine said, handing the other one to Hualan, who gave an uncannily similar expression as Sunday in response.

There was a tense silence, discomfort Aventurine decided to let stew as he wondered what exactly he should say.

“The aftereffects of a monumental psychic attack,” Sunday said finally, “reduced to a mere headache.”

“We can heal any wound,” Hualan said. “Why would we need this… gel ice pack?”

Because Aventurine suspected no one was going to like what he had to say next. “Khali didn’t care if I died or not. But I would bet that she wanted you alive. Isn’t that why she gave you her body?”

Hualan let out a pained, chittering sound. “Don’t presume. You know nothing.” Its voice turned bitterly angry. “And the Halovian knows too much.”

Sunday bristled. Aventurine wondered if Sunday had interrogated Hualan for all this information. It would be very Sunday to have done that.

Feeling a spike of anger, Aventurine went and grabbed one of the cryobloom snacks from the plates. The honeyed sweetness was a relief from everything else. He finished eating a piece, and then sighed, smiling fondly.

“I remembered,” Aventurine said. “I asked her what anyone could hold over the powerful Vrisaya. She said something as small as a parasite. And then, she held a fiery scalpel to my head.”

Hualan widened Khali’s scarlet eyes.

“So you don’t need to care about our survival. It’s okay to just care about your own.” Aventurine gave a genuine smile. “Or to not care about either one.”

The silence stretched. Sunday’s disapproving stare was palpable.

“That is all you have to say?” Hualan asked disbelievingly.

Aventurine shrugged. “Yes.”

How could Aventurine force Hualan into leaving with them? He wouldn’t do that. If he brought to the IPC a Propagation entity with control over an immortal’s body, Diamond would be delighted. Aventurine did not want Diamond’s delight.

“Think about what you want, because your ticket off Ylisse is expiring…” Aventurine glanced at his phone. Diamond had sent him an ETA of the shuttle, as well as coordinates. The shuttle was to arrive at the Palace in a few hours. “When the sun rises. Although I can get my boss to back off of Ylisse, I can’t promise no one else will bother you.”

Torn, Hualan went back to smoothing over its skin, which continued to bubble disturbingly. The noise was only intermittently muted by Sunday, whose oppressive silence was less constant than usual.

“Someone held your life hostage to control Khali,” Sunday said softly.

Anger ripped through Hualan’s expression of guilt. “Shut up.”

“Don’t you want to know who?” Sunday continued, with a remarkable knack for making it feel like someone was being ganged up on.

“Sunday,” Aventurine warned.

“She didn’t want me to know,” Hualan snarled, knuckles whitening and bleeding green around the ice pack. “Why would I want to know?”

“Don’t you want to know if you killed her for something completely avoidable?” Sunday asked gently, but his eyes were scornful, his lips twisting like he’d been planning on saying it for ages.

CLANG.

The blue ice pack clattered against a golden shield, its shimmer quickly fading in the maroon lit kitchen. Aventurine thought he heard the hiss of fire too. He doubled over as pain spread throughout his body, an ache so deep it shriveled up his bones. A cardinal sin for a pathstrider to use their skills when their powers were depleted.

Aventurine wanted to laugh, but the noise came out as a pained cry instead.

This mission was going impressively terribly. He’d have to celebrate this bad luck later.

Before everything went dark, he felt arms catch him. Really, if Sunday wanted to sweep him off his feet, there were far better ways than this.

“How dare you,” Sunday seethed, catching Aventurine just before he hit his head on the counter.

The Avgin was lighter than he should be, especially considering Ylisse’s heavier gravitational force. Sunday wasn’t sure why his mind would get stuck on that observation now when he should’ve been focused on the fact that Aventurine had just fainted after snapping his fingers and summoning shields.

Shields. Plural.

Hualan’s form shifted unnaturally, skin melting and then weaving back together, holding its trembling hand that was turning far too insectoid. It was staring in shock at Aventurine.

The golden shields around them faded away.

“He shielded both of us,” Hualan rasped, confused, distressed, and not at all bothered that it had tried to hit Sunday. Sunday’s gaze trailed towards the blue ice pack on the ground.

Aventurine was too reckless. Why had he done that, when he was too out of it to even shield? Why would he waste his energy on a parasite?

Why would he waste it on Sunday?

Aventurine made such pointless gestures that only hurt himself. Even these gel ice packs—giving Hualan one had ended up backfiring.

Hualan had thrown the ice pack with rage-fueled force. Sunday hadn’t even been able to see its trajectory, too violent and quick. But Aventurine had shielded him anyway, and now the pack had burst, gel oozing on the kitchen floor.

Sunday’s ears twitched as he strained to hear Aventurine’s heartbeat—for a moment, he couldn’t hear it. Sunday felt horrified, quickly extending his fingers to Aventurine’s pulse.

Relief washed over him. The pulse was feeble, but Aventurine was fine. He was fine, Sunday was the one who was getting overwhelmed by the buzzing of the Swarm and the unusual noises of flesh breaking and healing from Hualan.

He brushed the hair by Aventurine’s neck and examined the slave brand there, wondering why Aventurine had never gotten it removed. Sunday would have.

He withdrew his fingers, frowning at the sticky sweat. Aventurine wasn’t well—and he himself was feeling... Uncomfortably clammy. This didn’t happen on Penacony. The dreamscape sanitized everything, keeping life perfect and clean.

Sunday swallowed. Aventurine needed a healer. Overexertion of Imaginary powers wasn’t something Sunday knew how to fix. A simple healing flask wasn’t enough either.

“He’s made his point,” Sunday said, voice shaking with acidity and worry.

“We do not understand,” Hualan said. “What point?”

Sunday hated that he was just as confused. “Can you heal him?”

“Nnnno.” The answer was ripped out of Hualan. It opened its mouth in anger, a disgusting set of insect mandibles ripping through its jaws and teeth.

“What use is Abundance without healing?” Sunday sneered. “And you can’t even heal yourself properly.”

Hualan snarled, scarlet eyes screwing shut. It shook its head. “The Swarm calls for us,” it said. “Even if we do not heed it, we can still hear it. It worsens now that the dreadfall has stopped.”

“Are there teleporters nearby?”

“No. They were all destroyed.”

“By you?”

Hualan frowned and shook its head again. Scarlet eyes opened, flashing with anger. “It was all destroyed by the time our Swarm spread.”

Sunday glanced at the kitchen synthesizer. Based on the model, he could tell it didn’t synthesize large items, and neither did the mini-synths on their phones.

Sunday hesitated. The discordant call of the Swarm was frazzled, distracting.

Aventurine needed help. Sunday refused to believe he could sit back and let something as mercurial and uncontrollable as luck to help Aventurine. But…

Sunday found himself hesitating.

The problem wasn’t not knowing how to get off this planet without an IPC escape shuttle. Sunday knew. He’d fleetingly considered this escape route when they’d first come across it. But the idea made him want to flinch.

Sunday grimaced as Hualan’s mandibles reformed into a humanoid mouth. One of the white bandages around its ears was dripping with neon green blood. It turned and spat blood onto the floor, wiping some off its face with its sleeve.

The walls were rumbling, the sound of bugs skittering around. The roaring of fluttering wings.

Fear surged in Sunday. He shut his eyes and listened again. No. No bugs skittering around, not yet. But soon. They had some time, still.

Why was he close to panic? How utterly nonsensical. This was nothing compared to… to losing, in Penacony.

Yet he detested it. Dreaded it. This wasn’t the aching disappointment and sadness from failing to save the world. This was cold sweat and sensory overload. This was all of that, and knowing that… that others would have to see him like this. Tired. Imperfect. He had lost his halo, shattering from the force of his attack against Hualan. His wings were speckled by dust and grime.

…That his sister might.

“Hualan. We need to leave for the desert. Can you provide my friend and I with protection?” Sunday gritted out.

Hualan peered at him warily. “How far? The Swarm will attack. And its call—”

“I’ll deafen you,” Sunday interrupted brusquely.

Hualan frowned at Aventurine. Sunday held Aventurine a little bit closer.

If the parasite said no, Sunday would simply have to make it an Order. But he wasn’t sure if he could do it without triggering Hualan into completely losing its control over its humanoid form.

“Fine,” Hualan said. It held onto its comic book. Clinging onto it pathetically as it tried to stand upright like a normal person.

“You can print endless copies of those comics,” Sunday said, because it was stressing him out that Hualan kept treating that fragile, coffee-stained book so dearly. “The IPC has a comprehensive database of books.”

“We know.” Hualan glared. “You must think us so helpless.”

Sunday glared back. He didn’t fault others for being helpless, but there was just something about Hualan that was so deserving of contempt. After all, Hualan wasn’t a Charmony dove. It was a parasite that should’ve been incinerated ages ago.

He blamed the Vrisaya Khali. She should’ve known better.

Sunday shifted to better carry Aventurine in his arms.

“Where are we going?” Hualan asked.

Sunday dragged a mask of indifference over his grimace. “Into the dunes,” he said flatly. “To the space anchor of the Nameless.”

Aventurine opened his eyes.

Oh. The world was awash in black and white monotony. So calm.

The skies were endlessly dark—but there was a white light coming from behind him. He saw his own shadow, eerily long and striking.

He sat up. Looked at his hands—wisps of shadows, fading away like dry ice. He pressed his palm over his chest. The motion disturbed his shadow, which trembled in the reflection of the floor.

He couldn’t feel his heartbeat.

“Emanator?” he called out, standing up. “I suppose I should’ve set up an appointment with a Doctor of Chaos,” he added with self-deprecating humor. He turned around, half-expecting Acheron to appear.

Light eclipsed him, not darkness. He squinted in puzzlement.

Aventurine’s eyes stung as he looked at… whatever that was. He couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.

A gaping, white maw.

Staring at it made him want to look away, the opposite of the pull of a black hole, but he couldn’t. Behind the white, there was a mass of festering shadows. It was like an inverted version of Acheron’s black hole.

“What do you see?”

Aventurine jolted, glancing down. Dread snaked around his throat as he watched, his shadow standing up from the floor. A cloaked figure stood in front of him.

They didn’t have a face.

And no. Not cloaked, not quite.

Instead, they loomed. Reminiscent of shadows that slanted beneath the desert rocks, not quite following the crimson sun’s path. Shadows that were jagged when they should’ve been curved. Shadows that wriggled like starving maggots, intangible, inexplicable, familiar.

“You’ve been stalking us,” Aventurine whispered. “You’re the shadows in Ylisse.”

The faceless figure tilted their head, and Aventurine received the impression of a smile. “And you’re the Eyes of Ena,” they said. “Such misfortune it is to meet you at last.”

Aventurine stepped back, staring, unable to look away, unable to even blink. He stared until he finally started to laugh.

Why don’t you tell me about your eyes, Sunday’s voice echoed in his mind, and that was the only reason he couldn’t help but believe what this strange entity was saying. They’re captivating. Like eyes one would see in a dream.

In Sunday’s dream.

Chapter Text

“And that’s where we got these cat cakes,” Caelus said.

“They’re so cute, aren’t they?” March asked as she showed the photos to Robin. “Oh, I wish we had one that looked just like you!”

Robin smiled. “They are adorable indeed,” she said, a little concerned. But she supposed she had witnessed far stranger things than sentient mooncakes that cried.

“Also delicious,” Caelus said sagely.

March slapped him on the arm. Sitting right beside her on the sofa, Caelus pretended to cower. “Don’t say that in front of Miss Robin!”

“Is it really my fault that they were named Delicious Bean Cake?” Caelus asked mournfully.

“Named by whom???” March asked, with delighted disapproval. Nothing like the Family’s cold, vaguely threatening and patronizing disapproval. Nothing like… Sunday, Robin supposed. “You?”

Robin marveled at their easy camaraderie. Being the Robin, she couldn’t remember ever being treated like that. With such trust and familiarity. Caelus was able to say something like that without worrying about the Astral Express members trying to taint his public image.

Robin supposed the Astral Express was really nothing like the Family. Her heart seized with some sort of yearning, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

“No, please, it’s okay,” Robin said. “There’s no need to censor yourself for my sake. And you can call me Robin.”

“Oh yeah,” March said, blushing. “I know you said that already, it’s just habit! Sorry, Robin!”

“No worries, March.” Robin smiled warmly.

Caelus tilted his head, glancing at Robin with a pensive expression. Robin imagined it was easy for people to forget the Trailblazer was intelligent and observant with his humorous act. Robin wasn’t going to forget it, but she also knew he was kind—the Astral Express members all were. It was alright to not keep her guard far up around these kind people.

Easier said than done.

“Why don’t we drop by to see the cat cakes in person?” Caelus suggested. “We hang out with the Herta Space Station people once a week anyway.”

March raised her brows. “By we, he means just him. He has this obsession with doing things every week,” she said dryly.

“Can’t miss out on weeklies,” Caelus said.

Robin was about to ask what that meant when her phone beeped with a notification. She glanced down, freezing as she took in the words.

UNKNOWN NUMBER
> Dear Robin, this is Sunday. I regret being unable to message you until now. Aventurine, a friend of his, and I have been stranded on the planet Ylisse-XIII of Magatia.

> I have attached the coordinates of the space anchor. If it is possible, we would like the Astral Express’ permission to use the space anchor to leave this planet.

> Aventurine has power exhaustion.

Robin stared at the message for far too many seconds considering she knew it was an emergency. It had to be. She had fully expected Sunday to not contact her for… months, at least.

It must’ve been bad if he needed to request assistance so abruptly. From her. Sunday didn’t ask for help. Gopher Wood had always isolated him from others…

“Robin?” March asked, sounding openly worried, but also like she was trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“My brother is requesting permission to use a space anchor,” Robin said, blinking at the messages again. “Is it possible? It sounds like Aventurine has been injured.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even know space anchors could be used like an SOS beacon,” Caelus said. “Let’s ask our local expert.”

A few minutes later, they stood in a circle with the other Astral Express members. Even the reserved Dan Heng had finally come out of his room, greeting Robin with a polite nod.

Welt sighed, breaking the silence. “The SOS function is used by the friends of the Nameless. It was once more common, back in Akivili’s days, but now it is only used in dire situations.”

“We’re like Sunday’s Jade Abacus of Allying Oath,” Caelus mused.

“Nothing of the sort,” Dan Heng said, arms crossed.

“Hmm, I don’t know. It is kinda similar,” March said. But she looked troubled. “Wait, so Sunday had your new phone number this entire time? It really must be bad if Sunday is requesting help after refusing to message you…” She winced. “Sorry, I’m so tactless today.”

“Just today?” Dan Heng asked dryly.

Robin gave March a faint but genuine smile. “I know you mean well, it’s okay March. I don’t mind,” she said. “And I don’t blame him for it. I would like to help him… if it’s possible. I know there’s a lot of bad blood between all of you.”

“Honestly, he’s not that bad,” March said. “Like, he might want to take away the free will of an entire planet, but at least he had good intentions… I think.”

“Let’s take a quick vote. Mr. Aventurine is wounded,” Himeko said. “Of course, I would vote to help them even if he were not wounded,” she added, ever gracious.

Robin felt a wave of relief. “Yes. Let us vote,” she said. “Those in favor of helping Sunday and his team, raise your hand.”

They all raised their hands.

Pom-Pom, who was frowning in the circle, sighed, nodding. “Well, if everyone on board is okay with it, of course it’s okay. The Nameless never ignore a distress signal!”

“Sunday won’t hurt anyone on the Astral Express,” Robin said.

“He couldn’t!” Pom-Pom sniffed, offended. “This is where the Spirit of Trailblaze is strongest!”

“He can try. We just can’t hit his face with a train if we’re in the train,” Caelus said ruefully.

“Your priorities never cease to amaze me,” Dan Heng said.

The willingness to extend a hand to those who might bite it—Robin admired that.

So different from Sunday, who extended his hand to help, yet made sure there were no teeth left for anyone to bite back.

Robin’s throat closed up, smile faltering slightly. She knew it was a joke, but a part of her still ached thinking about the pain Sunday felt, to lose… to fail. Yet he had been wrong, and she was truly grateful for the Astral Express.

“Thank you all,” Robin said. “I appreciate all of you.”

Burnt mahogany shrouded the streets, toxic green fluids mixed with tar puddles all around. The dreadfall registered the green fluid as blood, turning it into a fool’s gold.

Monstrous, gorilla-sized bugs were visible through the windows of nearby stores. Such unsightly iridescence, nothing like the Dreamjolt Troupe’s cleaner appearances. These monsters belonged to horror stories banned from Penacony.

Dread crawled over Sunday as he met their beady eyes. They knew he and Hualan were leaving the area, and they yearned to follow. To make them a part of the Swarm.

Sunday felt compelled to wipe his skin and feathers to make sure nothing stuck to him, but there was nothing comfortable about this planet. He’d have to escape it.

He thought of the Astral Express. The idea of seeing Robin made him feel anxious enough that he could almost ignore everything else. Robin had answered, saying that Sunday should make his way to the space anchor and the Astral Express would handle the teleportation.

A lot of Sunday’s concentration was on deafening Hualan. Harder than it looked since Hualan instinctively wanted to resist what was perceived as a psychic attack. It had taken them a few precious minutes wasted in the kitchen before they’d been able to set off for the space anchor.

It was quiet in this little bubble of silence as they walked, but not calm. Not peaceful.

Odd. There was no reason to miss Aventurine’s voice, they hardly knew each other for long. But Sunday found himself missing Aventurine’s delirious, nonsensical declarations. He added an element of spontaneity that Sunday usually never tolerated, but it somehow didn’t feel so awful coming from Aventurine.

As light as Aventurine weighed, exhaustion was getting to Sunday.

He remembered holding onto the cage of an injured, helpless Charmony Dove. Seeing Robin’s disappointment every time it failed to fly again and again. He’d been weak, back then. Dreading his omission about the dove going noticed, dreading finding out if he could lie directly. As the months passed, it’d been too late to bring the dove up again.

Sunday had spent long nights planning what he would say if she ever asked about the dove. Never once had it occurred to him that maybe she already knew, and she was the one sparing him the pain.

Had Robin even expected Sunday to message her again?

Would she have still considered him as her dear brother if he never had? If their paths were to never cross again?

(“Even in the darkest of nights, Harmony brings light, even if that light must be imaginary. Even if we cannot stop an immutable fate, Harmony brings us solace that we are not alone—be that in life or in death.”)

Sunday had left her alone. Waited for the perfect time to message her again.

He gritted his teeth.

In his dream, Ena’s dream, everything was weightless. He wouldn’t need to feel the ache in his bones and soles and missing halo as he walked, carrying a burden. Burdens were supposed to be metaphorical, not material. Not mortal.

Sunday glanced down at Aventurine, startled by his own thoughts. Burden, he repeated in his mind, tasting how cruel this thought was. So cruel that it aligned with how Aventurine thought about himself.

He wasn’t sure why this bothered him all of a sudden. Evil was acceptable so long as it had good intentions. Even Robin knew and said he wasn’t driven by malice. But Aventurine—

Aventurine deserved something better than a traveling companion who so carelessly thought that of him.

Sunday flinched, something splattering towards him. He hadn’t sensed it—too dangerously distracted. A parasite had tried to attack him despite the dreadfall, but had been shoved back by Hualan.

Sunday looked at Hualan and saw that it was glaring at him, irritated that he hadn’t been paying attention. It resumed moving swiftly, away from the parasite that had been ripped into sections and was trying to get up again.

It could wait impatiently at the edge of his deafening aura, only a few wingspans away. Easy for it to move now that it wasn’t hearing the Swarm’s call, and wasn’t that thanks to Sunday’s focus? It was fortunate that it had powers of healing. That it was immortal. It did not fear death, did not suffer from mortality.

It had already lost everything.

Sunday’s anger faltered in intensity. He quickened his pace, following. A thought of icy clarity crossed his mind. He never wanted to be like Hualan, living for a memory. No. He needed to protect those he cared about.

Was Aventurine on that list? The list that had only truly had one name on it for years?

No. Sunday wouldn’t… go that far for the Avgin. He wouldn’t do anything. That would be idiotic.

A few minutes later, the dreadfall came to a complete stop. Sunday tensed. They were almost out of the city, but the Swarm was quickly moving, crawling out of the woodwork. Their vibrations pushed bluntly against his aura of protection like slimy flails. Heavy, distressing. The noise disrupted his concentration.

And then Hualan shouted something. Something along the lines of run, idiot, which rang in Sunday’s head like a broken gong. How dare it? Hualan was the idiot, breaking through his silencing aura like this.

He took a second—two, three—to compose himself, and then—four, five—to see what Hualan was doing.

Hualan’s jaw cracked open to reveal sharp mandibles, used to bite into a bug that was crawling towards them. It bit through one of the bug’s limbs with a sickening crunch of chitin.

Six, seven. Eight. Nine.

Ten—Sunday forced silence to collapse over them again, and then broke into a run, just having to hope Hualan knew to follow. Having to hope that it wasn’t going to lose control and join the Swarm.

It followed.

In his peripheral vision, Sunday could see Hualan chomping at approaching insects, defending them from their attacks. He could see them regrowing their limbs and heads and green blood gushing everywhere, guts and inhuman parts spilling out.

Nausea stirred uncomfortably inside him. Thankfully he could no longer hear the surely horrible noises they made as they resisted death, again and again.

When they passed through the city entrance, Hualan slammed a fist on the side of the entrance, and then vines started to slither like snakes, blocking the gateway. A parasite made it halfway through and ended up caught inside the tendrils like a piñata about to burst, vines squeezing its segmented limbs until they oozed with—

Even though he couldn’t hear anything, his mind restlessly provided him with what it might sound like.

The vines weren’t going to hold forever.

He dragged his gaze away, revulsion making him wish they had exploded this entire planet after all.

Moving through the dunes was going to be terrible.

Sunday’s body ached as they ran, pavement turning into sand. He couldn’t walk quickly like this, not even though his boots were supposed to be suited for desert travel. He had to pause, heart thumping in his ribcage.

No. He had to hold onto Aventurine. He couldn’t collapse now.

Hualan had stopped too, walking to the side. Sunday shut his eyes, calming himself.

He inwardly hummed Robin’s song to himself, thought of her beautiful, hopeful melodies, and then shuddered, shoving the lovely song out of his mind. He didn’t want to ever associate her music with this.

Sunday blinked a few times and looked to the side, seeing a glimpse of ivory amidst crimson. He frowned as he watched Hualan approach a wagon that was peeking out from the curves of dunes.

…Antlers’ wagon of skulls.

Antlers was nowhere to be found. Sunday felt dizzy, suddenly, uncertain about why that was the case. The Swarm shouldn’t have affected Antlers, Sunday hadn’t sensed any strings controlling them. But then where had Antlers gone—?

Hualan was tossing the skulls onto the sand, one by one. They rolled away unceremoniously.

Hualan pointed at Sunday—no. Aventurine. Then at the wagon. There were spots of gold—blood splatters, converted by dreadfall to look slightly less awful. But Sunday could still smell it. The metallic scent of blood.

You cannot be serious, Sunday thought, staring.

Hualan stared back, scarlet eyes bright. Expectant.

Sunday let out a hysterical, muted giggle. Must those around him perform such inexplicable actions? Did logic abandon them when they’d been children, or had they been born without a trace of reason?

After a few moments, he carefully put Aventurine into the wagon. As soon as he let go of him, he felt his stomach unsettle.

He grabbed the side of the wagon, shaking as he hurled up what little substance he had in his system. The bile tasted so acidic, he needed water, how could he vomit in front of—of a parasite? Of anyone? What sort of composure was this?

Mr. Wood would be incredibly disappointed.

Going against his wishes for Robin was one thing. But failing to uphold the Family’s flawless appearance—

The wagon moved under his hand. He looked up, shaken.

Khali’s parasite was frowning, attempting to take the wagon, take Aventurine, and leave.

Sunday shook his head forcefully and took the wagon himself. He wasn’t going to let a parasite take pity on him. More ridiculously, the thought crossed his mind that he wasn’t going to let it take Aventurine from him.

Hualan sneered at him and let go. At least it wasn’t rough with the wagon when Aventurine was in it.

Sunday yearned for the night, but this was no dream. Ylisse was a nightmare, and the sooner he could shatter it, the better.

Traveling was substantially easier with the wagon, to Sunday’s annoyance. The wagon made it substantially easier for them to move through the dunes.

When the space anchor came into view, Sunday widened his eyes, attention completely caught by something else. Someone else.

The space anchor was shimmering, rotating gently, emitting a blue halo around them. Too gentle to exist on Ylisse, it cast gentle swooping shadows beneath—

“Robin,” Sunday whispered, suppressing a flinch.

He hadn’t expected her to be here herself… but he should’ve. His wings trembled.

Robin didn’t look surprised. She gave him a soft smile. “It’s good to see you, brother. Oh… Mr. Aventurine…”

If she noticed his halo was gone—she must have—she did not even stare at the empty space for more than a split second. But she did stare at Aventurine, worry stealing her smile away. No doubt also seeing the odd state of the wagon.

“And you are…” Robin looked curiously at Hualan. “I believe my brother did not mention your name. You are Ylissan, yes?”

It seemed like she’d done her research, or at least the Astral Express members had given her a summary of Ylisse-XIII.

Hualan frowned. We are, it tried to say, but Sunday was still keeping it muted. It narrowed its eyes at Sunday, displeased, but oddly enough, it did not try to speak louder to break the silence.

Robin smiled at Hualan, brows drawn together slightly. “Please make sure the wagon is inside the blue circle completely. And perhaps close your eyes for now. Teleporting using a space anchor for the first time can be disorienting.”

Sunday and Hualan looked at each other. It seemed like Hualan had decided to come with them onto the Astral Express.

Funny. Sunday had expected to need to convince it more. But like the Vrisaya Khali, Hualan didn’t truly care about Ylisse, able to abandon it just like that. What a selfish pair they made, leaving destruction in their wake.

At least Aventurine would be pleased to see they were all in one piece once he woke up on the Astral Express.

“Ready?” Robin asked.

“Yes,” Sunday lied.

Hualan nodded, looking at the space anchor with a childish curiosity, frown disappearing. The skin of its cheek briefly bubbled inhumanly. Sunday hoped Robin did not see it.

A blue light swirled around them, and Sunday felt the space anchor’s power carry him far, far away.

The Astral Express, he thought, closing his eyes. Robin… was going to be worried, disappointed, and—

Hiding it from him the entire time, no doubt.

Dread gnawed at him so viciously he thought his blood might curdle and turn gold.

Chapter Text

Inexperienced dreamers were often overwhelmed by vertigo.

Being teleported by a space anchor was nothing like dreaming. Instead, it was the moment before the curtain rose, long and disorienting, except the fly operator forgot to pull the curtains. And so how the next act would go was held in suspense, its ending forever uncertain.

In actuality, only seconds passed. And this wasn’t a play he could control, because he was in the Nameless’ domain. Who would be so foolish as to challenge the Will of Trailblaze on its own terms, in its own train?

The curtain finally rose. Sunday blinked past the gentle blue light to see the inside of the Astral Express. Its beauty was modest compared to the extravagance of Penacony. The perfectly air conditioned cabin should’ve been a relief, but it just reminded Sunday how sticky and uncomfortable he felt.

Standing to greet them was the Astral Express crew. Familiar faces, all assessing Sunday warily.

“Why is Aventurine in a wagon?” March asked, the first to speak.

When Caelus walked closer to the wagon, he was followed by Dan Heng and March 7th who fell in step right beside him so easily.

“Because he’s unconscious, obviously,” Caelus said.

“Yes, but a wagon?”

The Imbibitor Lunae’s reincarnation shook his head. “Ylisse-XIII is known for its hazardous conditions. This must have been the safest option.” He eyed Sunday, making his disapproval clear.

A remnant of Long the Permanence. Exiled for its sins. Sunday swallowed down a laugh of hysteria. The Imbibitor Lunae Dan Feng had infamously committed a cardinal sin that he was still paying for today—granting immortality to a mortal. What would he and the people of the Xianzhou think of the Vrisaya Khali granting immortality to a Swarm parasite?

Well, they wouldn’t think anything of it. Sunday had no intention of letting them find out what Hualan was now. That was a secret to give Diamond.

“Let’s take Mr. Aventurine to the infirmary,” Lady Himeko said smoothly. She gave Sunday a sharp, assessing look.

“Yes, it’s ready for him,” the rabbit-like Astral Express conductor said. “I will take care of everything here.”

Welt Yang and Himeko left with Aventurine’s wagon. Feeling a spike of concern, Sunday headed after them, but was stopped by the conductor’s voice.

“Hey, no escaping! You need to sign the guest log first,” the conductor said. Its ear raised, pointing towards a nearby counter.

Ah. So Sunday had to be interrogated. That was no surprise. He turned around. “Please forgive my rudeness, Conductor,” he said, bowing with a hand over his chest to show respect to the conductor of the Astral Express. “Aventurine is… unwell.”

Pom-Pom looked a mix of surprised and mollified, nodding slightly.

“You two look like shit too,” Caelus said cheerfully. “Wait up Sunday, don’t leave so soon. We missed you and your monologues.”

Sunday managed a smile. “Of course,” he said, not liking the way the Trailblazer stared at him with those bright yellow eyes.

Because… someday… we will wake from our dreams.

The memory was enough to make him feel shaken again. Not the words themselves, but the resounding heart of the Trailblaze. Forcing Sunday awake, too, making him feel like he’d been sleepwalking his entire life.

He detested that feeling. There was nothing wrong about dreams, yet the Trailblazer had made him doubt.

Sunday took up a pen and looked down at the guest log, opened up to a clean new page. He smoothed the paper over and, through his clammy, trembling hand, wrote his name.

Too tired. He was too tired, that was all.

The conductor walked up to Hualan a few strides away. Hualan stared back down at them, frowning in puzzlement. A rabbit and a parasite, a pair fit for a Penaconian funhouse.

“Hello. Who are you?” the conductor asked. “I’ll need you to sign the guest log too.”

Sunday did not want to explain, but he did not want Hualan to explain itself either. “This is Lord Khali of Ylisse. She is Aventurine’s old friend.”

Hualan’s ears twitched as it seemed to remember Sunday existed. It turned and glared, with no subtlety at all in showing its contempt, but there was confusion too.

Sunday was tense. He didn’t expect Hualan to complain about the introduction. Hualan certainly had no qualms pretending to be others.

“Pom-Pom doesn’t remember asking you,” the conductor huffed. They waved a hand—paw?—and the silencing aura was dispelled from Hualan. “Don't worry, Miss Khali. You may speak freely now. The Astral Express doesn’t let anyone on without a proper introduction!”

Hualan clicked its tongue, no longer silenced. It narrowed its scarlet eyes at the rabbit.

The sight made Sunday oddly lightheaded. His jaw tightened. It better not reveal what it was. He didn’t expect it to, but it was still an uncertainty. Lord Khali, a mysterious Emanator of Abundance, was an acceptable identity to give the Astral Express. Hualan had to know Propagation was despised. She would not want the name Khali to be despised.

“What happened to Akivili?” Hualan asked.

It was so quiet you could imagine you were stuck floating in space, and then Pom-Pom broke it by gasping. “E-Excuse me?”

“You can’t just ask that!” March said, scandalized. Beside her, Dan Heng stared warily at Hualan.

“I apologize, Khali here is… unused to social interactions,” Sunday said flatly.

“You are hardly any better,” Hualan retorted.

“I like you,” Caelus laughed.

“No fighting on the Astral Express!” Pom-Pom said, waving their paws. “THEY vanished a long time ago. Why do you ask?”

Hualan made a face, before shrugging. It led Sunday to wonder if Khali had been ancient enough to have met Akivili before.

Robin laughed softly. Sunday looked over, chest aching at the familiar, melodic sound. “Pom-Pom, everyone, is it okay if we take a short break first before we reconvene? Ylisse-XIII was quite an ordeal.”

“Yes, yes. Our visitors have been accounted for,” Pom-Pom said.

“Are you alright?” March asked, worried, and then inexplicably sent Sunday a glare. Nothing particularly hostile, but the fact that she looked at him after asking Robin that hurt far more than anything else would.

“I’m okay. Thank you, March,” Robin said. “Shall I show my brother and Khali their guest cabins?”

“We can meet back here in half an hour,” Caelus suggested, waving a hand. “We’ll just chill here until you’re all ready.”

“Sounds good!” March agreed.

Dan Heng gave Sunday one last suspicious look, a clear warning. Sunday tilted his head and tried to give him a neutral, polite look.

“Go ahead,” Pom-Pom said. “But don’t do anything fishy! The Astral Express won’t let anyone get hurt!”

Sunday and Hualan followed Robin into the train’s hallway.

Distant stars winked at them from the coldness of space. The Astral Express was safe from it all, protected by the Spirit of Trailblaze even though their Aeon had disappeared ages ago.

It could be safe. And yet, these Nameless still took the Express back into the most dangerous corners of the cosmos, set on trailblazing.

The world-saving Astral Express. Friend of all, friend to none—and not truly neutral now, were they? Since the Trailblazer had joined, they were all so eager to make bonds wherever they went.

They passed several rooms, more than there were Astral Express members. Robin pointed out the infirmary that Aventurine was in. Soon after that, they came to a stop.

“Here is your room, Lord Khali,” Robin said, evidently remembering the way Sunday had introduced Hualan. “It has all the basic necessities. If you need anything, just let Pom-Pom know.”

“Are you related to Sunday?” Hualan asked.

Sunday’s face twitched.

“Yes. My name is Robin, I’m Sunday’s sister. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Hualan narrowed its eyes. “Are you untrustworthy like your brother?” it asked, and Robin was briefly surprised it didn’t recognize her at all. “How did a Halovian come to join the Astral Express?”

Sunday’s face twitched, again. “Lord Khali, we did come to a truce, did we not?”

“For Aventurine’s sake, not yours,” Hualan muttered.

Startled, Robin glanced at Sunday. Their eyes met—she looked crushingly sad, as fleeting as the moment was.

Untrustworthy. Did Robin think that too? Surely not. Sunday hadn’t messaged her, but—

Sunday supposed Robin was thinking about what had happened on Penacony. Losing her voice. Hiding it from him. Almost dying, Sunday failing to protect her from harm and fear.

Another wave of dizziness. Sunday held his breath, vision blurring like he was entering a tunnel, heart racing.

“Lord Khali, I’m sorry if Sunday has lost your trust. I am part of the Astral Express, and though we are neutral, we try to protect those we can. We won’t hurt you here,” Robin said. “But, it truly makes me happy that you and Sunday came together for Aventurine’s sake.”

Hualan looked at Robin like she had said the most bizarre words today, and they’d had a very long day.

“You know Aventurine of the IPC as well,” Hualan said.

Robin nodded. “We’ve met. I’m glad to help him. He’s been helpful to me and the Astral Express,” she said.

“He is an idiot,” Hualan said crisply. “Just like your brother.” It hesitated. “See to it that Aventurine does not die.” It opened its room’s door and slid it shut, leaving abruptly.

Robin blinked. “You’ve made an interesting ally, Sunday. I can hear…” she trailed off, then shook her head. “Here, brother, your room is right next door.”

Tap, tap. Sunday followed her.

They stood in front of his guest room. There was a moment of awkwardness, as words seemed to catch in Robin’s throat. Sunday looked at her, but she was looking out at the cosmos instead of at him.

Are you happy in the Astral Express?

How can you be when there is surely no happy ending? The Trailblazer hosts a Stellaron, he’s a wild card, you need to go far, far away.

“I’m sorry,” Sunday said, and left it open-ended. As much as the Trailblazer seemed eager to condemn him for his so-called monologues, Sunday never really gave Robin any of them. It was… different with family. The mask he wore was different. Sunday the Brother.

Robin smiled. The one she gave the public, easy, warm, and—well, Sunday didn’t think it was insincere. But it still hurt to see. “It’s no problem. The Astral Express may be a mostly neutral force, but we take all distress signals seriously.”

We. Sunday didn’t want to talk with Robin of the Astral Express. He wanted to talk with his sister. Why were their conversations always getting cut short?

Where were the afternoon tea parties with stuffed animals that Robin had loved so much?

The thought struck Sunday like a train. He swallowed, feeling off-kilter, feeling so vulnerable with the empty space behind his head. No halo to ground his powers, he felt the hymn of his heartbeat going out of tune, racing like a rabbit’s.

Rabbit. The conductor Sunday sensed no malice from, but the Astral Express was too unpredictable, doing too much recently—

“Thank you,” Sunday said.

Robin blinked a few times. “It’s nothing,” she said. “We’re…” Family? “You’re my brother, Sunday. You don’t need to thank me for helping you out.”

Sunday was saying all the wrong things, then. But he was afraid of what Robin had said, that he had never given her a choice. That he had given her only misery. He supposed she hadn’t said misery, but from her tears, that was how it had felt.

“I heard about your speech on the Radiant Feldspar,” Sunday said, past his pounding heart. At least the conductor had not removed Sunday’s own aura from him, Robin shouldn’t be able to hear how—how tired he was. “It was… impressive.”

Robin’s cheery smile deflated somewhat. “I know you don’t approve.”

That wasn’t what Sunday was trying to convey. “It protects you from the Family,” he said. “You have so many new allies now.”

“I don’t need protection from Harmony. I never did,” Robin said, and suddenly it was as if Ena were in the train with them, an elephant threatening to trample over them. She paused. “It wasn’t allies I sought, Sunday. But friends.” She said it with a sense of resignation, like she thought Sunday would agree without meaning it or brush her words aside dismissively.

I see died before he could say it. Because… he didn’t.

Before Ylisse, Sunday would’ve not thought twice about the distinction. Had friendship meant anything in Penacony? Sure. More influence, more favors, more support for Order.

But Hualan placing that odd emphasis on the concept friend made Sunday hesitate. Aventurine kept saying it too, like saying it would make it true, like making it true mattered.

And Sunday just didn’t think it did.

If anything, friendship was a liability. Not something you were born into like family. Friendship could discard you. Fail you.

And Khali had made the wrong friend. Sunday could not wrap his head around sacrificing everything for a parasite that had been willing to kill Khali just because she asked.

“I don’t understand,” Sunday admitted. “It seems like a liability.”

Robin widened her eyes, as startled as Sunday. He instantly regretted it, expecting Robin’s expression to fall.

“Oh,” she said, a glimmer of hopeful delight returning to her eyes instead of the disappointment Sunday had dreaded. “I am not sure, brother. It does, doesn’t it?”

Sunday stared at her, not comprehending. Her hope and agreement were utterly confusing, unexpected. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Friendship is ties to others that we can’t really control,” Robin mused. “But they grow, when watered, and I can see the bonds the Astral Express members have. They cherish each other.”

Sunday suddenly felt afraid for a whole other reason, something he’d never thought about before. Did Robin…

“I have friends, Sunday, ones I care about deeply. But they wouldn’t be comfortable enough to slap me on the arm,” Robin said wistfully, pre-empting his question.

Robin was speaking in riddles. Sunday hoped the Astral Express did not slap each other for fun, and that the Trailblazer’s eccentricity was not contagious.

She smiled with a hint of mischief, adding, “Or call me an idiot.”

Sunday blinked slowly. “Khali and I are far from friends,” he said, aghast, just barely remembering to call it by its stolen (inherited) name. “Robin, if you ever feel unsafe—”

“I’m okay, Sunday,” Robin said quickly. She sighed a little. This time her playfulness did fade. “I’ll see you in the parlor car in a bit. And Sunday, I… I can help you get another halo, if you would like,” she said. “It’ll be easier if it’s me—”

“No. There’s no need,” Sunday said quickly. Getting a replacement halo from the Family in Asdana… how could he have Robin ask for him?

Robin nodded. Looked at him. Then nodded again, and walked off.

Sunday watched her go, far, into the other section of the train. He wanted to say her name. How foolish. Even though they were reunited, at least for now, it kept feeling like she was going further and further away from her every time he blinked.

His eyes burned until he was forced to blink, haunted by the afterimage of an empty corridor, an empty home. He took a deep breath and let it out after he entered the guest room.

The room was serviceable. It had an open window, along with a synthesizer and essentials. Clean, functional, like a spacious first-class express suite.

Sunday headed to the washroom, dismayed to see his reflection in the mirror. He’d known it had to be bad, from the jabs directed towards his appearance. It still rankled to see the lack of a halo. He had stored its broken pieces away. He’d… deal with that later.

First, there was the green Swarm blood splattered across his left wing and cheek. Only after seeing it did he start to register the faint sizzling pain on his skin.

He turned on the tap and cupped some flowing water, splashing it onto his face. He gasped at the pain.

Washing it hurt, but at least his face was only scraped and reddened, as if burnt. That was one upside to reality. In nightmares, insufficient control over the dreamscape could lead to recurring wounds and scars and stains. Sights that haunted. The first time he’d taken care of a nightmare had been deeply unsettling.

He took out a healing potion and took a sip, before he moved on to his feathers and hair.

He could use the cleanser Robin had gifted him, but there wasn’t enough time. The green didn’t come off his feathers.

(“Simplify to succeed,” Mr. Wood said. “Sometimes that means getting rid of someone else. Other times, it means getting rid of a part of ourselves.”)

It was so, so ugly. If only he could rip the feathers off, but he couldn’t, the others would notice the attempt, and he could give no explanation for that. No wonder Hualan said Halovian with such derision, it was because Sunday did not meet the standards right now. Halovians were supposed to be perfect, symbols of purity and dignity and grace.

It was so hard to breathe. He wanted to escape his own body.

But how could he. This wasn’t a dream, he could only be Sunday.

He took slow breaths. Slow. Slower. There wasn’t enough oxygen, like a nightmare was sucking air out of his lungs, like fire was falling from the sky with soot everywhere and mother was crying as she sang her lullaby. He inhaled despair, and exhaled out a laugh, squeezing his eyes shut.

He could be Sunday.

The brother who was here to protect Robin.

Yes. That was exactly it, what he ought to focus on. Sunday chose to be here because joining the IPC ensured a safe Robin. Keeping the IPC happy and Aventurine alive were beneficial to his goal.

After a while, silence settled. Sunday looked at the mirror, splashed some water over his face, and dried it with a freshly synthesized towel. He adjusted his wings, his clothes. At least these fabrics from Weaver Munch were sturdy enough to survive a Swarm infestation.

Five minutes before they were supposed to meet in the parlor car.

Sunday had a plan.

Diamond would no doubt be interested in seeing how a parasite was able to take control of an Emanator of Abundance’s body. A previously unheard of method to deal with Yaoshi’s blessed. Plus, Hualan had a lot of knowledge that could prove useful.

And then it would hardly matter at all that Sunday’s first mission with Aventurine had been a financial failure.

Time to have a chat with his Astral Express neighbor.

“What do you want,” Hualan snapped, a scarlet eye glaring through the sliver of the door.

“I have some things to discuss,” Sunday said.

“Like the last time we discussed something?”

This open hostility was easier to deal with. Sunday smiled blandly. “I promise we won’t have an encore of that.”

Hualan let him in and shut the door behind him. Sunday noticed that it had gotten rid of most of the neon, unsightly green from itself.

Sunday strolled forward and tapped the table lightly with his fingers, giving an air of casualness. “You’ll stay with us, won’t you?”

“With you? No. We are not joining the Family.”

“That wasn’t quite what I meant. I want you to join the IPC.” Sunday tilted his head. “Join as Lord Khali.”

Hualan frowned.

Even if Hualan said it didn’t want to know what secrets Khali had kept from it, there was still something Sunday could use. It was so simple.

“Don’t you want to? You must live on. With your new body, you’ll be able to brew coffee, enjoy new food, watch an immersia, visit Penacony. See the world outside of Ylisse,” Sunday said, using a voice that wasn’t his. Instead, it was feminine, belonging to a dead Emanator.

Instead of horror or anger, Hualan looked like it might cry. It made a rattling noise. “Say that again.”

Unwilling to feel bad for a bug, Sunday repeated the last wishes of Khali.

“Again,” Hualan whispered, gentler than it had ever spoken to Sunday. He supposed it was because it wasn’t speaking to Sunday at all.

“I won’t need to channel her voice. Instead, I can send sweet dreams to you when you sleep. Only if you join the IPC peacefully and willingly,” Sunday said, garnering a glare as Hualan jolted out of a trance.

It was oddly cathartic to see Hualan scowl, openly scornful. “Did you truly care about Ylisse? Stopping mercantilism and destroying the herbs?”

Of course Sunday cared. Of course. If the people hadn’t all become hollow hosts controlled by the Swarm, he would have done far more.

But he wasn’t going to defend himself to a parasite.

“Would my intentions make a difference to you?” Sunday asked. “You don’t care about anything except Khali.”

“I care about what she wants.”

That’s why you lost her, Sunday thought. “Then when Aventurine wakes up, tell him you want to travel with us,” he said.

“You deceive your friend so easily,” Hualan scoffed. “Did you ask if he wanted us to join?”

“Of course he does,” Sunday said. “He offered you a ticket off of Ylisse.”

Hualan seemed unconvinced. “He’ll wake up soon,” it said. “Pathstriders don’t usually die from exhaustion, and all he did was shield us.”

A stab of worry hurt Sunday’s chest. Yes. Aventurine was fine. It was unimaginable that his good luck would fail him now.

In the parlor car, Caelus sat down after watching Robin leave with her brother and their new arrival.

“Well. That was weird,” Caelus said.

“You are calling someone else weird?” Dan Heng asked dryly.

“I feel really attacked here. Help me out, March!”

“Hmm. I dunno,” March said. “You’ve been really stuck on the whole Sunday giving monologues thing. It’s overshadowing the actual terrible stuff he’s done. Trying to persuade us to take his side peacefully was actually pretty considerate of him.”

Caelus supposed that was true.

“I guess,” Caelus said, scratching his head, “I just don’t want to hate him. I know he had good intentions. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess if we started talking about how he took control of everyone’s minds like that, I’d start getting angrier. Like, really angry. And I don’t want to be angry at Miss—I mean, Robin’s brother,” March said.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Dan Heng sighed.

“You’re so wise,” Caelus teased.

Dan Heng ducked his head, smiling.

“Alright. Let’s be serious for a sec and place bets on what Lord Khali really is,” Caelus said, sitting up and placing a fist on his palm. “I wanna say… Emanator of Destruction?”

“That’s your version of being serious?” Dan Heng asked.

“Maybe Preservation,” March said. “Sunday did say she’s Aventurine’s friend.”

They both looked at Dan Heng, waiting.

“Fine,” Dan Heng relented, smiling. “I checked earlier. There aren’t any records of an Emanator on Ylisse-XIII, so she’s been keeping quiet for a reason. As rare as Emanators are, they do pop up around us a lot. We will need to keep an eye on them.”

“I hope Aventurine is okay,” March said.

“I'm sure he’s fine. He’s got plot armor, he can’t die,” Caelus said.

“I’m worried about you sometimes,” March said.

“Only sometimes?” Caelus grinned, then spotted a strange, puzzled look on Dan Heng’s face. “What is it?” he asked curiously.

“She looked a little familiar,” Dan Heng said. “But she didn’t recognize me.”

“Sounds like foreshadowing,” Caelus said.

“You’re right. I am definitely worried about you all the time,” March said, exasperated.

Such misfortune it is to meet you at last.

Rude, but true—Aventurine always did leave craters of misfortune in his wake, craters filled with corpses.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Aventurine said. “You seem to know me well, but I don’t know a thing about you.”

The cloaked figure’s shadows were billowing in the windless realm. “I will tell you what you want to know only if you take a gamble and join me.”

Join them? Aventurine knew nothing about them! “I usually only join cults that show me an ad of what they’re about.”

“This isn’t a cult.”

“What does joining you entail, changing my path? Are you an Emanator of Nihility? Destruction? Erudition?”

“Stop asking useless questions.”

“Can you at least tell me where we are?”

“Lost.”

“…Cryptic. Perhaps you’re a follower of Mythus?”

This time, silence followed. Not the type that surrounded Sunday. This was filled with ambient sounds Aventurine could not name or even describe. If light and power had sounds. If shadows could cry.

“Give me something to work with,” Aventurine said. “Finality? Voracity?”

“I was under the impression you were smarter than this.” Impatience leaked into their voice. “Agree to join me or you will never be given the chance again.”

Aventurine laughed, honestly baffled. “You make for a…unique negotiator. Even I have never made such a reckless gamble, to join a completely unknown force just because they asked.”

“If you are too cowardly to use your inherently unjust destiny, I would not want you on my side regardless.”

Aventurine tilted his head, thinking. He supposed the shadow wouldn’t tell him anything else.

Despite being cryptic and making such a terrible trade deal, the stranger seemed ultimately to want Aventurine to join them. Who would bother offering an invitation this many times, unless they really wanted Aventurine to join?

Scammers, Aventurine thought wryly. But—the phrases they had used. The knowledge they dangled over his head like a particularly juicy guillotine.

Eyes of Ena.

Too cowardly to use your inherently unjust destiny.

Take a gamble and join me.

Maybe they were bound to secrecy, and needed Aventurine to take a leap of faith.

Hm.

“Is making a leap of faith a part of the interview process?” Aventurine asked. “Do you need the Eyes of Ena to make a blind bet on you?”

Truthfully, Aventurine had no idea how exactly his luck worked. Sunday had asked. Jade had asked. It was a blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, he’d told them. The goddess worshiped by the Avgins who had vanished. Many worlds believed in gods who were actually Aeons in different guides. He didn’t know how to feel about HER possibly being Ena.

A scoff floated in the air like the sound of wind picking up across the ocean. “Need is a strong word, and blind can hardly apply to you.”

Aventurine shivered. “Give me a moment.”

“Time means nothing here.”

“This is a really bad game of trust fall,” Aventurine said, after a moment that meant nothing. “You’re asking me to jump into the abyss and bet that you’ll catch me.”

“Make your choice, Kakavasha.”

Who, what, where, why. So many questions ran through his mind.

What did mean anything here?

Nothing meant anything, elsewhere.

…That was a lie. Aventurine thought of those around him, Sunday, Hualan. Ratio, Topaz. Acheron, Argenti. The Trailblazer and other new friends he’d wanted to make from the Astral Express. He expected all of them to betray him, of course. He hoped it would hurt. He hoped it would stick. But he wouldn’t have betrayed them first, nor was he the type to take revenge for his own sake.

Aventurine could gamble that agreeing to join this stranger wouldn’t hurt others. That he would be able to learn why he was born like this, why he couldn’t die, why he couldn’t give his luck to those who deserved better.

“Okay,” Aventurine said. “I’ll take the gamble. I’ll join you.” He stretched out his hand, smiling.

There was a pause. Then an impression of a laugh, ethereal, like a fan of flames. A shadow stretched out, clasping around Aventurine’s hand. It was like holding a memory.

“So… Who are you? What are you?”

“I have no name.”

Nameless, faceless, timeless. They were intent on hiding their identity. “Seems unfair when you know mine. Come on, I already said I’d join you, whatever that means,” Aventurine drawled. “I won’t kiss and tell.”

The shadows laughed. “It means I invite you to help me unmake Aeonhood,” they said. “Aeons should not exist.”

Aventurine gasped at the sheer audacity of those words. He didn’t even know of any cults that held such batshit insane ambitions.

Aventurine wanted to kill Qlipoth, to see if he could fail, to see if he could make THEM pay for destroying so many lives. But eliminating Aeonhood itself?

“Entire worlds would fall apart without the guidance and protection of Aeons,” Aventurine said, feeling like he should say something. “The cosmos is built upon Aeonic ideologies. It would collapse into chaos.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer that world? No need to worship gods who do not care. No more predetermined destiny—everyone can choose their own fates.” They paused. “Unlike how it is now. The End has been written in stone. There is no free will. But you and I, we can shatter the stone. Free the universe.”

Aventurine stared in fascination. This cloaked figure of shadows was trying to use his blessing of luck to their advantage somehow. Did he seem that naïve?

“How?” Aventurine asked.

“That is not for you to know yet.”

“You wouldn’t take a gamble on me?”

“Who says I haven’t already?”

“You said you’d tell me what I wanted to know. Tell me more, otherwise I can’t help you.”

The faceless—yes, that wasn’t a bad title, was it? The Faceless tilted its hood at Aventurine. “You mean that you otherwise won’t,” they said. After an eternal moment, they spoke again. “You wish to kill an Aeon for destroying your family and leaving you alive. Your hatred is directed at the wrong Aeon.”

“Not Qlipoth?” Aventurine asked softly, his smile cold as an icicle of wrath. “If you wish to blame Gaiathra Triclops—”

“Ena?” they cut in smoothly, amusement rippling with the waves beneath Aventurine’s feet. “No. You already mentioned THEM earlier. Your true enemy is Oroboros the Voracity.”

“Voracity is long gone. The IPC follows Preservation.”

“Yes? Just as Septimus followed Xipe,” they replied, “the IPC follows Qlipoth.”

Septimus? Aventurine could only assume that they were referring to Sunday, who had pretended to follow Xipe.

“Diamond is the only true Emanator of Preservation,” the Faceless added, as if that were something that could stun Aventurine.

Aventurine looked down. The endless waves glimmered back at him like white auroras. He looked back up and gave the Faceless a sweet smile. “Preservation, Voracity. It really makes no difference to me which Aeon I kill, or if I kill all of them. You don’t need to feed me trickle truths like this, my new friend. Tell me what you really want. The apocalypse? Personally, I think it’s lazy to have someone else bring about the apocalypse for you.”

Laughter ruffled the air like roasted clouds. “Ena chose so poorly,” they said, amused. “But I couldn’t approve of you more, Kakavasha. Terrified to go down the wrong path, yet you keep trying to.”

That stung in ways Aventurine didn’t even know could still sting. He tried to blink, failed. At least he could still laugh. “I suppose you know, since you seem omniscient—it never feels like my decisions are mine,” he said. “What is my luck?”

The air turned quiet, the waves melancholic. The white hole in the distance seemed closer than ever. “Of all mortals, you understand the lack of free will best. Not even Destiny’s Slave or the Master Diviner lives with this same understanding. Ironically, you’re also one of the only ones who has any semblance of true choice. Your ultimate fate is predestined—but not your path.”

Aventurine had never found appealing to his ego effective. But the talk of fate, if even a hint true, he wanted to know more. “What does that mean?”

“You will be there at the End of the World. How you get there is entirely your own choice—but your fortune ensures you will always win until the End.”

Win?

“But,” Kakavasha said, “people around me die. Do I spread misfortune?”

“If you save someone, they would have always been meant to live. If you kill them, they would have always been meant to die. It is simply harder to keep others alive when you cannot die. Simply put, you warp the fortune of others.”

Kakavasha shuddered. He didn’t understand, but he had a feeling Khali had told him something similar before. So it really was all his fault? He’d had the ability to change fate, but was just too useless? “I could have saved my family and friends?”

“Don’t blame yourself. You are still just a mortal,” the Faceless said, surprisingly sympathetic. “If it were so easy to change fate, I would not be here.”

“What point of comparison is that? I don’t even know what the fuck you are!” Kakavasha snarled. He walked forward, trying to get closer, to see better, but the shadowy figure was unreachable even after he started running. He ended up breathless, kneeling in the white sea and panting without a heartbeat.

He recovered after a while, or perhaps never, and then laughed. He laid down onto the waves, listening to their companionable, indescribable rhythm, wondering how much of it was lies.

“Sorry. That was rude of me,” Aventurine said. “Had a long night with the Swarm, you know. Now I’m having an existential crisis. A jarring combo.”

“You’re not the first mortal to meet me. But I like you. There are worse things to be than rude.”

“I bet you say that to everyone who gets lost here,” Aventurine said. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to remember that you cannot spare a single Aeon in the End. No matter what that means. I look forward to seeing how your fate plays out…”

Shadows slanted in the light, glaringly bright. Aventurine blinked, and saw stars in the night skies. Heard their pulse.

Badump.

Badump.

Badump.

Wait. That was his heartbeat.

Aventurine blinked a few more times, to check if this was reality. He was in a room, walls painted dark shades with warm golden accents. Space was visible through a side window. He felt confused by the peaceful scattering of distant stars and galaxies.

A spaceship? Definitely not one that belonged to the IPC. Extraction vessels were fairly standardized, unless Diamond had hired some mercenary group.

Aventurine sat up, staring at the bed he was in, at the ruffles of the elegant red and black blanket. He rubbed at his neck, flabbergasted.

Where the fuck was he?

Chapter Text

Aventurine was surprised to find his phone lying innocuously by the nightstand. He scrolled through the notifications, scanning the most important ones.

Diamond
> We need to talk. Come to Pier Point.

According to the Faceless, Diamond was the only true Emanator of Preservation, but how in the cosmos did they even know these things? For someone so vague and mysterious and ‘Lost’, the Faceless seemed quite up to date on the world.

Did that mean Oswaldo Schneider was truly a follower of Voracity? That the Marketing Development Department, that Voracity, was behind all the destruction wrought by the IPC?

In that moment, Aventurine had told the Faceless that it did not matter which Aeon to kill. It did not matter how the apocalypse came to be. But the approval he had received now felt so chilling.

Lost. The word kept coming back in his mind. The implication that Aventurine had gotten lost to find the Faceless. It gave him goosebumps.

He shook his head, scrolling through the rest of his messages.

Ratio
> You find yourself in such unusual circumstances, gambler. How is the Astral Express?

Aventurine raised his brows and looked around the room. The red-black blanket, the golden-black walls. He should’ve guessed based on the color scheme alone. He supposed that the Astral Express saving them from the Ylissan Swarm wasn’t as far-fetched as Aventurine fainting and meeting some wacky space-time white hole entity, bent on eliminating Aeonhood.

Caelus
> bro you gotta wake up soon. khali and sunday keep glaring at each other when they think no one is looking and it’s too funny to miss

Khali? That meant Hualan was on the ship. Train. So it had decided to leave Ylisse after all… or gotten threatened by Sunday, Aventurine thought wryly. Could’ve been a coin flip. The real amusing question was, did the Trailblazer really expect Aventurine to mediate?

Robin
> Thank you so much for your help. I heard from my brother that you shielded him and Lord Khali from the Swarm even though you were on the brink of exhaustion. Everything is okay thanks to you. I owe you one 💜

From the Swarm. Well. No wonder they thought Aventurine could mediate. They didn’t know the Swarm in this case actually meant an ice pack. They also must not know that the Swarm was on the ship now, technically. Train, Aventurine amended mentally.

It was still utterly bizarre to be on the famed Astral Express.

When he opened up Sunday’s conversation, there was no new message. Aventurine felt a twinge of disappointment. He looked out the window idly as he tried to figure out his next steps.

As far as he knew, getting on the Astral Express required a formal invitation from one of the Trailblazers aboard—and permission from the Conductor.

Robin…

Oh, Sunday.

Just then, the door slid open. Aventurine looked over to see a familiar man with brown hair, glasses, and a classy cane. He stood at the doorway, examining Aventurine’s status politely.

“Mr. Yang,” Aventurine said, smiling in surprise.

“Mr. Aventurine. How are you feeling?”

“A little under the weather. What’d I miss?”

“Sunday brought you and your Ylissan friend here through a space anchor,” Welt said, which meant he knew they’d been on Ylisse. Nice of him to tell Aventurine that. “He caught us up on what happened.”

Ah... The space anchor they’d run into earlier in the dunes. Welt Yang was deliberately vague about what exactly had happened—perhaps he wanted to test if what Sunday had said was true.

“Oh, dear. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. How long have I been out?”

“Robin was glad to help. You’ve been out for two days—” Welt suddenly sighed, and stepped out the doorway to peer downwards outside the room. “What are you two doing?”

“It was his idea,” a muffled voice said at the same time as another said, “We were just in the neighborhood?”

Familiar voices. It sounded like Mr. Stellaron and March 7th.

“You guys can come in,” Aventurine said cheerfully.

Caelus and March 7th followed Welt into the room. The spacious room suddenly felt much more crowded. It wouldn’t be the first time he got visitors, except these didn’t look at him with dissecting gazes, but vaguely concerned ones.

“Hey, you look a lot better already!” March said. She was dressed differently from the last time they’d met, her hair done differently as well. Was that a sword she was carrying?

“Enchanted to see you again, Miss March. Thank you for all of your help. Did I really look so awful?”

“Like you’d come third in a Harrowing cosplay contest,” Caelus said. “I expected at least three months before running into you again,” he added.

“Third?” Aventurine asked, not knowing what the other sentence meant.

“He was very worried about you,” Caelus said. There was an oddly knowing curve to his smile.

“Thank you,” Aventurine said, dubious. Sunday, worried? It was far more likely that he’d been annoyed at Aventurine for fainting and causing trouble in the middle of a Swarm attack.

“Let’s go tell the others Aventurine is awake,” Welt said, exasperated as he herded the other two out of the room like lost chickens.

Aventurine blinked. Was he expected to wait here like a prisoner? He couldn’t tell.

Enter Sunday.

Sunday was wearing a mix of his old clothes and his new Ylisse gear. His feathers had a striking green on them, like someone had dabbed a paintbrush on the curl of his feathers to add highlights. Still no halo.

After a moment of surveying Aventurine, Sunday smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he said.

“Lucky me, to be greeted by such an angelic face. And you are?” Aventurine asked playfully.

Sunday stiffened, expression frozen. Yellow eyes flickered, searching Aventurine’s expression for recognition.

Aventurine laughed. “I’m just kidding. I’ve had enough of an amnesia arc, haven’t I?”

Sunday recovered, smiling coolly. “One would think so.”

“How’s the Astral Express been?” Aventurine asked.

“Pleasant.”

And Robin? Aventurine wanted to ask, but that was a type of thin ice he felt hesitant about stomping over. “I heard Lord Khali is on the train with us.”

“She did help us against the Swarm.”

“Was it ‘her’ idea to come with us, or yours?”

“Do you think I could coerce Lord Khali, an Emanator of Abundance, into abandoning her planet?”

“Lord Khali, no,” Aventurine said meaningfully. But that evidently didn’t mean shit to Sunday, who didn’t look the least bit remorseful. It would never occur to Sunday that he was upset because they were freely using the identity of his dead friend. “Hualan, yes.”

“I simply ensured she took the ticket off Ylisse,” Sunday said. “You did ask me for your friend’s safety.”

He found it too difficult to believe that Aventurine’s offer had been just that—an offer without strings. Aventurine wanted to let Hualan have as much of a choice as possible. What a bad habit of Sunday’s, to try taking control over a situation because he thought he knew everything.

(There is no free will.)

Who was Aventurine to be upset by this, anyway?

“Thank you, I suppose,” Aventurine said, deciding to move on. “For taking my request to keep my friend safe seriously.”

“Do people not often take threats from Aventurine of Stratagems seriously?” Sunday asked mildly.

Aventurine thought about it. What was it Sunday had said? This… friend of yours, I will leave her fate to you if she is not a threat.

“It sounded like you were leaving yourself a loophole when you agreed to spare her. I thought you would be here telling me how unfortunate it was that we had to leave Hualan to the bugs.” Aventurine smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me, Featherhead,” he said teasingly.

Sunday’s perfectly polite and pleasant expression finally thawed with displeasure. “Careful, Aventurine. Your good fortune did not extend to Khali then, and it does not extend to Hualan now.”

Hah, it seemed like Sunday really didn’t like the suggestion that he had gone soft. Aventurine felt not threatened, but impressed, amused, and hurt. Sunday knew exactly where it hurt, even if he didn’t understand.

It was true, his fortune hadn’t extended to Khali, but reality was also much, much crueler. According to the Faceless, he could’ve saved Khali. He just…

Hadn’t.

“After saying all that, you might as well tell me plainly,” Aventurine said. “Do you want me to follow your Order, to leave Robin alone, or something unfortunate will happen to Hualan?”

“Tone down on your recklessness, and nothing unfortunate needs to happen to Hualan—or you.”

“I don’t mind,” Aventurine said. “You can try to kill me. It won’t work.”

“This is the exact sort of recklessness I speak of,” Sunday hissed. “You invite threats on your life. Do you want to see the inside of a coffin so badly?”

Aventurine blinked.

Oh no. Maybe Sunday really was worried about him.

“Are you threatening to torture my friend to get me to not faint again?” Aventurine asked. He meant to sound amused, but he was so startled he sounded hesitant even to himself. He had to remedy that, quickly. He smiled and infused as much honey into voice as possible. “I didn’t realize you were fraught with worry about me, Featherhead.”

“I am not,” Sunday denied, expression turning cold as ice. “I merely hope you will strive to be less of a liability while we are on the same team.”

Relieved, Aventurine’s lips twisted up like the knife Sunday was purposefully twisting in his gut. Okay. That was much better. He would have been horrified if Sunday really did worry about him. “Good. I’m overjoyed to hear that.”

“I… know you are.” Sunday averted his gaze to stare out at space blankly. “Are you ready to leave? We should not overstay our welcome on the Astral Express.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bring with me,” Aventurine said, shrugging. “Diamond wants us to meet him at Pier Point, so that should be our next stop.”

“I’ll tell the conductor,” Sunday said.

Aventurine brightened. “I’ll come with you. I’ve always wanted to meet the famous Astral Express conductor.”

“You can tell them, then,” Sunday said. “I will tell Hualan.”

“There is definitely nothing suspicious about that,” Aventurine said dryly.

Sunday smiled slightly at that, but his heart wasn’t even in it enough to make it look condescending. He just looked… distant. Disinterested. Unreachable.

Great. Now Aventurine was worried about Sunday.

But there was nothing so awful about that. He was happy to have others to worry about, even if Sunday (hopefully) never worried about him.

Lady Himeko, March 7th, and the Trailblazer were all outside in the parlor car already. The conductor, Pom-Pom, was busy sweeping the floor, keeping it pristine. Welt Yang was talking to them quietly, but stopped when Aventurine arrived.

Everyone looked at Aventurine as he walked in, giving them a wave. Caelus waved back cheerfully.

“So you’re Aventurine!” the conductor said, peering at Aventurine warily. “Please go sign the guest log.”

Aventurine smiled and bowed. “It’s my pleasure to finally meet you, Conductor Pom-Pom,” he said. “You’re a real legend.”

Pom-Pom’s ears twitched. “Thank you,” they said. “I’ve heard stories about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” Aventurine said.

“Hmmm,” Pom-Pom said vaguely.

In the back, Caelus laughed.

“And Lady Himeko, it’s a delight to see you again,” Aventurine said.

“I’m sure,” Himeko said dryly, but she was smiling.

The Astral Express crew members all seemed to be in good spirits. The past few days with Sunday and Hualan here must have gone fairly well.

Aventurine went to the guest log on the counter. He signed his name and felt the urge to flip through the log, but when he casually tried to lift up the leaf of paper, it was as if the guest log only had one page. Only the Astral Express could flip through it, he supposed.

He wondered how many people had visited the Astral Express all these Amber Eras.

“So. Where are you headed to next?” Himeko asked.

“Pier Point,” Aventurine said. “There are plenty of space anchors there.”

“Damn. The IPC headquarters? I wish we could stay there,” Caelus said.
“Why don’t we drop you off via space anchor?”

“We can’t waste too much time,” March said. “We have to get back onto the Xianzhou Luofu, our lunch break has been too long already!”

“It’ll be quick. In and out, 20 minutes adventure,” Caelus said unconvincingly.

“Hmmm,” Pom-Pom and March said in tandem, to everyone else’s amusement.

“The Astral Express is always welcome to Pier Point,” Aventurine said, smiling. “The Strategic Investment Department would love to host your stay.”

“Really? Well, let’s see,” Caelus drawled. He glanced around. “March is right, we don’t want to leave our friends hanging. Where’s Sunday?”

Sunday was supposedly getting Hualan. Since Robin wasn’t here, it was possible he was talking with her. Saying goodbye, before they left on their next trip.

“He’s packing,” Aventurine said. “There is no need to disrupt your schedule for us. Perhaps one of the other Astral Express crew members can help us get to Pier Point?”

“Ohhhhh,” March said suddenly.

“Oh yeah,” Caelus said.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I,” Aventurine said.

“You want to give time for Sunday and Robin to say a last goodbye,” March said. Her smiling demeanor turned subdued.

“I’m sure it won’t be their last,” Caelus said.

“Even if it is, I’m glad we could give them this chance,” Himeko said, glancing at Welt, who nodded back at her.

Aventurine’s own smile felt even more false than usual. He couldn’t remember ever saying goodbye to anyone. Never properly, without death or amnesia or grief. He didn’t understand how they could talk about it openly like… this. Even if it wasn’t about themselves.

March remained quiet.

“Well, I’m gonna text Robin to see if she wants us there,” Caelus said, taking out his phone.

Robin knocked on the door.

After a few moments, nothing happened. She looked down, turning away.

The door slid open.

Sure enough, that strange chittering sound entered the air again. Robin walked back to look at the Astral Express’ guest, Lord Khali, wondering what exactly she was. Robin had met so many people in the audience in the past decade, looking at her with different gazes and auras. She had seen people with special eyes, like Aventurine. Like Khali.

Robin could hear Khali’s heartsong. Without Sunday’s interference, it was much easier now, to hear the duet with only one voice. The song with only the harmony, no melody.

“May I speak with you, Lord Khali?”

“We are not fond of hearing Halovian voices,” Khali said, frowning.

Robin smiled gently. “He took away your voice, didn’t he?”

Scarlet eyes widened, then narrowed. “You hear more than you show, Halovian.”

“My name is Robin.”

“We remember.” There was a pause. “You are more like how we remember Halovians to be.”

Robin wondered why Khali spoke like that. “So you have met Halovians before?” she asked. “Was it on Ylisse-XIII?”

Abruptly, Khali opened the door wider. “We can talk inside,” she said.

Robin followed.

The room had been filled by a few random trinkets. There were four mugs of coffee, a tall stack of comic books on the table, and more books scattered on the ground and bed. Robin couldn’t help but walk closer, eyes caught on the gorgeous, colorful drawings that seemed vaguely familiar.

“Oh,” Robin said brightly. “I loved these books as a child! Before Sunday and I left for Penacony, I read these chronicles. I loved the little flip animations.” She beamed at Khali. “You’re a lord, just like Lord Hualan! How wonderful.”

Khali stared, unblinking. Finally, she said, “Yes. That is correct,” she said. She seemed less on guard than before.

“I don’t seem to remember how the story ended,” Robin mused.

Likely, the books meant something special to Khali. Robin could hear Khali’s heartsong shift into rippling flames, into anger.

“It’ll never end,” Khali said, voice resolute.

Robin smiled. “I think my brother might enjoy this story too.”

Khali scoffed. “We highly doubt it.”

“He’d doubt it too. But I remember these books were filled with a lot of hope and comfort. How even in peacetime, fighters can still learn to enjoy life.”

Khali frowned. “Your brother does not seem the type to enjoy anything except the suffering of others.”

Robin raised her eyebrows. The words were uncomfortable, but she had heard all sorts of terrible things about Sunday. Not just in the past few weeks, but… her entire life. People on Penacony did not like Sunday. Envied him, admired him, were in awe of him, yes. But like Sunday? Those were far and few.

Robin hadn’t exactly expected Sunday to have a… ragtag yet powerful team like this, when she had asked Caelus to ask Aventurine for the favor. Sunday traveling with Aventurine, an infamous Stoneheart… and Lord Khali, a mysterious character from Ylisse-XIII.

Robin had looked into Ylisse-XIII two days ago, as had the others on the Astral Express. It was obvious to her why Sunday would not have messaged her about the planet until it was absolutely necessary. Ylisse was like a planet you could find when traveling in the darkest corners of the cosmos.

But Khali was obviously fond of these heartwarming, peaceful chronicles of Lord Hualan.

Originally, Robin had come here to scout whether Khali was dangerous to Sunday—to learn more about her, and Aventurine. To see if she could learn what Sunday was hiding from her (and he was always hiding something from her).

This changed things.

“He doesn’t enjoy people’s suffering,” Robin said. “But I don’t think he understands how to empathize with them anymore. He believes he knows the solution to everyone’s suffering.”

“He looked into our memories without our permission,” Khali snapped. “And he kept looking. He didn’t care.”

“I’m sure he offered you a solution to whatever problem ails you,” Robin said, with certainty. “Even if it feels more like a threat.”

Khali stared at her in disbelief, before pausing, hesitant. “He said he would send us sweet dreams. Our dreams last night were sweet.”

It wasn’t wise of Sunday to continue using dream-related powers so far from Penacony. She didn’t share these powers, having left Penacony long ago, but… It was important to know that this was what Sunday was up to.

It could’ve been much worse, certainly…

“If he ever gives you or Aventurine a nightmare,” Robin said, “will you let me know?”

“Why?”

“Someone has to stop him,” Robin said. “But, Lord Khali, I get the impression you would kill him if it were you, and I want Sunday to be safe.” She smiled sadly. “Just like how Lord Hualan wanted there to be no more death during postbellum times, I don’t think you want to kill, either. Otherwise you wouldn’t have left your Swarm.”

Khali peered at Robin, wary. “Sunday told you?”

“No,” Robin said, a little amused. “But now I know for sure.” She sighed. “I heard the unmistakable call of the Swarm when I arrived on Ylisse-XIII. And your heartsong… sounds very similar. I can hear the trilling of an insect.”

Khali inhaled sharply. “And… anything else?” she asked. “Do you hear anyone else?”

Robin blinked. It seemed like Khali knew something was missing from her own heartsong—unusual for someone not a Halovian to be able to intuit that at all. “No. I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely sad for Khali.

It was actually startling, the way Khali’s eyes glimmered and her hands clenched into fists. She did not seem as good at hiding vulnerability as Robin would’ve expected from someone traveling with Sunday and Aventurine. It was horrifying to see Khali’s arms shimmer with something distinctly insectoid before she grabbed her own arms tightly, trying to smooth her skin down. Green spilled out, like a cartoon lime being squeezed for its juice.

Oh. That was… the same green that had been on Sunday’s feathers and face. Had he injured Khali in a fight?

Robin reached out slowly, hoping to alleviate Khali’s pain while also mitigating the tension between Sunday and Khali.

She also hoped a show of comfort from Sunday’s sister would make Sunday seem less threatening to her. That if he angered Khali, she would remember that he had a sister who would be devastated by his death.

“May I?” Robin asked, hand hovering a few inches away from Khali.

“May you what?” Khali asked suspiciously.

“It looks like it hurts. My gloves are a special fabric with soothing properties.”

“We need no healing. We are immortal.”

“It can still hurt,” Robin pointed out.

“You speak in riddles.”

Robin really did not think she was, and could hardly fathom anyone accusing her of that when they knew Sunday… “Not me,” she said earnestly.

Khali scowled, but nodded.

Robin gently touched what looked like an open wound that revealed insectoid parts on the side of Khali’s left arm. She felt scarlet eyes blazing, staring at her.

It felt like touching the back of a beetle’s shell, or maybe something more solid.

After clasping the arm for a while, Robin let go. “Does it hurt less now?” she asked. Her gloves were green, too, but she didn’t mind.

Khali huffed. “Do you stride on the path of Harmony?”

Robin nodded. “I was lost for a while, but I… am trying to refind Harmony, yes.”

“What? You’re far from lost.” Khali shook her head, and then grabbed Robin’s hand. She squeezed it in a weird handshake. Robin felt a flare of fear, it wasn’t like there was anything she could do if this were an attack, but remained outwardly calm. It was easier as she repeated those words in her mind.

She was far from lost.

Spoken so sharply, matter-of-factly. She believed Khali meant it.

As the words sank in, they made her feel more assured than she had in… months. Years.

A bird that could fly, yet had forgotten what it was like to feel grounded.

The green was gone by the time Khali let her hand go. It looked like she had reabsorbed the blood on Robin’s glove.

Robin smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

“It is nothing to us, Robin of the Astral Express,” Khali muttered. “What about Aventurine?” she asked, awkwardly. “What do you hear from his… heartsong?”

Robin of the Astral Express. She found that she really liked the sound of that. She felt somehow more sure about her decision to join the Astral Express, now.

Robin thought about the question and gave Khali a small, rueful smile. “Nothing,” she said softly. “I hear nothing.”

When Robin exited the room, she was surprised to run into Sunday outside. Sunday looked just as surprised. Then concerned.

“You were talking with Lord Khali?”

Questions from Sunday always held a vaguely accusatory tone. Robin nodded, trying to maintain her levity and warmth. “Yes. We talked about comic books.”

Sunday’s expression was carefully blank. “Is that so? I’m glad.”

Robin tried to think of why he would be alarmed by such harmless info she had given. She wished she could hear Sunday’s song, even if it was just Order’s Hymn again. But she heard silence. Different from Aventurine’s—Sunday’s silence was on purpose.

“We’re leaving for Pier Point,” Sunday said, changing the topic.

“I heard it’s a bustling place filled with opportunity,” Robin said. “Will Lord Khali be joining you?”

“That is the plan.”

What exactly is your plan, brother?

Last time, Robin hadn’t asked. She’d lost her voice, dreading the entire time that Sunday knew exactly why, and that he would lie to her face if she asked about it. She’d convinced herself successfully that what everyone whispered about Sunday were only false rumors.

This time, she knew she should ask. But, it made her so worried to even think about asking, her mouth dry.

“Will you stay in touch?” Robin asked.

“Of course,” Sunday said easily.

Robin smiled and thought about how she didn’t believe him at all.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out to see the new messages from the Astral Express group chat.

Caelus
> hey Robin, mr gambler says they’re headed to Pier Point next. do u wanna drop them off and say goodbye?

March
> We’re happy to come as backup! Just let us know what you want.

Caelus
> [TrailblazerNomWatermelon.jpg]

Robin swallowed. It was so sweet of them to not just offer support, but to ask her what she wanted from this situation. She typed back a response.

Robin
< Thank you two so much! I can drop them off at the space anchor by myself.

< I’ll meet up with you guys on the Xianzhou Luofu.

Caelus
> Roger that

Welt
> If you need help at Pier Point, don’t hesitate to contact us. Himeko and I don’t mind stretching our legs.

She sent them a heart emoji before she put her phone away and looked up at Sunday. “Brother,” she began. Since arriving on the Xianzhou in the past week, March, Caelus, and Dan Heng had told her about the Ambrosial Arbor Crisis, the Antimatter Legion, and the suspicions of an upcoming war that was brewing between the Aeons, or at least between Emanators.

She had a terrible feeling that Sunday would not be able to exist without interfering somehow, especially since the IPC’s Stonehearts were sure to be involved. Maybe Sunday already played a role in it.

Sunday smiled automatically. “Yes, Robin?”

Robin felt the energy to ask him drain away, muddled by how inevitable it felt for Sunday to lie to her. She didn’t want to hear his gentle deception.

“I’ll let you speak with Lord Khali,” Robin said. “See you in the parlor.”

Aventurine made some small talk with Caelus and March 7th. They told him he should visit the Astral Express whenever he wanted, and to bring his new friends along.

“Maybe you’ll even have another person added to your party next time we meet,” the Trailblazer said. He grinned at Aventurine and waved goodbye, before he and March 7th teleported away together.

It was just Himeko, Welt, and Pom-Pom in the parlor car. The energy became less brightly energetic.

The door slid open, saving Aventurine from an interrogation.

“Miss Robin,” Aventurine said, pleased. “I didn’t get to thank you properly yet.”

“No need,” Robin said. She smiled. “You’ve helped me a lot too, remember? Thank you.”

“I’m always happy to help out my friends,” Aventurine said.

The door slid open, once again. This time it was Hualan and Sunday to enter. Hualan was holding onto a storage box in its arms, tapping it with its nails.

“Aventurine of the Stonehearts. You’ve survived,” Hualan said.

“I’m durable as amber, Lord Khali,” Aventurine said, waving a hand. “Sunday and I need to go to Pier Point. Would you like to come along?”

“Do we have a choice?” Hualan retorted.

(There is no choice.)

“Of course,” Aventurine said. “You could return to Ylisse, or even go to the Xianzhou.”

“There is no Ylisse to return to,” Hualan said. “The Xianzhou…?” It sounded interested, as Aventurine had expected. After all, he was fairly sure the Vrisaya Khali had originally come from the Xianzhou Alliance.

“Ah,” Himeko began, “I am not so sure you three heading to the Xianzhou would be wise right now.”

“Why not?” Hualan was frowning already.

“As an Emanator of Abundance, entering the Hunt’s territory would not bode well for you,” Welt said. “Entering the Hunt’s territory via space anchor would bode poorly for all of us.”

If Welt and Himeko were both warning them to not visit the Xianzhou, it was definitely for good reason. Curious, Aventurine wanted to know more.

“I heard the Intelligentsia Guild has been involved in some dealings in the Xianzhou,” Himeko said.

Sunday glanced at Aventurine. His gaze prickled.

“Understandable that with IPC trade relations reinstated recently, the Intelligentsia Guild would deal in the Xianzhou,” Aventurine said, a noncommittal response.

“It’s not something we would want any of you to get involved in,” Himeko said. “Since we’re friends now, yes?”

“Are we?” Hualan was the one to ask.

Himeko looked over, then her sharp expression softened. She seemed to have gained a soft spot for Hualan in the past two days. “Indeed, if you should like us to be, Lord Khali,” Himeko said.

“Then it is so,” Hualan said. “We are willing to befriend the Astral Express.”

“It’s time to go,” Sunday said. “We have errands to run.”

“Do come by for coffee next time, Lord Khali, Mr. Aventurine,” Himeko said. She gave Sunday a cooler look. “Sunday.”

Sunday matched the coldness of her look as he smiled and nodded. “Lady Himeko. Mr. Yang.” He bowed slightly in the other direction. “Conductor.”

“Safe travels you three,” Pom-Pom called out.

Aventurine bid them farewell too, and looked at Robin. He felt faint excitement, looking forward to how it would feel to travel by space anchor.

With Robin standing by them, the world whirled blue.

Chapter Text

Amber spread infinite, creating what appeared to be a long asteroid belt. It was visible across the Pier Point night. Towers hovered, guardians who lived within them waiting for the moment of change—for when Qlipoth would next raise THEIR hammer and mark the next Amber Era. They waited for the hammer to fall, diligently, religiously, madly. They never even left their posts, born into worshiping Qlipoth.

Aventurine hadn’t been here in a few months, almost half a year, yet it felt more foreign to him than ever.
Had Voracity truly taken control of the IPC? Had it been a slow change, a festering poison, or had the IPC never been truly loyal to Qlipoth?
Ouroboros the Voracity. Fitting for an intercosmic organization that took and took and took.
But taking was what all the Aeons did, anyway.

(“You cannot spare a single Aeon in the End. No matter what that means.”)

Aventurine imagined amber scorching, falling from the sky, no more Amber Eras. If this IPC belonged to Oroboros, how could Qlipoth not have known, and smashed it to pieces thousands of years ago…?

Pier Point was grand and beautiful. Aventurine blinked away the blue glow as he found them in the IPC Headquarters. They were on a rooftop, somewhere.

“Mr. Aventurine. I’ll be heading back to the Astral Express,” Robin said. “Thank you for everything.”

Aventurine’s smile turned smaller as he felt, strangely, a little helpless at Robin’s words. What was she thanking him for—forcing Sunday to join the IPC? Being a hindrance on Ylisse? What was there to thank? Nothing. And yet, she could so warmly say such words of gratitude. “Think nothing of it, friend,” he said. “Sunday and I are a team now, after all.”

“Keep in touch,” Robin said, smiling. She looked rather like Sunday, in that moment, when he was wearing the diplomatic mask. She then turned to Hualan. “Lord Khali, please add my contact when you get the chance. Aventurine has my number.”

Hualan frowned. “Why?”

“I would be happy to chat more about comic books and trade stories about our journey,” Robin said. “Besides, if you join the same team as my brother, it would be nice to stay connected. We’re all on the same side now, and friends have each other's backs.”

Aventurine covered his amused laugh with a cough. They’d already talked about comic books while Aventurine was unconscious? Interesting. But surely, Robin was laying it a bit thick. She wanted to keep in touch with both of them, perhaps not trusting Aventurine to keep her updated. So she extended the offer to Hualan too, ensuring they were friends. How come the Halovian siblings were both so prone to manipulating Hualan?

Hualan gave Aventurine a haughty look. “Robin speaks with more sincerity than both of you combined.”

Aventurine smiled. “I’m hurt,” he said.

“Please let us know if you’re ever in trouble, Aventurine,” Robin continued. “We’re happy to help where we can.”

“Of course,” Aventurine said, nodding.

Finally, for the first time since arriving here, Robin turned to Sunday. Sunday looked… nervous. It was too humanizing an expression on him.

Inwardly, Aventurine was glad to learn what it looked like. This was what Sunday looked like when truly worried about someone—he would never look remotely like that for Aventurine’s sake.

In response, Robin’s smile didn’t falter whatsoever. It was impressive. Whereas Aventurine’s smiles were crafted to accentuate his insincerity (he wasn’t sure he could smile anyway else), Robin’s were so comforting.

Aventurine tilted his head, privately wondering if that was simply because Robin had so much practice comforting her brother.

…He felt a flash of guilt thinking like that. Turning around, he waved at Hualan, gesturing it to follow.

Hualan rolled its eyes, but followed as Aventurine walked them to a nearby edge of the rooftop, giving the siblings some privacy.

This was, coincidentally, an excellent time to talk without Sunday eavesdropping. Surely he would be too focused to care about Aventurine and Hualan’s conversation right now.

“If you don’t want to join the IPC, you don’t have to, you know,” Aventurine said quietly as they looked over the city. “Even if Sunday threatened you—“

“We’ve lived thousands of years longer than you. You waste your concern.”

Aventurine’s mind kept returning to the knowledge that his friend had helped him, yet he hadn’t been able to help Khali survive, even with his supposed ability to defy fate.

He felt numb. He should’ve felt worse than this, but he didn’t feel anything at all.

He gave Hualan a smile. “It’s mine to waste, my lord.”

“We reject it,” Hualan said. “Next time you shield us unnecessarily, we will show you the meaning of pain.”

Aventurine let out a laugh, taken aback. Who talked like that? He knew Hualan was closer to Tayzzyronth than anything else, but the way it spoke was unreal. Oddly, it also reminded him of Sunday. He decided to not go down that line of thought.

“Since you’re thousands of years old, do you know about Oroboros the Voracity?” Aventurine asked.

“The Ravenous One,” Hualan said warily. “Enemy of the Many. Why?”

“I was hoping to get a history lesson later, if you are willing,” Aventurine said. “I’ll pay for it however I can, of course.”

The sound of a hoverbike distracted them from the conversation and spared Aventurine from any scathing replies from Hualan. Aventurine turned to see Jade landing on the rooftop.

“Ah, Aventurine. Welcome home,” Jade said with a familiar smile as she took in the sight of Sunday, Hualan, and Robin. “You’ve made so many new friends. Miss Robin, it is good to see you again,” she called out.

“Hello, Miss Jade,” Robin said. “I heard your pawn shop on Penacony is already thriving,” she added. Was that for Sunday’s benefit — telling Sunday of this detail?

Jade smiled graciously, not displeased with Robin. “The beginning of a wonderful partnership,” she said, glancing purposefully at Sunday and Aventurine as she spoke. She walked forward before Robin and Sunday, nodding.

Not wanting to miss out on the no doubt scintillatingly fake conversation, Aventurine joined their circle. Hualan stayed by the rooftop, looking at the other skyscrapers and soaring vehicles.

“I am glad your chosen route has been working out for you,” Jade said. She glanced at Sunday, a mysterious smile on her lips. “Mr. Sunday.”

“Lady Bonajade.” The false politeness could not be more false, and could probably sound a lot more polite.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” Robin said apologetically. “The crew is waiting for me.”

“Be well, Miss Robin,” Jade said. “If fate allows, we will meet again.” And there she went, using words that sounded so knowing.

“Be well,” Robin echoed the sentiment, smiling.

Sunday plastered on a smile. “Stay safe, sister,” he said.

“You as well, brother,” Robin said softly.

Jade pathed to Hualan, giving Aventurine a look. Aventurine smiled easily, inclining his head, and walked past Jade to Sunday.

After watching Robin vanish with a blue glow from the space anchor, Sunday turned away. He was no longer looking at the city or the sky or the space anchor. Instead, he stared at the cement-gray rooftop dully. His aura of silence made it hard for Aventurine to hear anything else.

“Not saving your friend from a greedy demon?” Sunday asked, voice losing all of the warmth it had from talking with Robin earlier.

“So harsh, Featherhead,” Aventurine said fondly. “Jade offers fair contracts: what you want for what you have.” He wondered if Jade knew about Voracity infiltrating the IPC. The Stonehearts who’d been with Diamond for a long time must’ve known.

Sunday scoffed at the oxymoron. “And you?” he asked. “What was your contract?”

He had given himself, obviously. He’d hardly had himself to begin with, nor did he care about losing himself, so it had felt like tricking the IPC. Well. For as much as anyone could trick Jade or Diamond.

“It was more of a bet,” Aventurine said. “Let’s tune into what they’re saying.”

Sunday looked miffed. “I am not a radio station.”

“You’re already listening in, I’m sure. I’d like to join you.”

Sunday sighed. The second after, Aventurine could hear that Jade was humming softly with clear interest. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I am Lady Bonajade.”

“We are Lord Khali. We have heard of your Bonajade Exchange, Jade of Credit.”

“Indeed,” Jade said thoughtfully, but did not continue.

Aventurine raised his brows after a few moments of silence, glancing at Sunday.

“Surprised your coworker isn’t killing another monkey for its paw?” Sunday asked, words cutting even as he looked bored, staring distantly as if it’d kill him to look interested in something.

Aventurine didn’t laugh. The colorful green feathers were distracting, but not as much so as the clear worry Sunday had for Robin. “Jade won’t make any deals with your sister. All Stonehearts respect contracts.”

If anything, Sunday seemed even less assured than before Aventurine spoke. His gaze finally tore away from the ground, flickering to Aventurine like a predator might idly look at prey while not hungry.

Aventurine’s heart skipped a beat. Ah, yes. He had mentioned Robin, pointing out a fear Sunday probably didn’t want to address. Aventurine was about to be attacked in three… two… one.

Zero point eight? Zero point six—

Heels clicked across the ground. “Sorry to interrupt,” Jade cut in smoothly. When she saw Aventurine’s perplexed expression, she smiled. “Aventurine, your Doctor of Chaos is ready to see you.”

“His mind is intact,” Sunday said, bizarre for someone who’d told Aventurine to talk with Ratio about his condition on Ylisse and called him insane several times. Not bizarre was Sunday’s automatic, presumptuous way of answering for Aventurine.

“Nihility leaves a shadow with a lasting impression. Unlike you and Lord Khali, Aventurine needs medical attention from such an encounter,” Jade said, smile fading away into a more somber expression, on the edge of genuine.

“Nihility?” Hualan asked.

Aventurine wondered what Jade was up to this time. “I am standing right here, you know,” he said.

“Did they not tell you what happened on Penacony after what Sunday did?” Jade asked, sounding surprised. “Ah, I remember now. Ylisse-XIII lost connection to the outside world months ago. You have no idea, do you.”

Hualan gave Sunday an impressively suspicious look. Aventurine had no idea where it got the energy to be perpetually, actively disapproving of Sunday. It was like disapproving of the moon for shining. “Tell us.”

“There’s no rush. Mm, Lord Khali, let me show you and Mr. Sunday to your new suites,” Jade said.

“We see no reason to draw this out,” Hualan said. “We shall remove the memory of Nihility from his mind ourselves.”

“By carving it out of his brain with a scalpel?” Sunday asked, unimpressed and oddly specific.

“Again,” Aventurine said with a sigh, remembering Khali’s scalpel that had been used to induce memory loss the first time around. “I am standing right here.”

Everyone looked at Aventurine.

Aventurine had no desire for anyone to see his suspicious memory of the Faceless in the realm of the Lost. However, his easy lie of saying Acheron had fixed his mind after slashing it would be seen through by Sunday. He had to think of a better excuse… without throwing Sunday under the train.

After all, Aventurine had gone with the act that Sunday hadn’t been fired by the Family too, since Sunday had told him not to tell Lord Khali. Excuses, excuses…

Jade nodded, crossing her arms. “That reminds me — Diamond wishes to see you, it would be simpler to raise the matter of the Doctor of Chaos with him. Allow me to show you your rooms, Lord Khali, Mr. Sunday?”

Hualan audibly sighed, as if it were the one inconvenienced by all this.

Aventurine laughed.

Aventurine wanted to know what Sunday truly thought of all this. The IPC, the Astral Express, the Swarm, Aventurine.

They split up, with Aventurine heading to the top of the skyscraper by the elevator. The aura here was terribly different from Ylisse-XIII. He walked past IPC agents, workers, and an assassin or two as he headed to the conference room for Stonehearts.

He knew he wasn’t imagining the gazes upon him, vaguely hungry. Voracious, even. Was it different from before? Not really. These were all employees who wished to use him to get a rank higher, to gain prestige and power in the IPC.

“Aventurine,” the diamond hovering in the center of the room said.

Aventurine smiled cheerily. “Diamond. When will I get to see you in person, sir?”

“Is that the bonus you want to ask for?”

Aventurine laughed, letting his genuine curiosity be chalked up to a joke. Voracity, he thought. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him. Preservation, Voracity, it made no difference. Not to him. But suddenly, it occurred to him that Sunday would despise Voracity.

He might not have sided against Preservation, but an Aeon with such a chaotic path?

“Tell me in detail what has happened since you left Penacony,” Diamond said.

Aventurine told Diamond about the Swarm taking control of the planet. About the eerie lack of people.

He told Diamond that the Swarm attacked. That Lord Khali was the sole survivor, trying to save the planet by kicking the IPC out. A misguided attempt, Diamond commented.

Aventurine skipped the more personal parts: Making a bet with Sunday. Receiving a psychic shield. He wasn’t keeping these secret, per se—he simply wasn’t on a honeypot mission. These details were irrelevant. Plus, Sunday already had a weakness and a contract. His interactions with Aventurine didn’t impact those whatsoever, and the IPC never cared who Aventurine slept with to get his job done.

Aventurine thought about that kiss.

(There is no free will.)

What a headache.

“And this Lord Khali,” Diamond said. “For someone who has never recruited a teammate by yourself, you have added two new risks to your team within a month.”

“Assets.”

“Did you know her from your previous stay on Ylisse-XIII?”

Stay. Aventurine didn’t have to fake his laughter. “I did, yes,” he said. “That’s why I know we can trust her.”

Diamond hummed. It was an odd sound—humans didn’t hum like that. Perhaps Emanators did. “It’s always a gamble with you,” he said.

“And what are you betting on me for, sir?”

If Diamond was surprised by the question, it would be impossible to tell. The diamond in the room gleamed. “Profit,” he said. “Naturally.”

Aventurine thought about asking what side Diamond wanted Aventurine to win with. But then he remembered roasted clouds and the Lost, Faceless being. Slanted shadows, glaring light.

(“I want you to remember that you cannot spare a single Aeon in the End. No matter what that means. I look forward to seeing how your fate plays out…”)

“Naturally,” Aventurine agreed.

Whether Diamond belonged to Voracity or not, whether he was lying or not, Aventurine decided he didn’t care enough to know. He was content—he was—to simply travel with his new party. His new friends. Find out what exactly laid at the end of this path, so he could slay it.

Nobody should have their destiny written in the stars.

Chapter Text

Missing Robin would do nothing to bring her back.

Sunday felt a flutter of displeasure at his own helpless thoughts. It wasn’t as if she were dead. She was alive, and perhaps even… happy, to be on the Astral Express with those she now called friends.

The suite Jade gave Sunday was similar to the Reverie’s Platinum Guest Rooms. The IPC, or at least Diamond’s Strategic Investment Department, had seemed to decide that it was better for them to invest in treating Sunday as if he hadn’t been exiled from the Family.

Or perhaps the only reason they treated him as a VIP was entirely because he had been exiled.

Regardless, it irked him somewhat to see Hualan was being treated as a VIP as well. Jade had introduced them to their suites, up in the modern decadence of the IPC, and then stayed to chat with ‘Lord Khali’.

Sunday was trying out a stain-removing soap to minimal success when he received a text from Aventurine.

Aventurine
> A bird, a gambler, and a bug walk into a bar

Sunday double checked the group chat’s members.

Aventurine
> Now, you might be wondering if this bug is in the room with us right now
> Jade informed me it is up to us to update our dear friend Hualan on how to use a phone

Aventurine seemed to have enough trust in the group chat’s privacy to use Hualan’s real name. He also seemed far too confident in this idea of a group chat with the three of them.

Sunday
< How was your meeting with Diamond?

Aventurine
> I’ll take your silence as enthusiastic.
> By morning, everyone will know that the Ylissan Pharaoh committed speciocide
> Would you like to celebrate? We can get drinks. I know a bar :)

Sunday stared at the words. He wondered if that was Aventurine-speak for gathering intel and finding another suspicious person at the local drinks-place.

Sunday
< Why don’t you summon our other party member instead?

Aventurine
> This bar might not be Hualan-friendly. It’s got some interesting surprises.

Sunday
< And it is Halovian-friendly?

Aventurine
> As long as there’s no subjugation happening, the only way we can go is up!

Sunday wondered if all of Aventurine’s texts would be so utterly… confounding. What was more confusing was that he could not muster the irritation he used to feel when faced with others.

His phone buzzed.

Diamond
> Hello, Mr. Sunday. Would you be free for a holo meeting in your room now?

Sunday resisted the urge to sneer. Right now. Such strong-arming language. He stared bleakly at his own reflection. Imperfect. He wasn’t supposed to greet enemies with any flaws.

Then again, physical flaws could be excused — the Swarm, the mission, the disaster of a planet Ylisse-XIII. The one that hung over him like a new, damning halo was his failure as the Emanator of Order.

As Sunday replied with an affirmative, he practiced a smile in the mirror. It looked adequate.

Diamond
> Wonderful. I hope you don’t mind my presence in your living room. Clandestine affairs, walls have ears.

Sunday widened his smile. The mirror seemed to shimmer. A trick of the light within the bathroom, a trick of his own mind, or was he being watched?

Privacy had been a persistent illusion back in Penacony. Sunday had known that even as a child. If the walls in Pier Point had ears, every ceiling in Penacony had bird eyes.

For some reason, Sunday relaxed a little at the thought that he was about to meet Diamond. He could understand Diamond, based on what he knew of the greedy leader of the Strategic Investment Department. Diamond played the game — he didn’t gamble inexplicably like Aventurine.

When Sunday reached the living room, feathers now slightly less green but not a strand of hair out of place, there was a large holographic diamond shimmering on the center table.

“Sunday,” Diamond said, with a distinct lack of title. “It is my pleasure to meet you face to face at last.”

How rude for Diamond to say that when he was hiding behind a shimmering diamond in the room.

Sunday tilted his head, focused. He was here to assess Diamond’s motives while proving his own worth — a threat not to be underestimated, but not an active one so long as Diamond wasn’t acting against the Astral Express (what an idea he had never thought he’d think). An… asset.

Such a terribly IPC word.

“Diamond,” Sunday said. “It has been some years since we last exchanged words.”

“Since you last blocked our attempts at collaborating with the Family,” Diamond corrected.

“Since you tried to infiltrate and destabilize Penacony.”

“I recall you left our agents without their own mind or memory, sending them back to the IPC as spies. Not a very welcoming host you make.”

Sunday smiled. “Imagine what waking nightmares our spies witnessed,” he said blandly.

The diamond in the room seemed to sparkle brightly, as if dancing in the tense air. A moment suspended in time, where was it going to fall?

“I can only imagine,” Diamond said finally. “All water under the bridge. Alas, Sunday. You have burned too many bridges to be picky about which bridge to cross today, no?”

Sunday pretended to consider his response. “I am here, am I not?”

Diamond laughed. “A friend of mine accuses me of wasting others’ time. Let us speak frankly with one another,” he said, bizarrely. “I admire your vision of forcing away disorder. As long as you remain aligned with the tenets of Preservation, I see no reason to not collaborate with a speaker of Ena.”

And what exactly was his vision for their collaboration? “Do you believe Aventurine is faithful to Preservation?” Sunday asked.

“Perhaps not as faithful as I,” Diamond said. It sounded like a drastic understatement. “But he still treads this path. What a curious question. Sunday. Do you dislike working with him?”

“You proposed we strip away words that waste time. Then do not waste mine. How can I blindly accept our partnership on the tenets of Preservation when I see you recruited… Aventurine?” Sunday asked. He would be genuinely offended if Diamond pretended to not know what Sunday meant about Aventurine not being an exemplary follower of this path.

“Hiding secrets from an Emanator of Order does not qualify as a waste of time to me,” Diamond said.

Sunday narrowed his eyes. Diamond still did not react with hostility. No brandished jabs when it would have been so easy to insult a Halovian stuck in a cage. If anything, Diamond’s words were similar to what Sunday might have said to appease Oti or any of the other Family members when hiding a secret from them.

“Aventurine doesn’t care to hide his yearning for destruction,” Sunday said. Softly, he added. “I get the impression you value him highly. Are you faithful to Qlipoth, Diamond?”

The diamond flashed, glittering rainbow across the room like a weapon. “You are a practical man, Sunday. You strike me as someone who would cut off a limb to preserve the rest of the body.”

Ah. Diamond reminded Sunday of Gopher Wood.

“Then whose body do you want me to preserve?” Sunday asked, laughing a little. “Whose limb do you want Aventurine to cut off?”

“A darkness hides beneath Qlipoth’s amber glow, in plain sight. You are in a rare position, Sunday. Every Emanator has their allegiance chosen for them. You… have far more freedom.”

“The freedom to side with you?”

“You and I are rather similar, Sunday. You could not stand Harmony,” Diamond said.

Sunday was not sure if that was true. Harmony had not been good enough for Sunday, and Sunday had not been good enough for Harmony either.

“I could not surrender to Voracity,” Diamond continued.

Sunday froze. He stared at the sparkling, slowly turning diamond. Aventurine had suggested there was discord among the IPC, and it was an open secret the different departments disliked each other.

“You have an infestation,” Sunday said, horrified and disgusted.

“Oroboros the Voracity has rotten most of the IPC. THEIR followers are responsible for the nightmares you have witnessed across the cosmos.”

Sunday doubted Diamond’s hands were bloodless. But if Diamond was showing such good faith by sharing this secret, it would be even more useful for him to share a secret with Diamond as well. “Does Aventurine know?” he asked.

“No,” Diamond said. “Another curious question.”

“I learned some curious things about Lord Khali while on Ylisse-XIII,” Sunday said.

The Crystal Horizon was glaringly opulent. There was a sharp tang in the air, and it reeked of gluttony and corruption. High level IPC employees were grouped up in cliques, laughing to each other.

“I didn’t think you’d accept my invitation for drinks,” Aventurine said, greeting him by the entrance. “I was worried I’d need to jump through a few more hoops like in Dewlight Pavilion.”

“My schedule for the evening was free,” Sunday said dryly.

Aventurine laughed at the joke that was not exactly clever. Lowering his standards before drinking at the Crystal Horizon seemed to be a good idea, since Sunday was fairly certain he just saw a mixologist squeeze an entire tube of toothpaste into a glass.

Sunday disliked this place and its chaotic cacophony. It was exactly what he expected it to be, and it reminded him of Penacony’s streets that were filled with gamblers. The only tolerable one was Aventurine, but did it count as gambling when he always seemed to win?

“This feels more like the Golden Hour than the Golden Hour,” Sunday muttered, tuning the cacophony out.

“I didn’t realize you hated the Golden Hour so much,” Aventurine replied dryly.

“My affection is split among all Moments equally.”

Aventurine coughed. It was a poor attempt at hiding his laughter.

Unfortunately, that was when someone walked towards them with footsteps increasingly filled with intent. “Mr. Stoneheart. Setting your foot where it shouldn’t be,” a man hummed, looking the definition of a shady businessman. The quintessential IPC worker looked at Sunday and smiled wider. He reeked of sulfur and greed.

“Or perhaps, if you miss home… might I tempt you into buying a mysterious Wish-In-A-Bottle that is most dreamy?” the stranger continued, turning his smile onto Sunday.

“Oh? What’s the flavor, what’s the cost?” Aventurine asked, his voice veiled by a flirtatious drawl. “The Marketing Development Department is always coming out with new delights.”

“Our resident gambler is usually much less cautious about mysterious loot,” the MDD employee said with a hint of surprise.

“I was just doing an introduction for my friend Sunday, since you were too rude to introduce yourself,” Aventurine tsked. “We’ll pass on the box this time. Give Mr. Schneider my regards, won’t you?”

The employee laughed, an unpleasantly slick sound. He left, chased away by Aventurine’s obvious dismissal.

Puzzled, Sunday followed Aventurine to a relatively secluded area of the bar. Aventurine proceeded to chat with the bartender.

“Two mung bean sodas, please,” Aventurine said.

The bartender laughed. “A lot of people been ordering that,” she said. “You’re not headed to see the Wardance in person, Mr. Aventurine?”

“Maybe the next one, Sterling,” Aventurine said cheerfully.

Sunday stared.

“Excited?” Aventurine asked, smirking at him. “Why do you seem so surprised, Sunday? I told you we’d be celebrating with drinks!”

“Celebrating with the most infamous soda in the cosmos?”

“And the most infamous gambler. A good deal, isn’t it?”

Sterling returned swiftly with two cans, and glasses with ice cubes. “Good luck have fun. Refills are free. Holler if anyone’s dying,” she said brightly, before leaving to serve the next customer.

…

Sunday peered warily at the soda can. A pale, olive green. He popped the can open, half expecting it to explode. It wasn’t as if this could be worse than getting green blood splattered on his feathers.

A pungent, sour smell permeated through the air. Sunday stared at the can in no small amount of despair. He glanced up.

Aventurine’s smile twitched into a half-grimace. “I heard some people love it,” he said.

“Didn’t realize your fear smells like mung bean soda, Aventurine.”

“I just realized I miss Ylissan coffee after all.” Aventurine blinked. “Excuse me, Sterling, can I get another can to go please? Thank you,” he said. “I want to see Hualan’s reaction, too.”

“You didn’t invite it?”

“I did. Seemed busy. You know, I really couldn’t tell what pronouns Hualan prefers,” Aventurine said. “‘It’ could’ve been you dehumanizing them.”

Dehumanizing a bug didn’t seem like an issue to Sunday. He shrugged. “Ask Hualan, then.”

“I knocked. Too bad our friend seemed to still be busy with Jade.”

Sunday carefully did not react to that except arching a brow.

Aventurine didn’t seem to notice anything, too focused on not frowning at the glass of soda. He poured his mung bean soda out of the can. He paused halfway. “Alright, no need to waste an unopened can,” he said, and poured the rest into Sunday’s glass.

Sunday stared at him flatly. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Aventurine gave Sunday an unconvincing smile. “On three. One, two, three…”

Sunday took a sip.

It tasted like dirt, went down like mud, and could not possibly be a popular drink in the Xianzhou Alliance. Sunday doubted the sanity of those foxians. Was this what long-life species drank to spice up their immortality?

“Wow!” Aventurine said. “It’s not as lethal as I thought!”

“Even a child could tell you’re lying right now, Aventurine,” Sunday said. The mung bean aftertaste stewed in Sunday’s mouth. “Excuse me. Miss Sterling, a glass of water, please.”

Sterling brought a glass of water.

“Where is mine?” Aventurine asked, distress leaking into his voice.

Sterling slid him another can. “On the house,” she said. “You said it tasted good, didn’t you?”

“Not what I said,” Aventurine said. “Back me up here, Sunday.”

“Aventurine loves it,” Sunday said seriously.

Sterling laughed. “Come back anytime, mister,” she said.

“That tasted like the opposite of celebration,” Sunday said once they left the Crystal Horizon, walking into the night. A cool breeze drifted through the bustling streets of Pier Point, smelling like barbecue and money. “I’ll remember your sadism, Aventurine.”

Aventurine tried to laugh, but he held his stomach halfway through. He groaned instead, eyes fluttering shut. “This is one of my worst good ideas,” he said.

Sunday laughed, shaking his head. “Deserved,” he said.

Aventurine opened one colorful eye, peering at Sunday with surprise. When he smiled a little, it was like he forgot completely about the terrible mung bean soda taste. What an odd expression. And why did he stop breathing, his heart speed up?

“Are you alright?” Sunday asked suspiciously.

“What?” Aventurine laughed. “No, no. You can’t just spike drinks in Pier Point.” Funny how that was where his mind went. “Think about the penalties to rank...”

“Do I even have a rank?”

“Depends. Are you in it for the money?”

“Nothing else.”

“Then I’ll give you a tip. Don’t spike anyone’s drink,” Aventurine said. “And definitely don’t piss any of the Stonehearts off.”

“Here I thought you were going to warn me about Oswaldo Schneider.”

Aventurine’s expression didn’t even flicker, but Sunday heard his breathing return to normal, exceedingly calm. “What’s there to warn, Sunday?” he asked. “It’s just regular corporate politics. Best to avoid it while you can.”

Sunday didn’t feel like they were really talking about corporate politics, but Aventurine seemed to want Sunday out of it. Strange, since he had seemed eager to drag Sunday into everything earlier. Had something changed?

Sunday was definitely going to find out more about the Marketing Development Department and why Aventurine seemed invested in its downfall. Each time Aventurine mentioned Oswaldo Schneider and the MDD, it was as if he was pointing at a big red button and daring Sunday to stop him from pressing it.

[RADIO CHANGES TO CHANNEL 79.]

Good morning from the Interastral Peace Broadcast, this is your host Steve—

And Lucy. Good morning Steve.

We just got wind that the infamous mercantile planet Ylisse-XIII has met its doom. The Interastral Travel Guide has issued an emergency travel advisory—do NOT visit the Magatia star system.

A nasty end for an even nastier line of pharaohs, isn’t it, Steve?

The Intelligentsia Guild has published a preliminary crisis report. Pharaoh Amon interfered with the crimson sun, using techniques that have long gone out of favor due to unethical and unstable results. No survivors.

No survivors…

None. This is a tragic case of hubris. Power always comes with a price.

Steve and I— [PAUSES, CLEARS THROAT.] We extend our formal condolences on behalf of the IPC to anyone caught in this devastation.

Next up, news is coming in about the highly anticipated Luminary Wardance…

[SOMBER SILENCE. RADIO CLICKS OFF.]

The diamond in the dim room shimmered. Grew. Until it formed what seemed like a body. A humanoid form wearing a hat morphed into being, a bejeweled eye glimmering behind a monocle.

The hand grew, the diamond glinting new facets until it formed two drinking glasses. Casually, the man poured two glasses of drink, the fizzy champagne bubbling. His right hand was glittering sparkles instead of skin, cold and smooth like ice.

A few moments later, blue fire flashed in the room. A man appeared, moving to sit onto the sofa. Diamond’s final visitor of this rather long day.

“You spread the propaganda already,” Diamond said.

“Propaganda?” the man scoffed. “I witnessed the crimson sunlight vanish with my own two eyes. If it weren’t for my artifact that let me teleport away, I would have frozen to death.”

“And I would have had to write your eulogy. That would be regretful.”

“Don’t you dare show up for my funeral. I’d roll in my grave.”

“Such heartless words. No wonder nobody believes we’re friends.”

The other man sent Diamond a cutting look, but it wasn’t all that hostile, just irritable. “Temporary allies,” he corrected.

Diamond swirled his glass of champagne pensively. “An ambitious researcher once wrote his thesis on whether the Swarm can dream. Dr. Nak Pizarro received harsh criticism for romanticizing Propagation—an academic and moral faux pas. He was later recruited by the Genius Ruan Mei. His thesis was deleted, copies inaccessible to anyone who didn’t have high-level Intelligentsia Search permissions. And yet, Sunday still accessed the paper on dreaming Coleoptera eternum.”

“Is there ever a point to your roundabout drivel? If you want to know why I gave him VIP Intelligentsia Search permissions, simply ask.”

“No, I trust your judgment, doctor.” Diamond smiled. “But it took us years to reach this level of trust. Should I be jealous?”

“The level may yet regress.”

“I simply am curious who you think you are helping.”

Ratio gave Diamond a flat look. “You should not have allowed Aventurine to revisit Ylisse-XIII.”

“He does as he wishes.”

“Even when he decides to recruit Sunday?” Ratio gave the door a scathing look. “And you went with it.”

“This is when you should tell me how you trust my judgment in turn, Veritas.”

“We still know too little about his Blessing,” Ratio said.

“War is coming,” Diamond said. “Knowledge won’t be what Preserves civilization.” He tutted. “You must agree, in your heart. Otherwise, Nous would’ve glimpsed you long ago.”

Few people were foolish enough to say that in front of Dr. Ratio. But Diamond knew it had been a long time since Ratio still expected to gain Nous’ favor—his ego had tampered down.

“We do need to talk about the Vrisaya,” Diamond said. “And Abundance.”

“You already know how I feel about the Intelligentsia Guild’s experiments on longevity,” Ratio said, frowning slightly.

“Veritas, I am not talking about the borisins. I found out something interesting from Sunday that happens to relate to Yaoshi.” Diamond smiled. “Would you like to hear?”

5 minutes before planetary destruction.

Over the cliff’s end in an abandoned laboratory. 100 dune mounds southward.

Chop.

Thunk.

Scream.

Chop.

Thunk.

Scream.

The shade’s slashes cut off enough heads until they littered the entire abyss floor.

Chop.

Thunk.

“Fucking hell, stop, stop, it’s me,” the person shouted, voice hoarse. “I’m me.”

The shade stopped sweeping the scythe.

“Oh. You actually stopped. You ain’t as heartless as I thought.”

“You look different.”

“Aeons, I—I look different? No kidding! I’ve been trapped in this chimera for months. I have hooves and claws and—and I suppose I’ll need a new skin routine.” The voice of anger faltered. “I don’t even remember my damn name.”

“You are talkative for someone who has amnesia.”

“You’re supposed to tell me my—nevermind, of course you wouldn’t.” The person stopped for a moment, running a hand over their scalp. It was so terribly itchy. “Did you get my message? I found out why the research stopped. The Vrisaya found what we wanted.”

“I know.” The scythe swung behind the shade and vanished into the shadows. “I found what she was trying to keep from us.”

“Where?”

Soft laughter echoed in the abandoned laboratory. The walls shimmered. “You’ll have to go meet him,” came the reply. “I’m sure you’ll get along quite nicely.”