《Shards of Imagination [Anthology of Short Stories]》 The Right to be Forgotten (CKMo) Lucy dashed down the hallway, alarms blaring crimson streaks of warning across the cold, sterile walls. Her boots pounded against the floor, each step fueled by sheer adrenaline as she wove through the flashing emergency lights. She rounded a sharp corner, her momentum barely controlled as she slid on her knees, skidding past a bewildered guard. His mouth barely had time to part in confusion before she snatched his phone from his hand with a flick of her wrist, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. A gunshot cracked behind her, the sound ripping through the air like a whip. Sparks flared as the bullet ricocheted off the metal wall, stinging her cheek with its heat. She didn¡¯t stop. With one fluid motion, she kicked off the ground, scaling the side of the hallway in a series of rapid footfalls. The physics of it barely made sense, but hesitation had never been in her nature. Lucy angled herself in midair and vaulted back down, landing on a trolley abandoned in the chaos. The impact sent it rolling forward with a sharp squeak, the wheels wobbling dangerously as she used her weight to angle the platform onto its frontal wheels. Her fingers worked fast, typing in the numbers on the stolen phone. The hallway stretched ahead, the window of opportunity narrowing with every second. Her heart pounded as the call connected. "Hello! You¡¯ve reached the hotline for Redaction Runners¡ª" ¡°GET ME RYAN!¡± she barked into the phone, her voice ragged with urgency. Another shot. She had no time to react. The bullet seared through her thigh, the pain instant and searing. She barely stifled a scream as her leg crumpled beneath her, ruining her balance. The trolley buckled under the uneven weight and she went flying. The world flipped. The ceiling became the floor, and then¡ª Impact. She hit the ground hard, breath leaving her lungs in a strangled gasp. The pain clawed through her leg, hot and merciless, as the phone tumbled beside her. ¡°¡ªwhere your history is private history,¡± the recorded message finished. Fucking. Ryan. She barely had time to curse before she caught the glint of more bullets heading her way. Her instincts kicked in, and Lucy reached back in time, finding the exact moment where the confused guard had fired the shot that had ruined her escape. She erased that moment from his memory, then her own. The change hit instantly. A jarring, sickening lurch rippled through her mind, sending her stomach into knots. The headache came fast and hard¡ªcheap, but still painful. She blinked, now standing, barely keeping herself upright. The trolley was ahead of her again, the hallway unchanged¡ªexcept her leg was whole. No blood. No bullet wound. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The guard up ahead, however, still looked confused. ¡°Hey, you!¡± Lucy¡¯s gaze snapped up. Red sirens painted the hall in warning streaks, and the guard¡¯s gun was already raising toward her. I can figure out how I fucked up later. She dove down as bullets shredded the air above her, slamming onto the trolley with a grunt. The headache was manageable. That meant she had only redacted once. The phone was still beside her. Ryan¡¯s voice droned from the speaker, a message she knew by heart. ¡°While you decide, do note that there will be an extra upcharge for any events we consider inconvenient to redact in the name of justice,¡± Ryan¡¯s smug voice echoed, though she barely heard it over the gunfire. ¡°This will, of course, be entirely based on our discretion.¡± Fucking. Ryan. She kicked against the floor, shoving herself and the trolley forward at full speed. The end of the hall loomed ahead¡ªa floor-length window. She crashed into it, the impact jarring through her bones. Cracks spider-webbed across the glass, but it didn¡¯t break. She slammed her fist against it in frustration. Bloody hells. Of course, this building would have reinforced windows. Should she redact the last safety inspection? Or further back¡ªbefore the correct installation? ¡°PUT UP YOUR HANDS!¡± Lucy spun, eyes locking onto the guard now taking careful aim. A split second. A squeeze of the trigger. The bullet left the barrel, and she barely had time to react before it punched through her arm. The pain stole her breath, but she reached back in time again. Two memories this time. The inspection. The serviceman. One to realize the window hadn¡¯t been fitted correctly. The other to install the correct one. Redacted. Another headache slammed into her skull like a hammer, but the change was immediate. The window gave way. She was in freefall. Glass shards surrounded her like glimmering daggers, the city below stretching impossibly far. She reached for the phone, the only thing tethering her to a semblance of control. The familiar number glowed on the screen as she snatched it from midair. ¡°Please leave a message and tell us what information you would like to redact from time, thank you!¡± Ryan¡¯s voice rang, almost cheerful. Lucy turned her gaze downward. The river. The Seloma¡¯ne River. She knew that river. She knew this view. But it was on the other side of the country. Her breath hitched. Someone had redacted space. ¡°Beep,¡± came from the phone gravity began taking over. ¡°RYAN, REDACT THE DAY!¡± she screamed into the phone, curling herself against the wind. ¡°I FOUND THE SPACE GUYS! THEY¡¯RE AT THE HOSPITAL! SO DON¡¯T LET ME GO TO THE HOSPITAL TO GIVE BIRTH THIS MORNING. AND YOU BETTER FUCKING REMEMBER YOU AGREED HER NAME IS JORA.¡± But it was a recording. She knew the fall was fatal. The impact came. But she never felt it. Lucy woke with a jolt. A familiar ceiling. Warm sheets. The soft glow of a bedside lamp. Her head pounded, a dull, familiar ache. Ryan hovered over her, his brown eyes full of quiet concern. She gasped, gripping his hand. Her other hand shot to her stomach. Round. Full. Safe. ¡°My head hurts,¡± she whispered, voice hoarse. ¡°And it isn¡¯t from the baby.¡± ¡°I think you already know why,¡± Ryan murmured, brushing his fingers through her hair as he handed her a glass of water. ¡°Are you ready to hear it?¡± Lucy nodded, drinking greedily. Then she paused. A thought struck her, deep and urgent. ¡°Wait. The baby.¡± She swallowed hard, searching his face. ¡°Everything¡¯s okay, right?¡± Ryan¡¯s expression softened. ¡°The birth went perfectly fine,¡± he assured her. ¡°You brought a beautiful, healthy little girl into the world.¡± He hesitated, lips twitching upward. ¡°And you agreed to name her Karen.¡± Lucy groaned. Ryan chuckled, but his smile faded as he added, ¡°The real problem is what else we found at the hospital.¡± His voice turned grim. ¡°The ones redacting space.¡± Of Tofu Pudding and Foam Swords (Ariane dArtagnan) (Written on the back of a postcard of the Golden Gate Bridge, partially obscured by a tea stain) Say to Bitu, Gatekeeper of the Netherworld, thus says Imin-kam, Seventh Gallu Demon: Greetings from California! We have captured the dead man¡¯s soul and, after some adventures, are returning to the Netherworld. We were poling our raft down the street, with the dead man gibbering at our feet in his manacles and neck-stock, when Esh-kam stopped us. "Hey, look!" he said, pointing at a caf¨¦ sign that read "Meet Fresh," plus some characters in Chinese calligraphy. (You know my third brother ¨C always a slave to his gullet.) "What about it?" asked Desh-kam, impatient to get back to the Netherworld. (You also know my eldest brother ¨C always so serious about, well, everything.) "That soul we seized last time was at a Meet Fresh, remember? She choked to death on a bowl of douhua." The six of us nodded. It was hard not to remember someone who managed to choke to death on soft tofu pudding. (Although, to be fair, it hadn''t been the pudding that got her but a stray sweet-potato ball.) "What about it?" I asked. "Well, we could try it. He¡ª" a jerk of the head towards the dead man ¡ª "isn''t going anywhere." My fourth brother, Limmu-kam, read the disapproving set of Desh-kam''s beak and shook his head. "You know better than to dally on Earth after we seize a soul, brother. We need to get him back to the Netherworld so the scribes can process him." Before Desh-kam could issue his verdict, the caf¨¦ door opened, and out sauntered a woman with a cup of boba milk tea. Even as we watched, she slurped up several springy black pearls and chewed contentedly. Next to me, my fifth and sixth brothers, Ia-kam and Ash-kam, swallowed hard. We turned pleading eyes on Min-kam. If anyone could talk Desh-kam into a short stop, it would be Min-kam, second born of the gallus. Unexpectedly, the dead man spoke up. "The douhua at Meet Fresh is very good. You should try it." Desh-kam raised his eyebrows. "So you can make a run for it as soon as we leave the raft?" The dead man shrugged as well as you¡¯d expect from someone who was wearing a neck-stock and had his hands manacled behind his back. "Where would I go if I ran?" That was true enough. He couldn''t return to his body ¨C it was much too mangled. He could exist as a ghost fugitive on Earth, but I didn''t think he knew that. "I don''t see that it''s a big risk," Min-kam told Desh-kam. "Pleeeeeease?" I begged. Desh-kam considered for a moment while we held our metaphorical breaths. "Very well then. Make sure he is secured." While the dead man protested that he wasn''t going anywhere, we looped a rope through the grid of poles that formed our raft and bound his manacles tightly. Then we moored the raft among the rushes and stepped onto solid ground, back into the human world. Since Desh-kam refused to let us eat in the caf¨¦, we got douhua and boba milk tea to go, and we trotted back chattering about how we were going to sit on the edge of the raft and dangle our feet in the water. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Except, when we passed out of the human world into the rushes and returned to the river, the dead man was gone. Also, the raft was halfway through sinking. Dropping the containers and cups, we leaped into the water to rescue it. When we hauled it on land and turned it over, we discovered that the dead man had gashed holes in each of the animal skins that kept it afloat. "I''m going to use his hide as a replacement!" Min-kam roared. Tight-lipped, Desh-kam didn''t say, ¡°I told you so." He began issuing commands. "Min-kam, take Esh-kam, Limmu-kam, and Ia-kam, and go re-arrest the dead man. Ash-kam and Imin-kam, we¡¯re going to fix the raft." While Min-kam and the others set off in pursuit of the dead man, the three of us examined the damage to the raft. It was worse than we''d realized. Not only had the dead man punctured all the animal skins, but he''d also sawed at and nearly cut through the ropes that held the raft together. When our inspection was complete, Desh-kam heaved a heavy sigh. Ash-kam and I traded glances and didn''t dare utter a single word. At last, Desh-kam stood. "Let''s get supplies to fix this." "A hardware store...?" I ventured. "Indeed." He led us back onto the street, where a passerby gave us directions to the closest hardware store. The route led us past a park, where battle cries caught our attention. On a grassy field, two great armies clashed, thrusting and stabbing and parrying with swords forged from...foam?! Even as we watched, one soldier smote another with a mighty blow that ¨C utterly failed to crack open his skull. "What is this?!" I didn¡¯t realize I''d spoken out loud until a woman who was walking her dog answered, "Oh, that''s the local roleplaying society. They LARP here every other Saturday." "LARP?" "Yeah. You haven''t heard of it? It stands for ''live action roleplaying.'' Kind of like a game of make-believe for adults." "Uh¡­." She smiled sympathetically, called her dog, and went on her way. "Make-believe...for adults...," I repeated. Ash-kam shook his head. "What will humans come up with next?" We both looked to Desh-kam to set a seal of approval on our disapproval, but he was appraising the false soldiers. "Yes. Yes¡­. I do believe that will work...." We waited. When he didn''t elaborate for several moments, I prompted, "What will work?" "We''re going to collect their foam swords. Get as many as you can." With that, he was off, whirling across the battlefield like a great storm, sweeping up foam swords as he went. After a stunned second, Ash-kam and I dove into the fray. A foam sword thumped me on the shoulder, and I growled and snatched it. Then I tripped another false soldier and grabbed his foam sword too. Complaints rose from all sides. "Watch it! You nearly knocked me over!" "Hey! Where''d my sword go?" Arms wrapped around neon pink, green, blue, and purple foam swords, Ash-kam and I met up with Desh-kam. In the background, the false soldiers hunted in vain for their vanished weapons. "What are we doing with these?" Ash-kam asked. "You¡¯ll see," Desh-kam replied. Trading puzzled shrugs, we followed him back to the river. Min-kam and the others hadn''t returned with the dead man yet, but I heard wailing in the distance. Desh-kam plucked a long rush and used it to lash two foam swords together. "We''re going to use these to make ourselves a new raft." "Oh!" I cried. ¡°Brother! You¡¯re a genius!¡± He didn¡¯t acknowledge the obvious. "Get to work. I want this done before they return." Working together, we had a neon pink, green, blue, and purple raft in no time. Once Desh-kam tested it and deemed it river-worthy, he even allowed us to retrieve the douhua and boba milk tea that we¡¯d dropped. We sat in companionable silence on the foam swords, dangling our feet in the water and feeling the douhua dissolve on our tongues. At last, Min-kam and the others stumbled through the rushes, panting and carrying the dead man on their shoulders. This time, they had taken no chances: He was rolled up in so many nets and lassos that he resembled a spider''s dinner. Sadly, the ropes didn''t stop him from wailing nonstop. Min-kam''s jaw dropped when he spotted us. "You''ve been having dessert while we were chasing down this¡ª" He thumped the dead man on the head. The dead man yowled. Desh-kam chucked an empty douhua container into the river. "Ah, good, you''re back. Get him onboard so we can cast off." "But¡ª" protested Esh-kam. He scanned the rushes, clearly searching for the rest of the containers. "Have no fear. None of it went to waste," Desh-kam assured him serenely. "We ate it all." Esh-kam¡¯s howl rivaled the dead man¡¯s in anguish. "Come," Desh-kam ordered again. Shoulders slumping, my brothers carried the dead man aboard. The raft tipped dangerously but stayed afloat, and as we bobbed down the river towards the netherworld, Desh-kam slurped contentedly on the last cup of boba milk tea. I was fairly certain it was the one Esh-kam had ordered. Tournament of the Seasons (Ariane dArtagnan) The Prince of the Spring Court was terrible at Seasons. As the Spring sprites looked on in horror, a basket of rich, black earth plopped onto the playing field right where it was guaranteed to get captured. And, lo and behold, while the Winter Court sprites rolled around on the icy air laughing, a snowball the size of a snowman¡¯s belly smacked down next to the basket of earth, cutting off all but one path of escape. ¡°His Highness the Prince of Spring wants to know why no one is spreading his earth!¡± bellowed the herald. Sprout glanced across the field and inadvertently met the Prince¡¯s eyes. He scowled back. Sprout bowed low and waved at the other sprites. ¡°You heard him. Off we go.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no point,¡± grumbled the oldest sprite, Blossom. ¡°The Winter Queen will capture it with her next move.¡± ¡°Still.¡± The Spring sprites elbowed their way past the Winter sprites and began to shovel the earth onto the ground around the basket. ¡°Sure you wanna do that?¡± jeered a Winter sprite. ¡°Only reason Her Majesty hasn¡¯t taken it yet is that she knows she can any time,¡± laughed another. ¡°Oh hush, you,¡± fake-scolded a third. ¡°Let them do their jobs. It¡¯s good to see that someone in the Spring Court knows how.¡± Shoot, one of the more hotheaded Spring sprites, flung down his shovel. Before he could launch himself at the Winter sprites, his twin, Bud, grabbed the back of his tunic. ¡°Ignore them and shovel, brother!¡± Shoot clenched his fists. ¡°It¡¯s not fair! They should have waited until our Queen returned to hold the Tournament of the Seasons!¡± Under normal circumstances, they would have waited. Unfortunately, the Prince¡¯s ineptitude at the board games was matched only by his hubris, and he¡¯d declared that he would play for Spring this year. ¡°Less talking, more shoveling,¡± Sprout ordered. ¡°He¡¯s going to play the next basket any second now.¡± The other sprites groaned, but they bent over to toss dirt across the dead leaves left over from the Autumn-Winter tournament. Tiny, tender green shoots peeked out of the black earth. ¡°Don¡¯t bother growing,¡± Sprout wanted to tell them. ¡°You¡¯re going to die anyway.¡± They¡¯d just barely emptied the basket when another one landed, all the way across the field. Sprout and the others flew over as fast as they could. When they saw where the Prince had played this basket, Leaf literally fell out of the air. ¡°Why?¡± moaned Bud. ¡°Lady of the Spring Breeze, why?¡± Shoot slammed his shovel into the ground. ¡°What¡¯s the point of spreading this?¡± ¡°Well, she might not take it immediately¡­,¡± Bud suggested, but Sprout noted that she didn¡¯t make any motions with her shovel. A glance at the two players showed the Prince glaring at them, while the Winter Queen studied the board with a faint smile playing over her ice-blue lips. ¡°We¡¯re just going to get yelled at if we don¡¯t do it,¡± Sprout told the others. ¡°Come on!¡± No sooner had the tip of her shovel touched the black earth than a snowball landed on the field behind her. It shattered into a winter storm, and when its winds touched its neighbor, it, too, burst apart. One after another the snowballs exploded, until the Spring sprites were surrounded by a wall of flying snow. From the hard blue sky overhead descended a flock of Winter sprites. ¡°We¡¯ll just be taking that!¡± chirped their leader. Suppressing a sigh, Sprout handed up the basket of earth. The Winter sprites fluttered off with it, giggling. ¡°If he knew anything about the game, he¡¯d forfeit now and save us the hassle,¡± muttered Blossom. The old sprite¡¯s teeth chattered in the gale. ¡°If he knew anything about the game, we wouldn¡¯t be in this blizzard, would we?¡± Leaf asked tartly. ¡°He can¡¯t forfeit. If he loses, we¡¯re guaranteed another month of Winter,¡± Bud murmured. ¡°You mean when he loses, we¡¯re guaranteed another month of Winter,¡± Shoot snapped. ¡°Sprites of the Spring Court!¡± The herald¡¯s bellow rang out over the roar of the wind. ¡°Please spread your earth!¡± Sprout sighed again. Her breath froze immediately. ¡°Let¡¯s go. This can¡¯t possibly last much longer.¡±
Except it did. It must have been a slow day at the Winter Court, because their Queen seemed to be in no rush to finish off the Spring Prince. Rather, she toyed with him, setting traps for him all over the field, allowing him to believe that he had secured his territory, only to swoop in and take it. As the game dragged on, the cold that drifted off the field began to affect the spectators, and even the Prince started to look anxious. He might not have been able to read the board before him, but a glance at the field told him that snow covered most of it. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°We have to do something!¡± said Sprout. ¡°We can¡¯t let him lose like this!¡± ¡°What can we do?¡± Bud asked. ¡°We¡¯re not allowed to play for him.¡± ¡°Any one of us is better at Seasons than he is,¡± Leaf observed, ¡°but I don¡¯t know if any of us can beat the Winter Queen.¡± All heads turned towards Blossom. The old sprite harrumphed. ¡°Beating her isn¡¯t the problem. Getting him to take our advice is.¡± Sprout studied the Prince¡¯s slumped shoulders. He was turning a black basket over and over in his hands as he stared down at the board. He obviously had no idea where to play it. ¡°I think he might, at this point. We just can¡¯t be too obvious about it. Blossom, where should he play next?¡± The old sprite sniffed. ¡°Let me see.¡± They all rose up and hovered over the field, pretending that they were preparing for the next basket. ¡°There.¡± Blossom pointed at a patch of black earth that had survived long enough for winter aconite to blossom. The bright yellow cups opened wide to greet the wind from the snowstorm next door. ¡°If he plays there, he can save that area.¡± ¡°All right. Let me get his attention.¡± The Prince was arching his back, as if it ached when he hadn¡¯t been the one shoveling dirt all day. The next time he licked his lips and glanced at the whitened field, Sprout flitted to the side. The motion caught his eye, and she blinked three times. He cocked his head. She blinked three more times. His brow furrowed. ¡°I don¡¯t think he gets it,¡± muttered Shoot. ¡°He will. Come on.¡± Sprout flitted about, pretending to move aimlessly until she ¡°just happened¡± to be hovering over the patch that Blossom had pointed out. Then she slung her shovel across her shoulder and gave the Prince a meaningful stare. His jaw dropped. The Winter Queen began to follow his gaze. ¡°What did you see¡ª¡± He slammed his miniature basket down on the board. An instant later, a full-sized basket came hurtling out of the sky, nearly crushing Sprout. Leaf whooped. ¡°It worked! Er, I mean¡ªhe made a good move!¡± ¡°Foul!¡± shouted a Winter sprite. ¡°She cheated! She signaled the move to him!¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing in the rules that forbids communication between the player and the sprites on the field,¡± Blossom informed him. ¡°In fact, it would be impossible to play out the Tournament of Seasons if there were no communication between the player and sprites.¡± ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡± Scowling ferociously, the Winter sprites rotated midair and looked to their Queen for guidance. She had leaned back in her chair and was examining the Spring sprites one after another, tapping her blue-white fingertips against her lips. Then she selected a snowball from her bowl and snapped it down on the board. A giant snowball materialized out of thin air and thumped down next to the basket. Sprout shook herself out of her reverie. ¡°Come on! Shovel!¡± As the Winter sprites flitted around the snowball and transformed it into a blizzard, Bud, Leaf, and Shoot flung shovelfuls of earth right up to the edge of the storm. Sprout floated high in the air next to Blossom, waiting. The old sprite surveyed the field and nodded. ¡°There.¡± She pointed. This time, Sprout didn¡¯t have to catch the Prince¡¯s eye. He was already tracking her every movement, like a baby robin watching its mother¡¯s beak. She met his gaze, tipped her head, and took off for the next spot. Another basket of earth followed. Point, fly, shovel. Point, fly, shovel. Little by little, the field turned the pale green of young shoots, the fluttery white of snowdrops, the sunshine yellow of winter aconite. ¡°Are we winning?¡± Sprout dared whisper while Blossom contemplated her next move. The old sprite scowled. ¡°Hardly. She¡¯s not taking us seriously.¡± ¡°But if she doesn¡¯t take us seriously all the way to the end, maybe we can win.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± Spring continued to expand across the field. Patches of purple crocuses met and merged into bright red tulips. Daffodils bobbed their defiance at the snow. ¡°We¡¯re winning!¡± Shoot cheered. ¡°Hush!¡± snapped Blossom. ¡°But just look at how much territory we control¡ª¡± A basket of earth whumped down next to him. All the Spring sprites froze. ¡°That¡ªthat¡ª¡± whispered Bud. ¡°That¡¯s the wrong spot!¡± yelled Shoot, waving his arms. ¡°It¡¯s one over!¡± ¡°Can we move it?¡± Leaf asked. ¡°Maybe if we move it¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t touch it!¡± Sprout leaped in front of her. ¡°Baskets can¡¯t be moved once they¡¯re placed.¡± ¡°You forfeit the game instantly if you move a game piece once it has been played,¡± Blossom lectured. She put her hands on her hips, surveyed the field, and shook her head. ¡°How bad is it?¡± Sprout pressed. ¡°Can you save it?¡± ¡°No. This entire area is dead.¡± ¡°Dead?!¡± Sprout gazed down helplessly at the tulips. Sure enough, within a few moves, they were surrounded by a wall of flying snow. Frost crusted their petals and bleached their colors, and one by one, they wilted and drooped. ¡°Nooo!¡± came a wail from the Prince. ¡°That was a mistake! Let me take it back!¡± ¡°That was no mistake,¡± said the Winter Queen, unmoved. ¡°That was precisely where you intended to play. It simply wasn¡¯t where your sprites intended you to play.¡± ¡°Can we still win?¡± Sprout pleaded with Blossom. ¡°It¡¯s only this corner of the field, right? We can still take the rest, right?¡± But Blossom was shaking her head. ¡°No. Winter has already secured too much territory. We can¡¯t catch up. Well. I¡¯m sure our Queen could catch up, but I cannot.¡± And she bowed across the field at the Winter Queen. The Winter Queen scrutinized the old sprite for a long moment, then inclined her head ever so slightly. Gasps rose from the spectators. ¡°Did she just¡ª?¡± ¡°She nodded at her!¡± ¡°At a sprite!¡± ¡°From another Court!¡± ¡°It would be customary to resign at this point.¡± The Winter Queen¡¯s cool voice drifted across the field. The Spring Prince was gawking at her with his mouth half-open. ¡°But that¡ªthat can¡¯t be ¨C I ¨C it was just¡ª¡± ¡°Your sprite has already acknowledged that she cannot win this game. Do you intend to waste the time of two Courts by playing it all the way to the end?¡± ¡°I¡ªbut what if you make a mis¡ª¡± A single, frozen eyebrow lifted. The Prince swallowed the rest of his sentence before he suggested that a Queen might err. He hung his head. ¡°I resign.¡± Without a word to him, the Winter Queen rose from the board. Her attendants instantly surrounded her, straightening the creases in her gown and rearranging her icy tresses. She folded her hands before her and took a step, preparing to sweep off with her retinue. Then she turned back. ¡°It was a worthy game. Against a worthy opponent. In light of the pleasure I derived from this match, I will reduce the one additional month of winter to two weeks. I look forward to our next game.¡± The Spring Prince¡¯s head jerked up. It took him so long to collect his thoughts that she was gone by the time he mustered the words to thank her. Stunned silence reigned on the field. Then Shoot whooped. ¡°We did it! You did it!¡± He threw himself at Blossom, nearly knocking her out of the air. She grumbled but, Sprout noted, didn¡¯t push him away. ¡°Blossom, Blossom, you were brilliant!¡± Bud threw her arms around both of them, followed by Leaf, and finally by Sprout too. ¡°Tch, youngsters, always making such a fuss!¡± grumbled Blossom. But Sprout caught a tear glinting at the corner of the old sprite¡¯s eye. It shone as brightly as a field of crocuses. The Time Merchant (CKMo) The man wearing business-formal attire exited the train behind the crowd and looked around, his black briefcase hanging in a tight hand. A swift sidestep allowed entry to the lined up passengers, and soon the train doors closed. The engine hissed, belching steam into the air before a horn blew twice and the train chugged along the tracks. The man did not follow the other passengers up the stairs, and was soon the only one left on the platform. He took out a notepad from his breast pocket to consult it before walking to his left, all the way to the end of the platform. At the last bench slouched another man, dressed in a gray-silver double-breasted suit. A thin golden chain hung from his right breast-pocket, and his color-matching fedora covered his face as the man leaned against the wall, seemingly unaware of the businessman walking in his direction. The businessman stopped in front of this last bench to eye the sitting man, glancing at his wristwatch without really looking at the time as he waited. The seconds ticked by, then minutes, and then another train arrived, opened its doors to let out another gaggle of people enter and exit. These, too, trickled up the stairs, then the station was silent again. And yet, the sitting man seemed unaware, as the businessman began tapping his foot, choosing to set down his briefcase next to him. Finally, another train had passed by before the businessman cleared his throat carefully. ¡°Mister, um, Koloolup¡­?¡± the businessman began slowly but was interrupted by the man¡¯s response, muffled by the fedora. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± asked the businessman, taking a step forward. The sitting man lifted his fedora, barely revealing his face, and said in a louder voice, ¡°Just Kolo is fine.¡± And then he lowered the fedora again. ¡°Look, Mister Kolo. I know you weren¡¯t expecting me, but I¡¯m here because I hear you can help me.¡± The fedora came up again. ¡°I said, ¡®Just Kolo is fine.¡¯¡± ¡°Kolo. Understood. Kolo. Alright then, Kolo. We¡¯re wasting time,¡± stated the businessman, tapping his foot again. ¡°I¡¯m here because I hear you make miracles happen, and that you told my people I had to come personally. So here I am, without anyone else, just as you asked.¡± But Kolo didn¡¯t respond. Tap. Tap. Tap, went the businessman¡¯s foot. Finally, the businessman reached down and picked up his briefcase again, then pushed it towards Kolo. ¡°I brought money. More than enough money, I think. Surely you can respond to my ¨C¡± But the businessman was interrupted again by that muffled voice. ¡°You haven¡¯t told me who you are. Mister¡­?¡± The businessman let the briefcase lower down to his side. ¡°My name doesn¡¯t matter, but if you must insist, call me Daniel. Will you help me or not? I have money, if money is what you want. I know people, I can get people to do anything. That¡¯s how I found you, because my sources say you can make this happen.¡± The fedora came up this time, settling finally towards Kolo''s head as Kolo revealed the entirety of his face. ¡°What you want is something that can¡¯t be bought, Daniel.¡± Daniel did not hesitate. ¡°Favors then. Fortune. Connections. Whatever you want.¡± Another pause came, then Kolo sat up, spreading his legs and leaning against his knees with his elbows propping himself upright as he stared into Daniel¡¯s eyes. ¡°She calls you Danny, doesn¡¯t she? Ever since you were a boy.¡± Daniel flinched, then responded quickly, ¡°You aren¡¯t my mother, Kolo. I¡¯d appreciate it if you don¡¯t call me Danny.¡± Kolo¡¯s head tilted to the side as he observed Daniel. ¡°And I want you to know that what you want cannot be bought, Daniel.¡± Daniel dropped the briefcase in frustration, hearing the next train coming along as he shouted against the sound. ¡°This is beginning to become a waste of my time. What do you want then, Kolo?! I came here, by myself, just like you said. I thought this meant you¡¯re here to make a deal, but all you¡¯ve been doing is telling me I can¡¯t pay for what I want. What. Do. You. Want?¡± Seconds passed in silence, then Kolo reached into his right breast-pocket to pull out a golden pocket watch. Daniel glanced at it just as Kolo released the latch, popping open the metal cover. Abrupt silence assaulted Daniel¡¯s ears. He spun around quickly, unnerved by the lack of sound. A train had just entered the station. But it wasn¡¯t moving. Nothing was moving. ¡°There. All quiet. At least, for the ¡­ time being.¡± Kolo chuckled to himself out loud as he viewed the watch, then glanced towards Daniel. ¡°Do your sources tell you what they call me, Daniel?¡± Daniel returned to his senses, having wondered if he should attempt to pick up his briefcase. And then he remembered who he was dealing with. His eyes darted around the station again as he prepared his reply. ¡°The one that told me about you¡­ they said you were the Time Merchant.¡± ¡°Michelle, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Kolo didn¡¯t ask, merely stated. Daniel nodded vigorously, his eyes still trying to look around. ¡°She should have told you that I don¡¯t need money too.¡± Frowning, Daniel tried to tap the toe of his shoe against the briefcase, only to realize he could not make it budge. It, too, was stuck in time. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. She said she paid you for your services. So I thought that¡­¡± ¡°Oh, she did. She did pay, Daniel,¡± Kolo confirmed with a smiled, then frowned as he thought to himself. A moment later, he then added, ¡°She will.¡± ¡°Alright. So it¡¯s still a transaction. Then what is wrong with my money? I¡¯ve got so much money in this briefcase you wouldn¡¯t even believe ¨C¡° The pocket watch was shut tightly with a quick close of the Time Merchant¡¯s fingers, and time resumed itself as the train drowned out Daniel¡¯s tirade. It wasn¡¯t until the people had entered and exited and the station was quiet again before Kolo responded. ¡°Time is money, Daniel.¡± Daniel¡¯s mind whirled at what was being said. He could put two and two together. ¡°One year of my life,¡± Daniel offered. ¡°For one year for her. My mother. Please.¡± Kolo shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not enough.¡± ¡°Three years,¡± Daniel said immediately. Kolo looked at Daniel with no response. ¡°Five. For two years, and then I want you to make it so ¨C¡° ¡°No, Daniel. Ten for one.¡± Daniel blanched visibly. ¡°Ten?! You mean, years?¡± ¡°Ten years,¡± replied Kolo. ¡°And to be perfectly honest, you don¡¯t need it, Daniel.¡± ¡°Of course I need it, my mother will die in three months, and I can¡¯t help but ¨C¡° ¡°That means you have three months left to see her, Daniel,¡± Kolo said simply, ¡°Three whole months.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t see her in these coming three months! I run a multi-national, well-known business! I can¡¯t put aside my business, for all the people depending on me, to go off on my own selfish little family get-together.¡° Kolo¡¯s head tilted again. ¡°Why did you come find me? Instead of visiting your mother right now?¡± Daniel¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°This had potential to return more time. She only has three months left and if you lengthen her time, then ¨C¡° ¡°So you¡¯re telling me, Danny, that you prefer running your business over spending time with your dying mother.¡± ¡°What? No!¡± replied Daniel, aghast someone could ever make such an outlandish accusation. ¡°I love my mother! But an entire company depends on me. We¡¯re launching a new product soon, and now is not the time to leave it in someone else¡¯s hands. But I can¡¯t choose when my mother gets cancer. I didn¡¯t want to have to do this at all, but I have no choice, no choice whatsoever. I don¡¯t have a choice in the matter, Kolo. Ten years is a lot to trade, but I will do it if that¡¯s what I must.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Daniel fell silent, waiting for Kolo to respond to his request. He watched nervously as Kolo slowly spun the golden pocket watch between his fingers, waiting for any indication that the Time Merchant was willing to complete the transaction. ¡°I think you are misinformed about something, Daniel,¡± Kolo started slowly, gazing at the light reflecting from the pocket watch as he spun it between his fingers. ¡°You seem to think that the main barrier to you spending more time with your dying mother is her limited lifespan, made apparent to you by the onset of her illness.¡± A moment passed, then two as Daniel tried to process Kolo¡¯s statement. Then Daniel exploded. ¡°Are you implying that this is NOT the main barrier? I¡¯ve already made it clear to you; I cannot simply abandon my company. Will you do this transaction or not, Kolo? I¡¯ve already agreed to your price. Ten years off my lifespan in exchange for one year of hers.¡± Kolo depressed the latch again. Daniel flinched, ready for the silence. But it did not come. Kolo¡¯s fingers prevented the pocket watch from flipping open. Time did not stop. ¡°Daniel. No matter the time she has, your behavior won¡¯t change. The amount of time you can spend with her is the same.¡± A train came again, screeching into the platform. It shed its burden of people before accepting a replacement batch. It chugged along again. ¡°Three months left, compared to fifteen months? That¡¯s a huge difference, Kolo. What does my behavior have to do with any of this?¡± The pocket watch¡¯s cover flipped open, and the station was silent again. Kolo stood up, stretching his shoulders, causing Daniel to flinch and take a step backwards. He tripped over the immobile briefcase, falling onto the ground. ¡°Allow me to show you something, Daniel. Consider this service on the house.¡± Kolo offered Daniel a hand. Daniel brushed it off, choosing to stand up on his own. ¡°What¡­ does this have to do with my request?¡± he asked warily. Kolo¡¯s hand was still proffered to Daniel. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s the problem, Daniel. But I will try my best. Take my hand.¡± Disgruntled, Daniel slowly reached for Kolo¡¯s hand. ¡°If you think this is some Christmas Carol stupidity, I¡¯ll have you know ¨C.¡± He gasped, for the moment he took the man¡¯s hand everything had changed. To Daniel, the station had disappeared and they were standing on thin air, overlooking his own office at the company. Daniel saw himself, sitting there at his desk, reviewing the screen of his office. ¡°We¡¯re in your office, Daniel.¡± Kolo let go of his hand. ¡°A year from now.¡± Curious, Daniel walked over to review the spreadsheets over his future self¡¯s shoulder. He gasped. Everything had succeeded. Their new product launch had succeeded, and judging by the numbers he was seeing, they¡¯d succeeded far beyond his wildest dreams. Then future-Daniel¡¯s intercom rang. Future him pressed a button. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Hello President. Your sister is here to see you, if you are available?¡± came his secretary¡¯s voice from the intercom. ¡°Let her in,¡± future-Daniel replied. Kolo walked up behind Daniel and laid a firm hand on Daniel¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Watch,¡± Kolo commanded. Daniel¡¯s sister came in, closing the door behind her without decorum. ¡°Danny. We need to talk.¡± Future-Daniel¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t shift away from his screen. ¡°Hello to you too, Nicole. How¡¯s mom?¡± future-Daniel asked. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go see for yourself, Danny?¡± Nicole retorted, walking towards his desk and putting her hands down on the desk. ¡°She¡¯s not doing well, Danny. And you¡¯re sitting here, staring at your precious spreadsheets. You think this is more important than mom?¡± Future-Daniel pursed his lips, frowned, then input a different variable into the spreadsheets. Annoyed, Nicole reached over and turned the screen away from future-Daniel. ¡°You aren¡¯t even paying attention to me, Danny. What is going on? Why are you so relaxed?! Mom could die any moment now and ¨C ¡° ¡°Mom has a few more months to live, Nicole. Calm down. I saw her just last week, for New Year¡¯s Eve. She¡¯s not going to die just yet.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t possibly be certain of that, Danny. You''re not the doctor here. The doctor told me that her outlook doesn¡¯t look good. In fact he¡¯s surprised that she lived this long ¨C a whole year longer than she was supposed to even have.¡± Future-Daniel closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. ¡°I just know, Nicole. I¡¯ve done everything I can to ensure that she has the best treatment and that her final year with this disease wouldn¡¯t cause her undue pain.¡± Nicole slammed the table furiously. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you spending more time with her?! You promised us half a year ago that when the product was clearly successful, you would. It¡¯s been half a year and everything has been fine. Mom is dying, Danny. Mom misses you even if she doesn¡¯t say it. Why aren¡¯t you coming to see her!?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve spent more time with ¨C on ¡ª her than you could possibly know, Nicole,¡± future-Daniel replied stiffly. ¡°And I will see her again this weekend.¡± ¡°The weekend, really? Again? Just so you can pop your head in for what, half an hour again, then disappear as soon as you get another phone call from work? Take some time off, Danny. Please,¡± Nicole pleaded. But future-Daniel shook his head, ¡°I can¡¯t, Nicole. You know that. The shareholders are always demanding more, and I¡¯m responsible for the livelihoods of over five million employees. Do you even care to understand how I feel, what pressure I¡¯m under? Do you know how much of my time you¡¯re wasting right now, a privilege I give you only because you¡¯re my sister? In fact just earlier today, the company decided that ¨C ¡° Daniel started as Kolo¡¯s hand gripped his shoulder again. ¡°I think that¡¯s quite enough,¡± said Kolo. Daniel blinked, and then they were in the station again. ¡°Wait, Kolo. I wanted to finish hearing that bit. Can¡¯t we go back?¡± asked a bewildered Daniel. ¡°This is critical information!¡± Kolo looked at Daniel pityingly. ¡°I give you a sneak peek at the future you will have, and that¡¯s still what you focused on? The future of your business?¡± Daniel drew himself up and thrust out his chest. ¡°Of course! Didn¡¯t you even hear what my future self said? I visit my mother every weekend! So lengthening her time is obviously the correct answer here. I can see her every weekend for a whole year!¡± Shaking his head, Kolo sighed, then sat back down on the bench. ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand, Daniel. If you took the next three months off to spend it with your mother, you will have spent more time with her than if you lengthened her life span by a whole year and only visited her every weekend,¡± explained Kolo as he wound up his pocket watch. ¡°Yet you are willing to trade ten years of your life for this.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice here. I¡¯d give you the full explainer, but you quite literally just heard it from my own future self. Will you do it or not?¡± asked Daniel with a sense of finality. ¡°Of course, I will,¡± Kolo replied, finishing up the winding of the pocket watch, ¡°You accepted the terms of payment.¡± ¡°How will this work?¡± Daniel asked, relaxing visibly. He felt that he had won. ¡°Do you suck my life out or something? Do I sign a contract on human leather parchment?¡± ¡°No, Danny. Take my pocket watch and wind it ten turns.¡± Kolo undid the chain and offered the golden pocket watch to Daniel. ¡°One turn for each year.¡± Daniel eyed the pocket watch with caution. ¡°You aren¡¯t afraid I¡¯d steal this?¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t know how to use it at all.¡± Daniel hesitated for a moment longer, then gingerly touched the pocket watch. Not feeling any different, he took it. ¡°Clockwise? Counterclockwise?¡± ¡°Wind it clockwise,¡± Kolo instructed. And Daniel did so, winding the crown of the pocket watch clockwise ten times. Then he stopped. ¡°I ¡­ don¡¯t feel any different?¡± asked Daniel questioningly. ¡°Of course not,¡± Kolo replied, stretching a hand out for his pocket watch, to which Daniel deposited it gingerly. ¡°You paid with your future.¡± ¡°Can I at least know how long I will live then?¡± Kolo fiddled with the pocket watch as he answered, ¡°No. That¡¯s future information you may not have.¡± Daniel opened his mouth to respond, then chose to stay silent. ¡°If you think that I forgot that I¡¯ve shown you the future, Daniel, I have not,¡± Kolo continued dryly, ¡°When this time bubble collapses around us, your memories of that future will have disappeared. Now leave. And I hope that you visit your mother with the extra time you¡¯ve bought.¡± ¡°What? That¡¯s it? Nothing to give me?¡± exclaimed Daniel, wondering if he had been tricked. But no, all this man had done was ask him to wind a pocket watch. He couldn¡¯t even be sure if he had paid a payment. How exactly does one ask for a receipt or invoice for payment in time? ¡°Only advice, which you¡¯ve ignored, Daniel. Oh, and if you tell anyone about what you¡¯ve done regarding your mother¡¯s life span, the effect breaks. Keep that in mind.¡± Kolo stood up and walked to the ledge overseeing the train tracks. ¡°And visit her tonight, Daniel. Take the next train to do so. If you do, you will find it remarkably smooth on the way to the hospital.¡± Then the time bubble collapsed, and the background noise of the station flooded Daniel¡¯s ears as he walked up to stand near Kolo, but unwilling to stand closer. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a bit too close, Kolo? The next train is coming soon, and you¡¯re beyond the yellow line.¡± The speakers blared, announcing the next train¡¯s approach. ¡°This train, right?¡± asked Daniel. ¡°Yes,¡± Kolo replied, leaning forward slightly to look down the tunnel. Daniel almost made a grab for Kolo. ¡°You¡¯ll fall in,¡± Daniel said, then observed, ¡°The trains aren¡¯t usually this on time.¡± ¡°Trains are always on their own time,¡± Kolo responded. ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t forget your briefcase.¡± Daniel looked behind him, almost having a heart attack. That was millions. But the briefcase was still there. He spun around to pick it up, and began hearing the thundering blare of the train as it approached. ¡°You may think trains are late,¡± continued Kolo, whose voice sounded crystal clear to Daniel despite the loud roar of the oncoming train, ¡°but that¡¯s because trains never follow human time. A train is only where it ever needs to be, and pays no heed to your rushing. If you think about it, you¡¯d complain equally if a train had arrived earlier and left earlier than anticipated. Humans just have the audacity to believe their time is the only time that matters.¡± Hefting the briefcase in his hands, Daniel looked back at Kolo and tried to yell above the roaring sound of the train. But Daniel¡¯s voice was drowned out by the train, and all he could see was Kolo smile at him briefly before taking a step off the ledge in front of the train. In that brief moment, the sound stopped for Daniel. All he saw was the glare of the train¡¯s lights reflecting off Kolo¡¯s suit, the wind blowing debris and newspapers around in the station as the train pushed into the station, and Kolo¡¯s arm reaching up to snag the silver-gray fedora that was blown off his head, then the moment passed by as the train rushed right through. Resisting the urge to shout for help immediately, Daniel stared around at the station. No one else had seen it. The nearest person was a mere twenty feet or so from him and there was no way she did not see the man walk off the ledge right in front of the train. Coming to his senses, Daniel realized that people were pouring from the train carriage. And then he remembered the final advice just as his phone rang. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Uh, boss. Is everything okay?¡± The crisp voice belonged to the leader of his bodyguards, who had been instructed to protect him from far away. ¡°We just watched you stand still there for quite some time, then suddenly you¡¯re shouting.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Daniel answered. ¡°Tell my secretary to cancel my plans for the night. Tell them something has come up, you can say it''s a family matter. I¡¯m taking the train to the hospital.¡± He stepped onto the train. Exile of the Final Bastion (CKMo) Kayn Hargen-son, Exile of the Final Bastion, bathed the morning after he committed genocide. The water ran dark, the filth of slaughter sliding from his skin in lazy blue spirals. He did not scrub. He did not need to. The blood of Others never lingered long¡ªhis body did not allow it. Whatever the Council had done to him in the time before Exile had made him something else. Weapons did not need to rust. Running water was all he needed. He emerged from the stream as the false sun peeked over the fractured horizon, the wasteland stretching endlessly around him. Bones jutted from the sand in skeletal forests. No birds circled above. Few things lived here, besides the paumbeasts. The few birds Kayn ever saw were found on the salt beaches, waiting patiently for eels to be abandoned by the receding tides. Kayn dressed with practiced efficiency, layering his armor over scarred flesh, then tightened the belt that held his twin knives. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tailored armor move like a second skin. They shone as pristine as the day the Council had given them to him over a thousand years ago, forged out of metal that had fallen from the skies. The wicked sorcery of the Others could not bypass this armor, and his twin blades, made of the same metal, shredded their wards like so much spider silk. Yet his bones ached, the kind of ache that came with time immeasurable. His work was almost done. Maybe nothing lived in the Tohak''ha Flats anymore. Kayn was working on it. The Others had been numerous here once, scattered like weeds in the OuterLands, farming fungi and scraping morning dew off bones. Now, the Others were rare on this continent. Perhaps in the world. He was nearing two hundred years in the Northern Flats, and his efforts were reaping results. Last night''s community had been less than five hundred. Perhaps the day came soon where his work was done. A thousand years since he left the Final Bastion. First the Jishik Hollows, then the Cor''datha Groves. The Puginsha Mountains had taken him the longest, for Kayn spent nearly three hundred years hunting the Others through their tunnels, sealing them one by one. Some of the Others had sealed themselves within the depths of the mountains, but that had only dragged out the fight. They could not live without their false sun, and Kayn had forever to chip away at the rock. Kayn shook his head. No. It was more important to be sure. To verify. The Others were crafty, and they always invented new spells. He could track them, he could hunt them, but the only way to know they were truly gone was to walk the land scouring for them. But the question came to his mind: And then what? The Council had not accounted for that. Kayn had no idea either. But did it matter? The Others had no place in this world, and perhaps neither did he. And yet, the question whispered through his mind: And then what? Was he to return to the Final Bastion? Was his father still alive after a millennia? Kayn had been sent to the OuterLands with a singular purpose, but did not think of what might happen when the hunt was over. He tugged on his greaves, rolling his shoulders and neck again. There will be time to think of that. For now, he walked through the devastated village, looking for the blue blood of a young Other he had spared last night. The tracks were erratic¡ªlong strides, then short, as if the child had collapsed and forced themselves up again. Good. They wouldn¡¯t get far. Kayn narrowed his eyes. The child would run, and Kayn would follow. Either they would lead him to the right place, or they would tire. It mattered not. All he knew was he could not follow too closely, lest they decide they would rather die than lead him to another group. He''d learned that lesson five hundred years ago. He began, following the trail. Kayn would finish what he was made for. Then he would decide what came next.
The Harkinsen had attacked at dusk, just like in the stories. They always struck in the dark when her people¡¯s spells were weakest. The elders of the village were powerful, but even her mother''s magic had done nothing. It did not matter what spell they sang or how it was weaved¡ªthe magic merely dissipated against the Harkinsen''s gleaming skin. Even her father, the village''s Pillar, had fallen to the Harkinsen''s twin blades. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Despite having heard the stories, Tah''utha had never seen her parents so helpless. No Kas''ua ever lived against the Harkinsen. "Run to the Sawa''no Tribe!" Utha''kawu''s voice still lingered¡ªscreaming, pleading, begging. She had thrust her bone pendant into Tah''utha¡¯s hand. "Show this to their Weaver. She will know who you are. You must warn them of the Harkinsen!" Tah''utha had long exhausted her strength, fleeing through the forest of skeletons. Every step sent fire through her legs. She stumbled, using her arms to push off from one bone to the next. Sleep gnawed at her vision, but the last words of her terrified mother kept her moving. And so Tah''utha pressed onward. But there was no running anymore; her legs refused to do more than stand. Yet she did not stop, for fear of letting down the hopes of those she had left behind. Even if her people survived until dawn, it would not matter. The Harkinsen had found them, and the thing did not rest, and had not stopped since the time of her ancient forefathers. Tah''utha was old enough to understand why her mother had sent her away. There was no fearing the worst when no other conclusion was possible. And now, just as the first hint of dawn broke over the horizon, she fell¡ªpainfully, completely. Her body craved the light. She tried to rise, but her limbs refused to obey. It¡¯s going to be alright, she told herself. The sun is rising. I can keep going. The Sawa''no Tribe was just over that hill. She pushed a weak hand forward, waiting for the nourishing light of the sun. It would take some time, but she could still make it. Then¡ªfootsteps from behind her. Light steps. No, thought Tah''utha. She wanted to scream. No. She should not. There was the vain hope it didn''t know she was here. No. No no no no no! The footsteps came closer, then a pause. Tah''utha froze, begging to any god who still listened to make her invisible, but then a rough hand grabbed her shoulder, flipping her over. Tah''utha cringed, blocking with her arms, but then heard the voice. "You. You''re... not Sawa''no." The hand let go of her. "What''s a child like you doing out here?" Tah''utha opened her eyes. An older Kas''ua looked down at her from his kneeling position. The markings framing his eyes marked him as a hunter for a tribe. "Can you speak?" he asked, not unkindly. A finger found the side of her neck, then he frowned. "You need the sun. Were you lost?" He picked her up, carrying her towards the hill. "A Weaver''s pendant," he muttered upon seeing the token dangling from Tah''utha''s neck, clearly uncomfortable upon recognition. He did not say more. And then they crested the hill, where he gently set Tah''utha down in the light of the sun. The first rays had long poured over the horizon, and it was only this hill that had stopped the nourishing light from reaching Tah''utha''s skin. She basked in its warmth, feeling her body drink in the light. The hunter looked down at her before reaching into his pack. Out came something blue; paumfruit, which he handed to Tah''utha. She reached for it it greedily, biting into the salty flesh. It was ripe. This hunter must have been talented if he could pluck fruit from paumbeasts during their mating seasons. "Slow," said the hunter, kneeling down with concern. He gently wiped paumfruit juice from her skin before asking her again, "Were you lost? Why are you carrying a Weaver''s pendant?" Tah''utha swallowed, feeling the warmth of the sun settle into her bones, the taste of paumfruit thick on her tongue. She had no time to rest. Her mother''s words echoed: You must warn them of the Harkinsen! She clutched the pendant against her chest, her small fingers trembling. "I¡¯m not lost," she whispered. "I was sent. I... I escaped. My village¡ª" The words caught in her throat, strangled. A weight settled behind her ribs. Not just fear, but something heavier. A hollowed-out ache where mother and father used to be, but she had no words for the ruin left behind. Only memories, now tarnished. The dead, the silence, the firelight gleaming off twin knives cutting through wards like nothing at all. The hunter¡¯s expression darkened. "The Harkinsen." It was not a question. Tah''utha gave a small nod. "My mother said to find the Sawa''no Weaver. She said¡ª" Her voice wavered, but then suddenly she became calm. As though a part of her had accepted it all, and that there was nothing left to do besides convey the message. "The Sawa''no need to leave. The Harkinsen is coming." The hunter exhaled sharply. He stood, gaze shifting to the horizon, down the hill where a Kas''ua village lay. He turned around, noting the fresh wound on Tah''utha''s shoulder. "You were bleeding last night?" he asked. Tah''utha nodded. "The Harkinsen cut me," she explained, indicating her wound. It had not healed no matter how many times Tah''utha croaked a command at it. "Then you were followed," the hunter stated. His voice did not rise, only lowered as he understood the weight of the situation. "Come," he offered her a hand, "Our Weaver must know." After only a moment of hesitation, Tah''utha took it. "Did I... is it my fault?" she asked in a hushed whisper, barely holding back tears. Why hadn''t she thought of this too? "Are more going to die because of me?" "No," the hunter''s voice was soft, but firm. "The Sawa''no still have time to move because of you. Death comes, but we seek life elsewhere." And they walked down towards the village.