Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Though midnight had come and gone in the world above, the underground cave was so brightly lit it might as well have been full day. On every ilm of the ceiling not studded with stalactites was some sort of fungus that glowed a hot, clear white, illuminating the small bodies scurrying across the ground and hopping into the air. Hermes sat with his back against one glittering wall, keeping himself out of the way and watching the creatures with increasing bewilderment. Fuzzy round spheres no larger than his hand rolled back and forth across a floor of blue sand. They paid him little mind as they went about their business. On occasion, one of the furred creatures would race to one of the large lumps lined up against the wall and communicate with it in a series of chirps and squeaks. The boulder would sit up, revealing a larger and equally fluffy lifeform. It would flap its ridiculously small leathery wings—wings that were absent on its smaller relatives—and then it would take flight, moving to inspect a spot here or there on the ceiling where the fungal light was especially thin.

It was all very strange. Hermes couldn’t make out what the creatures were doing.

…No, before that, he couldn’t even begin to guess why he was here. Azem had insisted that they take shelter to avoid one of the rare desert rains, with a lack of further detail that he was quickly coming to learn was characteristic of them. It was possible that Azem had simply wanted a place to rest. It was equally possible that they had wanted him to witness this strange community of fluffy creatures. It was altogether unclear which was the case.

At the very least, they were safe here. Meteion was relaxed enough that she was dozing off against his side, which was both a comfort and a deterrent against moving from his current position. Right now Hermes was more inclined to think it the latter. His arm was beginning to grow numb.

Helplessly, he snuck a glance to where Azem sat—Azem, the Fourteenth Seat of the Convocation. In theory, the person who was supposed to own his loyalty and his service. Hermes wasn’t certain how he felt about that either. His first impression of them had been of a very strange but likely harmless individual, one who was rather detached from reality and had not a lick of common sense. He was still convinced they were very strange, but they were also clearly anything but harmless.

Azem. This person, odd and flighty as they were, was a member of the Convocation of Fourteen. Hermes still wasn’t sure he believed it.

Azem was paying him little mind. Their focus suddenly sharpened to a point in the empty air in front of their face and their brow furrowed. Hermes had little time to wonder what had caught their attention before there was a soft hiss of displaced air and the flash of magick.

The creatures scurrying across the floor took little notice, but Azem gave a displeased huff. The aether condensed, taking on the form of a scroll with a glowing seal that hovered before them. Azem crossed their arms, closed their eyes, and turned up their nose. “No.”

The scroll promptly burst into flames.

“Er,” Hermes said, startled.

It was the first either of them had spoken in bells. The sound of his voice seemed to remind Azem that they weren’t alone, and they squinted one eye open to look at him. Taking in his expression of confusion, their lips quirked. They unfolded their arms, setting their hands to either side atop the stone on which they sat, and looked full at him.

“It was a missive from the Convocation,” they explained. “I didn’t want to take it. So I didn’t.”

“Er,” Hermes said, because that brought up rather more questions than it had answered.

Azem sighed, waving one hand in careless impatience. “Oh, all right. You’re under consideration for the seat of Fandaniel. I might as well explain to you Convocation politics.”

Was he really still under consideration?

That did not seem relevant right now. Hermes held his tongue.

“Firstly: If the Convocation desires my attention, there is a right way to go about it. They know that. Sending me a message with Lahabrea’s aetherial signature is as good as attaching a flashing signpost telling me not to read.”

That was… alarming in its own right. Hermes had spoken with Lahabrea on occasion, most often in those instances when the Speaker had come to pay a visit to Pandaemonium. Their interactions had always been courteous if cool. Hermes’s impression of him had been of one more interested in the dangerous concepts under study than in such trivialities as social niceties, but that was not unusual for brilliant researchers. Lahabrea had never given Hermes any particular reason to dislike him.

And yet it seemed he had given Azem plenty of reason to dislike him. Hermes wondered, but the opportunity to ask had already passed. Azem had moved on and was ticking names off on their fingers.

“If it was a message from one of those inclined to view me more charitably, I may have considered reading. But no, more relevant in this case is whom it’s not from. It’s not from Elidibus: that means the Convocation hasn’t yet come to a consensus on what to do with us and they aren’t formally requesting our attendance. It’s not from Pashtarot, which is quite interesting: You’d think he’d be the first to grow angry and throw the book at me. That means he understood my message and is choosing to remain neutral for now. It’s not from Emet-Selch…”

Here they paused, a look of discomfort settling on their face for the first time. Meteion shifted against him in her sleep. Hermes looked down at her, finding that she was frowning in sympathetic response.

“…Well, that could mean a number of things,” they finished weakly. “Perhaps that he’s reserving judgment, or that he thinks it best not to get involved, or that he’s too furious to talk to me. But there’s also…”

Azem stopped, looking deeply pained, and after another moment they tried again. “…It’s not from Emet-Selch. But it’s not from Fandaniel either, which means that he has nothing in particular to say to you, on the subject of your nomination or otherwise.”

At the sound of that name, Hermes’s fists clenched. As always over the past several suns, the mention of his old teacher was enough to set his teeth on edge.

For as long as he could remember, he had looked up to Fandaniel. The man had overseen Elpis when Hermes was young yet, full of hope and the naive belief that the star was a kind and beautiful place. In those days Hermes had paid little attention to anything outside of his own creations or those he was assigned to oversee. How was he to know the casual contempt with which others treated the life under their care? How was he to know how cruel their people could be?

Fandaniel had always been a man worthy of admiration, both for his astonishing achievements and the meticulous care with which he oversaw Elpis. Hermes knew no greater honor than having that man personally recommend him as his successor, first to the position of chief overseer and now to his seat on the Convocation. But at the same time, he knew without a doubt that his opinion of his old teacher was now forever soured. He would no longer be able to think of Fandaniel without remembering the man’s desire to return to the star. In the end he was the same as everyone else Hermes had ever known: his own death was as nothing to him, and so too must he think little of the lives under their purview.

It had been many decades since last they’d met. Hermes was no longer certain how he felt about the man he had once respected. He wasn’t certain how the man felt about him, now that Emet-Selch had returned and likely reported all of Hermes’s flaws and errors to the Convocation.

All of those thoughts and doubts passed through his mind in an instant. Beside him, Meteion stirred and sat up, and the look in her dark eyes as she regarded him was one of worry.

Hermes drew a deep breath, steadying himself before he answered. “And what meaning do you ascribe to Fandaniel’s silence?”

Azem did not seem to have noticed his momentary hesitation. They shrugged and spread both hands wide. The ashy remains of the letter scattered with the movement, drifting to the cave floor.

“I don’t know. You know him better than I. If you can’t say, I certainly can’t. All I’m sure of is that Lahabrea never has anything of importance to say.”

That was surely an exaggeration. Hermes sighed, and Azem grinned impishly in return.

“There is one thing of which I’m certain, however.” They stood, brushing remnants of sand and glowing fungus from their hands. “We should get a move on. Knowing Lahabrea, he put a locator spell on that message. He’ll try to chase me down whether or not the Convocation has come to a consensus, and it’s best if my trail has gone cold before he even comes close to finding this place.”

Hermes turned to Meteion. She was still frowning, but as he passed a hand over her head, stroking her hair, her eyes cleared. She smiled brightly, a smile that he couldn’t help but return. Then she glanced around, her mouth forming a round circle of surprise as she took note of the small creatures. Without a word, she stood up and hurried to the nearest huddle of the animals. She crouched, hands on her knees, and made a small, pleased noise when one of them rolled closer to investigate her. She tilted her head and her wings flapped twice in curiosity; the animal hopped twice as if in response.

“This was a good choice,” Azem murmured. When Hermes looked at them, their attention was on Meteion, watching her and the fuzzy creature with a little smile on their face. “It’s calming, isn’t it? And strange—so strange.”

“…Yes.” And then, not knowing what else to say—feeling he should at least be making a token effort to befriend his companion for the foreseeable future—Hermes ventured, “Are they yours?”

Azem gave a startled laugh. “Do they seem like I something I would create?”

Hermes wisely held his tongue. Fortunately Azem didn’t seem to expect an answer. “No, as far as I can tell, they came about naturally. They’re no one’s creation; they exist by no one’s design. They are exactly as charming as they are through no one’s will but their own.”

Azem tilted their head and raised one finger to their lips. Their eyes when they looked at him sparkled with a shared secret. “I like to come here sometimes, just to check on them. When I’d like to be alone far away from the trappings of society. I’m not sure anyone knows of them but me, and now the two of you.”

Still Hermes hesitated, too perplexed to know what to say. It was Meteion who spoke, having successfully enticed one of the creatures close enough to run her fingers through its fur. “They’re wonderful.”

“Aren’t they? But I fear we can’t stay for much longer, not if we want to escape Lahabrea.” Azem placed a hand on their chin, ruminating, and began to mutter to themself. “Right. Our next destination should be somewhere they wouldn’t think to look. …No, that shouldn’t be my first priority; they could probably find me anywhere if they really put their minds to it. A place that needs me? I don’t think I had outstanding business anywhere outside of Amaurot… Somewhere I haven’t been in a while?”

“What are you after?”

The words surprised even Hermes. He’d spoken without realizing, though such impulsiveness was unusual for him. He found he did not regret his directness. If this was the only way to get a straight answer from his notoriously slippery traveling companion, then so be it.

Azem’s voice slowly trailed off, and they looked at Hermes as if confused that he’d spoken. It was too late to take back the question, and so he elaborated, “You may play the fool, but I don’t believe you would bring us here by chance. What were you hoping for by coming here?”

“Hmm.”

Azem paused for thought, frowning. Slowly they raised one hand. To Hermes’s frustration, they began to sketch in the air instead of answering. Their fingers left a trail of glowing aether in their wake, forming the sort of landscape of hills and clouds that a child might make given half a bell and a set of paints.

They hardly seemed to be paying him any mind, which was why it came as a surprise when they began to speak. “I wouldn’t say I was after anything in particular, but I’d be interested in your opinion, if you felt you could give it. I like these little creatures, but I’ve never quite figured out if one could call them intelligent beings.”

After a moment Hermes stated the obvious. “They’re mortals.”

“Yes. Most life on Etheirys is. I find that doesn’t make them any less compelling.” They swirled their finger, drawing a few abstract flowers in the foreground. “I’ve never been able to get a good sense of them—whether they are a sort of people with their own functioning society or if they’re no more advanced than ants. What do you think, Hermes?”

He hesitated and looked to Meteion. She’d scooped up one of the creatures in her hand, where it had curled up into a stationary fuzzy ball. She appeared to be paying no mind to their conversation. Even if she were, he suspected Azem was asking for his answer, independent of Meteion’s contribution.

He gave the question fair consideration. “…I don’t know. My expertise is not in… social structures, or judging intelligence versus routine. But that’s not why you’re asking.”

“You keep ascribing deep intentions to me. I’m not sure I put that much thought into it.”

Azem’s tone was light and invited argument. Hermes was not at all fooled. “You said no one but you knows of this place. What would happen if anyone else were to learn of it? The Convocation or the researchers of Akadaemia Anyder?”

Azem continued to draw in the air, a slight, vacuous smile on their face. Hermes was beginning to hate that smile. He was quickly learning that it was the expression Azem wore when they were feigning innocence or ignorance.

“I suppose they would be taken in for study. By Loghrif, most likely; terrestrial lifeforms would fall under her domain. Perhaps not all of the creatures. Enough to see if they would be capable of building another community if moved to an outside environment, and enough to see if the old community would be able to recover after the hit to their population.”

To abduct them with no warning or explanation, to uproot them and toy with their lives all in the name of learning more about them. For a thinking creature, it was a fate no less cruel than reversion. For an unthinking creature…

Hermes spoke at last, his words slow and measured. “Whether they are people or ants, they are still deserving of respect,”

Azem’s reply gave away nothing. “That’s very much the answer I expected from you.”

They pushed their palms against the sketch in the air before them. The lines of aether glowed and strengthened, gaining depth until the picture was no longer a child’s drawing but a window into another place.

That place was very far away indeed. While it was past midnight in the desert, it was already morning on the other side of the portal, the sky the clear blue of long past dawn. A riot of purple grass and yellow and white flowers covered the ground; in the far distance, gently rolling hills gave way to mountains that stretched up to the clouds. A faint, warm breeze drifted through into the cave, carrying with it a musky scent that he couldn’t give name to. There were no people or animals to be seen.

The fluffy creatures froze and turned to face them, the air filling with anxious little squeaks and cheeps. Azem laughed. “It’s fine, it’s fine, little ones. We’ll be out of your way soon enough and you’ll have forgotten all about me the next time I visit.” They waved Hermes and Meteion over. “Well, come on. Pelion is a staunch believer in early mornings, but I think we should be able to claim exhaustion from our long journey and convince the villagers to let us sleep till late morning at the least.”

Hermes approached with no small reluctance; Meteion at last released the ball of fur and moved to his side. He had little choice in the matter. He was well aware that he was subject to Azem’s every whim. For Meteion’s continued existence, his freedom was the price he had paid—Meteion’s existence, and the chance that he might still find an answer.

Meteion gazed up at him, sensing the grim turn of his thoughts. She tilted her head, birdlike, but then smiled as if to encourage him.

“It’s okay, Hermes,” she chirped, misunderstanding the reason for his apprehension. “I’ll go first!”

She dove through the portal without another word. She stumbled when her feet touched the grass, struggling to regain her balance; then, at the sight of the flowers spreading before her, she gasped and clasped her hands together. Unlike the flowers of Elpis, they did not change color, but they did twist in reaction to her presence, as if turning her faces to the sun. She dropped to her knees and cupped one of the blooms between her palms. Her mouth moved with words that they could not hear from where they stood, but her joy was clear to see.

Azem chuckled. “Truly an adventurous soul, that one. I’d congratulate you on a job well done, but I think it’s hardly fair to credit parents for having quite excellent children.”

Meteion turned to speak to them, her mouth falling open when she found that Azem’s portal wasn’t visible from where she stood. Before she could grow too distressed, Azem leaned forward, thrusting one hand through and giving her a quick wave.

“We should be going too,” they said. “Come, then, Hermes. Or would you like me to hold your hand while we cross?”

It took him a moment to recognize the gentle jibe. How long had it been since anyone had treated him with such lighthearted familiarity?

“Ah… that won’t be necessary.”

The words came out somewhat choked. Azem turned to face him fully, one eyebrow raised. Hermes cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t think Hythlodaeus would ever forgive me the impropriety.”

Azem looked briefly startled. Then they laughed, and the pure delight in the sound made Hermes start back.

“Oh, very well. If Hythlodaeus would disapprove.” They cocked their head, flicking another glance through to where Meteion was now wringing her hands. “Go on, then. Your little bird awaits you.”

Hermes did, and only when he emerged on the other side did it occur to him that this time he had obeyed without a thought.

Azem landed next to them not a second later. With a lazy wave, they dismissed the portal that only they could see. They looked past the portal, away from the hills, and Hermes followed their gaze. They were not in the middle of the empty wilds, as he had thought, but on the very edge of cleared farmland. Before them was a field of what looked to be corn and tomatoes, inexpertly planted in messy rows. The fields stretched on for malms, only broken here and there by the occasional farmhouse, barn, or storage silo. In the far distance, a cluster of stone buildings marked the center of the village proper.

“Pelion,” Azem said, by way of explanation. “At this time they’ll already be awake and tending to the animals. We can probably beg the use of a few beds for the morning. I think some sleep would do us all good.”

It was a reasonable enough suggestion. “Very well,” Hermes said. He had intended to leave it at that, but there was a twinkle in Azem’s eye and a challenge in the curve of their mouth, and after a moment he gave in. “What is it?”

"Oh, nothing in particular,” they said blandly. “Simply that it’s a nice isolated village where we can get some rest and where no one will think to find us.”

Meteion leaned around Hermes to look at them. Her brow furrowed, peering into their heart rather than their face, and after a moment she said decisively, “You like this place.”

“I like most places on the star so long as they don’t try to chase me away with rocks or poison me with their so-called traditional cuisine.”

Meteion narrowed her eyes. Her lower lip jutted out, and Azem threw their hands up to the sky in a gesture of defeat. “Oh, very well. Rather than the place, it would be more accurate to say I have a fondness for these people. They haven’t lived here very long. Only since…”

Much to his horror, Hermes found himself unable to stifle a yawn. Azem stopped, a look of malicious amusement settling across their face. “…And I’m afraid it’s a long story fit to put your master to sleep. Come, let us rest first, and I’ll fill you in on the details later.”

Hermes sighed, but it was true enough that they were in no particular hurry to hear Azem’s explanation. Meteion gave a great yawn, transforming into a small blue bird that fluttered up to tuck itself into Hermes’s cowl, and they began to walk to the nearest of the houses.

A few small figures were bustling around the farm and attending to the morning chores, though they hadn’t yet seemed to have noticed the two visitors. As they strolled, Azem breathed deeply, tilting their face back to bask in the sunlight.

“Now here’s a question for you, Hermes,” they said, their voice deceptively nonchalant. “Say that that species of fluffy little creatures—we’ll call them Fluffs for convenience’s sake—”

That surprised a chuckle from him. “Fluffs?”

“Please. Not all of us are accustomed to having the expert namers of Poieten Oikos at our fingertips. So. Say the Fluffs have a known enemy, a species for which they are a great delicacy. We’ll call this species, hmm… the Fangs. Given the sparse life in the desert which they call home, the Fluffs make up the majority of the Fangs’ diets.”

Azem paused there, sidestepping a particularly ambitious stalk that was doing its best to escape from the scraggly rows. Hermes allowed them to pass first; then he said quietly, “This isn’t a theoretical question, is it?”

Azem’s smile had all but vanished. That was answer enough. “My question to you is this. We cannot speak on the Fluffs’ sentience. If they are intelligent creatures, they’re so different from us that we cannot yet recognize it. In the same vein, we cannot judge the Fangs’ sentience. So then, knowing the situation they face, what do you do? Will you choose to aid the Fluffs, as the victims and rather lovable little creatures besides?”

Hermes did not speak immediately. He was too cautious to offer an opinion just yet; he sensed there was a trap in Azem’s words. “And what is the alternative?”

“They get eaten, of course,” they said, as casual as could be. “And the Fangs don’t starve to death.”

Hermes fell silent then, unnerved, and Azem did not press the matter. They walked past the rows of corn and tomatoes, entering a planted field of some purple root vegetable he did not recognize. The children in the distance seemed to have noticed them; one had disappeared into the house, presumably to tell the adults of the arrival of visitors, and the other was waving energetically. Chuckling, Azem raised a hand and waved back.

“That’s not a very pleasant choice,” Hermes said.

Azem lowered their hand. They did not look at him. “And yet it’s unavoidable. Refusing to involve oneself is its own choice with its own consequences. Either way is a judgment on which species we think worthy of survival.”

“Is that why you brought me there?” he murmured, resentment underlying his words. “For a point like that?”

“No. I brought you there because it was the first safe place I thought of, and I rather like the Fluffs.” Azem slanted him a sideways glance, eyes narrowed, smile bright. “What did you think? They’re cute, aren’t they?”

Hermes sighed. Every time he thought he was beginning to get a grasp on the Traveler’s character, they slipped away yet again. “What would you choose to do in the end?”

“If it wasn’t a theoretical question, you mean?” Azem stepped over another stray vegetable and gave it a stern look. It sullenly wiggled back to its place among its fellows. “I don’t know. There are other factors to consider which might influence my ultimate decision. But in the end I am an irrational creature, so I suppose my answer would depend on how I’m feeling at the time. Entirely unsatisfying, I know.”

They were close enough now, and had been walking for so long, that the child had grown tired of waiting for them. She ran up to them, her face split by a gap-toothed smile, and nearly tripped over her clothes as she did. Her robes were a bit too long for her, sized in anticipation of the height she would soon gain. She was young enough yet that she disdained wearing a mask, opting to leave it hanging around her neck while she worked; her eyes, a brilliant startling white, were in full view.

“Azem!” she called joyfully. “You are Azem, right? You have a red mask and my parents said anyone who visits with a red mask is Azem, either that or they’re trouble, but they also said Azem usually travels alone—”

Azem straightened up to their full height, looming over the girl. Belatedly she shrank back, as if realizing for the first time that strangers often did not like to be confronted.

“What your parents failed to mention is that Azem is trouble. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

They reached out with one finger, flipping the girl’s mask onto her face. Like her robes, it was a little too large for her, and she clutched at it with both hands. Azem poked the nose of her mask, causing those bright white eyes to cross as she followed the path of their finger. “And if I am trouble, then this must be the house of Dorus and Pavlos, and you must be Korinna. There’s no one else here young enough to have forgotten me even after I spent so much time teaching you to fly.”

“Azem!” the girl cried again, no less ecstatically, and threw herself at them. Laughing, Azem scooped her up and transferred her weight to one arm.

“Your Azem is quite thoroughly exhausted, little one, and your flying lessons will have to wait. Is Pavlos in? I would beg his hospitality.”

“Papa’s having breakfast.” Korrina frowned, glancing toward the barn with great reluctance, and said as if imparting a great secret, “I’m supposed to see to the karakul.”

“Then go. No slacking off on your chores.”

She pouted, but the expression lasted only an instant. Azem gave a great heave upward, tossing her into the air. Korrina shrieked, but when gravity did not assert itself and instead left her hovering above their heads, she dissolved into laughter. She flailed her arms and legs wildly, doing her best to turn toward the barn.

“Arms tucked to your sides, remember!” Azem called after her, just as the door into the house opened. “Ah, Pavlos. Perfect timing. That was a scream of joy, I swear.”

“If she flies headfirst into a wall again, it will be your fault,” the big man said amiably. He clapped one heavy hand on Azem’s shoulder; Azem reached up with their other hand and gave it a companionable slap. Pavlos’s head moved fractionally, taking in the sight of Hermes standing quiet and watchful behind them, and gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. “Well, come in then. Will you have breakfast?”

“Sleep first, I think. We’ve come a long way and really could use the rest. We’ll catch up later if that’s fine with you…?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know how you are. Always taking things at your own pace.”

Pavlos stepped aside, gesturing to them both to enter. Azem walked in without hesitation, but Hermes hung back. Their host gave him another curious glance, this time toward what could be seen of his shoulder beneath his cowl.

“Hermes,” he said. He tapped his collarbone beneath where the small blue bird slept. “This is Meteion. She doesn’t always appear in this form.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I see a strange familiar wandering around,” Pavlos said, with a smile so warm that Hermes did his best to return it.

The room they were shown to was small, the twin beds lined up so short that Hermes could not stretch out to his full length without his legs dangling off the edge. It was sparsely but comfortably decorated. The beds were heaped with an abundance of pillows stuffed to overflowing. Bedclothes and curtains alike were sewn from mismatched squares of primary colors. The shelves and wardrobes were host to a veritable army of toys, most carved from wood, but here and there were a few handmade plush animals with button eyes and lopsided smiles. The overall effect was of a bright and cheerful space; these were not a rich people, but they were full of love.

Azem sat on the far bed, chuckling to themself as they carefully shifted a plush smilodon out of the way. Hermes closed the door behind him and pulled off his cowl, carefully shifting Meteion from his shoulder and into his hands. She stirred but did not wake as he placed her atop the nightstand, and then he sat on the closer bed, folded his hands, and looked at Azem.

The Traveler was pulling off their boots and tossing them carelessly on the floor. With a flick of their fingers, the curtains pulled closed, leaving the room in half-light. They looked ridiculous curled up on the child-sized bed, but they were probably accustomed to much less comfortable sleeping spaces. They saw him looking, yawned pointedly, and closed their eyes. “We’ll have plenty of time later to learn more about each other. For now, rest. That is your first lesson of the road: rest when you can, so you’ll be prepared for action if the time comes.”

Hermes was not inclined to sleep. All that had happened since their departure from Elpis two days ago still churned through his mind, everything he had left behind and what was to happen from here on out. He had entrusted a question to Meteion, and he couldn’t help but feel he was betraying it now that Azem had forcibly dragged him on a journey across the star.

Was it a betrayal to continue seeking an answer? To continue to hope?

What was life, in the end, and what did it mean to think it precious?

“You asked what I would do in the matter of the Fangs and the Fluffs,” Hermes said. Azem’s eyes snapped open, giving the lie to their attempts to sleep. “I would search for a way to help both of them. To make it so neither survives at the expense of the other. That is my judgment on both species’ fitness to live.”

Azem squinted at him, their lips pressed tight together in contemplation. Without realizing it, Hermes found himself holding his breath.

“That’s not a bad answer.”

Azem closed their eyes again, looking extremely self-satisfied, and turned away.

“Yes. I think I’d want something like that too.”

Chapter Text

Hermes awoke with a start.

For one long, disorienting moment, he was not sure what had happened. The mattress beneath him was lumpy and uneven. The bed was small enough that his arms were curled tight to his body and his feet dangled off the edge. Hermes froze, afraid to move, afraid to fall, until memory of this morning caught up with him and he recalled where he was.

A small farm in a village called Pelion. A man with a welcoming smile and a little girl who wanted to fly.

Hermes relaxed, stretched out, and sat up.

The light was still bright in the window. No more than a few bells could have passed since their arrival. In the other bed, Azem slept on, oblivious to the world around them. One arm and a leg were draped over the side of the mattress and they were in danger of falling off entirely.

Hermes was yet tired, but it seemed no further sleep was forthcoming. That was not unexpected, merely part of a routine that had continued for as long as he could remember. Sleep late, late enough that the Elpis nighttime observers were already well into their shifts. Rise early, early enough that the sky was still dark and the morning watchers had not yet left their beds. His inability to sleep was not something he had much control over, and it allowed him to devote more time to the duties of his office and his personal projects. The accompanying exhaustion he had come to accept as natural.

Would it stay the same even now, when he had no work that he need tend to? When he had lost his place in Elpis and merely drifted wherever his companion saw fit to take them? When his only obligations were to himself and Meteion and, inexplicably, to Azem?

Azem. If he were to point to a single source for his current weariness, it would likely be Azem.

Hermes sat in silence for several minutes, turning those thoughts over in his head. Azem did not stir, a small smile on their face, drool pooling in the corner of their mouth. They stretched out one leg, teetering even more dangerously over the edge of the bed.

Hermes sighed, a wry smile tugging at his lips, and stood. With a heave and a grunt, he pushed Azem back up onto the mattress so that they were no longer in danger of falling. Throughout all this Azem did not wake. They grabbed for him in their sleep; he evaded easily, and their hand closed around empty air.

“Hythlodaeus,” they whimpered.

Hermes’s smile slipped from his face as quickly as it had come. Of course. This was a person who had never known what it meant to be unmoored.

He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts and looked around the room. It was very clearly a children’s bedroom, most likely shared by Korinna and the other child he had seen only from a distance. Not for the first time, he was struck by the oddity of offering such a room to guests. It was clearly much too small for two full-grown adults. Was this the only sleeping space available to them? Was their presence a great imposition  on their hosts? Pavlos and Azem had given no indication of the sort, but now that the thought had occurred to him, Hermes couldn’t help but wonder.

The nightstand by the bed was neatly arranged, set with a lamp, a picture book, and an empty mug stained with some dark liquid on the inside. Meteion was nowhere to be found. Hermes was not worried; most likely she had awakened already and gone off to explore. With one last glance at Azem, who did not seem inclined to rise anytime soon, he pulled up his cowl, settled his mask on his face, and stepped from the room.

Pavlos was nowhere to be seen. Instead another man sat at the large dining table, hands sliding expertly across the rough wooden surface and leaving glowing lines in their wake. The lines rose into the air, slowly shifting colors and gaining shape and texture to form an image of the surrounding countryside. On the far side of the table across from the man was a cluster of buildings made of stone situated around a courtyard paved in the same material. Rough squares of varied colors stretched out away from the village, symbolizing the surrounding fields. To the man’s left was a shining ribbon of silver, a wide river that cut through the farmland and fell off the edge of the table; before him was a series of gently rounded hills blanketed in purple and yellow and white flowers. Beyond the hills were snow-topped mountains, and beyond the mountains was nothing, only a handspan of plain, unvarnished wood free of magick.

Meteion was standing across from the man, her palms planted atop one of the buildings, seeming entirely engrossed in the display of power. The man did not seem to mind her regard. Indeed, he was speaking to her, his low, rumbling voice tinged with faint amusement as he explained what he did. He must have known she was a familiar and thus possessed no mastery of creation magicks. Still, his words were measured and patient, and Meteion listened, mouth hanging open.

“The river Erechios,” the man said, pointing to the silver line, which glittered in response. “Its source is up in the mountains. Every spring when the snows melt, it all comes rushing down and the river floods its banks.”

Hermes came up silently to the table, but Meteion did not seem to notice and the man paid him no mind. “It’s spring now,” Meteion said, her nose wrinkling as she studied the map.

The man chuckled. “Correct. The water level is already starting to rise.”

With a tap of his finger, the thin ribbon of the river began to flow faster and higher. Meteion watched, her eyes as round as if she had never seen magick before. Even Hermes couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d encountered his share of powerful mages, but in a way, it was even rarer to find someone who could control aether on such a fine scale.

“Now then. That leaves us with something of a problem on our hands. Can you tell what it is?”

Meteion’s brow furrowed. After several seconds, she shook her head. Only then, for the first time, did the man look to Hermes.

Hermes had his answer ready. “The surrounding land is too low. If the river floods its banks, it will overflow into the fields and drown the crops.”

Meteion straightened up and spun round, her wings perking with the movement. “Hermes!”

The smile he gave her was slightly rueful. She must truly have been entranced to not have noticed his arrival. She was… growing, in a way that separated her from him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Correct,” the man said calmly. “Dorus, by the way. You are Hermes. And so we arrive at the heart of the matter.”

Dorus spread his fingers. The shining silver river split into multiple smaller streams, wending their way across and through the fields, and the level of the main watercourse dropped accordingly.

“The floods are a problem, but not one without a solution. Paradoxically, the best way is to block the river upstream and allow the water level to rise. Then it becomes possible to redirect some of the water for irrigation and other purposes. We’ve had neither time nor power to do so in the past, but with your aid, it should be feasible.”

Dorus paused. There was a sense of potential building in the air, the static of magick sparking against their skin. Meteion shivered, wrapping her arms around herself—and then Dorus exhaled, and the tension burst all at once. He flicked his pointer finger at the diagram. The waters and streams receded back down to their present level, and a rocky wall rose from the riverbed, blocking its flow.

“That’s it?” Meteion asked, after several seconds passed in which nothing more happened.

“That’s it,” Dorus agreed, with a knowing smile. “If you discount the work we’ve done to prepare, at any rate.”

Hermes said, “That wall. That’s actually…?”

“Yes. You’ll see it if you go down to the river.” Dorus laced his fingers together and leaned back in his seat, fair glowing with satisfaction. “We’ll keep an eye out as the water levels rise and adjust as we go along. We’ll send for help again if we need it. That’s the way of it for us folks without your sort of big magick.”

Meteion blinked, her expression incomprehending, but Hermes caught the wry note in his voice. He ducked his head, acknowledging the injustice for what it was, even as he felt a flash of resentment. It wasn’t as if he’d chosen to be skilled at magick.

It wasn’t as if he’d chosen to be strong enough to be considered for a Convocation seat.

“There is something to be said for efficient application of power,” he said cautiously.

It was an olive branch, all he really had to offer, but Dorus laughed, and Hermes realized at that moment that he’d never truly meant what he said.

“You’re an odd one, Hermes. But I should have expected that from one who travels with Azem.” Dorus’s face was hidden behind his mask, but Hermes had the impression that he was being watched with a sharp, appraising gaze. “That is an oddity in and of itself. I’ve always been under the impression that they prefer to journey alone. For them to arrive in the time of the spring rains with two eccentric strangers in tow is far outside what I would have ever expected.”

Hermes stiffened. “I’m…”

And there he stopped, groping for an appropriate explanation. There were no words, really—nothing that could encapsulate the complex feelings with which he regarded Azem. They were a storm that had swooped down upon him one day, disrupting the perfect weather of Elpis and upending his life, spiriting both him and Meteion off to parts unknown with promises of an adventure he had never wanted and never even considered.

He still didn’t know what he thought of Azem. In some ways, he was afraid to know. In the end, he chose the most technically correct definition of their relationship. “…Their servant. I suppose. For the time being.”

“Hmm.” That single, wordless sound still somehow managed to be loaded with meaning. Dorus’s magick continued to swirl about the table, snow and clouds and waters moving about without his interference. “Azem has a servant?”

Hermes was not sure how he felt about the doubt in the man’s voice.

Before he could think to answer, though, Dorus sighed and raised a hand to his chin. “Not that I’m questioning you, mind. It’s just that I never thought anyone would be able to keep up with Azem. It’s exhausting to even consider.”

“Exhausting… You’re not wrong there.”

“I like Azem,” Meteion piped up unexpectedly.

Hermes started and looked down at her. Her smile was innocent and sincere.

He should not have been surprised. Of course she liked Azem. They were nothing but kindness and optimism, a shining star to light the way through the deepest darkness.

Of course Meteion would cling to them for the hope they gave her.

Of course Hermes would want to feel the same.

And yet…

Fortunately, Dorus saved him the trouble of deciding what to say. “Azem is a hard person to dislike,” he said wryly. “Obnoxious though they may be at times. It’s hard to hate someone who is always trying their very best for everyone.”

“Have you known them long?” Meteion asked, her eyes alight with the promise of a story.

“In the way men count years? Not long at all. We first met back when…” Dorus stopped suddenly and cleared his throat. He glanced down at the mountains on the table before him. “…Well. When Korinna was a newborn babe. Since then they’ve come by a few times to check on us.”

Meteion might have let his moment of hesitation pass; she was not yet attuned enough to the ways of conversation to recognize the way his voice hitched or how he fumbled for words. But Hermes noticed, and he pounced on it, as if hoping that understanding this would allow him to understand the strange turn his own life had taken.

“What happened?” he said.

Dorus did not respond immediately. Instead he bowed his head. A lock of green hair slid free from his cowl, but he did not seem to notice as he ran his hand across the magical landscape before him. The edge of the table beyond the mountains began to glow, transforming into…

Nothing. A flat, barren landscape pulsing a sullen red.

And then Dorus said, “Azem failed us.”

It was almost noon by the time their conversation petered off into silence. By now Hermes was shooting nervous, anticipatory looks toward the children’s room. Though Dorus made no comment, the slight smile he wore said that he was perfectly aware of Hermes’s anxiety. When they had run out of things to say, and when Hermes found himself glancing at the door for the third time in as many minutes, he was at last forced to admit that sitting and waiting was doing him no good.

“I suppose we should wake Azem,” he said reluctantly.

“Azem’s awake,” Meteion said. When both Dorus and Hermes turned to her, surprised, her wings drooped, confused at their reactions. “She’s… already gone.”

“They’ve left? How?” But Hermes was already standing without waiting for an answer. This really was a small, crudely built house, and it took only a few strides to reach the door to the room where they had slept.

It was as Meteion had said. The room beyond was empty, the curtains flapping slightly in the breeze.

Hermes stood where he was for a long moment, one hand resting on the doorframe. He felt strangely lost. Here he was, his life having been overturned and placed in the keeping of an eccentric, and now that eccentric had vanished without a word. Azem was a free creature, yet they had Hermes on a leash.

But then Dorus called, “They’re gone, then?” and the moment passed. Shaking his head, Hermes closed the door and moved back to the table.

“I think they left through the window,” he said, fully aware of the absurdity of his words.

Even so, Dorus did not seem surprised. He set his hands on the edge of the table, frowning at the diagram before him. A moment later his expression cleared. “They’re with the children down by the river. Slacking off on their chores, I see.”

Still, his voice was mild and he did not seem particularly annoyed. He tilted his head back to regard Hermes. “They’re likely having so much fun they haven’t noticed the time. Why don’t you and Meteion bring them something to eat? You’ll find a basket of food just inside the kitchen to your left over there.”

Dorus had been expecting this, then, if their noontime repast had already been packed. Hermes didn’t speak the words aloud, but the curve of the man’s lips beneath his mask said that he knew well what Hermes was thinking.

Hesitantly, he hooked his arm through the basket and stepped back into the dining room. Meteion stumbled to her feet at the sight of him, clasping her hands together in front of her. “A picnic? Is this a picnic? With friends?”

“I suppose so,” he said, even as Dorus chuckled. “But Meteion—you still can’t eat, you know.”

But from the way her eyes shone with excitement, the way she rocked back and forth on her claws, that was of no matter to her.

The river was to the west of the house, beyond the many acres of farmland. It was quite a ways to walk for one unused to traveling. Hermes couldn’t help but think the children had been slacking off indeed if they had come this far.

The rock wall blocking off the river was clearly visible as he approached. Already the flooding downstream had begun to subside, the water dropping away from the top of the banks. Azem too had been hard at work, it seemed: the ground looked suspiciously as if it had fallen victim to several small explosions, forming a series of deep, connected craters outlining the rough shape of an artificial lake.

There were no people playing among the craters or by the banks of the river as he had expected. Instead there were several figures high in the air, their shadows chasing each other across the grass and the water. Hermes tilted his head back, shading his eyes with one hand to watch; then he sighed and shook his head, a smile curling at his lips. “Meteion, could you let them know we’re here?”

Meteion chirped a cheerful affirmation and closed her eyes. In the next moment, a small blue bird flitted over to him. Hermes extended one fist without thinking, and she landed on it and tilted her head to regard him with bright, beady eyes. As always, Hermes laughed softly, and he brought her to his lips for a gentle kiss before tossing her into the air. He watched for a long moment as she soared away, long tail trailing in her wake; then he looked from the basket on his arm to the wall across the river. He would not claim he knew Azem well, but he understood them enough to be sure where they would land.

Sure enough, the tallest of the three people soon split off from the midair acrobatics and came in for a quick descent. Azem landed lightly atop the wall and looked around with a small nod of appreciation. Taking to heart Meteion’s idea of a picnic, Hermes had unfolded a patchwork quilt to make the rock somewhat less unpleasant to sit on. He’d set out bottled lemonade and removed the four covered boxes of food within the basket. Since this luncheon was to be a casual affair, only the three of them and the children, he’d lowered his mask and cowl.

Azem had already done the same. Her hair was mussed from the wind of her flight; she ran her fingers through it, tucking the bright red strands back into some semblance of order. Her smile was bright and mischievous. She gave Hermes only a brief nod before turning to inspect the food.

Hermes spared a glance at the two children still tumbling through the air. To his inexpert eye, they seemed to be moving without any semblance of control. A small bird flitted between them, at times flying by their sides as it to give encouragement, at times circling around them as if confused by their clumsiness. “Are the children not coming?”

“I’m sure they’ll join us once they grow hungry,” Azem said. She wasn’t looking at him, more interested in the picnic spread. “For now, the unfamiliar skies hold more allure to them than any sort of food. Though I’m afraid their skills are no match for their enthusiasm. I’ve had to fish them out of the river three times already.”

She dropped inelegantly to a seat on the blanket across from him. The moment she was settled, another scroll materialized in front of her. She stared at it and at the red seal glowing on the surface of the paper, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Of all the things… Igeyorhm.” Azem raised one hand to cover her mouth. “Now what do I do with a letter from Igeyorhm?”

“Read it?” Hermes suggested without much hope.

“Hmm.”

Azem’s brow furrowed and she glared at the message.

“…No.”

With that single word, the scroll transformed into a perfectly transparent cube of ice. Azem plucked it from the air with two fingers and tossed it over her shoulder, and it went bobbing away down the river.

She forgot the missive the moment it was out of sight. That unsavory business handled, she reached for the closest of the boxes and flipped open the top. The smell that emanated was positively heavenly, roasted meat flavored with some sort of pungent herbs. Upon seeing the expression on Hermes’s face, Azem laughed. “You had nothing of this sort on Elpis, did you? You’re lucky. Dorus is the best cook on the whole continent.”

“So that was your motive in bringing us here.”

“Oh, entirely.”

Azem was still smiling, completely at ease. She withdrew a sandwich at random and tossed it onto Hermes’s lap, where it landed in the folds of his robes. He stared down at it, unable to muster whatever reaction was expected of him.

He still had not grown accustomed to Azem. Ever since they’d arrived in Pelion, and especially after speaking with Dorus, Hermes had felt unsettled. Part of it was because he’d left Elpis and his former life so abruptly; part of it was that he had been flung straight into a foreign land in the midst of strangers and he did not know how to act. And in the end, justified or not, he could trace all of his doubts and troubles back to Azem. It wasn’t right that she seemed so cheerful and unflappable, even while Hermes’s world fell apart. He wanted to make her hurt, if only for a moment. He wanted her to understand even a fraction of what he felt—and to confirm to himself, once again, that she was not infallible, and there was more to her than that ever-optimistic smile.

So he said, “Dorus said it was your fault. What happened here.”

Whatever reaction he was hoping for, he was disappointed. Azem’s composure did not waver. At most she hesitated for a moment, one hand inside the basket of food; then she withdrew another sandwich and peeled back the bread to check on the filling.

“That sounds like him,” she said, pushing aside purple lettuce and green tomatoes. “He does say things he doesn’t mean just to see how people react.”

Azem bit into the sandwich, closing her eyes and chewing with an expression of bliss. Hermes sat, his face blank, and watched wordlessly. One bird and two children soared overhead, their laughter carrying on the faint breeze.

Azem lowered her sandwich and wiped her chin with the sleeve of her robe. She met his eyes without hesitation. Even now she was smiling. “But in this case, he’s right. It was my fault.”

The calmness of her confession sent a chill down Hermes’s spine. He straightened up, hands clenching in his lap as he waited for Azem to explain herself.

She did not oblige him immediately. Instead she glanced at her half-eaten sandwich. Disregarding it, she reached for the lemonade and poured a cup for each of them. Then, much to Hermes’s frustration, she reached over for another basket, opening it with a look of mild curiosity, and pulled out a plate of vegetables cut into the shape of flowers. Her expression softened and she directed a smile up at the shadows still flitting overhead.

Only then, still not looking at him, did she speak.

“Did you hear about the volcano?”

…Volcano?

Hermes stared at her, nonplussed by the change in subject.

“You haven’t, then,” Azem said with a lilting laugh. “And here I thought it was enough of an escapade that word would have reached even Elpis. Well, the short version is this: there was about to be a volcanic eruption, so I transformed the excess fire aether into a summoned creature and dispersed it elsewhere.”

That truly brought up more questions than it answered. “…What?”

“Yes. A truly inspired approach, if I do say so myself.” Azem began to stack the carrot flowers into her sandwich. “Of course, I couldn’t have done so without help from Hythlodaeus. And I suppose Elidibus and Emet-Selch saw fit to intervene… well, in the end, I wasn’t formally reprimanded, but the looks Igeyorhm and Deudalaphon gave me for the next moon—not to speak of Lahabrea, but I prefer not to speak of Lahabrea at all whenever possible—well. In any case, it’s fair to say that the Convocation did not approve.”

“…What?”

“Ah, if you’re wondering, the island has some truly excellent grapes. Very sweet, juicy, just the right firmness, though their shape is a little unusual. We can go there after this if you’d like to taste them for yourself. I should check on them anyway.”

“…What?”

Hermes sounded like a broken toy, unable to do anything but repeat himself over and over.

“And that’s why,” Azem said, apparently not noticing his bemusement. “If the volcano had erupted, the grapes would have been lost. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I stepped in, even though it was against the will of the Convocation.”

She stopped there, watching him with blue eyes narrowed expectantly. Hermes sat with mouth agape for a moment; then at last he regained the use of his tongue. “Because you didn’t do so here.”

Azem smiled, stretching her legs out across the picnic blanket.

“Because I didn’t do so here, and I failed them.”

They were not, in the beginning, a farming people.

“Pelion” had originally been the name of their clan, not the village. They had lived on the plains beyond the mountains for millennia on end. They traveled with the weather and the seasons and the shifts of the aetherial currents. They were a nomadic people, herders, tending to the same creatures their ancestors had tended to since time immemorial, with occasional additions of test concepts deemed beneficial to the environment. They had never had much need for creation magicks, and so those abilities had waned over time, as such things do when they are not often used. Even so, they knew their land well, and their constant travels meant that the region was always expertly tended and carefully supervised.

Azem had always thought they had matters well in hand. The Traveler did not concern themself overmuch with matters of the plains: If any sort of trouble was to emerge, the Pelion would hear of it and alert them. But they grew complacent, and the magicks of the Pelion had grown weak and insufficient, and by the time any of them noticed the aetherial imbalance, it was much too late. What had seemed nothing more than a particularly dry season had in fact been a critical deficit of water aether, and there were none present to recognize the emergency for what it was.

By the time word reached Amaurot, the fires had been burning for a fortnight. The Convocation discussed the matter and came to a consensus the same way they always did. The fires on the plains could be considered a natural phenomenon, one that would burn off old growth and renew the region. There was time yet for the people of the plains to evacuate. To intervene now to stop the fire and restore the aetherial balance would require a significant fraction of the Convocation’s resources, and doing so would not benefit the star in any great way.

And so the Convocation of Fourteen voted simply to acknowledge the situation and recommend evacuation for those who thought it necessary. Azem had accepted their decision: they’d had other matters to occupy their attention and there was little they could do little to assist without committing all of their strength.

In the end, the Pelion had taken up new lives on the fertile farmland on the other side of the mountain range.

And in the end, that was much easier said than done.

“It doesn’t sound like much, does it?” Azem said. She was picking sandwiches from the baskets, pulling them apart, and recombining them. She did not appear to notice that she had assembled a strawberry, roast beef, and egg salad monstrosity.

Hermes tore his eyes away from the unfortunate sandwich. “It seemed to mean a lot to Dorus.”

“It’s not for us to judge what others hold dear. The lands beyond the mountains are burning even now. They couldn’t go back even if they wanted to.”

Azem bit into her sandwich. Hermes winced. Around a mouthful of horseradish, whipped cream, and mayonnaise she continued, “Wouldn’t you feel some sense of loss if Elpis were to suddenly and calamitously crash to the ground?”

The thought had never occurred to him. “That’s a bit different.”

“Of course it is. You never liked Elpis much, did you?”

Hermes opened his mouth. As its former overseer he felt obliged to protest, but Azem was paying him as little mind as her sandwich and was already continuing. “For those people, it was their whole world. Their entire way of life, destroyed. The lands they were tending, gone. Most of the animals under their care died during the crossing. We may say that it’s fine, they survived, it was the will of the star, but still they lost everything.”

She took another bite. “Is it any wonder, then, that some of them chose to return to the star rather than remain?”

Hermes said nothing. Azem still wore a faint smile, though she did not seem to be looking at anything in particular. She was certainly not looking at him.

“Korinna had just been born. Her parents were among those who made the decision to return.”

Hermes hissed through his teeth. That much Dorus had not mentioned. For a people as long-lived as theirs, children were both a blessing and a great responsibility. For those parents to decide to return to the star and leave behind a newborn daughter—

Above them, Meteion wobbled in the air, her flight path becoming suddenly unstable. Azem watched the play of emotions across his face and nodded gravely.

“Yes. Having lost their way of life, they felt there was nothing more that they could contribute. They could not acclimate themselves to the idea of a life outside the plains. How could they hope to do right by a child if simply living would be a struggle for them? They judged that giving her up was the best they could do, for themselves and for her. That I cannot argue: Dorus and Pavlos have proven themselves fine fathers to Olen and Korinna both."

“And so they chose to die,” Hermes said heavily. “To throw away their lives just like that.”

Azem did not answer. Instead she grimaced at the sandwich in her hands as if realizing what she was eating for the first time. Setting it atop the stone, she said, “You really don’t like people returning to the star, do you? It’s the same with Fandaniel. I understand the unfairness of it—that we call it a privilege and in the same breath force it upon unwilling creatures—but, Hermes, even you must admit there is no sense in us lingering on forever.”

“They had a daughter,” he said quietly. “There was still much they could have contributed.”

“They would not have been happy,” Azem countered. “They could have clung to life for her, yes, but without purpose or reason of their own, they would have grown to resent her for making them stay. How is that kindness? How is that for the good of the star? Better to go with grace and love to their well-deserved rest in the aetherial sea, so that they may return in the next life with souls refreshed and ready to serve.”

Hermes sighed. There was logic to what she said, but it still felt like an excuse. “And yet…”

Azem’s gaze was compassionate. “I know. It’s different for us who get to choose our own ends.”

One shadow passed over their heads, then another. Hermes looked up to see that the children were at last coming in for a landing, tumbling head over heels through the air in their haste. Meteion kept a good distance from them, circling down towards the wall until she transformed just above the ground and stood next to Hermes once more. She tilted her head, lips pursing as she picked up on the heavy atmosphere that hung between them.

“That’s why I fought a volcano,” Azem said, her voice entirely serious as she spoke of the absurd. “To save some grapes that were cultivated by a single village on a single island. To save a work and a way of life that would have been lost even if all the people had survived. That was what ‘living’ meant to them if not to me. That is what I learned from my failure. And I will strive to do better in the future.”

There was no time for more than that. Already Korinna was running toward them; landing ignominiously on her stomach in the grass had done little to curb her enthusiasm. Her brother Olen, a boy a head taller and some years older with Dorus’s green hair and the curve of Pavlos’s jaw, followed at a more decorous pace, as if trying to preserve some scraps of his dignity. The children fell upon the food as if they were starved beasts, and for the first time Hermes began to understand the sheer number of sandwiches they had been given.

Azem laughed softly. She looked down at her abomination of a sandwich and shook her head. Tossing it into the water for whatever unfortunate fishes might be passing, she reached back into the basket for another.

“Hermes?” Meteion said softly.

Hermes looked down at the apple and peanut butter sandwich in his hands. It felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, one of a different sort than the one he had been walking for decades beyond count. He had tried so hard to keep his balance for fear of the darkness waiting at the bottom of the cliff, a darkness born from his own heart that threatened to consume him.

But this was not the same. This was a waterfall, and he was being swept along in a current he had not the power to resist.

Did he truly wish to, when the water was so insistent on pulling him along? Or did he want to see if this would be a gentle fall to a kinder place?

Hermes took a deep breath, as if preparing to be submerged.

“I’d like to see them.”

Azem’s brow furrowed in confusion. Korinna and Olen paid no mind to the adults’ boring chatter, more occupied with assembling their lunches. Awkwardly, Hermes cleared his throat and clarified, “This island you saved from the volcano, and the grapes that only grow there. I’d like to see them.”

Azem’s expression cleared, and she smiled. Irrationally, Hermes thought that the pool below the falls must be warm and welcoming.

“Then I would be glad to show you.”

Chapter Text

In one hand Azem held a glass of deep red juice, in the other the scroll that had just arrived. He was eyeing the scroll with deep distaste, nose wrinkled and lips puckered as if he’d just eaten a particularly sour grape.

“Altima,” Azem muttered. “Your timing is as impeccable and excruciating as always, I see.”

“I don’t suppose you like Altima?” Hermes said dryly.

“Not enough to forgive her for ruining a most excellent meal.”

Azem tossed the scroll into the air. By the time it reached the top of its arc, he had already lost interest and turned away; by the time it fell to the the table, it had transformed into something else entirely.

Hermes sighed. Meteion gasped. The rabbit’s nose twitched.

“I’m good at rabbits,” Azem said without shame, as if that had been the question on anyone’s mind. “My teacher is very fond of them. I used to create fluffles of them for her nameday. But, well, I didn’t have very much control as a child. It’s a wonder she still likes rabbits.”

“Do rabbits eat grapes?” Meteion asked, though she was already reaching into the bowl without waiting for an answer.

“Oh, this one’s a magic rabbit. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Is it wise to loose a rabbit in a vineyard?” Hermes asked.

Predictably, neither of his companions answered.

The three of them, and now the rabbit, occupied the village’s meeting hall. The large round table around which the elders usually held council had been converted to a dining table, complete with crystal glasses, a silver serving bowl the width of Hermes’s entire forearm, and a pink and yellow checkered tablecloth. They had been left unattended as the villagers went about their daily business tending the vineyards or pressing the grapes. As a result, Azem had removed his mask again, as Hermes was quickly coming to learn was his custom whenever he thought he could get away with it. He sat with his back to the sole entrance to the room, cowl pulled up over his unruly black locks, and shoveled grapes into his mouth at an alarming rate.

When they had arrived, the villagers had treated them like heroes deserving to have their every wish granted. Perhaps it was only to be expected: Azem had wrestled a volcano for them, after all. It was still difficult for Hermes to envision. Azem was strong enough to emerge victorious, and illogical enough to try, but the Azem he knew was whimsical, flighty, and often infuriating. And yet, despite his many flaws, everyone they met seemed to hold the Traveler in the highest regard.

While Meteion fed the rabbit grapes one by one, Azem snagged another bunch from the bowl and proceeded to methodically pluck them from the vine. Hermes watched the two of them and suppressed another sigh. Not one bell ago, that bowl had been full to overflowing with grapes of all sorts: red and green and purple, round and square and every other shape imaginable, even grapes of a bright pink that had exploded in his mouth with unbelievable sweetness. Now that same bowl was nearly empty.

Hermes did not want to think about how many grapes Azem had eaten.

He did not want to think about how many grapes he had eaten.

Azem was stuffing grapes into his mouth one after another without bothering to chew. Hermes said, unable to help himself, “You look like a nutkin.”

Azem frowned. He opened his mouth, presumably to argue and not to slot in another grape, but then choked and began to cough.

A bright pink grape fell from Meteion’s fingers and was snatched up by the rabbit. She did not notice, instead turning to Azem with wide eyes. “Ah! Azem!”

Hermes started from his chair, but Azem waved him off. He chewed and swallowed carefully, rubbing at his throat as he did. The rabbit hopped over to the bowl and stole another grape.

Hermes took the rare moment of silence to voice his protests. “Please show some restraint. Are the grapes really that good…?”

“They’re really good,” Meteion chimed in unhelpfully.

…Well, if Meteion thought so, perhaps she was right. Not all of her enjoyment could come from Azem, after all.

Meteion reached for another grape, looked at it mournfully, and held it out to the rabbit. The rabbit accepted it delicately. Hermes squinted at the animal suspiciously.

…He could’ve sworn it had been smaller when Azem summoned it.

“It is up to us to grasp hold of whatever happiness we can find, whether it be in a bowl of grapes or a glass of wine,” Azem said at last, voice only a little hoarse. His words might have been more convincing had he not been reaching for another bunch. “And on that note, I suppose it’s time to discuss our next destination. Well, Hermes? Where shall we go in search of happiness?”

His surprise lasted only a moment before he realized Azem was teasing again. Hermes shook his head, lips quirking up in a wry smile. “You are the experienced traveler. I know of nowhere that you would not immediately dismiss as too boring to even consider.”

Azem leaned forward, eyes wide and guileless. He looked just a little too innocent to be sincere. “I would never dismiss a suggestion from you, Hermes. But very well; if you lack ideas, then I suppose I’ll provide you with a choice.”

He paused dramatically and for just long enough that Hermes was sure the choice would be no choice at all.

“Someplace homey and comfortable or someplace like you’ve never even imagined?”

…As he’d thought, he really did have no choice.

It was Meteion who answered, oblivious to Hermes’s exasperation. She threw her arms into the air, grapes spilling from her open hands. The rabbit, now fully half Meteion’s size, leapt to the floor and gave chase. “Somewhere… new! And, um. Not imagined!”

Then she paused, belatedly looking to him for confirmation. “That’s… fine, right? Hermes?”

Faced with her eagerness, Hermes could do naught but nod.

“Nothing less from our most adventurous little traveler,” Azem said, managing not to sound too smug. “Somewhere unimaginable it is. Luckily I know just the place.”

His hands were already moving through the air, blue and green aether sketching out an abstract vista of rocks and trees. There was really no telling what kind of place they were to visit from his drawing alone. Half amused and half dismayed, Hermes said, “Did we truly only come here to eat grapes and then leave?”

Azem’s spell weaving did not waver. He poked at the image in the air, drawing small triangular shapes of unknown function in the center. “We came to confirm that the people here had suffered no ill effects following the near volcanic explosion.”

“And eat grapes,” Meteion said.

“And now we leave,” Hermes said.

“Well, that’s about the sum of it,” Azem said, entirely oblivious to their point. “That’s all they were expecting of us, really. They won’t be upset by our sudden departure. Let’s go.”

He gestured to his portal and the spell came to life all at once. Their destination came into focus; the childish drawing solidified into recognizable terrain, revealing the edge of a rocky cliff looking out over an expansive lake. The waters was blue-green and astonishingly clear, the sunlight glinting atop the peaks of small waves. The trees on the far bank already wore their autumn foliage, dark red and burnished gold clinging stubbornly to branches and scattered across the forest floor. As Hermes walked closer, peering through curiously, a swift breeze blew through and into the meeting hall, carrying with it the chill of the oncoming winter and a single maple leaf.

The rabbit promptly ate the leaf and hopped through.

“I suppose we won’t have to worry about it causing trouble in the vineyards now,” Azem mused. “Are you coming, Hermes, Meteion?”

“Of course!” Meteion chirped. By now she was used to the process: She dove through the portal without hesitation, stumbling when her claws touched down on the ground on the other side.

The rabbit leapt straight up at her sudden appearance and fled. Within moments it had left their field of view, though Meteion still watched it run, a complex mix of guilt and disappointment on her face at having frightened it away.

Hermes laughed. How long had it been since Meteion had first come into the world? How long had it been since she had taken the initiative to explore her surroundings with such pure curiosity and unfettered joy?

He was still laughing when Azem planted one hand directly between his shoulderblades and pushed him through.

He was saved from falling from the cliff and into the lake by Meteion. She seized the back of his robes in both hands and pulled, but her slight weight wasn’t enough to steady him and her claws could find no purchase on the rocky ground. In the end she slipped, losing her balance and falling, and with a squeak she kicked Hermes’s legs out from under him.

At least when he fell, it was backwards; at least when he fell, he managed to roll and avoid crushing the little bird beneath him. Hermes lay on his stomach on the ground, out of breath and sore where an ill-placed rock had managed to catch him in the ribs. The light of the sun was surprisingly pale and the wind brisk enough to make him flinch. It was a stark contrast to the warm comfort of the room they had just left.

Then Azem was standing over him and looking down, her lips curved into a most infuriating smile. “Sorry,” she said.

No one in the history of Etheirys could have possibly sounded less sorry.

But some arguments weren’t worth having, especially those that involved Azem’s mostly harmless pranks.

Hermes sighed, giving Azem a look that she could not see beneath his mask but that she must have known was there. Azem merely beamed in response and turned away, leaning over the cliff to peer thoughtfully into the water.

“Don’t push her, Hermes,” Meteion ordered him in a whisper loud enough to carry to the lake’s far shore.

“I would never,” he murmured back, flustered.

Meteion did not respond, but she looked at him with furrowed brow, as if she doubted his ability to resist temptation.

For a mercy, Azem pretended not to hear. She nodded to herself and straightened up, dusting her hands off as if she’d just done something more strenuous than look into the lake. With all the gravity of imparting the star’s darkest secrets, she intoned, “Rainboar.”

“…What?”

“Today we hunt a rainboar. Or rather, you will.”

That did nothing to clarify matters. “What… is a rainboar?”

Azem’s expression grew dismayed. “You’ve never seen a rainboar?” When both Hermes and Meteion shook their heads, she frowned, placing one hand on her chin. “Honestly, what do they teach travelers these days… I suppose it must have been approved before your time. Well, no matter. A rainboar is a creature that’s rather self-explanatory. You’ll know it when you see it.”

She said nothing more, only looked at him expectantly. Hermes stared back, rather nonplussed. Meteion glanced between the two of them; then she clasped her hands together in front of her and stated the obvious. “Hermes doesn’t know what you mean.” She rocked back on her heels and frowned. “I don’t either.”

Azem sighed explosively. “There’s not much to explain. I’m asking you to find a rainboar, kill it, and bring it back here. I’ll leave the method up to your discretion, though I’d like it as little damaged as possible. The quality of our next few meals will depend on your success.”

She was moving too fast for Hermes to be sure he followed. Slowly he repeated the only part he thought he understood. “So we’re… to hunt for our supper?”

“Hm?” Azem’s brow creased, but after a moment, she nodded all the same. “Yes, you could say that.”

How could she still be thinking of food after all those grapes?

“Off with you, then,” Azem said, shooing the two of them away and turning back to her contemplation of the lake. “The sun will be setting in only a few bells. You’d best hurry.”

Hermes still didn’t know what a rainboar was.

He went anyway.

The cliff was of shale, thin layers of stone stacked atop each other such that they seemed likely to break apart if he set a foot wrong. The edge where Azem stood protruded a handful of yalms above the surface of the water. Away from the lake, the incline sloped down steeply to where it was overtaken by the trees. Hermes turned his back on Azem and picked his way carefully down the rock, Meteion stumbling at his side. The going was slow. Wet fallen leaves crunched underfoot with his every step, and he had to take care not to lose his balance and slide ignominiously to the bottom. He wouldn’t be badly injured in such a fall; his dignity was another matter entirely.

They descended without incident and set off through the trees. This was a region little-traveled by men and there was no path to speak of, but Hermes was determined not to let that stop him. He stumbled through bushes and over roots, Meteion following doggedly in his wake, until at last he judged they were too far for Azem to see or hear and he came to a stop.

Hermes looked down at himself in dismay. Even that little jaunt had left his robes stained and ripped. He shook his head, pulling aether from the nearby plants and weaving it together to mend his clothing, though he knew full well that it would be ruined again soon enough.

Sensing his mood, Meteion laced her fingers together, palms down, and waited for him to speak. He pulled down his cowl—here as in Elpis, it seemed wise when he wanted to keep an eye on his surroundings—and ran his fingers through his hair. “And just how are we supposed to hunt a creature when we don’t anything about it?”

“Azem believes in you,” Meteion said loyally. “I… believe in you too.”

“I’m not sure Azem believes in me so much as that she enjoys being difficult,” Hermes said, but he couldn’t help smiling nonetheless.

“Then…” Meteion curled her hands up into fists, bringing them up beneath her chin. “I’ll look! I’ll find it for you!”

“I’d appreciate that,” he said, and meant it. “She did say that we would know it when we see it.”

Meteion beamed and rocked back and forth. Hermes settled back on his heels, his smile fading. She’d been in a good mood lately. It was heartening to see, especially considering the circumstances that had led to them setting out on their travels in the first place. She’d always done her best to cheer up Hermes; feeling the touch of despair for herself was new to her.

But so too was traveling new to her, and she’d taken to it like a fish to water or a bird to the sky. Meteion had been made to travel the stars, and yet the disposition and preferences of a creation were beyond anyone’s ability to control. Her sense of adventure and delight in the world around her were purely her own. Azem called her “little traveler” with unalloyed affection, and independent of what Hermes had asked of or meant for her, that was truly what she had become.

“Hermes?”

Meteion was looking at him, head canted in puzzlement. Only then did Hermes realize he had been staring. He reached over and placed a hand atop her head, reassuring her that his distraction was no fault of hers.

“It sounds like a fun adventure for you,” he murmured.

She stretched her arms out behind her and leaned into his touch. “Yeah! An adventure!”

“Just like every day since we left Elpis.” For good or for bad. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?”

The enthusiasm in her answer left no room for misinterpretation. “Yes!” But then, more surprisingly, she continued. “Azem is… good too! I like her lots!”

Hermes stiffened. Whether she realized it or not, he’d always held Meteion’s opinions in the highest regard. “You… like Azem?”

“You do too,” she said obliviously.

Startled, Hermes dropped his hand and stepped away.

He hadn’t considered that before. Given Azem’s bold intrusion into and careless upheaval of his life, he hadn’t thought much of their relationship beyond a faint resentment for being forced into a journey he’d never desired and never expected. But he couldn’t say he’d been happy in Elpis. He didn’t know if he was happy now, but it certainly wasn’t worse than when he’d been consigning creatures to their deaths.

Did he like Azem? Had it been so long since he’d felt something other than scorn and alienation from his fellow man?

But if Meteion said so, perhaps it was true. Sometimes she knew his heart better than he.

“You may be right,” he admitted. “Even if she is insufferable at times. But come now, we have a task to carry out.”

“All right.” Meteion nodded determinedly. “I’ll find this… rainboar! So then Hermes…”

“Yes. I’ll take care of the rest.”

With a swirl of aether, she transformed and fluttered in to land on his arm. He gave her a further boost into the air and she took off, a spot of blue bright against the reds and golds of the autumn leaves. Hermes watched her until she disappeared from sight; then he began to walk, trusting that she would manage to find him wherever he wandered.

A rainboar. Hermes was fairly certain Azem would not send them into danger without so much as a warning, but as the former chief overseer of Elpis, it was long ingrained habit to be wary of any creature he had not studied extensively. There was also Azem herself to consider. Whether as a result of her tenure as a member of the Convocation of Fourteen or simply as a result of being ridiculously powerful, her sense of what was “possible” or “safe” for a layperson was rather skewed.

…Still, there was something suspicious about this. From the way Azem had spoken, it seemed she had not chosen to hunt a rainboar at random. What was she up to this time?

But at that moment, a high, sharp cry caught his attention. His head jerked up, eyes narrowing at the sight of Meteion flying for him as fast as her wings could carry her. Without thinking, Hermes began to run, holding out his arm to the side and calling forth his staff as he did. Meteion had been gone no more than a handful of minutes. If she’d returned already and was fleeing so desperately, there was a good chance that something would be coming after her.

Meteion transformed when she was still a few fulms above the ground. Hermes was forced to choose between keeping hold of his staff and catching her, and really, it was no choice at all. She fell directly into his arms and embraced him, and whatever dismay he might have felt at having to drop his weapon was dispelled by the sight of her broad smile.

“Hermes!” she exclaimed, stumbling over her words in her excitement. “It! I found it! The rainboar, I found it!”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He glanced over her head anxiously, but the woods remained calm and quiet. The birdsong continued unabated; there was no movement between the trees, no sign of any creature in pursuit.

Meteion shook her head, still beaming. “Fine! It didn’t see me. But I found it.”

Hermes sighed and shrugged, though his predominant emotion was one of relief. He was glad she was unharmed, but honestly, she was much too excitable. Still, he couldn’t help but tease, “Are you sure it’s a rainboar?”

“Yes! Definitely! Like Azem said!” She released him and backed away, pouting when he did not immediately follow. “Come! Before it runs!”

“Oh, very well.”

That confirmation was enough for her: Meteion ran off, unable to contain her impatience any longer. Chuckling, Hermes picked up his staff from where it had fallen and followed at a more leisurely pace. She led him unerringly through the forest, stopping a few minutes later in the shade of a large oak and looking around the trunk as if using it for cover. Then she turned to Hermes, lifted one hand to her lips to indicate silence, and pointed with the other.

Hermes came up beside her, pressing his back against the tree trunk. He could hear the rainboar grunting deeply and rooting about in the dirt. From the sounds of its movements, it was a large enough creature that he had been right to be wary. Meteion stared up at him with an expression of utmost seriousness on her little face, silently watching to see what he did next. He couldn’t help but give her an affectionate pat on the shoulder before he peered around the oak.

His first impression was that this was a creature that did not know the word “camouflage.”

Even in the uneven, dappled light making its way through the canopy, the rainboar shone. It snorted to itself, ivory tusks flashing as it dug among the roots of another tree. Its short coat was composed of rough bristles in every color imaginable. A streak of orange ran from its shoulder down across its haunches. Its legs were four different shades of red—crimson, vermilion, carmine, scarlet—and its tail was a bright, eye-searing yellow. Its snout was a pure sapphire blue, shading to green higher up its jaw and white at its very eartips. It was, all told, a very odd-looking creature. Hermes couldn’t stop staring.

A rainboar.

A rainbow… boar.

He should have known.

Hermes wondered if Azem had submitted the concept herself.

Meteion tugged at his sleeve. When he met her eyes, she nodded solemnly. “That’s a rainboar.”

“Yes. It certainly is. You’ve done well.”

And they had so far gone undetected, too. That gave him more options as to how to subdue the creature. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

Hermes had done something similar on many occasions and often for reasons less important than wanting something to eat. As he lifted his staff, he once again found himself doing all he could to keep those memories at bay.

He brought the end of his staff crashing to the ground.

The earth broke open before him. Meteion jumped back and caught at his arm, eyes wide, but he paid her no mind. Hermes channeled his aether underground, around the tree, and to the rainboar that was only now lifting its head as it realized something was amiss. The rocky ground split apart under the force of magick tearing through it, forming a crevice just wide enough to catch and hold the boar in place. The rainboar squealed and thrashed, but its legs could find no purchase. It tossed its head, eyes shining white and wild, tusks leaving gouges in the dirt before it. It was struggling so violently that it might even manage to free itself in time—but Hermes had no intention of granting it that time.

He walked out from behind the tree and knelt beside the boar, and there he hesitated. Here too was a creature that wished desperately to live.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and laid a hand on the boar’s shoulder.

It was a simple matter to stop the flow of its aether and arrest its beating heart. It was the swiftest, kindest death he knew how to give. The grand old boar ceased fighting immediately; its head fell to the earth and its eyes drifted closed. He’d almost expected the rich colors of the pelt to fade too, as if all color should have drained away as the life left its body, and yet it shone as disconcertingly bright as ever.

Hermes bowed his head and sat back on his heels. Meteion came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, just as he’d placed a hand on the boar.

“It’s okay, Hermes. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

This was one thing to which he would never grow accustomed.

More difficult than killing the boar was carrying it back to the lake. Meteion was of no help there. In the end Hermes slung the animal over his shoulders and set off.

While the walk into the woods had seemed to take no time at all, lost in his own thoughts as he’d been, the return journey felt as if it took bells. The creature stank of urine and feces, its odor filling his nostrils and clinging to his robes. More than anything, its body slowly lost heat the longer he walked, a grim reminder of what he’d done.

Still. Still, though. He chose to believe that Azem would not have asked this of him for no reason.

When the trees began to thin and they saw the first glimmer of sunlight against the water, Meteion perked up. She ran ahead, leaving Hermes to struggle with the boar in her wake. He skirted the edge of the lake, heading to where Azem was still sitting at the edge of the cliff.

Or, no—not “still” sitting. Though at first glance she didn’t appear to have moved, there was now a woven basket at her feet. As he watched, she reached into it absently, pulled out a few berries, and popped them into her mouth. She too had done her part to prepare their supper.

Azem looked over with a smile and stood as he climbed the last few yalms, panting under the weight of the boar. Her eyes were the green of new leaves, and there was something undeniably mischievous about the tilt to her head.

“I see you found a rainboar,” she said. “Give it here, will you?”

Hermes obeyed, only too glad to be rid of his burden. Azem tossed the boar across her shoulder as if it weighed nothing, wrinkling her nose at the stench. She bent over and grabbed her basket by the handle. “A good size. Yes, this will do nicely.”

Hermes watched with befuddlement as she walked briskly to the edge of the cliff. He made no move to follow; the very thought of getting close to the rainboar again filled him with revulsion. “You can’t really mean to eat that.”

“What?” Azem said, startled. “No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

And then, without further warning, she flung both basket and boar into the lake.

Meteion gasped, the sound indicative of her own shock more than Hermes’s. His mind went blank and still, unable to think or to react; then, before he quite knew what was happening, his feet were crossing the distance between them and he was seizing the front of Azem’s robes in both hands.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, not noticing how his hands trembled. “First you tell me to hunt and kill a boar, then you throw it away as if it means nothing!”

He’d thought better of her.

If he were to examine the emotion curling within his breast, he might have found it was disappointment.

Hermes gave her a single hard shake, then froze, the violence of the motion startling even him. It was only then that he noticed: Azem’s smile had not faltered, and her eyes were full of something like pity.

“Hermes,” Meteion whispered at his side. She reached up, curling her fingers around his wrist. Her voice quavered on his name. “Hermes, stop.”

Azem reached up, gently removing Hermes’s hands from her robes. She did not break his gaze. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“Not much, if I’m being honest,” Azem said. “Still. Do you trust me?”

He didn’t know. He’d thought he did.

“Then jump.”

“…What?”

If anything, Azem’s smile only broadened. “Be sure to take a deep breath.”

And without another word, she stepped away from him, inhaled deeply, and flung herself from the cliff. Hermes let out a strangled exclamation, his feet carrying him to the edge. Azem hit the water with a great splash and did not resurface. Hermes peered into the lake, confusion eclipsing his anger, and saw only a cloud of dark robes descending through the clear water.

“Are you going to jump?” Meteion asked. She was watching with hands folded behind her back, head tilted to the side, looking up at him. Wherever he went, she would of course follow.

Hermes breathed out a long sigh. He looked down at the shadow disappearing into the depths of the lake.

…No matter how he searched, he couldn’t see the bright colors of the boar.

Before he could give himself time to reconsider, Hermes jumped.

The shocking cold of the water drove all thoughts from his mind. It nearly drove the breath from him too; only with an effort of will did he clench his teeth and hold back his gasp. The moment passed; the chill was uncomfortable but not intolerable and he could move around if he wished.

Hermes opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed to a world shaded in blue and green. The water was clearer and deeper than he’d realized. The lakebed dropped off steeply close to the shore. The landscape of rocky plateaus stretched out dizzyingly far into the distance, interspersed with jagged canyons so dark as to give the impression of sharp teeth and watching eyes. Far below him, so deep he would not be able to dive in a single breath, was a forest of fronds lazily waving in the currents. And everywhere there were the aquatic lifeforms: schools of yellow and silver fish, a turtle as large as a house pushing its way through the water weeds, bright six-legged insects and even stranger creatures that he could not name.

Hermes’s own work had been focused on the celestial sphere. He had only the most basic familiarity with the state of their oceans and lakes beyond what had been brought to his particular attention by the researchers of Metabaseos Thalassai. Here now was another wonder which he had never imagined, one that he would never have witnessed in what he was quickly coming to think of as his previous life. Here was another part of the star he would have dismissed as the colorless world that was all he had ever known.

Meteion circled around him, flying as effortlessly through the water as she did the air. He turned to watch her go just in time to see Azem disappearing into a crack in the cliffside. Meteion followed without hesitation, leaving Hermes with little choice but to pursue before he ran out of breath.

Quickly enough the darkness closed in around him. He could see nothing and hear nothing; there was only the feel of his hands pushing against the weight of the water and scraping against the rock of the narrow crevice. His billowing robes, grown heavy and waterlogged, impeded him as he swam. Though he stared forward, eyes wide to catch even the faintest glimpse of light, he could spot not even a flicker of Meteion’s long tail. His chest began to grow tight with panic and shortness of breath. It was all he could do to squeeze his eyes shut and keep pushing onward, moving faster and faster as he lost his composure until he was all but flailing and he could endure no longer, he needed air, but it was too late to turn back—

And then something seized him by the back of the robes and yanked. Hermes’s breath escaped him the moment he broke the surface. The air was stale, smelling of fish and dampness; still, he gulped it down like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

Azem’s voice sounded above him, a warm shower of amusement. “Easy there, Hermes. You did well.”

“Are you okay, Hermes?” Meteion asked, showing all of the concern that Azem lacked.

“You should have told me you aren’t a particularly strong swimmer. We would have found some other way.”

He found he’d recovered enough to straighten up and retort, “My swimming… is passable enough. It’s only that you possess an outrageous physicality.”

“And you possess all the delicacy of a hothouse flower. We’ll have to work on that.”

Azem had pulled him out to the edge of what looked to be an underground river. Their voices echoed in the narrow cave, punctuated only by the rush of running water and the steady sound of dripping. Sunlight filtered in through cracks in the rock high above like faint stars in the night sky, and yet the cave was unexpectedly well lit: A pair of smokeless torches was set into the wall under which he had swum. There was another pair of torches on either side of the river some forty fulms away, and another further on in the distance, continuing as far as he could see into the gloom.

As Hermes took in their surroundings, Azem patted him on the shoulder. The action dried him off in a rush of wind, lifting the cold water from his skin and his robes and depositing it back into the river. He was still standing knee-deep in the current, but it was a nice thought regardless.

Belatedly he stepped out onto the bank, careful not to lose his footing on the wet stone. “What is this place?”

“Our destination, of course.” Azem glanced to Meteion, tilting her head with a knowing smile. “Well?”

That was all the permission the little bird needed. She raced away, stumbling across the slippery ground. Hermes took one more long look around before following.

They walked along the winding river as it descended deeper into the earth. Even as the rock closed above them, allowing no more sunlight to peek through, the torches spaced at regular intervals along the banks were more than enough to see by. Curious, Hermes paused to inspect one. They were simple, functional things, little more than a glass octahedron surrounding a sphere of aether that gave off a clean yellow light. The straight lines and muted colors of the pillar and setting were of distinctly Amaurotine style. Though they would not have been out of place in the city, it was more than unusual to find them in the middle of the wilderness, where he had so far not seen any other signs of people. But Azem showed no inclination to explain, and so he did not ask, trusting that all would be made clear in due time.

They’d been walking for no more than five minutes when the click of Meteion’s claws against the stone stopped abruptly. “Ah.”

Her voice echoed down the cave to where her companions were yet out of sight. At that surprised little sound, Hermes raised his head and began to move in a near-run. Azem made no comment, though she smiled and matched his pace. And when they rounded the corner—

He nearly ran into Meteion. Here the cave widened into an unnaturally circular room nearly fifty fulms wide. Eight lanterns were spaced at regular intervals along the walls, their unnatural light glittering across the dark waters. The river ran swift and deep through the center, bisecting the room until it disappeared through an elaborate iron grating beneath the door set in the far wall—the door that had fully captured Meteion’s attention, incongruous as it was. It could have come straight from the halls of Akadaemia Anyder, pale white stone embellished with long vertical lines in bright gold. And in front of the door, standing still and watchful by the river, was a woman.

…He thought she was a woman, in any case.

…No, she was definitely a woman. A woman unlike any he’d ever seen, but that was no reason to be rude. She wore no robe, but he couldn’t call her unclothed; instead, most of her body from the neck down was covered in overlapping scales no larger than the tip of his finger, iridescent and glinting in the lamplight. When he followed the lines of her slender, unusually elongated limbs—streamlined, thought the part of his mind dedicated to the observation of concepts—he noted her overlarge hands and feet, the curl of her fingers and the webbing between. Given her features, he might have thought her a marine creature were it not for the intelligence and wariness plain in her eyes.

“Ah, Azem,” the woman said. In contrast to her strange appearance, her voice was surprisingly normal, her words and diction just as precise as he might have heard in Elpis. “I see you’ve brought visitors.”

Hermes jumped, suddenly made aware that he had been staring. The woman’s huge eyes were the dark color of mud on a riverbed, and they were fixed entirely on him. He averted his gaze hastily and then received another surprise. Behind the woman, set in front of the door, was a woven basket and a large waterlogged creature with colorful fur. It seemed the rainboar too had made its way to this place.

“Hello to you too, Naidah,” Azem said cheerfully. “Yes, I’m rather fond of these two. I trust our payment has been found satisfactory?”

Naidah inclined her head. “Three nights and two days for two people, with the understanding that the familiar contributes and needs nothing. You did well to find a boar of this size.”

“I know the cost of doing business, that’s all.”

The woman’s expression did not change. She clasped her hands together and intoned, “You are allowed entrance.”

Her words sounded like a spell or a prayer, heavy with the weight of ceremony. In answer, the six torches suddenly flared bright enough to throw the whole room into sharp relief. The golden lines on the door shone brightly and kept shining even when the lamplight died down; then the door slid smoothly up into the ceiling.

Hermes stumbled back involuntarily as the sudden thunder of falling water reached his ears. A few scant yalms from the door, the underground river tumbled over the edge of a cliff, pooling into a dark lake far below. A steep, narrow staircase ran by the side of the falls, the stone wet and slippery from the falling water. Treacherous though it seemed, it also looked to be the only way forward.

Naidah turned away then, at last taking those unsettling eyes away from Hermes. Without another word, she kicked the rainboar into the river, hooked the basket around one arm, and dove in. Both woman and boar swept through the door, borne away on the rapid current and down the falls.

Of all the strange things that had happened today, Hermes could only remark on the most inane. “You really weren’t intending to eat the rainboar.”

Azem rolled her shoulders back in what might have been a shrug or might have been a stretch. “Of course not. Our bodies are not made to digest rainboar meat. We can’t consume them unless you’d like to spend the night suffering from a nasty bout of indigestion.”

Azem’s ensuing silence was expectant. When Hermes said nothing, her brow furrowed, and she spun on her heel to glower at him. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask?”

“…There’s no need. I can well imagine.”

“Did it taste good?” Meteion asked. “Enough to make it worth it?”

Azem’s smile was bitter. “Not at all. That’s why I haven’t tried since.”

“You mean to say you would have eaten one again if—” Hermes began. But then both Azem and Meteion turned to him with identical grins, and he stopped abruptly. He was not going to fall for it.

(He had already fallen for it.)

Instead he coughed and changed the subject, fully aware that he was fooling no one. “I didn’t expect… a mercantile transaction. She knew you, and yet you were expected to pay for your passage.”

“Yes. These are a mercantile people.”

Azem began to descend the stairs, stretching her arms out to either side as if that would help keep her from falling. Hermes followed, trying not to think about the drop awaiting him if he were to lose his footing; Meteion chose instead to fly, a wise choice given her habitual clumsiness on land.

“Any are welcome here if they mean no harm and can pay the price,” Azem said without looking back.

Hermes stated the obvious. “She is a person—” In the way that they thought of people; her demeanor had been too eerily correct to think otherwise. “—And yet she is nearly half fish.”

Azem raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. Her arms tilted accordingly and she leaned to the side, nearly losing her balance. “Yes. But that story is not mine to tell. You may ask them if you wish; they do not mind questions.”

Hermes mulled that over. He could not help but wonder if that was truly the case or if it was merely Azem’s usual tactlessness at work.

“Well, it’s up to you in the end,” Azem said, sounding disappointed in his silence. “Everything you gain in your travels is ultimately up to you.”

It was clear enough where Azem stood. Hermes sighed, focusing on a particularly tricky section of broken rock so he did not have to answer immediately. The steps were cross-hatched and less slippery than he’d anticipated. Even so, he was starting to think he should have taken a page from Meteion’s book and simply transformed rather than risk drowning or a broken neck.

They had nearly reached the bottom of the stairs before Hermes spoke again. “I… apologize. For my behavior earlier.”

“What?” Azem said. Her confused tone was almost enough to make Hermes regret speaking. She hopped down the last few stairs before she turned to face him fully, but he kept his gaze focused on the colorful tents pitched at the edges of the lake. “Oh. About the rainboar. It’s no matter. Hades does much the same when I’ve done something particularly vexing.”

“Hades?” Hermes said.

Azem did not elaborate. There was something soft and secretive about her smile, something that made him think Hades was very special indeed, and it would be better if he did not pry.

“I’ve already forgotten all about it, so no need to worry,” she announced. She took a few steps toward the nearest of the tents; then she paused as something else occurred to her.

“I know I can be rather… difficult at times. I’m not accustomed to having to explain myself to my traveling companions.”

Hermes came up beside her, finally standing on solid ground once again, and Azem covered her mouth and chuckled.

“But even so, you jumped without question. Thank you for trusting me.”

In the beginning, they were men much like those who walked the streets of Amaurot or worked the facilities in Elpis.

They’d carved out their lives by the side of the lake, and very few of them had ever wanted for more. Why should they? The lake was full of untold wonders, species that flourished in its depths and nowhere else. The rivers that emptied into it carried unexpected treasures to their shores. There was so much yet to see and discover even here in their little slice of the star. Centuries, millennia could pass, and still they would be content by these waters.

The changes came slowly at first. The ability to hold their breath a little longer, dive a little deeper. An elongation of the hands and feet, the better to curl and push against water. The hardening of skin into something tougher, less bothered by the cold and the rocks. Nothing very obvious; certainly nothing that was visible beneath the robes and mask that were the custom of their people. And if their creation magicks faded to nothing, that too was a price they were willing to pay for the adaptations that left them more adept at exploring their lake.

They’d always been a solitary people, unconcerned with the rest of the star or others’ opinions of them. And so, when it became clear that the changes were of unnatural origin, the people came to near-unanimous consensus: To embrace what had happened and discard the expectations of their former society. Without in-depth research into the cause, it would be nigh impossible to reverse the mutation. And why would they want to? What did it matter to them that they were giving up what they had been in favor of what they wanted to be?

In the end, the only concession they made to their changed circumstances was to move their village from the shores of the lake to the caves alongside the underground river. They were a happy people but not foolish; they knew well that men often hated and feared that which they did not understand. It was for their own safety and continued wellbeing that they retreated from sight.

And even now, they tended to the lake and its inhabitants; even now, they made an exploration of every last ilm of its depths, just as they’d always desired.

Meteion sat within the circle of children, her hands clasped around her knees and her mouth hanging open as she listened. Hermes had more dignity than to join her. Instead he lingered a few steps away, though he too strained to catch the teacher’s every word. They did not spare him a glance, though they must have been aware of his presence, not least because the children kept sneaking looks at him. It was clear this was a lesson they had heard many times before and one that was only being repeated now for the sake of their visitors.

Whatever the case, Hermes appreciated the consideration, even though he was having difficulty wrapping his head around the story. The very idea of resigning oneself to such a fate was foreign to him.

Then again, he had never had any particular interest in aquatic studies. These people would probably have felt the same if one were to offer them the skies he had given Meteion. What he valued simply differed from what they valued. It did not mean either viewpoint was wrong.

A sudden touch on his shoulder made both him and Meteion jump. Meteion whirled to look at him, eyes wide, as did half the circle of children. The teacher, bless their heart, paid them no mind.

The woman behind him inclined her head gravely. Hermes thought she was the one from the gate, but he couldn’t be certain. He wasn’t familiar enough with the villagers to know how much variation he could expect in their appearances.

“You’re…”

“Naidah,” she said tonelessly. “Come with me.”

The same person, then. Naidah walked away without checking to see if he followed. Hermes sent Meteion a small, reassuring smile to set her at ease, and she turned back to listen to the rest of the teacher’s stories. She would enjoy herself well enough, he was sure.

Naidah did not wait for him. Even so, Hermes was beside her in only a few long strides. Almost all of the residences were right up on the shore of the underground lake: Regardless of the shape of their bodies or how the mutations had taken them, most of the residents seemed to find it easier to swim than to walk. For landbound visitors, there was a thin footpath paved with broken shells that circled the outer edge of the village, the path on which they walked now. Naidah was so swift in the water and had dived over the falls without a thought; here, on land, Hermes almost had to shuffle to keep from outpacing her.

“You are a good man,” Naidah said unexpectedly once he caught up.

He did not understand, but it did not seem right to ask. “…Thank you?”

“Azem would not have brought you otherwise. They would never risk our safety.” She slanted him a sideways glance. Belatedly he realized that he had been staring again and looked away. “Our people can be… unkind. They do not understand those who differ from them.”

It took a moment for him to grasp her meaning. These people, alien as they seemed, still considered themselves men.

And yet she was right. Though Hermes would not stand out among their people on first glance, he too had long felt himself an outsider. In his bitterest moments, he’d thought his eccentricity had only been tolerated as the necessary price for his knowledge and his talents. Realizing that he was not alone in recognizing man’s tendency toward casual cruelty brought him no joy.

“…I find that I must agree.”

“And yet Azem believes them capable of change. One might almost call it foolish optimism, save that Azem is no fool.”

And then, as abruptly as she’d first spoken, Naidah changed the subject. “You are the one who hunted the rainboar. The smell clings to you even now.”

Hermes’s stride broke and he stumbled. Azem had been willfully pulling him about ever since they’d entered the water and he’d completely forgotten the state of his robes. He would have hoped nearly drowning in the lake would have washed away the odor, but apparently he’d had no such luck.

Naidah continued musing aloud. “It is truly an impressive creature. You have done well by us and you are owed repayment.”

She stopped walking and folded her hands in front of her. Though Hermes waited, she did not elaborate, only stared at him with those unsettling, unblinking eyes. When it became clear that she was waiting for something, Hermes hesitantly turned, taking in his surroundings once again.

What he had at first taken for a cluster of tents was in fact a permanent settlement. Here underground, where the wind and the rain did not reach, there was no need to construct a sturdy shelter from the elements. Indeed, it would be nigh-impossible to build great houses and halls of the sort that might be found in cities: The majority of the building materials would have to be brought in from aboveground, and hunting and gathering would be difficult for people adapted to the water. Instead their homes were built of skins draped across a framework of bones, lashed into place by dried aquatic fronds of the sort he had seen at the bottom of the lake. Some of the houses still carried the outline of fish and turtles large enough to shelter in; others had been disassembled so that they no longer took the shape of any recognizable creature. The skins too seemed to have been harvested from a variety of forest animals. The closest was a bright, unapologetic riot of scarlet, violet, and green, and Hermes frowned, stepping closer to inspect it more closely.

“We are by necessity a mercantile people,” Naidah said, unknowingly echoing what Azem had said earlier. “We have need of the bounty of the land, and yet that bounty is difficult to obtain. Many of us can no longer comfortably run or hunt. Anything that lives within the forest is beyond our reach.”

Her chin was lifted and her expression serene, daring him to question their decision to relinquish the world above the lake. Hermes did not argue. After several moments, Naidah’s posture relaxed, and she looked almost pleased.

“And so we demand fair payment. One must barter for access to our home and hospitality. It may seem boorish to you of Amaurot, but that is how we obtain that which cannot be gathered with our own hands or made without creation magick.”

“That’s why Azem asked me to hunt the boar,” Hermes said slowly. “They could have said as much.”

Though Naidah’s expression did not change, her voice was unmistakably warm. “Far be it for Azem to waste time explaining in detail what one can learn for themself.”

Without warning, Naidah turned toward the water and began to walk. Hermes fell into step beside her. He was beginning to grow used to the abruptness of her manner. When she spoke, it was without looking at him, almost as if he were an afterthought. “Out of all the creatures of the land, we hold the rainboar most valuable. Its bones, to build. Its skin, to shelter. Its flesh for meals and its innards for bait. Its colors for pigments and its stench glands to ward off predators.”

Naidah stopped at the edge of the lake. Hermes lingered a few steps behind her, not eager for another foray into the water so soon.

“There is no creature better suited to our needs than the rainboar,” she said, scanning the village spread out across both shores. “We are grateful for its service and the service of the hunters. It is of course a less efficient use of aether than reversion, but we do what we can.”

“Because man cannot live without impacting the life around him,” Hermes said.

Naidah flashed him a sudden, unexpected smile, her teeth gleaming white in the torchlight. “Exactly so.”

Then she turned away and leapt. With barely a ripple she slid beneath the surface of the water and was gone. Hermes stared, but she did not resurface, and her meaning was clear enough: she judged he had been repaid in full.

Hesitantly he stepped forward. Meteion was still occupied with the children; behind him he could hear their high-pitched laughter and the scolding of their teacher. He sat quietly, paying no mind to the dampness of his robe, and looked across to the other shore. Even there the lights glimmered, reflecting off the water’s surface, illuminating the brightly colored skins and the scaled figures that moved slowly and awkwardly on land.

A breathtaking sight. A sight he never would have imagined.

In his head, he could see Azem’s smile. Adventuring was difficult and exhausting, but wasn’t it worth it for moments like these?

It was impossible to measure the passage of time underground. It might have been minutes or it might have been bells before his thoughts were interrupted by the Traveler falling into a seat beside him. They set their boots to one side and slid their bare feet into the lake, humming with pleasure at the coolness of the water. “So? Do you like it?”

“I would have preferred not nearly drowning to get here,” he said.

Azem laughed, as if they were not the one entirely at fault. “Nonsense. You were never in any danger.” They languidly stretched their arms back across the rock, resting their weight on their elbows. “Naidah must really like you. Three days and two nights for two people and a familiar. I’ve already finished my business; we can take the next two days to relax and enjoy our time here.”

When he did not respond, Azem frowned, turning and peering into his face. “Rainboar for your thoughts, Hermes.”

“I don’t need one,” he said. Azem’s brow furrowed, and he stifled a smile. “…It’s the intent that matters.”

Azem’s fingers curled against the wet stone. From the narrowing of their eyes, they still found this an entirely unsatisfying answer. “…Must I give you a rainboar to explain yourself?”

“Please stop offering me a boar.” Hermes shook his head, resisting the childish urge to flick water into their face. “You asked me to hunt the boar for them. At the time, I thought that… it was all the same. Whether it is reverted to aether or killed but left intact, the boar meets the same fate.”

“From the boar’s perspective, I suppose that’s true.”

“But it’s not the same, is it?” Hermes laced his fingers together and stared down at his hands. “Their deaths are not wasted. It may be less efficient than reshaping the aether directly, but it is more respectful. These people think of how best to use the gift of their lives, and that makes all the difference.”

He glanced at Azem then, realizing only after the fact that it looked as if he was seeking guidance. Hesitantly he said, “Do you understand?”

Azem wasn’t looking at him. Instead they picked up a small rock, weighing it in their hand before sending it skipping across the lake’s surface. Hermes’s heart sank. He thought they were paying him no attention, but then they said, still not looking at him, “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But my opinion doesn’t matter so much as that it left an impression on you.”

Trust Azem to be infuriatingly cryptic. Hermes shook his head, reaching down and clenching his fist around another loose pebble. “Death comes to all who walk Hydaelyn. But because we are free to choose the time and place of our own ending, men as a whole show a profound disrespect for all mortal life. If we cannot live without harming others—if the creatures of our star will die independent of our actions or lack thereof—I would have our people learn to treat the life and death of all creatures with the proper gravity, that we might emerge wiser and kinder for it.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard,” Azem said, but there was a tilt to their chin and a gleam in their eye that was oddly self-satisfied.

“You have not despaired at our people’s mercilessness nearly so long as I,” Hermes retorted.

“No. But I do know you have an entire lifetime to do something about it.” Azem rolled onto their side to look at him, grin wide and knowing. “So? Is this the work that will bring you fulfillment and peace?”

“…It’s still too early to say.”

As Azem’s face fell, Hermes chuckled and turned away.

He hadn’t yet reached an answer, but for the first time in his life, one was beginning to take shape before him.

Chapter Text

Azem’s feet were silent against the dusty earth, all sound eclipsed by the hot, dry wind whispering through the canyon. She crept with the smoothness of a stalking predator, each step slow and measured so as not to draw alarm. She had no attention to spare for her two companions; her concentration did not waver for a moment, her red eyes narrowed unblinkingly at her target.

The bush rustled.

With a single quick exhalation, Azem pounced. She leapt across the remaining distance, the swing of her net so swift that her movements were nothing but a blur.

The creature had no opportunity to escape. A single terrified squeak emanated from the bush, and then there was silence.

“Got it,” she said, voice exuding triumph and smug satisfaction. With a quick flip of her wrist, she turned the net over and brought it closer to examine her catch. Then she frowned.

“That doesn’t look like a bird,” Meteion said.

Azem squinted at the small brown animal tumbling head over tail as it tried to scurry from the net. “No, it’s definitely a pigeon.”

They had only been at this for half a bell and already Hermes was exhausted. “That’s a chipmunk.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps it’s a bird in clever disguise—”

“Azem.” Hermes’s expression was stern. Azem took an involuntary step back, realizing for the first time that she was perhaps treading on his professional pride. “That is no bird.”

Azem looked at him. Azem looked at her chipmunk. With a deep sigh, she upended the net and let the frightened animal go free.

Then she threw back her head and yelled, near loud enough to startle Meteion into flight, “Where is the thrice-blasted bird?”

Let’s do something fun, Azem had said. There’s a festival held at midsummer and a treasure hunt I’ve never won. It’ll be enjoyable! A nice friendly competition! With your help, I’m sure we’ll emerge victorious!

Hermes should have known there would be more to it.

They’d spent the better part of the morning hiking to the festival venue. Myus was nestled in a canyon carved out by a great river over the passage of long ages. Due to the rocky and inhospitable terrain in this region, the river provided the most efficient trade and travel route between the fertile farmland and hunting grounds up north and the western seaports. Myus had sprung up along the river as a result, in the narrowest part of the canyon. Even now, sailing was the easiest way to enter the town.

Naturally, Azem chose to instead hike down from the rim.

Over the many bells they spent sweating in the rising summer heat, Hermes had ample opportunity to watch the steady stream of ferries and dream of the coolness of the water. They were far from the only ones braving the long hike to the bottom of the canyon today, but the vast majority of the townspeople lived on and along the river. Private residences covered the canyon floor, lining the riverbanks and tucked into the shade of the high cliffs. Floating barges hosted entertainments of every kind imaginable. Countless bridges, lined with storefronts and eateries, arced high over the water to allow easy passage for the boats beneath. Even from high above, it was clear that this was a day of celebration: colorful banners fluttered from every roof and bursts of aether blossomed in the sky, tracing out the shapes of animals, flowers, and every geometric pattern imaginable.

But the closer they’d approached, the more apparent it became that the atmosphere was… strange. The expected joyful shouting and laughter were all but absent. The townspeople moved in odd clusters, circling warily round each other in a way that made clear sides had been chosen and lines had been drawn. Meteion stuck to his side like a burr, casting worried glances at everyone who passed. On occasion, she reached out and clutched at his robes, but when Hermes looked to her, she seemed unable to put words to what she sensed.

Even the children, so often oblivious to the troubles of adults, were not immune. They encountered a small scuffle behind one of the rows of food stalls, surprisingly vicious in the way that children’s fights could be, all scratching and hair-pulling and grinding each other’s faces into the mud. The fight would have escalated had Azem not walked between them, picked the youngsters up, and casually separated them. All they had to say for themself later, in a sort of absentminded way that fooled no one, was that the children had been between them and the pies.

Though the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, Azem seemed not to notice. They moved serenely through the streets and between the townspeople, their usual smile plastered on their face. Here and there they stopped to speak to someone they knew. Each time, their overtures were met with unfeigned pleasure; each time, when Azem walked away, the townspeople returned to their isolated circles and turned a cold shoulder to their fellows.

When Meteion asked in her blunt, curious way, they refused to explain themself. “All will become clear in time,” they said, as maddeningly vague as always. They seemed to be distracted watching a young woman with blond hair surreptitiously beckon them over. “It seems my presence is needed elsewhere. Why don’t you go learn what you can about the treasure hunt?”

They’d had no choice but to go, insistent as Azem was that the treasure hunt was the main attraction and the adventure the whole reason they were here. As if they weren’t already experiencing enough adventure in their daily lives as they explored every last corner of the land. Still, to argue would have been a lost cause, and so they had gone to learn what they could of this “treasure hunt.”

The search for the wishing stone was a long-standing tradition dating back almost to the founding of the town. Every five years, Myus held a contest to find and capture a certain magical artifact, a gemstone whose color changed from year to year. The gem collected ambient aether from its surroundings; then, after five years had passed, it transformed, each time patterning its appearance and behavior after a different species of animal. The animal would flee into the surrounding countryside and searchers competed to capture it. It was said that whoever caught the jeweled animal could make a wish on the stone, any wish, and it would be granted.

Hermes doubted the legitimacy of that claim, but it seemed the sort of entertainment of which Azem was fond. From what they had said, and their familiarity with the townspeople, this appeared to be a regular diversion of theirs, though they had never yet won. But their plan this time was clear: with Hermes and Meteion on their side, they intended to emerge victorious.

When the time came for the search to begin, Hermes did not know what to expect. There was no sign of the magical artifact they would be hunting, nothing but the festival’s master of ceremonies standing alone in the center of the stage. The old man smiled faintly as he looked out across the gathered crowd; then, in a clear, carrying voice, he called, “Vasos. If you would come forth.”

The one who stepped forward was a tall man of broad stature whose blond curls spilled forth from his cowl and over his shoulders. He moved with perfect confidence and the easy, balanced grace of one long accustomed to physical pursuits. As he bounded up the stairs two at a time, his grin broad and arrogant, Hermes was certain of two things: that this man was the search’s previous victor, and that he fully intended to win again this year.

Vasos stopped in front of the festival master and executed a sweeping bow. He held his left arm straight out, palm facing up. Around his wrist, strikingly at odds with the man’s burly physique, was a delicate golden bangle set with a glittering sapphire. Hermes had time to catch only a brief glimpse before the bangle flared a brilliant white, sliding down Vasos’s wrist to puddle in his palm.

When the light faded, the bangle had vanished, leaving only a small red stone encasing a complex sigil. This time, the stone’s light became a soft, warm glow. It dissolved into an amorphous blob of aether, shivering and twisting and shifting between a series of recognizable shapes—piscine, avian, feline, canine—until it settled on one at last and the glow faded.

Hermes sucked in his breath. Though its topaz wings glittered unnaturally under the sunlight, though the lines of its body were too sharply defined and the planes too smooth, its shape and coloration were unmistakable.

The little jeweled thrush cocked its head and trilled. Vasos smiled, curling his fingers around it possessively; then, with one great heave, he tossed it into the air. The bird spread its wings and soared into the sky, leaving a trail of glittering aether in its wake. The would-be searchers watched it with bated breath, united at last in anticipation and excitement, until it had vanished from sight.

As they waited for the festival master’s signal to begin, the three of them looked at each other. It was Meteion who stated the obvious. “It’s a bird.”

“We’ll definitely win this year,” Azem whispered, and there was something fierce and feral in their smile.

It was looking less and less likely that they would win this year.

Azem had dived right into the search, afire with enthusiasm and completely devoid of sense. He’d spent the first bell of the hunt running about without any sort of plan or direction, leaving them no other option but to give chase through the stifling summer heat. Even now he was swinging his net to and fro, working off his frustration in a show of such vigor it was frankly exhausting to watch. At least with his failure to catch the bird, he had finally slowed down enough for he himself to be caught.

Hermes took a deep breath, steeling himself for the coming confrontation. He set his shoulders, stalked across the distance between them, and plucked the net from Azem’s hands. Azem was startled enough to let him. When Hermes flicked his wrist, dissolving the net back into aether, Azem’s eyes grew wide with shock and betrayal.

“I needed that!”

“You do not,” Hermes said, clenching his fist as if in emphasis. “Slow down. Think this through logically. It’s inefficient to go around swinging nets at everything that moves.”

He paused and amended, “It’s inefficient to go around swinging nets at all. You won’t catch a thrush that way; they’re too wary for that.”

Azem looked at him, frowning; looked at Meteion, who was shading her eyes with one hand and diligently scanning the skies, as if expecting to see the jeweled bird making its escape even now. Only then did he glance back to Hermes, his brows knitted and expression set. “…What’s a thrush?”

Hermes held back a most exasperated sigh.

If this was Azem’s approach to the hunt, it was little wonder he had had no luck. Eighty years he’d been trying to catch the wishing stone and never once had he succeeded. Even now, several moons into their acquaintance, Hermes had not yet determined how much of Azem’s foppish air was feigned and how much was because he really was that much of a fool.

One thing was for certain. Azem really, truly did not know much about small birds.

Azem glanced around, shrugged, and spun on one heel. He set off again with convincing confidence for one who did not know where he was going.

“In my defense, the stone doesn’t always become a bird,” he said over his shoulder, as Meteion scrambled to catch up with him and Hermes reluctantly resumed their trek across the rocky ground. “In all my time participating, I’ve seen it take all sorts of forms. Fox, snake, some sort of amorphous, tentacled thing… Last time it was a shark. You’d think Hythlodaeus would be an expert on sharks by now, but no. He was singularly unhelpful and he complained the entire time.”

“Hythlodaeus has joined this treasure hunt?” Hermes was unable to hide his shock. The Chief of the Bureau of the Architect was the last person he would have imagined striking out through the wilderness or crawling on hands and knees trying to ferret small creatures from their burrows.

“Emet-Selch, too,” Azem said, as if high-ranking Amaurotines regularly participated in backwater festivals. “They’re my usual companions for the search, but this year…”

His steps slowed. Though Azem’s back was turned, Hermes looked away regardless, as if to spare him the embarrassment of having anyone see the expression he wore.

“…Well. I suppose the two of you must act as their substitutes. How about it?”

Meteion brightened, stretching her arms up above her head with surprising enthusiasm. “…Then. I want to be Hythlodaeus!”

That startled Azem into a chuckle. “Very well. You can be Hythlodaeus, and that makes Hermes our most eminent Emet-Selch. I must say, his current grumpy expression is quite fitting.”

Hermes knew better than to rise to the bait. Besides, something about what Azem had said struck him as odd. From what he had gathered, it wasn’t unusual for Azem to summon his friends in an emergency or when he desperately needed assistance. But disrupting their duties for a festival?

“Why do you want to win so badly?”

Azem stopped walking so abruptly that Meteion collided with him. The little bird stumbled and nearly fell; Azem reached out, absently steadying her with one hand on her back, even as he looked directly at Hermes. “The victors can ask for a wish to be granted. Isn’t that enticement enough?”

Meteion blinked, and in the space of an instant her eyes grew clouded. She folded her hands together anxiously and glanced to Hermes. His head was bowed, his brows knit, as if he had just now recalled something had long set aside. “Hermes? Don’t you want a wish?”

He started and looked at her. His expression was one she hadn’t seen in a while but was familiar nonetheless. He’d often worn one like it in Elpis. “…Ah. No. My wish… is not one that can be granted so easily.”

“Hermes means there are some wishes that mean nothing unless you achieve them yourself,” Azem said gently. When Meteion still look puzzled, he hummed deep in his throat and rubbed a hand across his short blond hair. “It’s like skipping over the journey and arriving straight at your destination. Efficient, yes, but ultimately unsatisfying. It doesn’t mean much without the effort you put in and the things you learn along the way. Does that make sense?”

Meteion considered it, her wings twitching as she thought. “Maybe. We’re going to your city. Amaurot. But it’s not the same if we just go there. Without stopping everywhere else first.”

“That’s right. And it’s the same for some wishes.”

“And yours, Azem?” Hermes said quietly. “What would you wish for?”

Azem blinked once. Then he let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and bounced forward, crouching to study a cluster of plants nestled against the wall of the canyon. As he stared, the thistles wiggled, curled, and spread across the ground, until the rocky earth was covered in a carpet of lavender and goldenrods. He bent over, gently plucking a few sprigs of each and cupping them between his palms. His smile was soft and just a little nostalgic. “For love, I suppose. We’ll see if it is granted.”

He glanced to Meteion and jerked his chin, beckoning her closer. When she came to investigate, he tucked sprigs of both flowers into her hair. She reached up with both hands to push them up, resting them against her wing so they wouldn’t fall.

“But, well, there are big wishes and small wishes. There’s nothing wrong with making an easy little wish.”

This time, when Azem stepped back and looked down at Meteion, there was a definite edge of mischief in the gleam of his eyes and the curve of his lips. “And you? What kind of small wish will you ask for when we win, little traveler?”

“Umm.” She tucked her hands together behind her back as she thought. Not a moment later, she brightened, looking to Hermes and bouncing up to stand on the tips of her claws. “A candied apple!”

“You won’t be able to eat it,” Hermes said. Though his tone carried the cadence of long repetition, his gaze was fond.

She spread her arms wide, her smile never faltering. “It’s for you, Hermes! So you can eat it! And be happy!”

Azem nodded solemnly. “A thoroughly unselfish wish. Then I suppose I’ll do the same. Perhaps I’ll wish for, let’s see… A feast of delicious grapes. More than one person alone could ever eat. For you, Hermes.”

“That is most definitely a wish for yourself,” Hermes said. “Especially if it’s more than one person alone could eat.”

Azem sighed, rolling his eyes up to the heavens as if to say he had done nothing to deserve this slander. Meteion covered both hands over her giggle. Already the flowers were slipping from her hair. Hermes watched them both with open amusement; then he took a small breath and moved to survey their surroundings. Apples or grapes, they would receive nothing if they did not resume their search for the bird.

He spoke absently as he looked around, barely aware of his words, and his two companions obediently fell silent. “…The first difficulty will be in locating it. The bird could have flown anywhere. Our only recourse is to assume that it will act similarly to the creature it is modeled after. In this case we’re searching for a thrush. They’re small forest-dwelling birds similar to robins…”

He paused. “…But you likely don’t know what a robin is either.”

“I assume it’s a type of pigeon,” Azem said.

Some arguments really weren’t worth having. Hermes sighed, his shoulders sinking, and stared at the ground before him. There was nothing to be found there either. Thrushes were not ground nesting birds.

“In any case, a normal thrush would be scared and confused when thrust into an unfamiliar environment. It would first try to find a hiding place…”

He turned slowly on one heel, brow furrowed. Here the canyon was little more than a jagged slash through the earth, the walls too steep to ascend to the rim on foot. The canyon floor was only sparsely scattered with low-lying bushes, the occasional bright splash of wildflowers, and a few short, gnarled trees.

If he had been a small bird seeking safety and comfort, he would have been hard-pressed to find any enticing shelter here. This Hermes had decided by the time he completed his circle, and it was with perfect confidence that he said, “It’s likely gone further afield. Wait here; I’ll be back soon.”

And then without explanation, without so much as a word of warning, he began to weave around himself a shell of aether. The body he constructed was large and powerful, cloaked in azure and gold and vine-like tendrils of a verdant green that floated in the currents of the wind. The empty-eyed mask was set and solemn, its expression blank; it did not turn to regard the two on the ground, even when Azem gave a soft whistle. Instead his head tilted back to look to the edge of the cliff; then he sprang and took flight, rising through the air so rapidly that he was soon out of earshot.

Azem chuckled, rubbing his chin with one hand. “He really does think nothing of transforming, does he? How scandalous. Maybe next time I’ll have to show him my transformation in return, just so we’re on even footing.”

Meteion scratched one claw in the dirt. “Emet-Selch… won’t like that.” When Azem raised an eyebrow, she averted her gaze. “When Hermes said before that he would transform. Emet-Selch complained.”

“Ah. Because it’s uncouth?” Meteion nodded. “Well, I am very much used to Emet-Selch’s disapproval by now. Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Meteion made no answer to that. Even now she didn’t meet Azem’s eyes. Azem watched her, head tilted slightly to one side, eyes narrowed. He glanced up, to where Hermes was now only a shining dot in the sky, indistinguishable from a thrush or a pigeon; then he looked around, gaze alighting on a shelf of rock jutting from the cliff. He brushed the sleeve of his robe across it, fruitlessly trying to knock away the loose dust on its surface, and sat. “Come here, Meteion.”

After a moment of hesitation, she obeyed. She seated herself beside him, laced her fingers together, and stared at her hands. Azem waited silently in an uncharacteristic show of patience. The sky above was the clear blue of a hot summer’s day. Only a few wisps of cloud were in evidence, and those scudded away as Azem exhaled, as if blown away on his breath.

After several minutes, Meteion swallowed, put her shoulders back as if steeling herself, and looked up at him with trepidation. “Hermes is… happy today.”

Azem’s smile was kind. He reached up one hand as if to clap her shoulder but hesitated at the last moment. “Yes. I’ve really been putting him through the wringer with all these adventures. It was my hope that he’d enjoy this. Returning to his element, as it were.”

Meteion nodded. She did not dispute his words, but neither did her worry fade. “He hasn’t been… happy. For a long time. But lately he’s more…”

She twisted her hands together and averted her gaze, searching for words she didn’t know. Azem said, “Lively? Honest? Open?”

At each suggestion, Meteion shook her head. Slowly she drew in a breath she didn’t need and released it again. “Maybe. Not happy. But not unhappy either. Not sad all the time like in Elpis.”

Azem said, very softly, “Centered, do you think? More certain of himself. Not happy, especially when I drag him around, but more content.”

“Maybe.” Her lashes fluttered. “The answer. I still don’t know what it is. Hermes doesn’t either. But he doesn’t worry about it so much.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Perhaps it means he’s found his own, or that he no longer needs one.”

“Maybe,” she said again, and did not elaborate.

Azem sighed. This time, he did reach out and stroke her hair. “And what is on your mind, little bird? You would not be nearly so disconsolate if this were simply a matter of Hermes finding his way.”

She shied away from him then, and Azem’s hand dropped to the rock. He frowned, drawing away from her. Had he gone too far? But Meteion did not look at him with fear; did not look at him at all, in fact, only wrapped her arms around her small body as if to steady herself. She was trembling, not with anyone else’s emotions but her own, and even those were too much for her to bear.

“Hermes’s answer might have been here all along. He didn’t need us to go to the stars. Then why do we exist? If it was always this close by?”

Azem did not answer. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wearing a small, sympathetic smile. He waited until she stopped shaking; he waited until her tears started falling, until she reached up and covered her face and hunched in on herself. Only then did he speak.

“You were there to give him hope when he needed it most. Do not discount that.”

“But now?” Meteion swallowed thickly. Familiar or not, artificial lifeform or not, right now she looked like nothing more than a small, miserable child. “Everything we saw. Everything we suffered. If he doesn’t need it, then what was it for?”

Azem hesitated. “Ah. Now you’re asking the same sort of question as Hermes. The simple, sad fact of the matter is that there often is no why. All we can do is accept what has happened and move on, learning from our experiences as we do.

“But, dear little traveler, if you are worried about how your relation to Hermes may change—well, then I’ll tell you a secret.”

Meteion did not immediately react. Azem tapped his fingers against the rock, humming tunelessly. At last her sobs abated and her fingers parted, allowing one blue eye to peek through. Azem winked, smiled broadly, and said, “There is more value in being wanted than being needed.”

That eye blinked. She continued to stare at him, uncomprehending, and Azem sighed, disappointed that his words of great wisdom had fallen flat. He threw his arms into the air and collapsed on his back on the stone. But when he tilted his head to look at her, it was plain to see that he held nothing against her, for there was mischief clear in his orange eyes.

“I am Azem… but you don’t know what that means, do you? Hermes likely didn’t explain it to you.” His smile faltered, his expression turning thoughtful. “It is not a name but an office. A most respected and important office, but an office nonetheless. Whether anyone likes it or not, there must always be an Azem. You might even say I am necessary.”

Meteion lowered her hands, curiosity at last overwhelming her distress. Azem held out a hand to her; she reached out and poked his palm with one finger.

“Do you know what that means?” he said quietly, his words even and detached. “It means I am tolerated. That does not mean my colleagues must like me. How many sessions have I sat through rife with hidden insults? How much condescension concealed beneath a veneer of professionalism and the bare minimum of politeness? I live for the freedom of the road, little traveler, but that is not the only reason I find myself stifled in Amaurot. That is what it means to be needed.”

It would not have taken an entelechy to sense the bitterness underlying his words. Meteion’s brow furrowed and she ducked her head, breaking eye contact. Azem paused; then he reached out and poked her arm playfully in turn.

“I would much rather be wanted,” he said, his eyes and voice softening. “To know that there are those who miss me when I am absent and wait for my return. They are under no obligation to me; they speak to and spend time with me only because it brings them happiness. They want me, and that—that means more to me than being ‘needed’ ever could.

“Whether or not Hermes needs you, I do not know. You would have to ask him directly. But do you doubt that he wants you? Do you not think he would mourn if you were to disappear?”

“He would,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t… do that to him.”

He gave her hand a brief touch, a brief squeeze, before dropping it back down to the stone. “He loves you. Even if you and he grow past your original purpose, that is in no doubt. Hold to that, and may his love ever see you through.”

Meteion pulled her knees to her chest, resting her hands atop the tips of her claws. In a timid voice, she said, “Is that enough?”

“That is up to you to decide. But I will say that many people go through their lives without ever finding themselves really, truly needed. Nevertheless, they think themselves content.”

“Many people…”

“Yes. In that you are not so different from us. We suffer without reason or meaning, we question why, and in the end, we live on. As do you.”

Meteion folded her hands atop her chest and looked down at them. Her face was pinched and pensive; traces of tears yet lingered on her cheeks. “This pain…is the same for you?”

Azem shielded his eyes and looked up to the sky. A shadow passed over the two of them, still small but quickly growing in size as it descended into the canyon.

“I’d say so,” he said. “We are what we are because of all of our experiences, happy and sad alike. It’s hard to grasp the hearts of men without a full understanding of both. That’s what I think, anyway.”

“People are… complicated. Aren’t they?”

“Impossibly so.”

The shadow flew over them again. Azem and Meteion were silent, watching Hermes circle in for a landing. As he approached the ground, Azem raised one lazy hand in greeting but made no move to stand and move from the shade. In the next moment, Hermes was dropping the last few fulms to the earth in his usual form. His hair was ruffled from the wind of his flight and his eyes were panicked; his mask hung at an lopsided angle across his chest.

“Fighting,” he spluttered, resting his hands on his knees and gasping for breath. “To the northeast—”

Azem’s gaze sharpened and he sprang to his feet. Meteion shied away; the displeasure that emanated from him was tangible, and his lips were pulled back over his teeth in a fearsome snarl. Without a word, he turned and ran in the direction that Hermes had indicated.

They stared at his back, too surprised to immediately give chase. Tired as he was from his transformation and hasty flight, Hermes could not hope to keep pace. He would have been hard-pressed to do so at the best of times. Azem truly was a force to be feared.

Meteion was the first to recover. She swiped a sleeve across her face and stood up. “Let’s go.”

If anything, Hermes only looked more perplexed at her sudden determination. He straightened up, looking at her closely for the first time. “Meteion? Have you been crying?”

She nodded, firmly and without shame. “Yeah. But I’m… okay now. Come on!”

Though Hermes still had his doubts, he dropped the subject at Meteion’s insistence. When she began to run after Azem, he had no choice but to follow, setting aside his exhaustion in the face of more important matters. Though he directed frequent glances at her, she gave no more indication of anything being wrong.

But even that concern was forgotten swiftly when they heard they heard shouts and caught sight of the bright flare of magick. The rage and hatred contained within those raised voices was piercing enough to make Meteion stagger and trip even at this distance. Her wings flattened against her head; she clapped her hands over them as if to block out what she heard. Hermes’s steps faltered and he looked at her with concern. She grimaced, cringing at the noise in her mind, and reached out to twist her fingers into his robes.

“You’re sure?” Hermes asked. She nodded, wincing as the movement set off the pain in her head once again, but her fist clenched tighter, and that was clear enough.

Hermes sighed softly with a melancholy she did not understand. He took her by the elbow, and together they continued to walk.

They’d come just close enough to see the combatants, some of them barely taller than Meteion, when Hermes felt a sense of foreboding like stormclouds gathering on the horizon. The static of aether gathering for a major working crackled across his skin and popped in his ears. He began to run, barely noticing when the abrupt change of pace dislodged Meteion’s grip from his robes.

He was already too late. There was no way he would make it in time to intervene.

That was when Azem’s voice rang through the canyon, rage lending strength to his words.

“Enough.”

Meteion tripped and fell. She curled in on herself in the dirt, folding her arms over her head and cowering. She was not the only one; the would-be fighters bore the full brunt of the spell, staggering and collapsing with cries of pain. Only Hermes withstood the force of the command; he stumbled only for a moment before picking up speed, heading towards the confrontation as fast as he could.

Azem’s arms were folded, his chin lifted, one finger tapping impatiently against his elbow. Sometime during the run, he had donned his mask again. Now it gleamed sharply in the sunlight, a reminder of the authority he usually did not choose to wield.

“What is the meaning of this?” he said. He might have spoken quietly—in a murmur, even—except he had not bothered to release the amplification spell and his voice echoed up and down the canyon. Up above, at the edge of the cliffs, birds startled into flight and fled, but none of them had wings of glittering topaz.

On the ground, everyone remained mulishly silent. Hermes’s footsteps slowed to a stop and he stared down at the five would-be combatants. All young, by the look of them, the oldest barely into adulthood. They had no attention to spare for him, not when Azem was staring down at them, lips curled in distaste.

Azem cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice had returned to its usual volume. “Damon.”

One of the men winced, looking down and rubbing at the bruise forming on his jaw.

“Phoebe.”

The girl’s fingers curled in the dirt, but she otherwise did not move.

“The rest of you I don’t know, but I can only assume you are similarly aware of this town’s history, and thus must I also assume you are similarly foolish.” None of the youngsters answered. Azem took to pacing, each stomp sending up an angry puff of dust. “You know who and what I am. I represent the will of the Convocation, and we judged this feud baseless four score years ago, before you were ever born. As Azem of the Convocation of Fourteen, I am astounded at your lack of good sense. As Azem the Traveler, I am furious that you dare interrupt me during the search, the very highlight of the festival, where you are explicitly forbidden from interfering with the other participants, much less turning them into mud toads.”

The last few sentences emerged all in one breath, Azem’s words coming faster and louder as he spoke. The youngsters shrank in on themselves and said nothing. Damon and Phoebe wore surly expressions but at least knew better than to protest. The other three looked as if they believed becoming a mud toad would have been preferable to facing Azem’s ire.

“I believe the rules state that those found fighting during the contest are subject to immediate disqualification. I’d have reason to know, seeing as foolishness apparently runs in both your families, and I’ve been called to intervene every single time.”

Azem paused then, his eyes flicking to Hermes. While he was speaking, Meteion had caught up; now she stood behind Hermes, her anxious gaze focused entirely on Azem.

“Children that you are, I don’t think you can be trusted. I find I have no recourse but to deliver you back to Myus and explain what you have done to merit disqualification, else you are all likely to turn into banana slugs the moment I take my eyes off you. You are getting in the way of my fun by making me be responsible, and there is nothing in this world I hate more than responsibility.”

He waved his hand carelessly, and all of the youngsters rose as one, dragged to their feet by invisible hands at the backs of their robes. “Now. Are you capable of walking on your own without tripping each other, or will I have to carry you?”

None of them spoke.

Azem raised an eyebrow. The invisible hands lifted them half a fulm off the ground.

It was the girl called Phoebe who broke first. “We’ll walk,” she said, throwing a hate-filled glance at Damon and his friends.

“Good. You’re all old enough that you would never live it down were I to drag you into town like misbehaving kittens.” Azem tossed his head. The invisible hands hitched up once more and then unceremoniously dropped the children. “Let’s go, then. And if I hear a single snide comment, I will ensure that your wagging tongues remain stilled for the remainder of the festival. You won’t be able to order so much as a single berry pie.”

He flapped his hands at them, shooing them along. The youngsters moved reluctantly, shooting each other venomous looks, though they did not dare to speak and especially did not dare to look back at Azem. They passed Hermes and Meteion without acknowledging their presence, beginning the long walk of shame back to town. Azem gave them nothing more than a slight nod as he passed.

Hermes watched them until they moved out of sight behind a rock formation. Then, shaking his head, he looked away, shading his eyes to peer further on into the distance. “We should be going too.”

Still Meteion’s expression was clouded, but she tore her attention away from the strange procession to look at him. “Where?”

Hermes began to walk briskly. They had no time to waste. “We’re to catch the jeweled thrush. Azem is entrusting us with continuing the search while he attends to business.”

“He didn’t say that,” Meteion said slowly. “…But. Sometimes… people can say things without words. Don’t they? When did you and Azem learn?”

He was smiling without realizing it, a soft, slightly exasperated expression. “It’s not something one learns just like that. It’s only that I know him well enough to guess what he would want.”

He’d expected Meteion to pursue the matter further. Instead she only looked down, watching the scratches her claws made in the earth. “…Mm.”

“…Meteion?”

She did not answer. Hermes moved to stand in front of her and crouched down; she too stopped walking, but she did not look up. He could only guess at the reason for her distress. He reached over and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’ve never seen Azem that angry, have we? Did he scare you?”

Meteion shook her head immediately; then she blinked, as if taken aback by her own reaction. “No. Just… surprised. And he wasn’t really angry. He looked it, but he was… disappointed?”

“…Yes. That makes sense. He wouldn’t be angry at children for their mistakes.”

At last Meteion tilted her head back and looked at him. Her eyes were serious, her brow scrunched in deep thought. A fleeting realization crossed his mind: she had never worn an expression like that in Elpis.

It suited her.

“I thought… Azem is really nice,” Meteion said. “But he can be like that too.”

“Kindness does no good without strength to support it,” Hermes said. Then he paused, considering his own words.

It was true, wasn’t it? What was kindness without conviction, and conviction without strength?

“Hermes?”

“…Ah. I’m sorry.” He straightened up, once again turning his attention to the sparse brush of the canyon. “Let’s see if we can’t find the jeweled thrush before Azem returns.”

It started as so many stories did: with two good friends.

Over the course of millions of years, the river wound a path through the arid plains, patiently carving gorges deep into the rock. By the time men arrived, the topography had already been long established. It was only natural that he take advantage of the existing watercourse to ease the difficulty of travel. Here was the only point for malms around where the canyon was narrow enough to cross; here was the only point where a traversable path could be beaten from the rim to the river at the base. It was only natural that a town would spring up in such an advantageous location.

As was the way of such things, the young town attracted young people eager for excitement and adventure. Men were by nature social creatures; wherever they gathered in great numbers, love and friendships, rivalries and enmities, were sure to follow. But they were at heart a peaceful race, and for millennia, Myus was a cheerful, lively place.

And in this bustling town, at opposite ends of the widest bridge, lived two boys of about the same age. In the way of children who live near each other, they grew close; in the way of children whose abilities and aptitudes were similar enough to always draw comparison, everything between them became a competition. Who could run the fastest or score the highest, who could skip a rock more times across the surface of the river, who would be the first to have a concept approved by the Bureau of the Architect. A simple, friendly, harmless rivalry, one where they were always judged equal and neither pulled ahead.

And so it was that the two of them grew of age to join in the search for the wishing stone. One year, victory went to Vasos; at the next festival, it was Lynceus who claimed the prize and the wish. The third search was to be the deciding contest. Here and now, on the stage of their oldest and most revered tradition, they would learn at last which of them was superior.

But on the day of festival, not one bell into the search, Vasos and his entire family fell suddenly and inexplicably ill. Unable to wield magic, unable to walk or see or hunt, they were forced to retire from the contest.

Lynceus won handily, but there was no joy in his victory.

“Poison,” Azem said.

Hermes jumped. He had been inspecting the nets, thin and strong as spider’s web, that they had strung between the trees. Now he turned his full attention to Azem. “Surely not. None of our people would think to…”

“Would they not?” Azem said sardonically, and Hermes was reminded once again that this was someone who had witnessed more evil than he could ever imagine. “But no. In this instance, you’re right. Attacking one’s own countrymen is a grave enough offense that the Convocation was called upon to investigate. Emmerololth and Halmarut determined the source to be fungal contamination in the vegetables from that morning’s breakfast. A case of unfortunately timed food poisoning, nothing more.”

Into the ensuing silence, Hermes said, “That cannot be all there was to it.”

Azem shrugged and spread their hands. “There was no evidence of foul play. Such was their ruling. And yet you are right once again. The hearts of men are not so easily swayed by logic alone, especially not the logic of strangers. Vasos was certain he had been wronged; Lynceus was outraged that any would doubt his innocence. And so their friendship soured, and what was once a friendly rivalry has become a nasty grudge. By now they’ve dragged their families and many of their neighbors into it as well.”

“That’s why you want to win,” Meteion said. She was perched on a tree branch above them, tugging the net into place. “To make them stop fighting?”

“I want to win because I am a most competitive person and I am in the mood for grapes and apples.”

Then they frowned, peering at Meteion suspiciously. “What are you doing up there anyway?”

“Mist nets,” she chirped.

This time, when Azem turned to Hermes, their eyes were wide with betrayal and accusation. “You told me birds can’t be caught in nets!”

Hermes sighed, stepped away from the tree, and began the rather arduous process of explaining avian behavior.

Upon finding itself in unfamiliar surroundings, the bird would have been agitated and afraid. Its first act would have been to seek shelter somewhere familiar. Thrushes were not cliff birds; it would have fled to the trees if at all possible. That was what Hermes had been searching for when he had flown above the cliffs, a copse or a grove where the bird might be hidden. Assuming the thrush had flown in this direction, this was its most likely location.

The copse wasn’t much to speak of. From where they stood, they could already see through to the other side of the trees. Even so, the wide-spreading branches were heavy with leaves and summertime fruit, and there were more than enough places where a small bird would be able to hide indefinitely. Even if the thrush was here, they could spend all day searching and never find it. The most practical approach was to scare it out of hiding and lay a trap to catch it, and that was where the mist nets came in.

“It’s a common tactic to capture flying lifeforms, and much more effective than swinging butterfly nets,” Hermes said. His words were just a bit pointed. “Once the nets are all set, then the bird can be flushed out. Smoke or loud noises would do well to scare it from hiding.”

“Smoke and loud noises…”

…Hermes was already beginning to regret his words. He did not like the look on Azem’s face.

Azem nodded decisively, punching one fist into their palm. “Right. I don’t know much about birds, but that I can do. I need to work off my frustration anyway.”

“Wait!” Hermes called, raising one hand to stop them, but it was too late. Azem stalked off through the trees, waving their hands around in what might have been spellcasting gestures or might have been a simple expression of their feelings.

Meteion gave another tug at the net, checking that it was secure, but overbalanced and tipped from the tree branch with a squeak. On some level Hermes had expected this; without a moment’s pause, he caught her in his arms and set her on the ground. Already he was looking back at Azem, who had stopped in the middle of the copse and was now drawing lines of sparkling aether through the air.

“The nets aren’t ready yet,” he said, dismayed. “Unless it flies right at us, we won’t be able to catch it.”

He spoke loudly, hoping Azem would overhear, but they gave no acknowledgement of his words. Meteion managed to steady herself and looked up at him. Her fists clenched in determination, her eyes glinting with the promise of adventure. “Then I’ll go up! And if I see it, I’ll tell you!”

“I’m counting on you,” Hermes said, but already the second of his impulsive companions was taking to the air. He remained on the ground, circling away from the nets strung between the trees. As he did, the shape of Azem’s magick became clear, and he witnessed the very moment it coalesced into a creature twice the height of a man.

“Oh,” said Azem, sounding vaguely alarmed. “I didn’t mean for it to be quite that large.”

The lion growled and pounced.

…Its tail and mane were on fire. Apparently Azem had been aiming for both smoke and noise.

As much as Hermes would have liked to watch the ensuing battle, he had other tasks. Somehow he tore his eyes away from the flashy spectacle and glanced around the copse. Already there were small creatures emerging from the brush and fleeing, rabbits and mice and yes, even more of those chipmunks. The fluttering of wings alerted him to birds taking flight, and he looked up to a rush of brown and gray and red bodies. None of them were the size and shape of a thrush.

Had he miscalculated? If the stone acted like the bird it was modeled after, then it should have sought shelter among the trees. Of that, at least, he was certain. It was possible it had flown in a different direction entirely, in which case he would have to survey the land again and do a thorough sweep of all possibilities.

Then a sharp trill cut through his thoughts, and Hermes swiveled on one foot, shading his eyes and looking up. Meteion dipped and twirled through the air, blocking the path of another flying lifeform. It tried to dodge around her to avoid a collision, and in that moment, he caught the glitter of light against the flat plane of a carved wing.

He forgot Azem in that moment and began to run. Meteion was harrying the jeweled bird to the best of her ability, preventing it from reaching its full flight speed, but they positioned wrong to drive it back into the mist nets. If it were to escape, they would have to begin the search all over again. This was their best opportunity to catch it.

Unfortunately, he had only a single, astoundingly ridiculous idea.

Hermes clasped his hands together above his head, weaving aether into the form he envisioned. It took only a moment to manifest. He did, after all, have a very clear idea of the concept, having seen it not too long ago.

“Meteion!” he called. At his signal, she folded her wings and dove abruptly. At the same moment, Hermes swung his arms down.

The giant net came crashing down, knocking the thrush from the air and trapping it against the ground. Meteion barely evaded in time, the long feathers of her tail whisking away from the edge of the net at the very last second. Then she was standing beside the net, curiously peering down at the captured bird.

“You did it, Hermes!” she cried, spreading her arms and spinning around delightedly. “You caught the thrush!”

Hermes sighed and straightened up. He picked his way across the net and knelt down next to where the thrush was beating its wings ineffectively against the fine mesh. He reached out one hand, hesitated for a single moment, and then stroked its back with one finger.

There was a bright flash of golden light and the sound of bells. The light faded almost instantly, but the ringing of the bells echoed up and down the canyon, signaling the end of the search. Hermes found himself with his finger laid atop against a stack of three bangles, simple golden bands each set with a single topaz glowing warm with magic.

Hermes sat back on his heels. He found that he was grinning; had been grinning, in fact, since the moment he’d knocked the thrush from the air, and had never stopped. He picked up one of the bangles and closed the clasp around his left wrist. Meteion stepped forth solemnly, holding out her arm to him, and he slid another over her hand. At first it hung loose and she had to grab it to keep it from slipping back off; then it contracted to fit her, and she released it with a gasp, lifting it up to stare at it.

The third bangle he picked up and held on to for now. Hermes stood and turned, unsurprised to find that Azem was still wrestling the lion while simultaneously attempting to keep the trees from lighting on fire. Despite the bells and the light, they didn’t appear to have noticed that Hermes and Meteion had caught the bird.

“Should we help?” Meteion asked uncertainly, but Hermes smiled and shook his head.

“Let them have their fun for a little while longer.”

Then he paused.

“Oh, and Meteion? Let’s not tell Azem how we caught the thrush. It will be our little secret.”

Azem had never claimed victory in the search for the wishing stone, but they had borne witness to the process often enough to know what came next. The three of them returned to Myus to great acclaim and a bevy of heartfelt congratulations. Their victory was met with no resentment or frustration; as a friend to the town who could not be called stranger, their success elicited only sincere delight and a general sense of amusement that it had taken so long.

Naturally, Azem planned to ruin that goodwill at the first possible opportunity.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, as the final acknowledgment of their victory, they were asked to voice their wishes. When the festival master asked what reward they would claim, Azem couldn’t repress a small snicker. The devious twist to their mouth plainly said they had something up their sleeve, and so, despite his better judgment, Hermes deferred to their lead. He suspected the wish for grapes had fled their mind entirely.

Azem cleared their throat and stepped forth. They stretched their right arm out before them, showing off the golden bangle with its softly glowing topaz. As an appreciative murmur ran through the audience, Azem began to speak, their tone deceptively light. “You know, I’ve never been to a traditional wedding in these parts. I’ve always wanted to see one.”

Their words were met with silence.

Hermes was painfully aware that he was standing before the gathered residents of Myus and did his best to show no outward sign of dismay.

Azem tapped one finger against their chin, pretending to think. “In that case… let’s see. Soteria? You’re in attendance, right?

There was a susurration amongst the townspeople, a movement from the back of the crowd. A young woman made her way through the gathering, ascending the steps to the stage at a measured pace. She bowed to Azem, a few locks of familiar blond hair escaping her cowl as she did, and Azem nodded in return.

“And who else… Perhaps… Aliki, are you here? Ah, there. Come on up.”

From the other side of the crowd came another young woman, this one of much the same age as the first. She too stepped up onto the edge of the stage and bowed. This time the mutterings of the crowd continued for several moments longer and contained a definite edge of agitation, but none raised any objections just yet. The festival master shifted his weight back on his heels but did nothing to interrupt.

Meteion nudged against his side, and Hermes glanced down at her. She too had noticed the townspeople’s discontent. Still, her gaze was not on the crowd but on the two women, and she looked faintly puzzled.

It was because of Meteion that he chose to reserve judgment for now. He did not yet possess enough information to piece together the full story.

Azem tilted their head, regarding the two young women. “Hmm. If I recall correctly, the both of you are unmarried. Is that still the case?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison. They were carefully not looking at each other.

“Good! We’ll fix that.” Azem clasped their hands together and beamed beatifically. “You might as well marry each other. I think you would make for a wonderful couple. Don’t you agree, Hermes?”

At the moment, Hermes’s sole wish was that Azem not involve him in this.

He was saved the trouble of answering when a furor rose from the crowd, so loud and so sudden that Meteion clapped her hands over her head and huddled over. Hermes whirled on one heel, staring out over the townspeople. Whichever side their families had chosen, whoever their allies were, their faces were twisted in the same hateful grimace, and their voices rang with identical indignation.

“You cannot—”

“How dare you! This cannot be allowed to stand!”

“You overstep your bounds, Azem of Amaurot!”

There might as well have been no difference between them.

Meteion stumbled away, her eyes wide. Hermes put himself between her and the crowd. He hadn’t expected this much vitriol. As he narrowed his eyes, he could see the telltale glow of rising aether, both from children with less control over their magick and from adults who should have known better.

When the first tomato came flying, aimed with pinpoint accuracy at the back of Aliki’s head, it hit an invisible barrier surrounding the stage and dissolved with a squelch. Azem’s smile did not falter, and the girls did not flinch.

“On the contrary, I am well within my rights. This is the wish I would have granted. If I remember correctly, only those who are directly affected by the wish are allowed to object.”

Azem glanced over their shoulder at the festival master. Belatedly, he nodded confirmation, seeming just as stunned as the crowd at this turn of events.

When Azem turned back, their smile was infinitely gentle. “Well, girls?”

“I have no objections,” Soteria said, her head held high and her voice steady. Someone from her side of the crowd shrieked, but she did not move.

Aliki did not answer immediately. Instead she reached out without looking. One brown hand stretched from her robe, groping in midair until it found and grasped Soteria’s pale fingers, and only then did she say softly, “I also do not object.”

“Then your families can lodge no complaint.” Azem’s words were drowned out by the shouts and jeers from the townspeople. Even so, this time they did not use an amplification spell, not when the only ones who mattered were already standing on the stage. “I will say it again. I wish to see the two of you married in the traditional manner.”

“Then…” Meteion peered around Hermes. Though she made no move to approach, her eyes were wide, and the bangle on her wrist glowed as she spoke. “Then I’ll wish for you to have a peaceful and happy marriage!”

She looked up at Hermes then, brow furrowing. “That’s okay, right? That’s what you usually say?”

Hermes nodded solemnly. “It is a kind and appropriate wish for newlyweds. Then I suppose it falls to me to wish for apples and grapes at the wedding feast.”

But there was laughter in his voice, and he couldn’t look away from Aliki and Soteria. Their hands were still tightly clasped together. Their backs were turned to the crowd, and so only the three of them, and the festival master, could see the twin smiles that lit their faces.

And perhaps that was enough. The master cleared his throat, and it was with good cheer that he called, “So let it be done!”

They escaped from the festival at the first possible opportunity. It seemed only wise, seeing as Azem had managed to upset at least two-thirds of the town’s population. They took refuge on one of the cliffs overlooking the town, close enough that they could still hear the people’s voices, far enough that they couldn’t be easily seen. If any particular trouble arose, it wouldn’t escape their attention. There they sat, a small spread of greasy festival snacks set out between them, and Hermes extracted the full story from Azem at last.

“Myus has many interesting customs. The summer festival, of course, and the elaborate wedding ceremonies among them. But their marriage traditions extend beyond the extravagant celebrations. The newlyweds are expected to face many difficult decisions together for the rest of their lives. It is imperative that they learn to live and act in harmony.

“In acknowledgment of that, they are afforded special status. Until the time of the next summer festival, as long as they are in agreement, they share a joint vote on the town council and their word is law within their families. Even their foolishly stubborn older brothers would not dare to break that tradition.”

Hermes thought back to those two young women, standing with hands clasped together and heads held high even in the face of vehement opposition. They would do just fine.

“So that was your wish all along. You wished for ‘love’: that the two of them might marry and put an end to the feud.”

Azem folded her arms, still clutching a skewer of roasted vegetables between two fingers. “Yes, you could put it that way. Much more of this and the Convocation would have had to formally intervene again, and a number of our Seats do not take well to having their authority questioned.” Then some of the annoyance fell from her face; her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “And, well, the girls may have requested my assistance. Begged for it, even.”

“And Azem can’t turn away from any in need,” Meteion chirped.

When both Hermes and Azem looked to her, startled, she blinked. She leaned her weight back on her palms, staring at them as if surprised at their reactions. “…That’s what everyone says.”

“Everyone?” Azem demanded. “Who is everyone?”

“Everyone, I suspect,” Hermes said with a chuckle.

“Everyone I’ve met,” Meteion said, with the solemnity of one who believed they spoke only the truth. Azem groaned, flinging her arms into the air and accidentally sending her skewer over the cliff as she did. Over her dismayed yelp, Meteion continued, “But, Azem, what would you have done if we hadn’t won?”

Azem tore her gaze from the lost skewer and gave Meteion a wide-eyed look. “With the three of us, our victory was never in any doubt!”

Hermes scoffed. He couldn’t help it. Their search would likely have gone more smoothly without Azem’s “help.”

“But if the impossible had happened… if it was a rabbit we had to chase, or another shark, rather than a bird… I suppose I would have agreed to their initial proposition and helped them to elope. But I don’t think they fully grasped the difficulty in that. I’m glad it turned out this way.”

Azem smiled and stretched her arms wide, encompassing all of Myus. “A wedding ceremony, the feud soon to come to an end, and grapes and apples at the wedding feast on top of that! What more could one ask?”

A scroll flickered into existence in front of her.

Hermes, Meteion, and Azem blinked.

“Well,” Azem amended, “what more than not receiving messages from Halmarut, anyway.”

She plucked the scroll from the air. It shifted into a button mushroom the moment she touched it. Without any hesitation, she popped it into her mouth.

Hermes sighed. It really was no use questioning her eating habits.

He held up his arm, studying the bangle on his wrist. Even now the topaz glowed softly, its warmth like the touch of sunlight against his skin. All of the jewel’s magic had been spent in today’s hunt. Now it would lie quiescent, gathering aether again over the next five years, until the time came for the search to take place again.

“So what happens next?” Hermes asked. He meant their next destination; he meant with regards to the hunt and the festival; he meant in the town of Myus.

Azem reached over, touching the gem with one gentle finger. “You and I will give these to Aliki and Soteria. Pass on the honor and the authority of the victors to them. I want it very clear that they have our full support.”

Hermes nodded. They were merely visitors to this town. It made sense to leave the stone here with the people who treasured it; they would have no use for it where they wandered.

But that accounted for only two of the bangles. There was one more yet unspoken for.

Upon finding herself the sudden target of their gazes, Meteion tilted her head. She lifted her arm, holding the smallest of the bangles at her eye-level, and squinted at it as if seeing it for the first time. Hermes fought back a smile. He might almost have thought she was studying its aetherial composition if he hadn’t known the attempt would do nothing but give her a headache.

Still. Seeing her like that gave him an idea.

“Azem…”

“Yes,” she said, following his train of thought. “I think that would be all right.”

“What?” Meteion said.

Azem said slowly, “All pieces of the wishing stone must be present in Myus for the magick to activate. However, there should be no problem with us… borrowing it for a little while.”

Hermes chuckled, clasping Meteion’s hand in his. The victors’ bangles clinked together as their hands met.

“You don’t have very much to call your own, young and unexperienced as you are,” he said quietly. “But you too were key to our victory. If Azem thinks it acceptable, I would not be averse to you holding on to the stone for a while.”

“I think we can get away with it,” Azem said mildly. “As long as you swear to return in five years to present it for the next search.”

It was Hermes who asked the question. “Would you like that, Meteion?”

Meteion’s answer came without hesitation, and her smile shone bright as the midsummer sun.

“Yes! I would like that very much.”

Chapter Text

On this exceedingly pleasant autumn day, they were taking an exceedingly pleasant stroll about an exceedingly pleasant countryside.

Hermes meant it quite sincerely. Their current journey was… nice, in every possible way. The autumn weather was just cool enough to make the exertion pleasant. The morning rains had long ceased, leaving only shining droplets of moisture clinging to the grass. The sun was not too bright, the clouds not too thick, the air so clear that he could see for malms around. The path was easy on the feet, winding through shallow valleys carpeted with green grassy meadows and little white flowers that bloomed in the shape of stars. They spotted no few animals as they walked—birds filling the air with their cheerful song, a rabbit foraging for a spot of breakfast, even a doe and fawn who bounded away the moment they caught the scent of people on the wind.

It was so very picturesque that he couldn’t help but be suspicious.

He voiced these thoughts when they paused for their noontime repast atop one of the gently sloping hills. Azem had just conjured up a picnic blanket; now they glanced at him. “You make it sound as if I only ever drag you into trouble.”

“It sometimes feels like it,” Hermes said.

“Azem is trouble,” Meteion said. “It follows everywhere they go.”

Azem groaned. Hermes tried and failed to stifle his chuckle. “Is that what ‘everyone’ says?”

Meteion nodded, looking perfectly guileless and perfectly clueless. True to her nature, she’d made a habit of speaking with people everywhere they went, learning all she could of their lives and aspirations. Some few grew irritable or aghast when interrogated by a curious little familiar; however, on the whole their people were a good-natured lot, and they answered her questions with tolerant amusement. She had been learning much about the star on which they lived, and, apparently, about their most notorious companion.

Azem sniffed and turned up their nose. “Well, in this case, everyone is wrong. I am not trouble, nor am I followed by trouble. I too know what it is to live a peaceful life.”

They paused just long enough to deposit the picnic basket in the middle of the blanket.

“I just think it boring, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermes echoed. He flipped the basket open, pulling out all that remained of its contents, and suppressed a grimace. They’d procured food when they’d last been in a city little more than a sennight ago, supplementing their meals with wild root vegetables and hunting along the way. By now their supplies were running a bit short: They were down to cured meat and the end of a loaf of bread. He’d been accustomed to the unpredictable fare available in Elpis. Questionable though it might have been, at least he never grew tired of it.

Hermes took comfort in the fact that the next village was already visible in the distance. At the very least, they were likely to have a hot supper.

“But, well, to answer you, Hermes—no, I am not expecting any particular trouble. This is a calm and peaceful area. Not prone to earthshakes or volcanic activity. So perfectly landlocked that I will eat my mask if it is ever hit by a tsunami. It is the very definition of a nice, pleasant place.”

“It sounds boring,” Meteion said.

“Exactly!” Azem beamed, slapping meat and vegetables between slices of bread. “The Convocation will never think to find me here!”

Hermes looked at Meteion. Meteion tilted her head, just as puzzled.

“They’ve been breathing down my neck lately,” Azem continued. “Even though I’ve been sending in regular reports—well, perhaps not regular—or even very often—”

Meteion picked through the plants they’d gathered that morning, selecting the least wilted among the shoots and handing them to Hermes. Hermes stacked them atop his own slice of bread, doing his best to ignore Azem’s rambling.

“—In any case, I’ve been keeping them updated when it matters, so I don’t see that they have any reason to complain! And, well, even the peaceful, boring places are worth a visit now and again. Just to ensure that they remain peaceful and boring.”

Azem nodded to themself and bit into their sandwich.

There was an audible crack.

Hermes started, but there was no expression of pain on Azem’s face. They chewed and swallowed the remainder of their sandwich before glancing down with distaste at the scroll now sitting on the blanket before them. “…Well. It was worth a try.”

“Are you going to read it this time?” Hermes asked without much hope.

“Perhaps,” Azem grumbled. “I don’t think there’s a tracking spell on it. It’s from Nabriales…”

They tapped the seal on the scroll with one finger. Much to Hermes’s surprise, it unrolled itself to hover before Azem. Azem stared blankly at it for a moment; then they laughed, flicking it away. It floated through the air to land in Hermes’s lap, and he looked down at it.

Meteion picked up the scroll and flipped it over. That did not help his confusion. “It’s blank.”

“Yes, I thought it might be.” Azem had by now turned to rummaging through the picnic basket, frowning when they came up with nothing more than a handful of wrinkled cranberries. “Nabriales knows I won’t listen no matter what he has to say. There’s no point in writing anything.”

“…The more I hear about your colleagues, the more I wonder how the Convocation manages to accomplish anything at all.”

“Not without a lot of bickering and personal insults, I assure you. We’re people in the end too, with all the strengths and flaws that that entails, and that doesn’t change with our ascension to a position of power.” Azem beamed at him, dismissing the now-empty basket with a wave of one hand. “How about it, Hermes? Don’t you want to join us?”

He had to smile. “Not in the least.”

“Ah, well. I tried.”

The letter vanished with a careless snap of their fingers. Meteion stared at where it had been, still looking puzzled. “What did you do with it?”

Azem lay down on the picnic blanket, folding their arms behind their head and closing their eyes. “Sent it back to Nabriales, of course. To let him know his message has been received and summarily ignored.”

“Of course,” Hermes echoed. He gazed ahead at the small village in the distance. As accustomed as he had become to traveling, he couldn’t say he wasn’t looking forward to a nice meal and a soft bed for the night. If they were expecting no trouble, then he might even be able to enjoy a peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

That was when a pillar of dark blue fire erupted on the edge of town.

Hermes blinked. For a moment he couldn’t process what he was seeing. Hadn’t he just been thinking this would be a nice, peaceful visit? Hadn’t Azem said as much themself?

Then, “Hermes,” Meteion gasped, her voice laden with alarm, and he knew the fire was not just in his imagination.

Meteion’s tone made Azem turn, cracking open one gray eye to peer at them. Then, as their gaze shifted to the dark smoke rising from the village, their eyes widened and they leapt to their feet. The curse that slipped from their lips made Meteion stare at them, but they had no attention to spare for her. Already they were gesturing at the ground before them, excess magick leaking from the fringes of their spell every time they moved. It was a profligate waste of aether, but they didn’t seem to notice or care.

“An accident, do you think?” Hermes said, even as he dismissed the picnic blanket and cleaned up the remains of their luncheon.

“What else could it be?” they snapped back. With one final wave, their creation took form before them: a giant cloud large enough to seat all three of them, wisps of golden aether curling out and fading away at the edges. “Come on, you two!”

They were still half a day’s walk from the village.

They crossed the remaining distance in one bell.

By the time they reached Rizinia, the fire had already been contained and extinguished. Even so, the damage was extensive. Four houses had been reduced to burned-out piles of still-smoldering rubble, while another three showed evidence of damage from the flames and smoke. As Azem directed the cloud to descend, Hermes narrowed his eyes. A curtain of air fell across the ground, smothering the remaining embers and directing the residual heat up to dissipate safely in the sky. It was far too late to save anything that might have been inside, but there was little enough else they could do.

Meteion’s hands fastened tight around his arm as they approached. It was an odd reaction for a bird to have to Azem’s fast, reckless flying. He glanced at her with some surprise, trying to pry her fingers from his robe, but she didn’t appear to notice. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the figures moving about on the ground.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispered, and the anxiety in her voice was enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “Something’s… really wrong.”

Hermes cast his eyes across the streets once again. A fire was a major disaster in a village as small as this. He would have thought it would attract a great crowd of onlookers. Instead, there was… almost no one. Only a few scattered bystanders. Not even as many people as he would have thought would be living in those seven houses.

“Azem,” he called.

Azem paid him no mind, not until Hermes seized him by the shoulder and gave him a quick shake. When he looked back at Hermes, his eyes were wild and unfocused. His mask still hung at his chest; he’d forgotten to replace it in the sudden confusion.

“Slow down,” Hermes hissed. He glanced at Meteion again. Azem followed his gaze, blinking in sudden confusion at her clear distress. “Where is everyone?”

Azem hesitated. He glanced down to the street, only then noticing what the other two had already seen. The cloud stopped its descent; then, because there was nothing more they could do to help, they made a slow circle in the skies above Rizinia.

The more he saw, the more Hermes became convinced that Meteion was right. The village showed traces of multiple recent disasters. There were at least two other soot-blackened buildings, a house completely overtaken by vines, and an ominous crater in the center of the village where nothing stood. No measures had been taken to clean up the rubble or rebuild the damaged structures.

It would have taken only a few breaths for someone like Hermes or Azem to construct temporary facilities. For someone with less control of aether, it would have been a more involved affair, but it should have been no more than a day’s work at most. Most striking was that no attempt had been made at all.

And the people—where were the people? Though some still walked the streets, pointing and waving at their passing, there were all unusually small—children, at the most. Hermes did not know what it all added up to, but he much disliked the shape of it.

If his deepening frown was any indication, Azem was thinking along the same lines. They completed their circle of the village, stopping above the burned-out remains of the houses. Azem sat still and silent for several minutes, oblivious to the small crowd of youngsters gathering beneath and beckoning to them. At last, though, he nodded to himself and glanced back at Hermes and Meteion. “Hold still, you two.”

Hermes did not have a chance to ask why before he was hit with a wave of magick as cold and as sudden as a bucket of water to the head. He shivered, gasping for air; Meteion hunched against his side, flinching at the sensation.

“What—”

“Traveler’s ward. I cast one on you the first time we set off. I expect you didn’t notice in all the confusion.” Azem brought his thumb to his mouth, biting it nervously. “Now seems a good time to renew it. Just to be safe.”

Hermes breathed out slowly. His heart was hammering in his chest. It wasn’t the first time Azem had dragged them straight into danger, but he would never grow accustomed to it.

“What do you want us to do?” Meteion asked.

Azem shook his head, wearing a wry, lopsided smile. “Just keep an eye out, little traveler. And do not be ashamed to flee if you feel it necessary. Neither of us would like to see you hurt.”

He did not say the same to Hermes.

Surprisingly, Hermes did not mind. If he was truly needed, he had no intention of fleeing.

Azem took a deep breath and pressed his palms against the cloud. It began to descend at a gentle, controlled pace, a stark difference from their earlier reckless speed.

“Your mask,” Hermes prompted. With a nod of thanks, Azem flipped it back onto his face, and they at last came to a stop on the street before the villagers.

“Well,” Azem murmured. “Let’s see if my fears are unfounded.”

Though he tried to keep his tone light and airy, he could not suppress the undercurrent of worry in his voice.

Azem’s fears were not unfounded.

Whether or not they’d met someone before, their mask was as good as an introduction. That was the case in Rizinia: though none of the villagers who came to greet them had previously met them, they had heard of Azem of the Convocation of Fourteen, and that was enough to impel them to beg for aid.

Even so, as the children introduced themselves and explained what had befallen them, Hermes began to suspect they would have begged assistance of any passing traveler. That was how desperate their situation had become.

As he’d thought, they were far too young. None were more than half-grown. The boy who stepped forth to take charge was still only about Meteion’s height. Nikolaos, he called himself; then, in a voice that trembled only a little, he launched into an in-depth explanation of all that had come to pass.

It was a sickness, at first indistinguishable from the colds and viruses commonplace at all times of year. The initial symptoms were only a mild cough and a low fever, easily ignored and dismissed as something that would pass quickly. But most fevers did not escalate within a matter of days. Most did not gradually weaken one’s control over aether. Most were not accompanied by the sort of all-encompassing exhaustion that only grew worse as time passed.

Most fevers did not result in a sleep from one which would not wake, and unpredictable ebbs and surges in one’s magicks.

“We call it the dream fever,” Nikolaos said, looking anxiously at them, as if expecting them to have a different name to offer. “They fall asleep and then their aether runs wild. All the spells they’ve ever cast go out of control. We can’t stop them. …That’s what happened here.”

He cast one despondent glance at the remains of the house beside him. Then he tucked his hands behind his back and looked down, feet shuffling across the ground. He seemed to be on the verge of crying. Meteion was staring at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Azem glanced around at the other children and then knelt in front of him. “Was anyone hurt?” they said gently. Nikolaos shook his head. “That’s good. For now you must focus on helping each other. Tallying your losses can come later.”

He nodded. Hermes looked around at the silent, sad cluster of youngsters before them. The adults were most strongly affected by the illness, likely because of their increased aetheric capacity. The children who had caught the fever had recovered quickly enough. Of the adults, some few had awoken but were still too weak to help. Many lay sick or comatose. And some…

Azem sighed and bowed their head. Meteion did not hesitate: she moved to their side and wrapped an arm across their shoulders.

The first villager had fallen ill two moons ago. It had only gotten worse since then. It was an exceedingly long time for word not to have reached the next city over. Granted, it was a bit of a long trip on foot, but it was a pleasant enough journey and the roads were well-maintained. Surely they’d sent someone?

When Hermes voiced that very question, his words were met with puzzlement. “But didn’t you come because of the messengers?”

“We received no word,” Hermes said, when Azem remained oddly, pensively silent. “Not in Tiruns and not on the way here.”

The children exchanged startled glances. “That’s strange,” said one of the others at last. Echo, a child a little older and a little taller than Nikolaos. “They left as soon as it became clear the illness was abnormal. They should have reached Tiruns a long time ago.”

“I expect they were your most trustworthy people,” Azem said, with a terrible, gentle calmness. “Fast and strong? Adults in the prime of their lives?”

At each statement, the children nodded. Foreboding rose within Hermes’s heart. The walk to the nearest town should have taken a sennight at a rapid pace. If more than a moon had passed since they departed the village…

The children’s faces were confused and anxious but free from despair. Death was still a foreign concept to them; they hadn’t yet drawn the logical conclusion. Hermes couldn’t look directly at them. He couldn’t be the one to break the news.

Somehow, this visit to a peaceful, boring village where nothing ever happened had become their worst journey so far.

“Please,” said Echo.

Their voice broke on the word, but it seemed to give Nikolaos courage. He swallowed thickly, raised his chin, and brought his small shoulders back. Normally Hermes would have smiled to see a child try to stand so straight and tall; now, it only hammered in his earnestness.

“We would make a formal request of you,” he said, stumbling over the words. “We would of course make sure you are com… commiserated for your time and effort. We don’t have much to offer, but all that we possess will be yours. You and all your forebears will find welcome in Rizinia until the stars fall dark and all life comes to an end. Just…please.”

Nikolaos faltered, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot. He suddenly looked very small and very young. “Please won’t you help us?

It would have taken a harder heart than Hermes’s to refuse him. It was clear they’d planned in great detail how they would beg help from a complete stranger when their own parents had proven incapable. It was a great act of courage and foresight.

It should never have been required from one so young.

Meteion was the first to react. She stepped away from Azem, clasping the boy’s hands between her own. “We’ll help! We’ll do everything we can!”

Azem sighed again and rose to their feet. “There is no need for you to submit a formal petition for aid, child. It is my duty and my joy to serve the peoples of Etheirys, and I would gladly do so without promise of recompense.”

Nikolaos rocked back on his heels, a disbelieving smile splitting his face. Echo thrust their fist in the air, unable to stifle a cheer.

Azem continued, their tone still level, “Would you take us to see the afflicted? I’d like to speak with them if possible.”

“Yeah! Um, they’re all mostly at home. It didn’t seem wise to put them all together if their magick’s out of control…” The children conferred for a brief moment. One of them pointed to the soot-blackened houses. The others nodded with varying degrees of reluctance, but still they came to a swift agreement.

“That’s my house,” Echo said, their voice colored with relief. “Come on.”

“The rest of you get back to work,” Nikolaos said bossily. “Stop staring. We’ve got things to do.”

His tone was met with token groans and grumbles, but most of the other children split off to return to whatever tasks they had been assigned. Echo was already halfway to their house; Nikolaos gave chase, protesting at being left behind. Hermes made to follow, but he was stopped by a hand at his elbow.

When he glanced at Azem, he saw that they had grabbed hold of Meteion as well. That was all the warning he received before he once again felt aether pouring over his head. This time the strength of the magick nearly knocked him off his feet, a sensation akin to standing beneath a freezing waterfall. Meteion stumbled, but Hermes managed to show no reaction. Instead he glanced at Azem, who gave him only a minuscule nod.

“If it truly is a disease of the aether, Meteion will be fine, but you and I must take care,” they murmured. “Hermes—you spent many years as an Elpis observer before becoming its overseer. I would ask that you put those skills to use now. Take note of everything you see. Act as you see fit. I’ll be counting on you.”

Hermes nodded tightly. It was the only proper response. Already Nikolaos was turning back to look at them from the top of the short staircase before the door, bouncing on his heels with impatience. Azem lifted a hand to signal that they were coming, and together they walked inside.

They stepped right through the front door and into a sickroom. From the looks of it, this had once been a normal, everyday family room. The shelves along the walls were crammed with books and little stone carvings of animals. The collection of plants in the entryway must once have been tended with great care to grow so large and bear so many flowers; now they stood forgotten, leaves falling away from stems grown dry and brown. The assorted tables and chairs had been shoved aside, against the walls and into hallways, to make room for blankets and cushions hurriedly arranged into makeshift nests on the floor.

Of course. If the children had been the ones caring for the sick, they would hardly have able to carry the adults to their rooms or their beds.

The windows had been thrown open to allow in a fresh breeze. Even so, the air inside the house hung warm and humid, reeking of sickness. Meteion covered her mouth with both hands, staring around at the six people lying asleep on the floor and the single woman dozing off in a simple wooden chair pushed against the far wall. None had reacted in any way to their arrival. Some of the sleepers had been deposited on the ground with little attention paid to their positioning or comfort. Their clothing was still scorched, their skin and hair smudged with soot. It was clear where they had come from and why they had been abandoned here with so little care. The children had likely had their hands full with the fire.

Nikolaos hesitated just inside the doorway, looking down at the adults with a complex expression on his little face; then he knelt down, his brow scrunching as he poured all his effort into forming a concept. Echo picked their way between the sleeping bodies until they reached the woman slumped in the chair. They bent over her, shaking her awake with one hand on her shoulder, wearing a most peculiar expression.

“Mama, wake up,” they said quietly. “We have visitors.”

She did not respond. Echo watched her without moving, tension and anxiety warring on their face. At last their mother stirred and they released the breath they had been holding. She lifted her head, raising bleary red eyes to look at Azem as they approached.

“Visitors,” she repeated. Her voice was faint and raspy; she didn’t appear to notice or understand who Azem was. The window next to her banged shut and then flew open again, making Meteion and the children jump. “What have I said about telling me when you’re bringing home visitors?”

Echo rocked back on their heels, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, Mama. They came all of a sudden.”

Their mother blinked and looked around vaguely. “My mask…”

“Don’t worry about your mask,” Echo said, their words petulant and scornful and scolding. There was a sudden loud crack from further down the hallway. Echo winced and glanced over. “I’ll make them tea and snacks and I’ll be a good host, so you have to entertain them. That’s what you’re always telling me.”

Their mother was still looking around, as if hoping to find her mask lying within easy reach. “But they’re your visitors.”

“On the contrary. I had a few questions to ask of you.” Azem spoke softly but firmly. They held up one hand, condensing their aether into a revolving ball of blue light. It succeeded in catching her attention as Echo slipped away. Even when the glow faded, leaving behind a recording crystal in its place, the woman watched with rapt attention.

Azem tapped the back of her hand with one finger. “You’ve been ill for some time. Do you remember how long?”

Her words came slowly with long pauses in between for deep thought or distraction. As Azem continued to grill her patiently, Hermes aided Nikolaos with the other sleepers. Most of them were worse off than Echo’s mother. Two showed no reaction at all to being shaken, picked up, or moved. Uttering a silent apology, he pulled from his experience with the appraisal of Elpis lifeforms to see if he could identify any irregularities. As they’d been previously informed, all of the ill had high fevers and clammy skin. Their heart rates were slightly elevated but their breathing normal for people who were in a deep sleep. He did not possess the sight to observe any fluctuations in their aether, but from the destruction around the town, it was likely that they were all experiencing irregular surges in their magick.

Two of the sleepers he managed to rouse into a state of groggy half-consciousness. They answered a few of his questions before drifting off, succumbing once again to their fevered dreams.

Throughout all this, Meteion lingered by the doorway, her eyes wide and her hands folded together as if in prayer. Hermes did not begrudge her the distance. She did not have the knowledge to provide meaningful aid, and she was suffering from the feelings of the children and patients alike. Better that she keep herself safe.

By the time Echo returned with three cups of tea, oversteeped to the point of unpalatable bitterness, their mother had drifted off once again and Hermes had finished his rounds with the six other adults. Azem stepped away, beckoning to Hermes to join them, and together with Meteion they left the house. Nikolaos watched them go but did not follow, lingering with wet cloth in hand by the side of a man insensible to his ministrations.

When they stepped outside, Hermes couldn’t help but inhale deeply of the cool, fresh autumn air. Azem folded their arms, a frown creasing their face, and came straight to the point. “I’ve never encountered anything remotely like this before. The best I can tell, it’s some sort of aetherial sickness. Highly contagious with a swift onset of symptoms. Where it comes from or how to treat it is beyond me.”

“So…” Meteion started. Her hands were clenching at her skirt; her eyes were huge, reflecting her fear that there was nothing to be done.

Azem sighed. They held out the recording crystal, even now pulsing with a soft light.

“Rizinia. About eight days’ journey west of Tiruns. I’ll hold fast till your arrival, but you’d best make haste. Understood?”

With a twist of their wrist, they stopped the recording. The glow of the crystal faded and it returned to dead stone. Azem drew two fingers along its surface, implanting two signs that would spring forth once the crystal reached its intended recipient. The first was the glyph of Azem. The other was a symbol Hermes recognized but had never seen used before: emergency, high urgency.

Even before Azem tossed the crystal into the air and sent it on its way, Hermes knew to whom and where it was bound. It was for Meteion’s sake that he said, “Emmerololth, the Eleventh Seat. Specialist in medicines and healing. Wouldn’t it be faster to summon them to your side?”

Azem snorted. “Emmerololth is not the sort of person you summon without warning. There’s no way of knowing if they’re in the middle of a delicate or—” And here their lip curled up in a sneer. “—more important procedure.”

Hermes persisted, “Are they often? More important, that is.”

Azem stared at him; then their shoulders slumped and they leaned back against the wall. They lifted a hand to their face, pausing when they realized they were still wearing their mask. “…Quite possibly. But to me, nothing is of greater importance than the people suffering before my eyes.”

They shook their head, weariness visible in every line of their body. “…I would ask of you a favor. This is not the first I’ve encountered sickness in my travels; I have some ideas of how best to contain it and alleviate the symptoms. But Emmerololth is hardly familiar with all the little villages scattered about the star. They’ll need a guide.”

Hermes’s breath caught. “You’d send me to meet them.”

After all the effort they’d put into avoiding communications from Amaurot. After all the time they’d spent making certain they wouldn’t be tracked down.

But emergencies took precedence over their own troubles, didn’t they?

“Emmerololth should be able to make it as far as Tiruns on their own. You…” Azem hesitated, giving the matter due consideration. “You likely aren’t familiar enough with the city to teleport straight there, are you? Blast. This is why I’ve been begging them to expand the aethernet system. But, well, you can fly, that’s probably the best way—”

“I’ll stay.”

Azem stopped. It was only when their mouth fell open that Hermes realized he had spoken aloud. His fists were clenched tight at his sides; his nails dug into his palms.

“I’m staying,” he said, his conviction only growing as he spoke. “You’ll need my help if this fever really has incapacitated all the adults. The children can do little more than run errands. If you’re planning on sealing their aether to prevent accidents—” And as soon as the words left him, he was certain that was their plan. “—Then you’ll be hard-pressed to do everything on your own.”

For a long moment, Azem did not speak.

Then their lips curled up in a haughty smile. Hermes stepped away involuntarily.

“You underestimate me. I will hold out as long as it takes for help to arrive. And that help will arrive all the faster if you are there to show the way.”

Their smile vanished. “I appreciate your worry, Hermes. But I will not yield. Do not make me command you.”

Hermes’s jaw clenched painfully. It had been so long since they set out that he had almost forgotten. He was not merely Azem’s traveling partner, but their servant. They had never abused that relationship—in fact, they hardly ever mentioned it—but if they demanded something of him, then he had no choice but to obey.

Azem said into his silence, “Emmerololth will have questions for you. They always do, to identify possible causes and guess at treatments. There’s surely something I missed in the recording. Any additional information you can provide will be invaluable. Please.”

“I’ll stay,” Meteion piped up. Hermes looked at her, startled; in the tension of their confrontation, he had forgotten all about her. She’d drawn herself up to her full if diminutive height and was staring at him as if daring him to protest. “I’ll stay! And I’ll help Azem!”

“Meteion—”

“I’ll keep a look out for trouble! And do anything Azem asks!” She nodded, stretching herself up onto the tips of her claws. “And I don’t have much aether, so it’s fine! I’m staying! So… So Hermes, go without worry!”

“…Ah. I wasn’t going to tell you you couldn’t.”

He’d merely been surprised. Meteion did not often choose to leave his side. It would be the first time since her creation that they would be apart for more than a few bells.

“Go, Hermes,” Azem said quietly. “Fly swift as the wind with our message. The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll return with a cure.”

And what could he say to that?

Hermes breathed in deeply, centering himself and reaching for his stores of aether. He built his transformation in layers, taking the utmost care in shaping his body. Tiruns was more than a sennight away. If he was to return as quickly as possible, he needed to focus on speed and endurance to the exclusion of all else. Meteion never took her eyes from him, as if determined to see him off; Azem was already walking back into the house to give orders to the children.

At last the final layer of his magick settled around him, sinking into him like a second skin. Hermes spread his arms and tilted his head, as ever testing the new weight and proportions of his body. When at last he was certain everything was in order, he spread his wings and looked to Meteion.

She clasped her hands together and beamed. “Have a safe trip. Come back soon.”

“Take care in my absence,” he answered—and though he was the one departing, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were watching the last of his chicks leave the nest.

Though his errand was of the utmost urgency, Hermes knew well that he could not afford to rush. He first flew a circuit over Rizinia, impressing every detail into his memory. The dirt roads running in a neat grid between the low-lying wooden houses. The schoolhouse, the largest building in the center of this small village. The houses that had already been demolished as a result of magick running rampant. The picturesque meadows continuing on as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Once he had noted the major landmarks, Hermes did another slow circle, just to confirm that he had it all situated in his mind. Only then did he turn to the east, the setting sun at his back. From here he could not see Tiruns, only the path they had taken winding away among the hills. He intended to take the more direct route through the air; still, he would have to keep the road in sight, lest he venture off course and miss the city entirely.

For now, he set his sights on the farthest point he could see, where the road vanished out of sight between the hills. He allowed himself one last glance at the ground, to where Meteion was still sweeping her arm through the air in an energetic wave, and then he was off.

Endurance was more important than speed. This Hermes knew. He would not be able to reach Tiruns in a mere day or two; he had to forge on at a sustainable speed or risk collapsing from exhaustion along the way. Still, perhaps Azem’s impulsiveness had rubbed off on him. Every moment he found himself flying just a little bit faster; every second he found himself forgiving the use of just a little more aether to propel himself forward, a little more speed. He did his best to pace himself, knowing that recklessness was his enemy, but still the temptation lingered.

He could be doing more. He could make it there sooner and resolve this all the faster.

The wind caressed his body, stinging at his eyes, running fingers through his feathers. He slowed down again.

He reached the point where the path dipped into the valley. He focused his eyes on the next landmark, a tall boulder by the side of the road that acted as distance marker, and began all over again. He could fly for days at this pace, so long as he pushed himself harder than he ever had before.

As he flew, trying his best to concentrate only on the urgency of his mission, his mind filled with the faces of people he had never seen before today. Nikolaos, stumbling over words he did not know, desperately begging for aid. Echo, soft and gentle and full of desperation as they looked at their mother. The people he had spoken with, too tired and feverish to know who he was or where they were.

Since when had he cared so much?

Since when had he been so driven to risk his very being for strangers?

He was starting to feel the strain in his mind and his body. Rizinia had long ago receded from sight. It had been early afternoon when they’d reached the village; now, night was fast approaching, but Hermes was not yet tired. Just a little more. Just a little further.

Whether they were people he had known all his life or complete strangers, whether man or creation, he did not wish for them to suffer. He would use all the power at his disposal to preserve their lives.

For now, he would focus all his magick and all his effort into the task with which he had been entrusted. There were people waiting for him. Azem and Meteion would work tirelessly in his absence, believing in his return. He refused to entertain the thought of disappointing them.

Steady and unwavering, Hermes flew on through the bright night over the moonlit fields, a messenger of the west wind.

If he were to speak of the journey later, Hermes would not be able to say how he had accomplished it. He reached his destination just short of four days after departing Rizinia. He had flown through sun and storms alike, his mind focused only on the journey. He was certain he had eaten and slept to regain his strength and aether. He had rested when the pain from the flight and the constant manipulation of magick grew too much to bear, but he did not dare stop for long, for fear he would find it too hard to continue. If he tarried, he would find himself too late.

But on the fourth day, three short bells before noon, he spied a city stretching out across the horizon, a dark shadow broken by the reflections of light off glass or crystal. Before that Hermes would have called himself exhausted, soldiering on at the same pace only through sheer force of will. Now, though, he discovered reserves of strength he hadn’t known he possessed, pulling from the dregs of his aether for that last short sprint. If he could arrive even a few minutes sooner—if that made all the difference—

Heads craned up to look as he soared over the city, a sea of identical white masks. If Hermes was less tired, he might have noticed the mouths open in shock; he might even have identified the scorn on their faces, the disgust at seeing someone dare to show off their superior strength and magick. He paid them no mind. They were not the person for whom he searched.

White. White. White.

Hermes’s heart was sinking by the time he reached the eastern edge of the city and circled back. Was he somehow in the wrong place? Had Azem miscalculated? Had Emmerololth not come?

White. White.

If that was the case, what were they to do? No word of a strange illness had yet reached Tiruns when last they’d been here. He was sure the people would lend their aid regardless, but they lacked medical expertise. They could spread the word to other nearby settlements, and perhaps find specialists to research the disease, but that would do little to help those who were suffering now.

White. White.

And in any case—Hermes was reluctant to make this the problem of another. This was the duty with which he had been entrusted and which he had taken upon himself. He would see it through.

White. Red.

He banked so sharply he nearly fell from the air.

And yes, there they were: a scarlet-masked figure just now stepping out from a building, head tilted back to watch him. Hermes nearly forgot how to fly in his rush. It was only with a burst of power, the very last of the last, that he managed to right himself and bumble into a landing before them.

Hermes released his transformation. He knelt, the stones of the road pressing into his knees, gasping for breath. Even on hands and knees, his head was spinning and his vision blurry. He found himself unable to form words. His work wasn’t yet finished, not until they had returned to Meteion and Azem, and yet—and yet—

There was a sigh from above him. “Typical,” a low voice murmured. “Just once I would like to meet a traveler who doesn’t insist on pushing themself far beyond what they can handle.”

A hand pushed back his cowl, resting atop the crown of his head. A sensation of warmth spread through him, pulsing through his circulatory system in smooth, regular ripples, down to the very tips of his fingers and toes. It left in its wake a not unpleasant tingling that bolstered his scant remaining aether, numbed his sore muscles, and alleviated the worst of his headache.

Slowly Hermes raised his head.

The person before him was tall, of a height with Hermes himself. Their lips were a shade of red nearly as bright their mask and pressed together in clear displeasure, matching their tone of voice. Even so, their touch had been soft and their magick gentle. They folded their hands within the sleeves of their robe, stepped back in one graceful movement, and waited for him to speak.

Hermes climbed to his feet, finding himself no longer out of breath. “My thanks,” he managed to say.

They inclined their head. “Emmerololth, of the Convocation of Fourteen. And I assume you are Hermes, former overseer of Elpis, now companion to our errant Azem. None but a friend of theirs would fall from the sky and collapse so dramatically at my feet.”

Much to his dismay, Hermes found he had also recovered enough for blood to rush to his cheeks.

…There were more important matters at hand than his own humiliation. “If you’re here, we should be returning to Rizinia—”

Emmerololth held up one long-fingered hand. “Hold. We set out at sunset and not before.”

Hermes gaped, at a momentary loss for words. “But we must return with all haste—”

Emmerololth sighed once again, muttering imprecations against the chronic recklessness of travelers. “Your persistence is commendable. But no less important than persistence is preparation. You’ll likely fall flat on your face the moment you try to cast any major magick.

“I will glean what information I can from your account and collect what supplies I need here in the city. Only when everything is in order will we set out. I do not want to arrive only to find that we’ve forgotten something crucial.”

They had a point. Even so, it did nothing to ease the frustration curling within Hermes’s breast.

“Very well,” he said, even as he longed to protest.

If Emmerololth noticed his reluctance, they said nothing of it. “Good. I have a room at the inn here. I will order something to eat, you will answer my questions, and then you will rest until all preparations are complete.”

They turned on one heel and stalked back inside, leaving no room for argument. Dazed, Hermes followed in their wake.

“Oh—and thank you.”

He blinked. Emmerololth did not turn.

“You made good time coming here. You’ve done well.”

Much to his embarrassment, Hermes fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. He awoke bells later to a sky dark outside the window and a firm hand on his shoulder. Emmerololth carried a bag slung over their shoulder and was watching him impassively.

“Have you recovered?”

Hermes sat up so quickly that the world lurched around him. He bit his lip, reaching a hand to his head. In truth he would not be averse to sleeping till sunrise, but that could wait until they’d resolved the current crisis.

“Well enough to work,” he said, because it was no use lying to Emmerololth. He pulled his cowl over his hair, ruefully noting the rumpled state of his robes as he did. Emmerololth held out his mask and Hermes accepted it. “Is it time?”

“If you’re ready,” they said mildly.

Hermes donned his mask and stood. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to reorient himself before lifting his hand and beginning to draw in the air.

First, the shape of a house on the edge of town, the short staircase leading to the front porch and the open door. That was easy; he had stood there long enough for the sight of it to be clear in his memory. On the right, the line of houses continued along a road that ran straight as a ruler through the length of the village. On the left, the charred remains of a building left only half-standing; beyond that, nothing but ash and debris. Past the houses, hills and meadows as far as the eye could see, broken only by a meandering path just wide enough for three to walk abreast.

He blew out his breath, studying the lines in the air. With the memory of all he had seen and witnessed clear in his mind, he pressed his hand against the magick and it sprang to life. The window shimmered and gained depth; dim colors and dark shadows seeped in, painting the picture of a quiet town at dusk.

The expenditure of magick when he was already so tired left him out of breath, and he placed a hand on his chest. Emmerololth stepped to his side, studying the town on the other side of the portal critically. “That’s Rizinia?”

“It should be,” Hermes said. When Emmerololth’s head turned just fractionally, judging his conviction, he amended, “I’ve never tried this magick before.”

“Ah. You picked it up from watching Azem, then.” Emmerololth turned back to study the portal. “It’s fine work. I can see why Fandaniel chose you as his successor.”

And then, before Hermes could determine if that was a compliment, Emmerololth stepped through without a moment’s hesitation. Hermes stared after them, surprised at their lack of caution—or perhaps their trust in him?—but they soon appeared unharmed on the other side, leaving him no choice but to follow.

He released his hold on the magick as he stepped through. When he looked around the village, he couldn’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. It was just as he remembered it, save that the door to Echo’s house was closed.

There was no movement on the streets, no sign of any of the children. Hermes climbed the stairs to the door and hesitated before knocking. There was no answer and no sound from inside.

“Where—” he began, but he got no further than that before Emmerololth let out a startled exclamation.

Hermes turned just in time to see a blur of blue racing up the stairs. Her arms latched tight around his waist, and he stumbled against the door as her full weight bore down on him.

“You’re back!” she trilled, words like a song.

“Meteion?” he said, startled. “Is something wrong?”

She pulled back just enough to beam at him. “No! Just. We didn’t think we’d see you so soon!”

She had missed him, Hermes realized, with a pang of almost painful fondness. He realized too that he had missed her, in between the moments of desperate urgency that had propelled him along. Just as he had worried about her and Azem, she had worried about him.

He smiled, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her around. “I came as fast as I could. And look. I brought Emmerololth too.”

Meteion squeaked, noticing their presence for the first time. She spread her arms wide to either side and executed her best attempt at a curtsy, though she nearly toppled over in so doing. Only Hermes’s grip kept her upright. “Um! It’s nice to meet you. May we please… I mean. We’re very glad you’re here!”

Emmerololth inclined their head gravely, though their expression remained unreadable. Hermes gave Meteion’s shoulders a squeeze before releasing her. “I trust you’ve done all you can in our absence. Will you take us to Azem?”

She nodded. “We brought them to the school. All of them. It’s easier that way.”

That was sensible. For someone of Azem’s power, dampening the villagers’ magick would be more easily done if they were all gathered in the same place.

Meteion bounced down the steps and started down the street. She seemed to think that all would be well now that Hermes had returned. He only hoped he could live up to her expectations.

Emmerololth stayed where they were, waiting until Hermes drew level with them. “So that is the rumored familiar?” they murmured, their words for his ears alone.

“Meteion is a good child,” Hermes protested, stung into her defense.

“She seems like it,” they said noncommittally, and began to walk.

Word of their arrival raced before them, carried on the lips of children who glimpsed the red of Emmerololth’s mask and ran to spread the news. They’re here they’ve come the messenger is back—

As their whispers filled the village, little voices raised in joy and excitement that were quickly hushed, Hermes straightened up and lengthened his strides. He wanted to do right by these people. He wanted to fulfill the duty with which he had been entrusted. He would do anything to see that through.

He did not notice Emmerololth turn to regard him, nor the small smile that graced their face.

Meteion led them unerringly to the building in the center of the village. Hermes identified it long before they reached it: The strength of the wards hanging across the walls and roof was visible even at a distance. Aether shimmered in a falling curtain over the open doorway, but Meteion gave no sign of even noticing its presence as she stepped through.

“Azem!” she caroled. “Azem! Hermes is back!”

Her innocent cheer should have been out of place, but when Hermes stepped into the makeshift sickroom, it was not at all what he had expected. It was as brightly lit as full day: Colorful paper lanterns hung from the walls, and aetheric lights bobbed in aimless, meandering patterns across the ceiling. The air was cool and sweet, carrying the relaxing scents of spring rain and fresh-cut grass. The childish drawings hung on the walls, the toys shoved carelessly onto the shelves, and the chalkboard against one wall made clear that this had very recently been a schoolroom. Now the floor was covered with a number of mattresses. Each held a villager trapped in a deep sleep; each villager had the company of at least one plush creature, another sign that the children had done their best to make the room warm and welcoming.

None of the patients stirred as Meteion wove her way between the mattresses, tripping and stumbling once or twice but managing not to fall on anyone. Azem was kneeling by one of the patients, renewing the seal on his aether, but she looked up at the sound of Meteion’s voice.

Hermes had been following in her wake, but at the sight of Azem, he stopped and rocked back on his heels. Her mask was nowhere to be seen; her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes had grown pale and clouded. It seemed to be a moment before she focused on them and smiled. The application of her magick was sloppy, her spellwork crude. Even when she tied off her spell, aether leaked from the edges and from the tips of her fingers.

“You’re here,” she said, with such palpable relief that Hermes winced and felt the familiar rise of anxiety. How much sooner could he have returned had he flown faster? Expended more magick? How many of those breaks had he really needed? Was there anything more he could have done?

Emmerololth pushed Hermes aside and stalked toward her, their bearing as imperious as ever. Azem stood, staggering only a little in the process. “Emm—”

That was as far as she got before Emmerololth raised a hand and struck her.

Azem collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Meteion yelped. She reached out instinctively to catch the Traveler but nearly collapsed under her weight. Hermes lunged forward and grabbed them both, though he too stumbled. Azem was out cold.

“What—” Hermes began. At any other time, he would have been surprised at the indignation in his own voice.

Emmerololth had crossed their arms and was regarding them critically. “Take her away. Dump her somewhere quiet and far from here.”

When Hermes still didn’t move, too shocked to answer, they sighed. Their voice softening, they said, “Traveling companions though you may be, I doubt you know Azem as well as I. She likely hasn’t eaten or slept since the moment you left.”

That gave Hermes pause. He looked to Meteion. The little bird’s eyes grew wide; then she looked down, ashamed, as if she had forgotten that other creatures possessed certain physical needs.

“She would have evaded that had she not been too tired to react. Put her to bed and see that she gets some rest,” Emmerololth said. “And do make certain she eats. Sit on her and feed her yourself if you have to.”

“R-Right!” Meteion nodded firmly. Her fists clenched, determined to make up for her oversight. “I’ll do it!”

“Good.” Emmerololth knelt down, tying off Azem’s spell properly. “You get some rest too. I’ll test you both for the fever once I’ve developed the diagnostic.”

Hermes blinked. He looked down at the Traveler in his arms, now so deeply asleep that she was indistinguishable from the feverish patients. “You really think…”

“It’s a possibility, and it doesn’t hurt to be certain. Despite how we may hope otherwise, I’ve seen no evidence of truth in the old adage that idiots don’t get sick.” Aether sparked in the air. They began weaving a complex array over the man, placing one hand on his forehead and tracing the outline of his body with quick flicks of their fingers. “Go now. You may join them if you’re still in need of rest, Hermes.”

Hermes considered that. Opening the portal here had used up more of his strength than he had expected, but he still had energy to work, and he couldn’t bring himself to retire now after seeing how hard Azem and Meteion had fought.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

Emmerololth’s smile was faint and sardonic. “Yes, I rather thought you might.”

There was a small, warm body curled against his side.

It was too small to be Hythlodaeus.

That was Azem’s first realization upon his return to consciousness. He held very still, trying to work through the fog in his head to understand where he was and how he had gotten here.

The conclusion he reached was… not pleasant.

Scowling, he sat up and threw off the blankets, wincing at the resulting wave of dizziness.

The sudden movement startled Meteion awake. She rolled onto her back, cracking her eyes open to stare at him in confusion; then, as she processed his sudden anger, her mouth fell open. “You can’t!”

Her sudden vehemence caught Azem by surprise. “What?”

Meteion scrambled to her feet. Stumbling, she reached for the tray on the side table and held it out. “You have to eat! Before you go anywhere. They said so.”

Azem’s eyebrows drew together. “They… Emmerololth?”

Meteion didn’t move. “Eat. Or I’ll sit on you.”

“I trust that was Emmerololth’s idea too?”

“Eat,” she insisted.

There was nothing he could do in the face of such stubbornness. Azem took the tray and set it in his lap. He picked up the spoon and began to shovel porridge into his mouth with single-minded intensity, determined to escape as soon as possible and give Emmerololth a piece of his mind.

Soon, however, he’d completely forgotten his indignation. He truly was ravenous, and the more he ate, the more energized he felt. Already his headache was becoming a thing of the past, Emmerololth’s magick at work.

Meteion perched on the edge of the bed, her gaze traveling back and forth between Azem and the window. It was still full dark outside. It seemed not much time had passed at all. But when Azem paused to confirm it, Meteion shrugged and said, “You slept for a whole day.”

Azem paused in the process of licking clean his spoon. “…Pardon?”

“You were really tired,” she added, as if that explained matters.

Azem’s expression grew stormy. He put aside the tray and slung his legs over the edge of the bed. Meteion yelped, pushing ineffectively at his shoulders.

“Azem! I’ll sit on you!”

“I’m finished! Meteion, I’ve finished eating, there’s no need for that!”

She tagged along as he stalked through the village, pausing regularly to orient himself toward the school. He wasn’t quite confident of the way there; he hadn’t spent much time wandering Rizinia’s streets, having holed himself up with the patients as soon as everyone had been gathered. When they reached the building at last, it was to find that movement was visible beyond the open doorway.

Azem swept inside and stopped so abruptly that Meteion collided with him. He stared around, mouth hanging open. The lights and decor of the room were much the same as the last time he had been here, as were the rows of mattresses lined up along the walls, every one of them occupied. Now, however, the adults were awake. Some held bowls of steaming porridge in their hands; others had turned to speak to the children who hovered by their sides.

And they were smiling. With relief or genuine joy, all of them were smiling.

“Everyone woke up,” Meteion said from behind him. She placed one hand on his back. Without looking, Azem knew she wore the same smile. “It’s… going to be okay.”

The stiffness remained in his shoulders. Only because she was touching him did she notice him tremble. “Thank all the gods for that,” he murmured.

Then Azem took a deep breath and straightened, expression growing hard once again. He said, as if to remind himself, “Emmerololth.” He wended his way through the room, Meteion at his side, ignoring the curious glances and the whispers that followed him.

There were two doors at the back of the schoolroom, one leading to a supply closet and the other to the teacher’s office. Azem headed for the latter, stomping inside and slamming it shut behind him with dramatic flair. “Emmerololth!”

Emmerololth and Hermes looked up at their entrance. Hermes’s mouth formed a startled circle beneath his mask; Emmerololth merely sighed and picked up another crystal.

“And there he is,” they murmured. “His exhaustingly energetic self once again, I see.”

Azem crossed the distance to the table where they sat and shoved an accusatory finger in their face. “You knocked me out!”

Emmerololth lifted one shoulder. “To be more precise, you allowed yourself to be knocked out.”

“It’s the same thing!”

“It’s good to see you awake, Azem,” Hermes said, in an awkward attempt to intervene. Neither Azem nor Emmerololth so much as glanced at him.

“Hermes, Meteion,” Emmerololth said levelly. “Go take a walk, would you? I need a word with Azem.”

Hermes hesitated, but after a moment he nodded and stood. Meteion tapped Azem on the back once more.

“Don’t be too mad at them,” she whispered—but even after all this time, she had never learned what it meant to speak softly, and her voice carried throughout the room. Azem’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing in response.

By the time the door swung shut behind Meteion and Hermes, Emmerololth had already turned their attention elsewhere. The table before them was covered in notes on the fever and a neat stack of crystals recording the spells that had been developed and tested in the course of their work. On one corner of the table lay a familiar red mask that had been found fallen and abandoned on the schoolroom floor.

“We’ve made good progress while you’ve been asleep,” Emmerololth said, as if they were not completely at fault for Azem’s long period of unconsciousness. “From the message you sent, I had some ideas as to the cause. It seems to be a rather nasty variant of a virus that’s long been making its rounds further south. It’s rare for it to influence aetheric control so strongly, but…”

They sighed, pushing aside their notes. “Luckily, though the symptoms are rather… extreme… the fever responds well to treatment, and the cure is simple enough to prepare and administer. There shouldn’t be any more problems here. I’ll make sure my Words are aware in case it crops up in other villages.”

“Good,” Azem said softly.

“Now for the other matter that must needs be addressed.” Emmerololth looked up at him. “Namely, your own actions.”

Azem’s eyes narrowed; he glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. “I will not apologize for running off with Hermes and Meteion—”

“It’s not about Hermes and Meteion,” they interrupted. “In fact, I find them both quite agreeable. They are diligent and obedient workers. No, this is about you.”

“Well, if we’re moving on to personal complaints, I must protest your treatment of me. I still don’t see why it was necessary for you to knock me unconscious—”

Emmerololth’s irate snarl cut through his words. “For your own damned good.”

Azem stopped abruptly, mouth hanging open. It wasn’t often that Emmerololth dropped the sarcastic facade. Even more astonishing, they had reached up and removed their mask, revealing eyes that glinted like liquid mercury. “Did you stop to think for a single moment? What might have happened if you had succumbed to this illness?”

“I warded myself—” he protested weakly.

“Wards that were already wearing thin by the time I arrived!” Azem could only blink, stupefied. Emmerololth growled. “Didn’t notice that, did you? You were so busy pouring all your magick into making sure everyone else was contained that you spared no attention for yourself. If you had fallen ill, it would have all been for naught. By now the marks of your magick are all over this village. If someone with your power were to lose control, there would be no more village to speak of.”

“It wouldn’t have progressed that fast. I knew you were coming; you would have been able to help. It would have been all right—”

Emmerololth slammed a hand on the table with such force that the stack of crystals tumbled over.

“Eight moons,” they snapped. “Eight moons since any of us have seen you. You have been ignoring all our attempts at communication and send along reports on your activities only when it suits you. Emet-Selch doesn’t sleep at night for fear that you’re hurt and too recklessly stubborn to call him. And you expect I should have returned to Amaurot and told your two lovers you collapsed from illness and exhaustion in their absence? What about that is ‘all right’?”

“Emet-Selch and I are not lovers,” Azem said weakly. It was the only protest he could voice.

Emmerololth snorted. “Perhaps not in the literal sense. But he has loved you with his entire soul since before he took his Seat, and the same can be said for you.

“Stop trying to save everyone at your own expense. If you will not do it for yourself, do it for the two who are waiting for you at home.”

Azem didn’t answer. Instead he summoned a glass and filled it to the brim with red liquid with a tap of his finger. Emmerololth’s eyes narrowed, but Azem paid them no mind and took a deep draught of the wine. It was an inferior product—foodstuffs conjured with magick always were—but it was what he needed right now.

“Are you done?” he said once he’d drained half the glass.

Emmerololth snorted. They flicked their fingers, sending Azem’s mask flying into his waiting hands. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you?”

“And?”

“And I’ll exercise more caution in future,” he muttered. “As much as I can, anyway. The situation doesn’t always allow for it.”

“Which is to say you have no intention of changing your ways. Fool.” Emmerololth made a beckoning motion with two fingers. Azem let go of the wineglass and it flew into their waiting hand. They sipped from it, grimacing at the taste, but said, “I wasn’t worried. It’s a matter of simple practicality. It took years to train you out of trying to summon me out of surgery. I do not want to know how much worse your successor will be.”

“I’ll try my best to find a good one, then. Just for you.”

“I intend to return to the star long before I have to meet your idea of an ideal student,” they said dryly. The wineglass now emptied, they dissipated it back into aether with a careless motion.

Azem twisted his mask in his hands restlessly, watching the gleam of light across the lacquered surface. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is my duty to the star and her people.”

Emmerololth said nothing more, but their silvered gaze bore into him. Azem ducked his head, acknowledging that his own duty was no less important, and in the eyes of the Convocation, he might well have been failing to serve it.

“I can’t go back yet,” he said softly. “They’ve become steadier over these past few moons, but they still aren’t ready.”

“Emet-Selch believes they should have been brought back to Amaurot for judgment.” Azem said nothing. Emmerololth continued, watching him carefully, “He seems steady enough to me. I would not have imagined him capable of the things Emet-Selch claims. He is a thoughtful and meticulous man; he and the familiar have been a great help with the patients.”

Azem shook his head. “I won’t risk it. You of all people know how quickly a relapse can occur. They must be absolutely certain in their hope, their belief in the world, if we are to have any chance of swaying her sisters. It is a more effective approach than trying to bend them to our will. That is what I believe.”

“And you would help them find their way even were that not the case,” Emmerololth said. “For that is your duty as the counselor to our people.”

Azem tossed his mask into the air carelessly, catching it and twirling it around one finger. “Oh, we all know I’m not one for such heavy words as duty. I’m just doing as I see fit and leaving it to the rest of you to pick up after me.”

He tilted his head, his grin suddenly challenging. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

Emmerololth sighed. Their smile as they donned their mask was wry. “I don’t see how I could. I have my hands full with this mess you’ve presented me.”

“The village will need help to get back on its feet,” Azem agreed. “They’ve missed a good portion of harvest season by now. Their spells will need renewing, preferably before winter hits. I doubt the villagers will recover fast enough for that.”

“No, you’re right. It will be a few sennights before they have a good handle on their magick again.” Emmerololth drummed their fingers on the table. “Perhaps I’ll request Emet-Selch’s assistance. It may provide some distraction from his moping.”

“Emet-Selch doesn’t mope,” Azem said before he could stop himself.

“Perhaps not with you around.”

Azem shrugged—in his presence, Emet-Selch wore a habitual scowl—and turned to the door. He was done here; he’d said what he meant to say. Best to make their escape now while he and Emmerololth had come to some form of agreement.

But Emmerololth was not yet finished. “Oh, and speaking of Emet-Selch. He asked that I deliver a message, on the off chance that you might someday call and request my aid.”

Azem froze. He did not turn around, because that would have given too much away, but his sudden stillness was a message of its own. He weighed his protests, discarded his doubts, and in the end only said, his voice carefully even, “Did he?”

“‘Take care of yourself.’”

The words hung heavy in the air between them. Emmerololth gazed at Azem’s back but said nothing more.

After several moments, when it became clear that that was all, Azem sighed. He spread his arms out wide to either side and shrugged. “Oh, very well. If it’s Emet-Selch asking.”

He tilted his head back, looking at Emmerololth over his shoulder. His grin was wide, and genuine, and only slightly sad. “Then I would ask that you tell him this in return: I miss him and Hythlodaeus more with each passing day, and I only wish I were sitting in the halls of the Capitol listening to him yell at me for turning his office into a pond and his paperwork into jellyfish.”

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by the murmur of soft conversation in the next room. Emmerololth’s lips pressed together more tightly, stifling their chuckle. “Do you?”

“Stinging jellyfish,” Azem said. “I would refuse to turn them back, and his day would be ruined, and he would have no choice but to go home and rest. He’ll thank me for it when he actually gets enough sleep for once.”

“Emet-Selch never thanks you.”

“He does,” Azem said, with a laugh in his voice and his eyes shining bright gold. “He always takes me for lunch together after. Haven’t you noticed?”

They stepped from the schoolroom into the cool night air, and Hermes breathed a sigh. Emmerololth had proven to be a harsh taskmaster. The time after their arrival had been chaos: taking over the spells that Azem had constructed, dismantling the magicks that would interfere with the treatments, mixing and constructing and administering medicines until they’d found an effective antipyretic. After that Emmerololth had sent him off to sleep, but as soon as he’d awoken, he’d gotten right back to work. Only in the last few bells had everything calmed down enough for him to catch his breath.

At his side, Meteion was glancing around curiously, taking in the now-familiar sights of Rizinia. Hermes watched her with a little smile. When at last she noticed his regard, he nodded and held his hand out to her. “Shall we?”

She placed her hand in his, beaming, and they took to wandering the village.

It hadn’t changed much since their arrival. Azem and the children had been quite prompt about gathering the patients and containing the damage, but they hadn’t had time or resources to spare on starting to rebuild. Hermes touched up a few of the fading spells they came across, stopping aetherial leakages where appropriate, but did nothing in the way of physical repairs. That was far outside his expertise.

After the confusion and panic of the last five days, it was hard to believe that all would now be well. It was even harder to believe that he’d had a hand in it. This Hermes mused on as he walked, following Meteion’s lead as she chose streets seemingly at random. Only when she released his hand and darted ahead did Hermes realize she had a destination in mind, and only then did he further realize that he knew where they were. Meteion was running to a small figure standing before a row of burned buildings.

Nikolaos turned at their approach. He took an involuntary step backward, shocked at their sudden appearance, but then Meteion was coming to a stop in front of him and tilting her head in birdlike fascination.

“What’s wrong?” she chirped. “Why are you sad?”

Nikolaos froze, his mouth falling open. Though he might have wanted to deny it, no words were forthcoming. Instead he looked to the ground, his shoes scuffing through the dirt and the ash.

“Meteion,” Hermes said, couching his reprimand in a gentle tone. “People don’t always want to talk about what’s upsetting them.”

She looked at him as if the very concept was foreign to her. She had, after all, been born to share others’ feelings.

Hermes smiled softly. He came up behind the boy, looking out over the blackened ruins of the house. The full autumn moon shone down on the fields beyond, illuminating the fields gently stirring in the faint breeze.

It was as lovely as ever.

It was a strange contrast.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said. “But if you do, we will listen.”

They stood there for several minutes, none of them moving, none of them saying a word. At last, still not looking at him, the boy spoke. “You’re travelers, right?”

“For the time being,” Hermes said. Nikolaos frowned, clearly uncomprehending, but continued regardless.

“I wanted to be a traveler too.” He kicked at a blackened end of wood and sent it flying into the rest of the debris. “I never liked this house. Too small and cramped. Full of souvenirs Dad collected on his travels before I was born.”

He paused, then, and swallowed. “It was all a load of trash anyway. I thought, if I ever went on an adventure, I would bring back something interesting.”

“Will you?” Hermes said, when the silence between them had stretched on for too long.

Nikolaos shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. I didn’t stay in this house any more than I had to. Ran around outside, stayed with Echo whenever I could. I didn’t care about it. Get rid of the house, get rid of Dad’s trash. Make a bigger house without all the mess. Good riddance. But…”

“You do care,” Meteion said.

Nikolaos looked down, fiddling with the tassels of his robe. “I don’t have any right to complain,” he muttered. “Not when other people have got it worse. I didn’t even like the stupid house. It’s just… a stupid thing to think about.”

“But it was home,” Hermes said. He moved to stand in front of Nikolaos, kneeling in front of him in the ash. The child’s expression was half-hidden behind his mask, but there was no mistaking the trembling of his lower lip. “None of us choose what we hold dear. You have no less right to grieve.”

“Do you still want to travel someday?” Meteion piped up.

Nikolaos hesitated, confused, but after a moment he nodded. Hermes glanced to Meteion. She was beaming, her hands folded together. The bangle on her wrist gleamed in the moonlight.

“Then. If the house was too small, build a bigger one! One big enough to hold everything you want to put in it! And then fill it up again!”

Nikolaos tilted his head. Hermes chuckled. “She means to tell you to bring home mementos of your own adventures.”

“Yes!” she continued, enthused. “Fill your home with stories. Share them with him. Like he shared them with you. Even if it’s not the same.”

“We can’t take back what we’ve lost,” Hermes said quietly. He was remembering a faraway place, a time that now seemed so long ago, looking down at the bodies of creatures he had failed to save.

“But you can still make something new,” Meteion said. “…Can’t you?”

Nikolaos stared at her, stunned into silence—but then let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Stupid. Who’d want to live in a big house full of trash?”

He nudged his mask higher up his face, swiping a hand over his eyes. Hermes pretended not to notice. When the boy spoke again, his voice was decisive. “I’m gonna do it. He’ll like that.”

Hermes smiled. Meteion giggled softly. Nikolaos at last tore his gaze away from the ruins of his house. When he turned away, looking back toward the center of the village, he gave a soft gasp.

“There you are,” Azem said. If she had heard any word of their conversation, she gave no indication. Her voice was relaxed and her pace unhurried, but she had once again donned her mask. “I’ve just finished speaking to Emmerololth. They have everything here well in hand. We should be leaving before they find themself with enough free time to scold me further.”

Hermes climbed to his feet, cleaning the dust off his robes with a careless wave. He glanced down at Nikolaos as he did. The boy was staring open-mouthed, mortified that his plans might have been overheard by the Traveler herself. Azem caught him looking; the corner of her mouth curled up in response.

“Um!” Nikolaos’s words came out in a rush. He bit his lip, but he’d already started speaking, and there was no reason not to continue. He folded his hands behind his back and bowed deeply, the ritual gesture startling given his previous informality. “You have our eternal gratitude for all you’ve done for us. Ours is a debt that can never be repaid.”

Azem snorted. “Oh, stop that. I’d have done it whether or not you’d even wanted me to.”

Nikolaos continued, undeterred, “Thanks to you, we have made it through this troubling time un… unscathed. We haven’t suffered a single causality ever since your arrival.”

Hermes expected Azem to continue to protest. She was not fond of effusive praise. But instead she’d gone completely still. “Not a single one?”

Nikolaos shook his head. Azem sighed, curling one hand against her chest. “…So we did it after all.”

“…Azem?”

“Ah… it’s nothing.” She forced a smile. “Thank you for telling me, Nikolaos. Echo was looking for you, by the way. You should go see what they want.”

The boy nodded, still uncomprehending, but accepted the dismissal. He shot several confused glances over his shoulder but left without another word. Meteion stepped closer to peer at her, though she could make no sense of Azem’s expression. Frowning, she reached out to pat her shoulder. “We did it. Everything’s gonna be okay. So… don’t be sad.”

Azem started, breaking out of her thoughts. She looked down at Meteion and shook her head. “Oh, little traveler, I’m not sad about this.”

“Then… why?”

“Mm. It brings back memories, that’s all.”

Azem crouched before Meteion. Her smile was heartbreaking.

“Can I ask your opinion on something?” she said quietly. “…There is a place I have not visited in quite some time. A place I haven’t been able to bring myself to visit, more like. But at times like these, I can’t help but remember.

“Sometimes I think I really should go. But I’ve never quite managed it. Sometimes it’s because I’m too busy… or that might just be an excuse.”

Hermes came to stand by Meteion’s side, watching her curiously. Azem ducked her head, speaking more to the ground than to them. “…I think the truth is that I’m afraid. Every time I seriously consider it, my courage fails me.”

“You have the courage to charge straight at a nine-headed acid-spitting serpent, but not for this?” Hermes asked.

Azem grimaced. “Oh, please. I’d take the serpent any day.”

“But… it bothers you, right?” Meteion nodded to herself. “And you want it to stop bothering you. And maybe it will stop bothering you if you try. So you should go! Have courage, Azem!”

“So says the little traveler. I might have expected that.” Azem glanced to Hermes from the corner of her eye. “And your thoughts?”

He placed a hand on Meteion’s shoulder. “Wherever you may choose to go, we’ll follow your lead.”

“Of course. Ever guarding my back and encouraging me onward. Giving me courage when my own might fail.”

“We’re going, right?” Meteion asked.

“You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want to be convinced,” Hermes said. He was smiling.

“Ugh,” Azem said. “What am I to do with the two of you?”

She straightened up.

She drew in a deep breath.

With a flick of her wrist and a flourish, she began to call forth a portal.

Chapter Text

Let me tell you a story of long ago. It is a story from many decades past, shortly after I first met the previous holder of the office of Azem. You know her as Venat.

How I met her is a tale in and of itself, and one I’d be embarrassed to relate now. I was… a rather troublesome child.

(Aren’t you still a troublesome adult?)

Well—I can’t deny it—but Meteion, that’s beside the point!

…In any case, the conclusion of that tale you can probably guess. She took me under her wing, not so differently from how I took you under mine. Except that I’d decided even at that tender young age that I wanted to travel. And she may have been forced to take me along, the opposite of how I forced you to come with me. And…

…The situation may have been completely different, actually. No matter.

Azem decided that I couldn’t be left to my own devices. But at the same time, the travels of an Azem often lead them into grave danger, and she could hardly bring along a young child everywhere she went. When emergencies demanded her attention, or when the Convocation called, she would have to leave me behind.

Fortunately, in those early days, I knew little of the star we called home. Every new vista was a wonder, every new place an adventure. She might ask an acquaintance to look after me for a time or entrust me with some small errand, in the belief that I would stay put and stay out of trouble until her return.

She was often wrong about that. Remind me to tell you of my first visit to Akadaemia Anyder sometime.

Thinking back on it now, Azem probably considered it part of my education. She hadn’t chosen me as her successor yet, but she did her best to see that I learned all I could of the people and cultures of Etheirys.

One of the first places we went was an isolated little village at the foot of a mountain range. There she left me, to deal with business of her own. At first I was excited. Everything was so new to me. There were plants I’d never seen, animals I’d never played with, food I’d never tasted. The villagers were kind, and though their lives and traditions were foreign to me, the people themselves were not so different from those I had always known.

By the time the novelty wore off, Azem was gone and I was trapped. Reaching the closest city with an aetheryte would have involved crossing the mountain range, a difficult journey even for a full-grown adult, and one even I would not think to undertake. There were no easy roads leading away from the mountains: it would have taken me a fortnight on foot to reach the next town, assuming I didn’t lose my way, and by that time someone would have come to rescue me from my own foolishness.

I was perfectly miserable. I was convinced Azem had abandoned me in a terrible place. It was the height of midsummer, sweltering hot and humid. The very thought of spending any longer in the sun than I had to left me parched and sweating. And oh, though they were kind, the villagers did not understand me. They had no interest in exploration and adventure. Most of them thought of nothing outside of their own home. Any who yearned for more had left long ago.

Even so, they cared for me, fed me, and sheltered me from the worst of the summer heat. I think they would have done so even had Azem not requested it of them. In turn I aided with their work as best I could. There was another child my age, a girl, and it was with her that I whiled away the afternoon hours when the sun was at its zenith. I told her stories of the trouble that had always dogged my footsteps; she told me stories of her life, her family and friends in the village. It was from her that I learned the comfort found in peace and familiarity.

Still, when Azem finished her business and came to fetch me, I was only too glad to leave. A quiet village life is not for me.

But I also asked that we come back to visit sometime. As long as it was not in the height of summer.

It was not the height of summer, but already the heat and humidity were stifling.

The rain had started before they broke camp at dawn and still it showed no sign of stopping. As they sheltered beneath a tree with a passing resemblance to a willow, Hermes peered between the bright orange leaves hanging from the branches and frowned at the overcast skies.

It could have been worse. At least the rain was only a light, persistent drizzle, rather than a heavy wind- and thunderstorm. It was not a cold rain, but even so, it was enough for his robes to cling wet and sticky to his skin. In Elpis, Hermes might have spent such a day indoors, too engrossed in his studies to even hear the patter of drops against the roof. Perhaps Meteion would be at his side, trying to make sense of the complex diagrams and notes before him; perhaps she would be outdoors, splashing in the puddles and enjoying the feel of water sluicing across her feathers.

But that would have been in Elpis. Today, they were in the midst of a journey to an isolated little village at the foot of a mountain range. Azem’s memory of the region was outdated enough that they could not open a portal directly. Instead, given the difficult terrain they had to cross, they had made the great concession of calling forth a carriage to fly them from the nearest city.

It could have been worse—they could have been trekking through the mud and rain, rather than carried in shelter and relative comfort—save that Azem was not in a pleasant mood.

Hermes had long grown accustomed to their idle chatter. On the road, Azem was always talking, whether it was telling them of the place they were about to visit or sharing facts of questionable accuracy about the flora and fauna they passed. Now, though, they spent very little of their time speaking with him and Meteion. They had been in a singularly foul temper ever since departing the nearest city two suns ago. Even now they were methodically destroying the latest missive from the Convocation; Hermes caught only the words “Lahabrea” and “not right now” before they started shredding the scroll into miniscule fragments.

…Perhaps “foul” was not quite the right word for it. Hermes might have mistaken their surliness for anger had it not been for Meteion. The little bird had been anxious ever since they left behind Rizinia and transported themselves here, and she only grew more and more distressed as their journey wore on. She seemed like to take flight at the slightest surprise, and more than once Hermes had found her on the brink of tears. He was worried about her, but he knew her unhappiness was no more than a sympathetic response to the true problem. Whatever Meteion was feeling now was a pale reflection of whatever was tormenting Azem.

And yet he knew Azem to be famously closed-mouthed when they decided the time was not yet right to talk. Hermes could do little save try to keep the peace and hope that time came sooner rather than later.

“Perhaps we should wait until the sun comes out before we continue on our way,” Hermes said, for lack of anything else to fill the silence. “Though the rain shows no sign of ceasing.”

Azem started, flashing a glance at him that made it clear the rain had been the last thing on their mind. The remainder of Lahabrea’s missive dissolved in their hands. “Ah. No, er… I think it unlikely. We might spend days waiting for the weather to improve, and that’s miserable in its own way. The rain is an acceptable substitute for the worst of the heat.”

Hermes thought they would say no more, but after a moment they frowned, looked at the scraps of parchment littering the earth around them, and continued. “This is an area of high precipitation and we had the poor judgment to visit during the rainiest season. No, we continue on, before I lose my nerve.”

“What’s it like other times of the year?” Meteion asked. She’d chosen to sit on Hermes’s shoulder and take shelter in his cowl; now she poked her head out from within the folds of fabric, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Azem appeared to give the question serious thought, though Hermes was certain the answer was not nearly that complicated.

“In spring, as you see, it’s hot and rainy,” they said solemnly. “In summer it’s hotter and less rainy. In autumn the heat begins to subside a bit, but it’s still hot and still rainy, and in winter it cools down enough to be almost bearable. Ah, but it’s also rainy.”

Meteion cocked her head, mulling over this information. “So… like Elpis. The weather is kept the same.”

“Ah… not quite ‘kept,’ little traveler. No one controls the weather here.”

“But it’s the same,” she persisted. “No big storms. No strong winds. No snow.”

Azem froze, and Meteion froze, and Hermes knew that she had said something very, very wrong. He cast about for something to say, but without knowing what had upset them so, there was no way for him to intervene.

Weather was supposed to be a safe topic, one perfectly suitable for casual conversation. And yet even safe topics could carry their share of unpleasant memories.

“It has snowed in Isimerin at least once in living memory,” Azem said, very quietly. “Though that was not a natural occurrence by any stretch of the imagination. If at any point the weather could be considered to have been ‘controlled,’ it would have been then.”

Meteion’s wings fluttered; Hermes tilted his head away from her. “That sounds nice,” she ventured. “Snow, here. When it’s so hot.”

Azem sighed and turned away. They looked through the curtain of orange willow leaves out into the gray drizzling rain.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” they said. “But that was how it all began for me. With reports of strange creatures and snowstorms in the height of summer.”

Despite being a mountainous region, Isimerin was near enough to the equator that it was warm almost the whole year round. Under normal circumstances, the near-constant heat only eased off in the wintertime, leaving the temperatures cooler but still comfortable. Now, in the midst of spring, the weather seemed to be hurtling toward summer as fast as it could, the heat quickly growing intolerable.

The last summer Azem had been here, snowstorms raged over the mountains and creeping tendrils of frost reached all the way down into the surrounding valleys. While the people were capable of adjusting their lifestyles to suit the sudden change, the flora and fauna of Isimerin had been ill-equipped to handle the cold. This Azem explained as they traversed the mountain slopes, his floating carriage doggedly climbing cliffs and tracing narrow paths worn into the rock over long years by the passage of animals.

“As much as we might long for a nice cold day right now, it’s unnatural for Isimerin,” Azem said. He was staring down at the ground as they passed, watching the white shapes of goats bounding among the rocks. “Most lifeforms are really only adapted to their given habitat. Move them elsewhere—for instance, take those cute snow bears with their fluffy white coats and put them in volcanic caves—and they probably won’t fare well. Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, what with Elpis’s specialized environments for study. But you can imagine what happened when a tropical region was subjected to a sudden cold snap.”

Mass extinctions of the species that had formerly lived here. Hermes closed his eyes in silent prayer. Meteion brushed her beak against his cheek as if trying to lend comfort.

Azem said, “For the most part, it was the mountains and the surrounding lowlands that were affected. Hythlodaeus managed to dig out the concepts for a few of the lifeforms we’d previously introduced and some others that seemed they would suit. But the species that were native to the area and those that had undergone mutations in the intervening time…”

He shook his head. The carriage trembled in response to his distress, or perhaps encountered a sudden spot of turbulence. Either way, Hermes’s fingers tightened convulsively around the edge of his seat.

“Halmarut and Loghrif made it into something of a pet project,” Azem continued with an effort. “They’ve put considerable effort into reintroducing species and making this corner of the star flourish again. They made a point of keeping us updated, even if… even when there was no other travel to the area. It’s… impressive work.”

Hermes was not qualified to give his opinion. The flora and fauna they had seen thus far looked no different from any other tropical lifeforms he’d seen or studied. And perhaps that was only to be expected: whatever life had been unique to this area had long since vanished.

“It’s always been a beautiful place,” Azem murmured, staring out through the carriage window. “I suppose that hasn’t changed now. Even if it’s far different from how I remember it.”

“What was it like before?” Meteion asked.

Azem shrugged one shoulder. “At the lower elevations around the base of the mountains, where people lived? Green, everywhere you looked. Every shade of green you could imagine and some whose existence hadn’t ever occurred to you. A canopy so thick that you could sit under the trees on a day like today and not even notice the rain, made from leaves large enough to knock you over if one happened to fall. You might think yourself walking under a high, dark woven ceiling illuminated only by the glowing wings of birds darting past. And it would be so quiet, so hot and damp and dark, that you might look up at that faraway ceiling held up by those tall trees and wonder that anything on this star is so old as to make you feel so young and small.”

Meteion shivered and lowered her head. Azem continued dreamily, “Sometimes one of those ancient giants would fall. You would hear the crash for malms around. It would knock down the surrounding trees and leave a gap in the canopy. The villagers might clean up the clearing and leave it untended so that small plants might spring up in its place. In the endless dark of the forest, those clearings were rare spots of light, where one might sneak away for a time and gaze up at the sky.”

There was nothing spectacular about the forest today. The trees were tall but not so large that they shrouded the ground completely. They did nothing to elicit the sense of awe with which he spoke.

“The village…” Azem began, and then sighed. “…The village was built down in the valley, in place of one of those ancient, fallen trees. You could stand on the plateau above and look down, and there you would see the tops of their little houses. If you were on foot, they’d see you coming as you climbed down, and the children would be waiting to greet you. Greedy little things, always hoping for a little present or a treat.”

“Is that not because you always brought something for them?” Hermes asked. Azem shrugged again, unsmiling.

“The valley…” Meteion peered through the carriage window, searching the ground at the foot of the mountains. Though Azem seemed not to want to look outside, she exhibited no such reluctance. Her eyes roved this way and that until at last she said, “I don’t see it. The village.”

Azem shook his head and said nothing. It had been many years indeed since he had last visited Isimerin and spoken to the residents of Sito. But even now, in the endless span of their lifetimes, those years were as the blink of an eye. He could hardly mistake it—not when he had buried a piece of himself there beneath the soil.

Meteion stared at him, tilting her head at the dark turn of his thoughts. When Azem offered no explanation, her wings fluttered, a sudden movement that made Hermes turn his face away in protest. “Then! If you say that’s where it is. I’m going to take a look!”

Before Hermes could stop her, Meteion launched herself from his shoulder. Quickly enough her wings caught the wind, and she swept down through the misty rain to the trees, her bright blue feathers quickly becoming lost amidst the colorful leaves and flowers.

Hermes stared after her, dismayed. Azem sighed and tapped the carriage wall to speed it along. “Impatient little bird. She probably wanted to escape me.” Hermes opened his mouth to give a token argument, but he was already continuing, “I apologize, Hermes. I know I haven’t been good company these past few suns. It’s made all three of us unhappy.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he murmured. “I was not always kind to you in the early days, and you tolerated me well enough.”

“You forget I’m friends with Emet-Selch. I’m accustomed to being tragically unappreciated.”

Azem’s smile was faint and wavering. Hermes did not return it, and it vanished swiftly. He sighed, leaning one arm against the windowsill and turning to look down at the forest. “This is something that’s been with me for a long time.”

That much had already been made clear. Azem bit his lip and continued with an effort, “It isn’t fair of me to spring this on you, and especially not on Meteion. At times she is entirely too susceptible to other’s emotions.”

“She likes you. That’s why she reacts so strongly to you.”

“You like me too,” Azem said, trying for a teasing tone and failing utterly,

“And that is the only reason I would allow you to cause her pain,” Hermes said quietly. “Because she likes you and I like you, and this has festered within you for long enough.”

Azem froze, silver eyes growing wide. Hermes averted his eyes, struggling to give voice to the feelings that even he had only recently come to understand.

“I… we… the both of us owe you our thanks.” Azem’s expression was still uncomprehending. Still Hermes did his best to explain. “Fandaniel selected me to succeed him as Chief Overseer of Elpis in recognition of my work. I did all I could to live up to the honor, and in so doing serve the star. But it never brought me satisfaction. The more time passed, the closer I came to drowning in my own misery and helplessness.

“Then you appeared, tied my entire life in knots, and dragged me out by force.” He chortled, short and dry and disbelieving. “It was only natural that I resent you for it. It was some time before I realized that was your way of throwing me a lifeline.”

Azem was an irredeemable meddler.

Trouble followed everywhere he went.

He couldn’t turn away from any in need.

And Hermes was grateful for it. No one else would have thought to shatter the beautiful cage he had made for himself; no one else would have done so without hesitation, heedless of all consequences.

“I do not know what I will do from this point forth,” he said. “But for the first time in my life, I know what it is to be free from expectations. I can search for my own answer—the answer I would never have found in Elpis. We are in your debt for all that you have done for us.”

“There are no debts between us,” Azem protested.

Hermes sighed. The corner of his lips curled up wryly. “Of course not. You would never ask to be repaid. But you also do not understand just what it means to me. If ever you need our help, we would be only too glad to assist.”

Their destination was not obvious even as the carriage drifted towards the ground. Try as he might, Hermes could see nothing that resembled a village. There were no signs of people, but that did not necessarily mean anything. It sometimes seemed as if there were countless little communities that had found ways to hide themselves from prying eyes, and Azem knew every last one of them.

The valley floor held only a sparse scattering of trees, but such odd trees they were. The trees on the mountain slopes and in the surrounding lowlands were those he might have expected from any tropical region, large and lush and green, ambitious branches reaching up towards the sun. They were nothing like the ancient giants Azem had mentioned, but nothing about them struck him as out of place.

In contrast, the trees down in the valley were of every size and shape imaginable. Trees like young poplars, their trunks straight and tall. Trees like silver firs, the earth at their roots covered in a layer of browning needles rather than leaves. Trees like the willow under which they had sheltered. And all the trees were blooming, in every shade imaginable, bright pops of color scattered along their branches.

At first Hermes’s eye was too astounded by the variety to notice aught else. But slowly, as he looked out across the valley, more and more oddities became evident. There were many arboreal species, it was true, but only a few specimens of each, and irregularly arranged at that. They were not lined up in the neat rows that he might have expected of an orchard, but the trees of each species were grouped together into clusters indicative of a purposeful planting. This was not a forest that had sprung up naturally.

When they descended on foot from the plateau down to the valley, Meteion saw their approach and came to meet them. As the little bird wound her way through the trees, Azem stumbled on the path. It was a few steps more before Hermes realized she wasn’t following and glanced back. “Azem?”

Her eyes had gone wide, staring at Meteion—but the sound of his voice broke her reverie, and she glanced at him guiltily. “Oh. I was just thinking. It’s not so different after all.”

Hermes did not immediately grasp her meaning; then he looked down at Meteion making her way toward them and he realized. “The villagers would see you coming as you climbed down, and the children would be waiting to greet you.”

“Begging for treats,” Azem murmured, and started walking again. “Just like hungry animals or small birds. What do you think, Hermes? Should I give her a treat?”

“Perhaps if you find something she can eat.”

Meteion was nearly upon them now, close enough that they could see the anxious tilt to her brows and the unhappy curve of her lips. She stopped before them, folding her hands one over the other nervously. “Hermes,” she began, and then, “Azem. There’s… no one here. There’s nothing.”

Hermes had started to suspect as much. Still, he turned his gaze to Azem all the same, and saw that there was no surprise on her face.

“There wouldn’t be,” she said. “This is Sito. The empty village.”

The name elicited no recognition from Hermes. Azem sighed, as if she had been hoping it would mean something to him, and brushed her damp hair from her face.

“Come, then,” she said quietly. “I’ll show you around.”

Her feet remembered the way even if the roads were no longer evident to human eyes. Azem followed the paths in her memory, skirting knee-high bushes and clambering over roots even as she spoke. “I was very young the last time I came here. Young and foolish.”

Hermes held his tongue, but Azem guessed at his thoughts regardless. The ghost of a smile passed across her lips. “Yes, even younger and more foolish than I am now. I’d just been made Azem and I was determined to prove myself worthy of my office. Not that I thought I was the equal of my predecessor. Hers has ever been a difficult act to follow.”

Then the smile slipped from her lips, and she sighed. “When word came of snowstorms in the tropics, in a village I knew, I was chomping at the bit to go. I had been cooped up in Amaurot for entirely too long. I thought myself well prepared for whatever I might encounter. I was new to being Azem, but I was not new to traveling, nor was I inexperienced in solving all sorts of problems. I was full of fire and idealism and entirely too much confidence.”

She fell silent for a time, leaving Hermes to take in their surroundings as they walked. Though the road had long fallen into disrepair, even the fortifying magicks fading and dissolving over time, there were still plentiful traces of the village that had once been. He could see the foundations of modest homes, their walls fallen and crumbled away. There were remnants of stone floors, now almost lost beneath a layer of moss. Each home held evidence that it had once been occupied. A torn scrap of woven fabric, colors long grown faded. A white mask, scuffed and dirtied, the patterns on its face worn down. The moldering remains of a doll.

At the last, Hermes averted his gaze, biting his lip.

Viewed from the forest floor, it was even more obvious that there was a pattern to the odd trees. Each cluster was located in front of a house, placed there as if in tribute. But that brought up even more questions than it answered. If this truly was a memorial—if all the trees had been planted at the same time—then—

“What happened?” he found himself asking. He couldn’t imagine the sort of disaster that could destroy an entire village of their people, a people so robust and powerful that they might as well be immortal.

“What do you think happened?” Azem retorted, and such was the bite in her voice that it made Meteion recoil. “I failed them. And for my arrogance and my hubris and my inadequacy, every last one of them died.”

They continued to walk, saying nothing more until they reached a clearing paved in cracked stone and overgrown grass. Azem crossed as if in a trance. Their destination was the remains of the one building not flanked by trees. Pieces of the far wall yet stood, but the raised floor had long since fallen away, leaving the short set of stairs to stop in midair.

Azem ascended the stairs, entrusting their weight to the rotting wood without hesitation. They seated themself at the very top, and only then did they look to Hermes and Meteion. They stretched their legs out before them and smiled, a smile so insincere that it made something within Hermes ache. Meteion folded her hands atop her breast and bowed her head, worrying at her lip so persistently that it seemed like to break and bleed.

“By now you understand why I didn’t want to come here,” Azem said. “This is all that is left of Sito. That is the end of the tale, and I’ve told you the beginning, but I still have yet to explain everything that happened in between. That is the least I owe you for accompanying me this far without question.”

They breathed deeply of the warm, humid air. They closed their eyes and tilted their face into the rain. And then they spoke.

The story they told was one almost too fantastical to be believed. It was a tale like those used to scare children. Eat your vegetables, attend to your lessons, else you may lose control. You could lose yourself in your own magic. You might become the monster that haunts the night and roars in the storm.

From anyone else’s mouth, Hermes would have doubted its veracity. But the detachment in Azem’s voice—the way they stolidly refused to look at him and Meteion as they spoke—told him that every word of it was true. Everyone he’d ever known, all those who lived in Amaurot or attended Anyder or worked in Elpis, would have laughed at the thought. No one with such power would ever go untrained. Children were cherished dearly; they were watched over and supervised to prevent accidents of any sort, much less disasters of the type that could destroy entire settlements.

At last Azem finished speaking. The silence that hung flat and heavy over the village was broken only by Meteion’s stifled sobs. Hermes laid one hand on the small of her back, comforting her, and waited for Azem to speak.

“I killed the remnants of the child,” Azem said. Their voice had gone curiously flat. “That was all we could do in the end. Given how everything turned out, it would have been better if I’d done so earlier.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Meteion protested. “Not—killing—children—”

Azem sighed. Their eyes were still focused on the clouds overhead. “The beast died by my hand. The village died as a result of my poor judgment. I don’t see what else you can call it.”

“Even then it’s not your fault!” she said, and though the petulance in her voice and the stubborn set of her lips showed her conviction, Hermes knew she would never be believed. Meteion was a sweet child but at the same time too innocent. She lacked the experience and the knowledge to properly make her case. “It wasn’t your fault, Azem, so—”

Azem was already smiling, even as they refused to look at her. Meteion stalked toward the staircase, fists clenched, as if expecting to find some way of convincing them—but Hermes caught her shoulder and stopped her. When she looked back at him, brows furrowed, he shook his head.

Guilt knew no logic nor reason. If it could be dismissed so easily, then they would have no word for it at all.

“So it is your fault,” he said. “And not the child’s for losing control or triggering the avalanche?”

If he had heard his own voice, he would have been surprised at the gentleness in it. Even so, Azem jerked back as if physically struck.

“You can’t blame Zoe for this!” they protested, sounding more energetic than they had since their arrival in Isimerin. “They didn’t know what they did. They didn’t want any of it.”

“Then the fault lies with the villagers. If they’d thought to intervene or ask for help earlier—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermes. This was an unprecedented situation. You could hardly expect them to know the best course of action.”

He was not the one being ridiculous. Hermes fell quiet, watching Azem closely. They were scowling, but at least now they were looking at him.

Meteion was the one who spoke, breaking the stalemate between them. “If they didn’t know. And you didn’t know. Why is your fault and not theirs?”

Azem’s gaze switched to Meteion, but their indignation did not hold up in the face of her innocent curiosity. Snap at Hermes though they might, they could not bear to hurt his little bird. All at once they deflated; they shook their head, shoulders slumping, and laced their fingers together in their lap. “Because they were my responsibility. And as the Traveler, counselor to the people, it was my job to know better.”

They said no more, but the bitter edge to their voice made their meaning clear enough. Azem was supposed to be their protector, their guiding star in the darkest of nights. If Azem did not help them, then who would?

It was too familiar a burden and too familiar a refrain.

Hermes sighed, feeling that accustomed weight bearing down on him once again. Meteion stiffened and glanced back at him, feeling his sudden despondency, but he paid her no mind. This was not the sort of pain that would consume him till he no longer had the will to act. This was the sort of pain that could only drive him forward.

Hermes said quietly, “If you bear the full blame for what happened to Sito, then so too must you lay all the deaths in Elpis at my feet.”

This time the eyes that flicked to him were wide with consternation. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t.” They wouldn’t. “But that is what it means all the same. As you are responsible for the peoples of Etheirys, so was I responsible for the creations of Elpis. We at the facility were tasked with judging their fitness to live on our star. All of us worked towards that purpose, but the final decision on whether they were worthy to live or die rested in my hands.”

He could still see them if he closed his eyes, scenes that had happened often enough to be burned into memory. Small rooms filled with researchers arguing around a concept crystal. Dim halls lined with glass observation tubes. Sunlight shining bright across an expansive lake, so beautiful and so sorrowful.

“I would have saved them all if I could. I fought for them with everything I had, even when I knew it was a lost cause.” He paused. "Is it not the same for you?”

“Yes,” Azem said without hesitation. “But—”

Hermes interrupted, speaking over them in a way most uncharacteristic of him. “Did you do everything you could?”

“Yes, but—”

For some reason, Meteion was smiling.

“Then that’s enough,” Hermes said. His words were so forceful that Azem jumped, their fingers curling and cracking the rotted wood of the step on which they sat. “That is all anyone could ever ask. Even if the end result is unbearable, I still do not want to believe that all of our struggles mean nothing.”

Meteion stepped forward. The rotting wooden stairs protested as she climbed, but she did not hesitate. She came to a stop on the stair below the one on which Azem sat and squatted down to speak to them, hands on her knees.

“Hermes did his best,” she said. “And you did too.”

Azem opened their mouth to answer, but no words emerged. They closed it again, looking uncertain.

“If I am not to blame for Elpis, then neither are you to blame for Sito,” Hermes said quietly. “We tried and we failed, but none can fault us for our efforts.”

Azem’s voice was little more than a whisper. “That’s an easy excuse.”

“But there is also truth to it. To fight with all one’s strength, or to complacently accept the hand dealt by fate—they are not the same. If there is no changing how it ends, then it is our intentions that define us.” His mouth twisted, recalling their journeys over the past few moons. “I think I know you well enough to say that you would never choose complacency.”

“…No. Never.” They tilted their face up, regarding him with the utmost seriousness. “And you, Hermes? What did you choose?”

“I could not accept their fates,” Hermes said, surprised at how easily the words flowed forth. “If my power proved insufficient to save them, then I did all I could to ensure that would not be the case the next time. I learned to fly, to teach those whose wings would not carry them. I created Kairos, so that even if those creatures lost all else, at least they had their lives. I gave them all of me.”

And oh, how their losses had hurt. Even now in his mind’s eye he could see the lykaones, their slain corpses lying still and bloodied on the grass.

“I tried when no one else would. No one could ask anything more, from me or from you.” He stepped forward, placing his hands on Meteion’s shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze. “And when I ran against the limits of what I could accomplish alone, I cast my question to the stars. I will not stop trying until our people understand and put an end to their cruelty.”

Azem expelled a gentle breath, though they were still eyeing him oddly. “Hermes, that sounds… suspiciously like the answer you’ve been seeking.”

Hermes started, swallowing his immediate denial. Of course it was no answer. It was nothing more than the impetus for his question. For what reason did people live? Must their ideal world be built on the sacrifice of countless innocents? If the answer had been that easy, he would not have sent the Meteia to the stars.

But if changing their people’s hearts would bring him satisfaction—if he would find fulfillment in solving the moral quandary that had long plagued him—was that in itself not an answer?

“Azem,” Meteion said softly. She laid her hands atop Azem’s knees. “You’re… a good person. We know it, and they knew it too, surely. And you did everything you could, and you’re still trying too. So… don’t say things like they’re dead because of you. Because you would never hurt anyone on purpose.”

Azem sighed, shifting their unnerving gaze away from Hermes at last. “Oh, little traveler. I will strive to ever be worthy of your faith in me.”

They ran a hand across their face and their wet hair, wiping away the traces of rain and tears. When they lowered their arm again, their expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’d hoped that there was something for me to gain from coming here. I hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt.”

“Does it still hurt?” she asked.

“Yes. But perhaps a little less now.”

They reached out and ruffled Meteion’s hair. She frowned, watching them with confusion and no small amount of lingering concern. Hermes looked away. Unlike Meteion, he knew well that old wounds were not so swiftly healed.

“Azem,” Meteion said. She curled her fingers into the draping cloth at Azem’s knee and tugged at their robes. “The trees. The strange colorful ones. They’re the ones you planted? For the villagers?”

“Ah… yes. I’m glad to see they still flourish.”

“Tell me about them,” she urged. When Azem’s brow only furrowed, she released their robes and patted their knee. “Their stories. I’m made to listen people’s stories, remember? And… you want to share them, don’t you?”

“Mm… I suppose I could. If it’s at your insistence.” Azem stood cautiously, cognizant of the wood cracking underneath them; then they hopped down from the stairs. “Come, then.”

They held a hand out to Meteion. She took it gracefully and they helped her down; then, together, they walked to the closest of the trees, one which bore pink many-petaled flowers the size of Meteion’s head.

Azem gazed at the tree without speaking. Their mouth formed the shape of words, but their voice did not escape. As if to rescue them from their troubles, Meteion turned to them, smile blissful. “I’ve never seen this tree before. What is it?”

Azem blinked and glanced at her, as if only now remembering that they had hold of her hand. “…It’s the closest I could find to a melon tree. I don’t know if any survived the snow. In the summer they bear fruit. Bright red with a thick rind, near impossible to cut open—but once you do, the flesh inside is soft and of unsurpassed sweetness. They taste like bliss and liquid sugar on a hot day.”

Meteion tilted her head. “Melons grow on trees?”

“They do here.”

Hermes did not believe it. It sounded like a different fruit entirely.

Azem sighed, eyes squinting as they regarded the flowers. “…I once knew a girl who loved those melons. She was the very model of an obedient child. Wouldn’t dare cause trouble, wouldn’t hurt a fly. But she proved more than willing to cover for the antics of a mischievous young visitor, and such a good child was she that none ever doubted her.”

Azem laughed breathlessly, their eyes soft with memory. “In return I would sneak out to the farthest groves and gather melons. We would sit beneath the trees all afternoon and eat until our skin and our robes were sticky with juice and we had no more appetite for supper.”

They paused, their smile sad. “Her name was Berenike.”

Hermes watched over them, Meteion hanging enraptured onto every word of Azem’s stories. He looked at the melon tree; he looked at the other colorful trees, standing silent vigil over what was left of the village.

It looked nothing like Elpis.

(It was too much like Elpis.)

But if he too was to carry on alongside those painful memories, if he truly was committed to making sure the same never happened again—then what would be the best path forward?

And was that truly where he would find his answer?

By unspoken agreement, they camped for the night on the plateau overlooking the village. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how beautiful the trees had become, none of them wanted to sleep amidst the ghosts and the memories.

Hermes woke at dawn to find Azem gone. Meteion was already awake and watching the sunrise, and she smiled at him in greeting when he opened his eyes and sat up.

“Azem said she had business,” she said when he asked.

How like the Traveler to vanish with only the most bare-bones explanation. “Did she say when she would be back?”

Meteion shook her head and pointed in the direction of the sun rising over the mountain peaks. “She flew that way.”

Hermes hesitated, torn between giving chase and waiting for their eventual return. But Meteion was looking at him expectantly, and when she said, “She won’t mind if we follow,” he took her at her word.

He would have had difficulty finding Azem were it not for Meteion. The little bird knew their companion well by now, and Azem’s emotions had been running high ever since they’d arrived in Isimerin. Hermes transformed, preparing himself for a long excursion out among the peaks; Meteion darted back and forth across the slopes, cutting a path of bright blue against the pinks and oranges of the sky. It was a surprisingly short time before she dipped her wings in a signal to him and began the spiral of her descent.

Hermes looked down. Along an expanse of otherwise bare rock were two of those out-of-place trees, putting out flowers of red and blue. Sitting between the trees was Azem, head bent and staring down at something.

Azem didn’t look up as he approached and came in for a landing. All of her attention was on the aether swirling between her hands. She was holding a dual-colored flower, the outer layer of petals the same blue as Meteion’s feathers, shading to white closer to the stigma. As Hermes resumed his usual form and walked to her, a cold breeze enveloped the flower, encasing it in a perfect snowball.

Azem smiled, an expression of unmistakable mischief. The snowball vanished, flower and all.

Meteion peered down curiously from her perch on Azem’s shoulder. “What was that?”

“A message.”

After hearing Azem’s tale of long ago, there was little doubt as to the identity of the intended recipient. Hermes said, “I thought you weren’t sending messages to Amaurot.”

“I don’t see the harm in it, just this once. We’ll be leaving today anyway.”

And unsaid: It’s more important that he know. He deserves to know.

Hermes was in no position to criticize, so he said nothing. Meteion nipped gently at Azem’s ear. “Will you tell me about these ones? The last two stories?”

Azem turned to look at the smaller of the two trees, the one bearing blue flowers. “There isn’t much to tell beyond what you already know. I never spoke to them myself. All I know about them I learned from others or from the home they had already left.”

“Even then. Even if it’s only a little. No one’s story deserves to be lost.”

Azem hesitated. She opened her mouth.

A bouquet materialized out of thin air and fell on her head.

Azem squeaked, a surprisingly cute sound of mixed surprise and indignation. Startled, Meteion took flight and landed on the ground, resuming her humanoid form. Hermes was hard-pressed to stifle his laugh.

“Emet-Selch!” Azem snarled, the picture of outrage. For once, he was the one causing trouble for her, and she did not appreciate it in the slightest.

She bent down to sweep the bouquet from the ground. It was an impressive creation, more than two dozen long-stemmed pink lilies as long as her arm, wrapped in paper and tied off with a lavender ribbon. It was, all in all, not a gift that Hermes would have associated with the perpetually cantankerous Keeper of the Underworld—but looking more closely, there were in fact two aetherial signatures lingering on the flowers and the wrapping.

Azem noticed it in the same moment Hermes did. Her hand paused, her fingers hovering over the bouquet without touching it, and a frown creased her features. “…And Hythlodaeus, too. Now why are the two of them together so early in the morning?”

Hermes did not have an answer to that. After a moment Azem shrugged and picked up the flowers.

“I will accept their gift and use it with gratitude,” she said. Catching Hermes’s look of incomprehension, she tilted her head towards him. “Unaware of the custom, are you? It’s a fairly recent trend. If one’s thoughts are with someone who has since returned to the star, one might offer up these lilies in their memory. Emet-Selch receives rather a lot of them in the course of his work, no matter how he insists that he cannot relay their words or queries to those who have moved on.”

“Ah,” Hermes said softly. Whether or not she realized it, Azem’s words struck a chord. So there were those among their people who felt sorrow at that final parting and missed those who were gone. “…We never did that in Elpis. It’s a nice custom.”

Azem traced her fingers across the elegant pink petals. “Then perhaps we should consider introducing it. If only to give your researchers pause and have them remember the lives of their creations.”

“Let’s give them out,” Meteion piped up. “So they know you remember them.”

Azem nodded. She pulled one of the lilies from the bouquet and placed it among the roots of the tree before her. She said softly, “The first, then, is for Zoe, the child with dreams of winter. May you never be lost or lonely again.”

Another lily, and another story, was left at the tree meant for Platon.

They descended the mountain and walked one last circle through the village, offering memories and gifts at the base of each tree as they went.

By the time they laid down the very last lily, there were no more trees left to visit.

By the time they laid down the very last lily, Azem’s steps had grown lighter.

By the time they laid down the very last lily, the lavender ribbon had found its way into her hair.

Hermes said not a word, but Azem’s smile was radiant.

Chapter Text

“…And that takes care of that.”

Azem wiped the sweat from their brow, looking rather pleased with themself for having contributed very little. Hermes shook his head, smiling ruefully. It had been a long but fulfilling day spent on, of all things, chasing rabbits.

Here, in this town nestled deep within a shady forest, rabbits were held to be sacred animals. Hunting or killing them was strictly forbidden. In recent years, an abundance of food and a decrease in the number of predators had resulted in an unexpected explosion in the rabbit population. They had begun laying waste to the forest, causing damage to the town, and driving away other species. Something had to be done to capture and contain them.

At first, Hermes had thought this was to be an easy task. He had quickly been proven wrong: the rabbits with which he was familiar couldn’t hold a candle to these “sacred rabbits,” which were approximately as tall as a man and vicious besides.

Once again, Azem had done little but run around ineffectively, oversized net in hand. In contrast, Meteion had proved instrumental in their search; by now, she was expert at locating all sorts of creatures and surveying the land for irregularities. Hermes too had some familiarity with lagomorph behavior, which hardly came as a surprise to Azem. They merely nodded and said, “I thought so. Rabbits are birds, after all.”

Hermes did not bother to correct them.

In the end they managed to corral enough of the rabbits to address the problems in the short term, but more drastic measures would need to be implemented if they hoped for a more permanent solution. Azem managed to keep a straight face when they advised introduction of a sacred predator to control the population of the sacred rabbits, a suggestion that was taken under serious consideration.

“What kind of creature preys on giant rabbits?” Hermes muttered. He was having a hard time imagining something that wouldn’t massively disrupt environmental balance in its own right.

“That’s a problem for Hythlodaeus and not me,” Azem said cheerfully. “I’m sure he can dig out a massive eagle from somewhere in the archives. At the very least, this village will make for interesting study over the next few decades.”

“Then do we go somewhere else now?” Meteion asked. “Somewhere that needs us?”

“I think so, unless Hermes has any other wisdom concerning rabbits to offer,” Azem said.

Hermes did not rise to the bait. Instead he shook his head, folded his hands into his sleeves, and tried not to show how very uncomfortable he was standing out here in the cold. “We don’t have to leave immediately,” he said. “We may as well stay the night, stock up on supplies, and depart in the morning.”

A frown creased Azem’s face. “That sounds reasonable enough. I suppose we could. But Hermes…”

He knew what Azem would say before it escaped their mouth.

“…Are you only saying this because you’d like to sleep in a proper bed for the night? Is that it?”

Hermes sighed, long and deeply. Meteion giggled.

…Well, he couldn’t deny that that was one advantage.

Instead of admitting it, he cast about for a likely excuse. “If I’m not mistaken, your report to Amaurot is overdue. Isn’t that the only reason the Convocation has let you run free for this long?”

Already Azem’s lower lip was beginning to jut out. They were staring at him with wide, betrayed eyes. Undeterred, Hermes continued, “You should forward the formal request for environmental evaluation. Give them a chance to enact countermeasures before the rabbit population has a chance to recover, else our efforts will have been in vain.”

Azem’s scowl only deepened, but Hermes did not allow his stern look to waver. Finally they sighed, throwing their arms into the air dramatically. “Fine. We stay the night and I see to my responsibilities for once in my life. In return, Hermes…”

“I’ll gather supplies for our departure tomorrow,” Hermes said quickly.

“Hermes doesn’t like your idea of travel rations,” Meteion said, once again offering more information than was strictly necessary for Azem to know. Hermes flinched, and Azem made a thoughtful little sound, their scowl quickly morphing into a smirk.

“Very well, then,” they drawled. “Hermes is in charge of securing food that suits his discerning tastes. Three days’ worth should be enough. I will find us somewhere to stay for the night.”

Meteion clapped her hands, looking much too delighted at the prospect of acquiring food she couldn’t eat. “Then let’s go! And find something Hermes will like!”

Hermes opened his mouth, feeling he should voice a protest—but in the face of those two smiles, that did not seem a particularly wise decision. Instead he nodded stiffly and turned on his heel, making his escape along with Meteion before Azem could find something else to mock him about.

He hadn’t taken more than two steps before there was a faint popping sound and the familiar crawl of magick against his skin. Hermes stumbled but did not glance over his shoulder, continuing to make his way stubbornly toward the market.

He took another five steps and then Meteion stopped abruptly. She grabbed for Hermes’s sleeve, stopping him in his tracks, and stared back, her expression one of open concern. “Azem? What’s wrong?”

There was no answer. Meteion tugged Hermes around. As he’d half-expected, there was a scroll hovering in the air before Azem; as he had not expected, the scroll was unfurled, and the Traveler wore an odd, complicated expression as they stared at the missive.

“Azem?” Meteion called again. She released Hermes and trotted over to Azem, rising up on the tips of her claws to peer into their face. Had she been tall enough, she might have waved a hand before their eyes; as it was, she settled for poking them in the arm until finally they broke from their reverie and frowned down at her.

“Change of plans,” they said, and even in the depths of winter, their tone was cool enough to make the air feel as if it had dropped several degrees. “We leave immediately.”

Meteion’s brow furrowed. She glanced away, as if expecting to see something approaching from the outskirts of town that would explain Azem’s sudden urgency. When no such explanation showed itself, she said, “Why? Did something bad happen?”

Hermes, on the other hand, was still eyeing the scroll. The very fact that Azem had deigned to read it was strikingly unusual in and of itself. “Who’s the message from, Azem?

Azem’s lips were pressed tight together. They crumpled the parchment and dropped it to the ground, grinding it into the dust with the heel of their boot. “Elidibus.”

Hermes’s breath caught. Only a message of great import would come from the Emissary. They’d never received a communication from Elidibus before. Azem liked Elidibus. That he or anyone else Azem respected hadn’t previously ordered them to return to Amaurot had been taken as implicit permission that they were allowed to continue their travels. But if Elidibus was reaching out to them now—

…No, the timing was too odd. Almost ten moons had passed since their departure from Elpis. Azem had clearly stated that they were to travel together for a year. The Convocation had no reason to doubt their word, and at this point, there was little advantage to calling them back rather than waiting for them to return of their own will.

“It’s naught to do with the two of you,” Azem said, confirming Hermes’s conclusion. “There’s an emergency that urgently demands my attention.”

Hermes’s brow furrowed. “A emergency that requires you specifically…?”

Azem sighed and took a step back. From the remains of the scroll sprouted a sapling, branches spreading forth from the trunk and leaves unfurling to catch the pale rays of the winter sun.

“Half of a research team has vanished,” they said grimly. “Rumor is we have a monster problem on our hands.”

The star is inhabited by peoples of all shapes and sizes, cultures and beliefs, behaviors and dispositions. Some of those would appear extremely unusual or unusually extreme to those who have spent their whole lives sheltered within the walls of Amaurot or holed up in the research outposts of the various Words. But there is one thing that most of us would agree on, and it is that the very strangest of Etheirys’s people are those who pursue mortality of their own will.

It is, in a way, the natural conclusion to the concerns you have voiced: that we who can live for eternity have a necessarily skewed perspective of life and death. How can we who differ so dramatically from the other inhabitants of Etheirys truly say that we know what is best for our star?

That was how it started, with rumbles of discontent. To claim that we act to improve the star without considering the desires of its other inhabitants is nothing more than hubris, the forcing of our own beliefs onto those with no power to protest. To some of our people, this was a difference of opinion that could never be settled in the Halls of the Rhetoric. When they failed to convince others of their righteousness, they chose to abandon what we consider civilization and establish their own community.

They strive to improve their understanding alongside their efforts to better the star. To understand the fear and the urgency of mortal lives, they set limitations on their own time in this world; to understand the pain and difficulty of work performed with one’s own hands, they swore never to use creation magicks save in the most extreme of circumstances. Their reach has grown limited as a result, but there are none on the star more at peace with the land on which they live.

Some of their number became custodians of the Elysian Plains, eking out lives built on hunting and fishing and herding. Others took to the surrounding highlands and coast, growing and gathering what they can. They trade between themselves for what they need and thus find contentment. To those of us who know eternity, the candles of their lives burn bright and swift, but they would have it no other way. They view us as abominations or as gods, unnatural if not outright malevolent, persisting through countless of their lifetimes. We are not welcome in the communities they have built for themselves, we who use forbidden magicks to shape the world to our whims.

But with mortality comes limitations, and at times they will accept us as a necessary evil. There are some things that cannot be accomplished through will and physical effort alone, and when one’s time on Etheirys is so short, one must be willing to accept aid wherever it is offered.

The Elysian Plains were an endless sea of dark blue stretching as far as the eye could see. The grass grew straight and tall, completely eclipsing Meteion’s line of sight and extending as high as Hermes’s chest. At this time of year, the blades were rimed with ice, forming a field of sharp spears glittering dangerously in the last vestiges of moonlight. No matter how he searched, Hermes could spot no distinguishing landmarks: There was nothing to show where on the plains they had landed or where they should go next. It was a cold, alien landscape, and only the stars above told him that they had not left Etheirys behind. As he had entrusted his hopes to them, he had memorized their patterns, and that the sky was not so different from the one he had learned brought him comfort now.

Though every direction looked to be the same to him in the darkness and stillness of the night, Azem showed not a moment of hesitation. Hermes looked away for only a moment and they were gone, the only hint of their position a pair of blue aetherlights twirling in aimless circles above the grass.

They reappeared again a minute later, before he could decide whether to give chase. In their hands was a formless black shadow, which they summarily dropped atop Meteion’s head. She gave a small yelp of surprise, pushing it away and frowning as her fingers caught in an oversize cowl.

“Put that on,” Azem said briskly. “The size should be approximately right.”

“What’s this about, Azem?” Hermes asked. He reached over, helping Meteion sort out the voluminous robes. Azem’s lazy attempt to drape them around her had only served to entangle the poor bird.

“It’s as I told you,” Azem said. “We need more information before we can begin our search. For that we will need to consult with the locals. But they’re… rather unusual. Negotiations will go more smoothly if we are as impersonal as possible. That means being nameless, faceless, and utterly unremarkable.”

They had turned away from him already, occupying themselves with spinning their aether into another one of their unusual spells. Hermes watched them only long enough to confirm that they were constructing some sort of creature before returning his attention to Meteion. She had found the sleeves at least and done her best to shrug on the robe over her dress. He aided her with the ties and then stepped back.

She watched him with unabashed curiosity as he looked her over and sighed. It had been entirely too long since Azem’s own childhood; they had forgotten how easy it was for children to trip on full-length robes. He raised the hem by several ilms, then picked up the white mask that Azem held out. Meteion shied away at the unfamiliar touch of it against her skin, but she allowed him to affix it to her face, probing it with curious fingers once it was in place.

Meteion… did not look like an Amaurotine. She did not look quite like a child, either. Her cowl was too wide, leaving space for her wings, but even then there were obvious misshapen protrusions on either side of her head. The high collar of her dress showed over the neck of her robes, and the white mask only contributed to the oddity of the whole.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to have Meteion take bird form?” he asked, rather belatedly.

“You underestimate the suspicion they have for us and our creations,” Azem said without looking around. “No, best that we show them we have nothing to hide.”

That also ruled out application of a glamour. Hermes grimaced, taking comfort in the knowledge that they would likely never encounter these people again.

With a snap of their fingers, Azem poured power into their spell. Aether rushed through the completed framework, filling in the gaps and solidifying until the magick took the shape of a horse indistinguishable from a living creature. Even then it was not devoid of Azem’s signature flamboyance: its mane and tail were formed from waves of pure light, and a bright golden glow roiled thick and slow beneath the surface of its dark body like magma beneath broken earth.

“Given how difficult it is to navigate the grasslands on foot, much of the nomads’ life revolves around their horses,” Azem said, misinterpreting Hermes’s disbelieving silence as curiosity. “It is of the utmost importance to have a trustworthy, even-tempered mount. Like the rabbits, you might almost consider the horses a sort of sacred beast. Er, except much less of a nuisance and of much more practical use.”

They clambered onto the horse’s back as they spoke. The equine snorted and tossed its head and then, to Hermes’s surprise, stretched out a pair of wings of the same golden substance as the inside of its body. Azem curled their feet beneath the base of the wings and nodded to themself in satisfaction.

“It’ll be a bit of a tight fit, but it’ll have to do,” they said. “Come on. One of the tribes is close by, but we’ll have to hurry if we hope to reach them at dawn. That’s the best time for negotiations. Open minds at the opening of a new day and all that.”

It was not a saying with which he was familiar, but now did not seem the time to ask. Already Azem was fidgeting with impatience, running their hands up and down the horse’s neck, and it seemed prudent to mount before they decided their negotiations would proceed more smoothly if they were to go at it alone.

It was a profoundly uncomfortable ride, all three of them squashed together on the back of a flying horse that, while strong enough to carry them, was displeased at being asked to do so. They flew to the southeast, Azem reciting what seemed to be an increasingly outrageous list of customs under their breath. After “Avoid words that contain an ‘x’ for fear of causing mortal offense,” Hermes found he could bear it no longer. “What would you have us do?”

Azem jerked and nearly fell from the horse’s back, as if they had clean forgotten Hermes and Meteion’s presence. “Oh! Er. Nothing, really. Just stand behind me, try to look non-threatening, and leave the talking to me. They aren’t much for small talk really. It’s in all of our interests to get this over and done with as soon as possible, and then we can go off and search out these monsters. Really, compared to socializing with the locals, that will be the easy part.”

Hunting living creatures… was easier than speaking to people long outcast from their society.

Meteion’s arms tightened around his waist, and not for fear of falling from the horse. Hermes patted her hand consolingly. He chose his words with great care. “…I’d prefer not to kill them if at all possible. Even if they do turn out to be monsters.”

Azem did not hesitate, but neither did they look back at him. “We will do all we can to see that it does not come to that. But, Hermes…”

“Yes. I know.” Discomfort twisted  within his gut. He recognized the necessity of sacrifice. If these creatures were as dangerous as was rumored—if the lives they would claim outweighed the value of their own lives—they would be left with little choice.

Azem sighed. They tilted their head back as if to look at him upside-down, but they were sitting so close together that Azem only succeeded in smashing their head into his. “…Ow!”

Hermes recoiled, putting as much distance between them as he could. Meteion clasped him tightly again, trying to steady him. “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” Azem said quickly, answering for the both of them. “We’re both fine. In any case, I’m sure it will be fine. Instead of focusing on the worst, let’s just believe that.”

They let go of the horse and cracked their knuckles. “But our first order of business is gathering information from people who don’t like me very much. I haven’t been here in… several of their lifetimes. But they will remember me well enough, I think. It should be fine.”

The more they repeated that, the more Hermes found himself wondering if their optimism was completely unfounded.

Still, there was little time to argue. Not a bell had passed since they set out and already the temporary encampment was visible on the horizon, an island of undyed canvas tents among the sea of dark blue grass. The circle of tents formed a makeshift corral, hemming in and protecting the tall, broad-shouldered horses that were even now dozing as dawn broke. Their approach had already been noted—could hardly be missed, in fact, a shining gold beacon rising from the northwest like a second miniature sun—and a small delegation was waiting to greet them.

The nomads’ garments were the first thing to catch his eye. Given Azem’s insistence on proper dress, he’d assumed they would be matching their hosts—that, in fact, robes and masks served to maintain anonymity here as in Amaurot. But the five who were waiting for them wore thick coats and leggings, along with fur-lined boots, gloves, and hats. That was not so surprising, if he took a moment to remember that these were a people who did not use creation magicks and so were forced to use mundane means to stave off the midwinter chill.

But those same clothes expressed individuality, personality, and history in a way he could not have predicted. Their coats were painstakingly dyed and patterned in bright colors that would easily catch the eye against the dark grass. Even among the five who had come to meet them, the designs and materials differed drastically. Large bright swirls formed abstract landscapes of mountains scattered with trees and rocks; horses ran free across grasslands embroidered a hundred different shades of blue. Lines of blocklike patterns down their sleeves, embellished with fragments of small colored stones, spoke in a script he had never before seen.

Hermes wondered what the coats meant, if there were stories or meanings behind them that he could not decipher, stranger to their culture that he was. Behind him, Meteion gasped in delight and amazement, clearly wondering the same. His eyes traced the long spiral of an emerald snake, so detailed as to seem almost lifelike, that twined about the wearer’s chest and shoulders. The snake’s head was tucked along the high collar, ruby-red eyes peeking out from under one ear. From there, naturally he found himself glancing up into the wearer’s face—

—and were arrested by the look of disgust he found there.

Hermes recoiled. Too late, he looked away. The rest of this delegation wore similar expressions. He would not have believed it possible, but it seemed Azem had been understating this people's mistrust for strangers.

Azem gave no sign of being bothered by their hostility, and Hermes had no opportunity to ask. Already the horse’s hooves were touching gently down on the cleared ground. Azem dismounted the equine first, and with a subtle touch to his knee, signaled for him to follow. As Meteion and Hermes lined up behind them, they rested one hand on the golden horse’s withers and inclined their head to the delegation come to meet them.

“Swift wind at your backs,” they said, drawing themself to their full height.

“Gentle earth beneath your feet,” the man at the far right of the group said, his words clipped and wary. He seemed to be the oldest, a man whose coat was embroidered with images of bright-colored fish swimming within dark waters. His red hair was faded nearly entirely to silver; his purple eyes, set in a face lined deep from decades of exposure to sun and storm, betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

It took all of Hermes’s composure not to gape. Their people did not show age in the way that mortals did. It was the first time he’d seen someone who looked old, in the way that animals grew old and tired after the accumulation of years. He wondered if they hadn’t made themselves mortal after a fashion—if their long-abandoned creation magicks hadn’t responded to their will and shaped their bodies to a form they desired.

Next to Hermes, Meteion shifted her weight from foot to foot. She lifted a hand to grasp at her cowl, unaccustomed to the fabric draped over her wings or the weight of her mask, but she too remembered what Azem had told them, and she said not a word.

“You are the Azem,” the—old—man said. He pronounced the word as a title rather than a name, peering short-sightedly up at Azem. No recognition was evident on that aged, lined face.

Azem inclined their head regally. “Indeed. I am the current holder of the office of Azem. I come as representative of the Convocation of Fourteen in Amaurot.”

A ripple of displeasure moved through the gathered crowd at their words. Azem’s smile did not waver for an instant, though they could hardly have missed the reaction.

“It has been generations since an Azem walked these Plains.” The man’s words were pointed, inviting argument or the opportunity for Azem identify themself as the very same. Azem said nothing, and after a beat he went on. “The rulings of the Convocation of Fourteen having no bearing on us here.”

“Consider it not a ruling, but… a matter of shared interest.” Azem tucked a stray lock of pale hair back into their cowl. When their words met with no further protest, they continued, “Word reached us of a nearby anomaly, dangerous enough that several of our people have vanished without a trace. I come to you today to see what you make of this.”

The delegation glanced at each other. Emotions played clearly over their unmasked faces: wariness, mistrust, fear. It was a woman who stepped forward next, one with dark curls, a coat patterned with birds against a sunset sky, and a face that might still have been young. “We know of the phenomenon of which you speak, if not its nature. It has claimed several who went to investigate, horse and rider alike.”

Azem let out a quick breath, clasped their hands together, and bowed their head. Belatedly, Hermes and Meteion followed suit, guessing that it was a customary way to express condolences.

Azem said, “Then we would beg the gift of what you know, so that we might see this threat ended and all return to our peaceful, happy lives.”

Hermes rather thought that a “peaceful life” was beyond Azem, but now was not the time to mention that.

There was a short pause before the woman spoke, resentment lending gruffness to her voice. “We did not ask for assistance.”

“No, but I would see it offered freely. There is no graver matter than one that results in the loss of life, whether it be the lives of men or any other creature that walks Etheirys.”

Azem sighed. They lifted one arm and stretched out their palm, their sleeve sliding down to their wrist in a gesture that was foreign to Hermes. “Do not consider this vengeance or a favor to you. It is not in the nature of my people to leave dangerous mysteries unresolved. A monster such as this must be investigated and evaluated to determine what threat it poses. If it may yet do some good, we will decide if it should be relocated; if naught can be done with it, it will be erased.”

Once again the delegation looked to each other. This time their facial expressions were more difficult to comprehend, a mixture of puzzlement and weary resignation. Whatever argument they had was unspoken and short-lived; a few moments more and they reached a consensus. It was the old man who spoke for them, the words leaving him as reluctantly as if they had been extracted by force. “We will tell you what we know, Azem of the Convocation of Fourteen, and wish you a swift and fruitful journey.”

The corner of Azem’s mouth twitched, as if amused by his phrasing, but they did not interrupt.

“The disturbance you seek makes its home far to the east above the cliffs and has not yet spread its tendrils of corruption to these plains. That is where the disappearances have occurred and where the other irregularities originate.”

Azem tilted their head, their faint smile fading entirely. “Other irregularities…? Does this monster possess other capabilities?”

As each word left Azem’s lips, the dark-haired woman’s frown deepened. As soon as Azem had voiced their question, she burst out, “Why do you refer to it as a monster?”

Hermes, Azem, and Meteion looked to her in surprise; her companions glared with clear disapproval. Forgetting Azem’s orders, Meteion opened her mouth to speak, but in the end Azem was faster to ask. “…Whatever do you mean?”

The woman lifted her chin, eyes blazing bright and fiery with outrage. “Do you really think us incapable of such a simple matter as hunting a beast?”

Their meeting with the nomads gave them much food for thought. They took their leave half a bell later once they’d gleaned all they could, and the nomads were clearly only too glad to see them go. Their presence seemed to be even more unwelcome than whatever abnormality had brought them to investigate.

Still, whatever the local people thought was of little consequence compared to the danger they would soon face. Hermes had hesitated at the prospect of having to kill a creature that only acted according to its instincts; now he was wondering if that wouldn’t have been preferable to unraveling whatever odd phenomenon was truly to blame.

As they took their leave, once again crowded together atop his golden horse, Azem sighed gustily. He dislodged his mask with two fingers and rolled his eyes up to the heavens as if he expected to find the answers to all their problems written in the clouds. “And here I was certain we were dealing with a monster. My mistake, I suppose.”

“The report you received,” Hermes said. “What did it say exactly?”

Azem threw his hands into the air; his horse snorted protest, and he quickly lowered his arms again, stroking its neck apologetically. “A joint field team from the Words of Loghrif and Halmarut reported the abnormality.”

Hermes nodded, though Azem did not see. He was familiar with such teams: They visited the farthest reaches of the star on a long rotation, collecting samples, updating the catalog of native flora and fauna, and evaluating the impact and adaptations of recently introduced creations. Naturally, such assignments were only given to senior researchers, those with enough experience that they should easily have been able to handle whatever difficulties they faced.

Azem continued, “When the time came to regroup and return to Amaurot, one of Loghrif’s researchers was missing. They delayed their departure to search for her, but then another one of their number vanished. At that point they decided it was probably wiser to return to the city and report what had happened before anything else untoward happened. So you see, there weren’t any monster sightings exactly, more that it was the most likely explanation for such abrupt disappearances.”

It was a reasonable enough misunderstanding. If one were to set aside the unlikely possibility that the researchers had lost their way in the wilderness, the most logical assumption would be that something had prevented them from returning. Perhaps one person might have met with an accident and found themself unable to signal for help, but the probability of the same happening a second time was so slim as to be nonexistent. On the other hand, if they were to assume the involvement of a formidable foe, any number of people could be easily incapacitated. Experienced or no, most men did not wield the necessary magicks or combat expertise to defend themselves against the most vicious threats to be found on the star.

But that assumption was looking more and more likely to have been made in error. This was not something they could hunt down and overpower with force alone. Instead, they would have to proceed with utmost caution.

For the first time since he had set out with Azem, Hermes found himself at a dismaying loss as to what to do next. This was outside of his expertise and far beyond what he had ever been called to do in Elpis. It seemed that this time they were well and truly in over their heads.

“Do you think it’s due to an aetherial imbalance?” he asked.

Azem did not answer for so long that Hermes thought he might not have heard, but then Meteion leaned around him to stare. She’d dropped cowl and mask at the first opportunity; now she narrowed her eyes at Azem, seeming to look not so much at as through him. “You’re missing them again.”

Azem started suddenly. His hands clenched in the equine’s mane with such force that it tossed its head and neighed in protest. “Ah—sorry! I’m sorry!”

He ran his hand down the creature’s neck to placate it. Without looking back, he said, “Meteion. It’s not nice to air people’s delicate innermost feelings like that.”

“Sorry. You just miss them… very loudly.”

“You would too if you hadn’t seen your best friends in eons. Literal lifetimes.”

Hermes decided to head off this conversation before it derailed even further. “You’re thinking this might be a matter better suited to Emet-Selch’s skills.”

“Well… yes. Or Mitron’s. Maybe even Fandaniel’s. If it’s some sort of previously unobserved phenomenon…” Azem trailed off, shaking his head as if to dislodge his unproductive thoughts. “…It’s difficult to say. We just don’t have enough information to be certain. We can work off the assumption it’s an aetherial irregularity, but that doesn’t explain the disappearances. If it’s an animal, it would have to prey on an amazingly large variety of creatures. If it’s some sort of being that exerts a strong influence on its environment by simply existing… Well. In any case, this will likely prove quite interesting.”

His tone was mild, but more important than his words was what remained unspoken. He didn’t warn Hermes and Meteion of the danger in accompanying him; he did not ask them to stand back and allow him to take point.

“Interesting” was an understatement. This was likely to be a perilous endeavor, but still he was hoping they would offer their assistance of their own will.

And they would offer it, of course they would offer it. There was no other option when lives were at stake.

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Hermes said. “I may not be one of your Convocation colleagues, but for what it’s worth, I was nominated for the seat of Fandaniel. Surely that counts for something.”

Azem turned his head just slightly, allowing Hermes to catch a glimpse of his grin. “For what it’s worth, I like you better than Fandaniel anyway.”

“I’ll help too!” Meteion chirped. “In any way I can!”

“Then I’ll hold you to that, little traveler.”

A glimpse of silver caught Azem’s attention, and he turned, shading his eyes with one hand and peering to the horizon. “Ah—there’s the stream now. Let’s see what there is to see.”

This time, when they landed by the side of the water, Azem dismissed his horse. There was no need for this particular construct if they were not trying to make an impression on the equestrian peoples. Truthfully, Hermes was glad: he much preferred riding constructs large enough to easily seat all three of them.

The stream was narrow but swift and deep, enough so that the current could easily knock one over if caught unawares. Azem knelt on the bank, paying no mind to the mud smearing across his robes, and squinted at the ripples in the water. After a moment he nodded, turned, and began running his hands through the reeds and grasses, reverting them back into aether. Meteion came to stand behind him, watching over his shoulder as he dropped a sphere of unshaped aether into his lap. “What are you doing?”

“Fishing for breakfast,” Azem said. He yanked with both hands, spooling lines of energy out from the gathered aether, and began to lay them over and across each other in a loose, uneven weave.

“Checking the biodiversity of species,” Hermes said, not to be fooled. “The nomads said the fish population has been impacted by something happening upstream. Azem is confirming that.”

For his part, his brow was furrowed in concentration, calling up a magick he’d used countless times. He hadn’t had reason to cast this spell from scratch since he was a junior researcher, just graduated from the Akadaemia and still learning the foundational skills that would serve him throughout his career. He still remembered the theory behind it; he remembered the elegant weave of the spell, the sampling and collection and sorting procedures that had made it nearly ubiquitous across the different fields of study. Without a template crystal, he could not refine the output as he might have in Elpis, but the analysis would suffice for a general overview.

Hermes had cast this spell so many times that, by now, he could perform it even half-asleep. Had performed it half-asleep, in fact, on those occasions when emergencies or poorly-timed shifts had him resuming his duties without sufficient rest. Those half-forgotten memories of a long-ago youth brought a wry smile to his face.

He kept one eye on his survey data and the other on Azem and Meteion. Azem had strung his net across the width of the stream, entangling fish, turtles, frogs, and whatever other creatures called the watercourse home. He was leaning over the water, wondering aloud which fish were likely to be most delicious. Meteion had shed her oversized robes and was wading about, trying to catch the fish Azem asked for and meeting with little success. She was laughing and splashing water in all directions, and Azem was musing on the similarities of that small two-headed fish to the common river trout, and Hermes thought how odd it was that they should know a moment of such peace when they would shortly be striking out to face dangers unknown.

Then the display in front of him flashed, indicating that the preliminary results were ready, and Hermes glanced at the figures displayed. A frown creased his face, and he turned his full attention to the readouts. Just in case, he checked over the spell again and found no errors in its construction. There was no mistaking it.

“Azem? You’ll want to see this.”

Such was the odd quality to his tone that Azem turned, holding a fish by the tail in each hand. “Those are too small to eat,” Hermes added for good measure, and Azem rolled his eyes but dropped the fish anyway.

Azem trundled toward him, boots kicking droplets of muddy water onto Hermes’s robes as he climbed onto the bank, and peered upside-down at the diagnostic panel. Hermes rotated it toward him obligingly, but Azem’s faintly puzzled frown did not fade. “What am I looking at?”

“Aetherial analysis,” Hermes said. “This magick quantifies the total volume of aether and divides it into contributions from the individual aspects. Without a catalyst, the range is fairly short and I can’t pinpoint the exact direction or sources, but the results are interesting regardless.”

He tapped the top of the display, drawing Azem’s attention to the first two rows of diagrams. “Here are the summaries for the aether in the land and air, broken down into the contributions from nonliving and living things.”

“It… er… certainly looks like something.”

Hermes hadn’t been expecting a meaningful contribution. He continued, unperturbed, “You see that the aetherial aspects are relatively well-balanced in the land, with a slight skew toward earth. The same for the air, except that there is a higher density of the wind aspect. Both readings are fairly normal.” He flicked his finger, illuminating the second row of figures. “We would expect the stream to show a similar pattern.”

“It should favor water-aspected aether,” Azem said. His eyes had narrowed, flicking back and forth rapidly between the lines. “And it does. But these numbers here…”

“Yes. The elemental balance is what we would expect, but the total volume of aether is orders of magnitude lower than it should be.”

Azem turned away then, looking back over the glittering waters to where Meteion was splashing amongst the fish. To corporeal sight, it looked as if nothing were amiss, but Hermes’s analysis told a different tale.

“The fish are too small,” Azem muttered.

“Pardon?”

Azem waved a careless hand at the river. “It’s as you said. The fish are small but display none of the mutations we’d usually associate with gross aetheric imbalance. The larger specimens we might expect to travel from further upriver are all but absent. Whatever’s happening above the cliffs is impacting the aquatic life and has been for some time. Now, it could be the work of a predator with a fondness for fish…”

“…But that doesn’t explain the decreased aether levels,” Hermes finished.

Azem sighed and shrugged. “Well, that’s more than we knew before. Thank you. I suppose I have just one more question.”

“What is it?”

Meteion was making her way out of the water now, small wriggling bodies leaping out of her arms as she stumbled along the riverbed. Azem grinned. “Does that mean the fish are still safe to eat?”

They discussed their next move over a breakfast of fish that were small but probably not poisonous. Azem was, for once, the voice of caution: they were facing off against an unknown threat that might have already claimed lives, and it would not do to charge in unprepared.

“Shields at the very least,” Azem said. “Run-of-the-mill traveler’s wards give some small protection, but they’re really too generalized for very dangerous work. A proper shield is taxing to maintain but provides much more peace of mind.”

Hermes deferred to her judgment. There was not much else they could do with the little information they had gleaned. Truthfully, there was not much on this star that could prove dangerous to them were they to transform, but without knowing how long they would be searching, there was no use expending all their strength at the outset.

There was yet one thing left to be said. Hermes turned to Meteion. She cocked her head curiously, and it was with great reluctance that he told her, “I would ask something else of you, if it meets with Azem’s approval. Given the peril we are likely to face, I would charge you with remembering everything we learn and passing it along if need be.”

Azem was already nodding, their expression for once devoid of humor. “That’s a good idea. If the worst should happen, someone needs to spread the warning. Not that I have any doubt in our abilities, of course, just that I have even less doubt in the abilities of the Convocation as a whole.”

He recognized the exact moment Meteion grasped their meaning, when her eyes widened and her face went white. It wasn’t a reaction he had consciously created in her; seeing it now, despite the circumstances, stirred in him an odd feeling of triumph.

“No,” Meteion whispered. Then her expression hardened. Her fists clenched and she stomped one foot, digging her claws into the riverbank mud. “I won’t! Leave you and run away. I won’t.”

“What else is there for you to do?” Azem asked, her words no less cruel for the softness of her voice. “You were never meant for fighting. The best you can do for us is to protect yourself and do as we ask.”

Still Meteion looked unconvinced, her lower lip jutting out in refusal and indignation. “Meteion…” Hermes started, but no persuasive words came to him. He stopped, hesitated, and tried again. “…It is not that we would want you to abandon us. But this matter is bigger than the three of us alone. If it comes down to it, we would see you safe and in a position to help those who come after.”

Azem sighed. She dropped a hand on Meteion’s head, ruffling her hair between her wings. “I am honored that you consider me worthy of your regard. But remember that my duty is first and foremost not to myself, but to all the peoples of this star. It is the same for you. Your duty is to those awaiting your word in the far reaches of the cosmos, sisters and strangers alike. Who can show them the light of hope if not you?”

“If… we fail. If you go away.” Meteion gulped audibly, but she didn’t speak the word hanging over all their heads. “I’ll lose sight of it too. Hope.”

“Hope doesn’t die that easily,” Azem said, and smiled, sudden and sharp. “And neither will we.”

Meteion still did not look satisfied, but at last she bowed her head, acceding to their demands. That seemed to be enough for Azem. She straightened up and turned away, beginning to sketch in the air the form of a mount large enough to seat all three of them.

Hermes knelt before Meteion in Azem’s place. When she looked at him, her gaze was uncertain, and Hermes could not help the surge of affection he felt. As if imparting a great secret, he said, “When I sent your sisters to the stars, I expected that they would be changed by all they saw there. I did not expect the same from you here on Etheirys.”

When the little bird opened her mouth, he shook his head, forestalling her words, and laid his hands atop her shoulders. Softly he said, “Be proud of your devotion and courage, just as I am. But also remember that Azem and I have the wisdom and experience of centuries between us. We do not ask this of you lightly, but neither is there very much that can truly prove a threat to us.”

Meteion fidgeted, rubbing her hands together uncomfortably. She bit her lip, and at last she ventured timidly, “Azem is wise?”

Hermes sighed and winced. “Sometimes. But don’t tell her I said that.”

At that moment, Azem gave a cry of delight, making both of them jump. When Hermes looked over, it was to find that Azem hadn’t been listening. She had finished putting together the construct that would carry them.

Hermes squinted at it suspiciously. It… seemed to be a normal bed.

Azem caught his expression and grinned. She picked up the pillow and took a seat, back against the headboard, legs stretched out atop the mattress. “Let’s go,” she said simply.

Hermes gave Meteion a brief glance. She did not look back at him, instead scrambling to sit atop the bed, and he shook his head and followed.

Hermes should not have been surprised when the bed took to the air. They flew east, the bottom of the bedframe just skimming the top of the grass, following the line of the river to where it vanished beneath the cliff walls. Azem was not familiar enough with the area to guess at the river’s source, but that was of no matter: the disturbance they were looking for was major enough that they would likely have no trouble locating it from a distance.

“Of course, we’d know for sure if there was a soulseer with us,” Azem murmured. Her tone was wistful and sounded as if she were speaking to herself. Hermes made no answer.

They flew for so long that Hermes’s neck grew sore and stiff with tension. Meteion sat silent and unhappy beside him, saying not a word. Above the cliffs, the endless dark plains gave way to low-lying brush and dry grass, the few trees brown and bare of leaves in the dead of winter. As they continued on, leaving the grasslands far in the distance behind them, Meteion began to fidget restlessly. Hermes would have thought it was due to her lingering unhappiness at being told to flee, save that her covert glances were directed solely at Azem.

For her part, Azem stared down at the ground, frowning. Whatever thoughts occupied her mind, she did not give them voice. At last Hermes could bear the silence no longer. “What is it?”

She started at the sound of his voice and shot him a guilty look. At a silent command, the bed drifted to a stop. “Ah. Hermes, the analysis magick you used before. Could you call it up again?”

He dipped his head. “I could, but it takes some time to sample and sort out the surrounding aether. It’s not much good if we’re in motion. What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm.” Azem glanced down at the vegetation below and grimaced. “…I haven’t seen any fauna about. Have you?”

Hermes shook his head. To be fair, he’d been searching for signs of trouble and had paid little mind to the presence of absence of small animals. Now that Azem mentioned it, however, the only sign of movement on the ground was the rustling of the grass in the breeze.

“And the flora looks dry and dead,” she muttered. “It might just be the season, but… Well. What I wouldn’t give to have someone with strong aethersight right now.”

“I’ll go look around!” Meteion offered. A protest rose to Hermes’s lips, but she was already looking at him, a stubborn set to her jaw. “The shields you set. They’re still fine, right? So it’s safe for me to go!”

There would be no arguing her down. Her wings were quivering and her arms spread, preparing for her transformation. Azem had reached the same conclusion; she said only, “Come back if you feel something is amiss.”

Meteion’s head bobbed in swift acknowledgement. In the next breath, she had leapt from the side of the bed and taken to the air. They watched her depart, winging her way swiftly south, and Hermes could only wish her all the best as she went. As the blue of her feathers blended with the winter sky, Hermes sighed. “…She’s upset with me.”

“She doesn’t like the thought of leaving us or of being left behind,” Azem said. “An understandable sentiment.”

“It’s for her own good,” Hermes protested. “She must know that.”

“She’s entered her rebellious phase.”

Hermes narrowed his eyes, swiveling to look at her suspiciously. “…You’re enjoying this.”

Azem shrugged, fighting to maintain a straight face. “It’s always a joy to watch children come into their own. To the point where they develop their own headstrong personalities and begin to question the wisdom of their elders.”

Then, while Hermes was still trying to form a retort, she moved on. “Why don’t you conduct some of those measurements while we’re waiting on her return? The more information the better, I say.”

There was no reason not to comply. Once again Hermes called up the analysis spell. This time it was more of an effort weaving together the magick. They were far enough above the earth that he could not reach down to the plants to gather aether, and he was forced to draw from his own stores.

By the time the visual display materialized before him, Azem had already lost interest and returned to scanning the ground for any signs of animal life. Hermes settled back for a long wait as the surrounding aether was sampled, but almost as soon as he looked away, his attention was caught by a flash in the corner of his eye. When he looked over, the spell was in the process of compiling the final results. Frowning, he set it to restart the process, only for the same to happen seconds later. This time he allowed the finalization to proceed, and not one minute later the previous readouts were confirmed.

“That’s a strange face you’re making,” Azem said. “What is it?”

In answer, Hermes rotated the panel with one finger. Azem looked at it with clear incomprehension. “Well. Those are certainly numbers.”

He would not allow himself to grow impatient. “You remember the measurements I collected down on the plains, how the river was strikingly aether-poor in comparison to the land and the air. The readouts I’m getting now are lower still.”

Azem tilted her head, encouraging him to get to the point. Hermes gestured at their surroundings with one expansive wave of his arm. “There is nothing left alive, in the air or on the ground.”

Azem did not react immediately, so unexpected was that statement. Her brows knitted; she raised a hand halfway to her face, then lowered it again. She turned away completely, placing both hands on the headboard and peering over the edge, as if the new perspective would give her more insight into what they faced. As she did, Hermes clenched his fist, dispelling the analysis routine, and spoke to her back. “There’s more. Even in areas devoid of life, some amount of ambient aether lingers, carried along on the currents. But there’s almost no aether remaining at all. The currents have gone still.”

“There’s no chance it’s a natural phenomenon.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Hermes confirmed it nonetheless. Never in their combined experience had they encountered anything like this.

Hermes waited, but whatever Azem saw from her refreshed perspective, it did not seem there was anything of note. When she settled back on her knees and bowed her head, lapsing into her thoughts, he prompted, “Will you call Emet-Selch? Matters of unusual aetherial activity fall within his domain.”

That at least incited a reaction. Azem glanced back at him just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of her mortified expression. “Ah. I. Er.”

He continued to press, “The most I can do with this spell is confirm the aspects and quantities of nearby aether. Without a skilled soulseer, we’re unable to trace its movement and determine where it’s gone.”

Azem fidgeted, clearly growing more and more uncomfortable with each word Hermes spoke. Hermes couldn’t say he personally wanted to see the Keeper of the Underworld again, especially given the circumstances of their last meeting, but there was no doubt his assistance would be invaluable. This was a perilous situation. Having a powerful mage at their backs would only be to their advantage.

Still, Azem waffled for several seconds more before at last shaking her head. “…Putting aside the aether scarcity, there’s still the matter of the missing people. We’ve seen nothing that accounts for their sudden disappearance. We’re still missing several pieces of the puzzle, and I’d rather have a fuller picture before we decide how to proceed.”

She sounded unconvinced by her own words. Over the last ten moons, Hermes had grown accustomed to reading between the lines to what Azem truly meant. Now her hesitance was as clear to him as the pale winter sun in the sky. “Are you just delaying your reunion?”

Azem jumped. The wince that flashed across her face betrayed her thoughts even before she spluttered, “Nonsense. I can think of nothing else I’d like more than the chance to see Emet-Selch again.”

“Even unsure how he’ll greet you?” Hermes persisted.

Azem winced. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the sky, hunting for any sort of diversion; when she found it, she straightened up and cried in an overloud voice, “Ah, Meteion’s returned!”

Hermes did not look away. He stared at Azem, maintaining his skeptical expression, until the sound of wingbeats alerted him to the fact that she had been telling the truth. Only then did he turn to greet the little bird.

He did not miss Azem’s small sigh of relief.

Meteion alighted atop one of the bedposts, folding her wings against her body. She cocked her head, eyes alight with excitement. If she noticed the odd atmosphere between them, she did not speak of it. “I found something! To the, um. The south!”

“One moment,” Hermes said. He reached out, stroking Meteion’s back with one finger and imbuing it with his aether. “Your shields are eroding already.”

“So quickly?” Azem murmured. She clutched the pillow against her chest, resting her chin atop it as she thought. “Normally these shields would stand up to all but a direct attack. It’s the first I’ve encountered such a strong corrosive effect. We’ll have to be on our guard.”

Meteion had nothing to contribute, but she quivered under his touch. When Hermes lifted his finger away, she spread her wings and hopped onto his hand.

“The south!” she repeated. “There’s something strange. Like a big rock. Except square and glowing and there are words, except not words….” Meteion whistled, frustrated by her inability to express what she’d seen. “Anyway! It’s strange.”

“South it is,” Azem said. She turned the head of the bed in the direction from which Meteion had come and they set off swiftly.

Hermes gathered Meteion between his hands and sat back. “Stay close for now,” he murmured to her, just loud enough to be heard over the wind of their passing. “Best that we stay together until we determine the cause of this.”

Her head bobbed in an approximation of a nod, and they settled down to wait. On occasion Meteion chirped directions and Azem adjusted their course accordingly. After the first few minutes she no longer needed Meteion’s guidance: there was a soft persistent light among the dead grass in the distance, one that did not flicker or fade as they drew closer.

Though Hermes craned to look, drinking in every detail of the object as they approached, Meteion stayed obediently huddled within his hands. It was an obelisk about as tall as a man, once constructed of black stone before intricate magicks were woven through and around it. Now, tight golden script covered every ilm of its surface, spiraling and twisting up the monument in words unreadable from the air. As soon as they had a good view, Azem tapped the bed’s headboard, and they came to a stop looking over at the oddity.

“How close did you fly?” Hermes asked Meteion, transferring her to his shoulder to leave his hands free.

“No closer than this,” she said. “I thought… it was enough to tell you. And you would be worried if I took risks.”

“You thought right,” Azem said briskly.

With a touch and a whispered word, her flying bed began to descend, taking them to a landing a few minutes’ walk away from the obelisk. Hermes could not fault her caution in this matter. He took the opportunity to strengthen their shields again, Meteion trembling at the touch of the magick soaking into her feathers. When they touched down, Azem dismissed their mount with an absent wave, her attention still fully focused on the distant structure.

“Sense anything?” she asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Hermes reported.

“Should we feel something?” Meteion asked.

Azem shrugged one shoulder, indicating that she was equally at a loss. “Well, we won’t find anything just standing around here.”

She set off without further discussion. Hermes hesitated, debating if Meteion would listen if he asked her to stay well away. She nipped at his ear as if predicting his words, and he sighed and followed Azem.

Once on the ground, it was painfully obvious that nothing still lived. Hermes’s feet crunched through dried grass with every step. He gave the trees a wide berth: Though he knew logically that rot could not set in when fungus could not grow, still he was leery of approaching too closely, as if fearing the trunks might snap in two from the force of the wind alone.

He knew the heaviness in his lungs was merely a figment of his imagination. He could not truly feel the lack of aether in the air, but it was such a perversion of the natural order that it seemed he should be able to sense it. His breath came quicker and quicker in the frosty air, his eyes darting to and fro as he tried to locate any potential threats. More than once he stumbled, so lost in staring around that he paid no attention to the ground beneath his feet. He saw nothing. He should see something.

“Hermes,” Meteion whispered in his ear. “Calm down.”

Even she could not hide the nervousness in her voice. Still, her words had the desired effect. Though fear still prickled down the back of his neck as he walked, he did not allow it to consume him. He needed to stay calm or Meteion too would panic.

In contrast to the wary eye he kept on their surroundings, Azem’s focus was entirely on the obelisk. Her strides were swift and sure. The longer they walked, the more she sped up, till she was crossing the distance at a ground-eating lope, not noticing that she was leaving her companions behind. Still, it was impossible to lose sight of her amidst the sparse foliage. She pushed past a bush, paying no mind to how it snapped and broke apart at her touch, and stopped right before the obelisk.

Hermes drew in a sharp breath, but Azem had the sense not to touch it and seemed to be suffering no ill effects from its proximity. She stood perfectly still, hands on her hips, staring at the device with narrowed eyes. Even when Hermes caught up and came to stand beside her, she did not look at him.

“Mage shorthand,” she said, and Hermes joined her in looking at the lines of flowing golden script laid across on the jet-black surface. “Can you read it?”

“Not very well,” he admitted. Those who devoted their lives to the development of concepts often had little time or interest to spare for more abstract applications of magick. Many runes were also extremely specialized in application, specific to an esoteric field of research or even an individual mage. They had no chance of deciphering the purpose of the construct without the aid of someone who had spent decades on this kind of study.

“Shame. I was always something of a poor student. I can only understand the purpose of one or two of them.” Azem rocked back on her heels, frowning. “If Emet-Selch were here, perhaps…”

“You could call him,” Meteion said, saving Hermes the trouble of restarting that argument.

Instead of answering, Azem began to circle the obelisk, peering up at the words above her eye level as if that would allow her to make sense of them. Hermes sighed. Her stubbornness really would be the end of her.

Even if Azem insisted they go at this alone, at least he had no shortage of ideas on how to approach the problem. Again Hermes had to draw from his own aether stores to fuel his analysis. As he began to weave the structure of the spell in his mind, he half-turned his head toward Meteion, who was watching the proceedings with great interest.

“Are you all right?” he murmured.

“I’m okay,” she said. There was nothing in her voice or manner that indicated dishonesty, and he took her at her word. “Hermes, what’s all this?”

“I don’t know. It’s nothing I’ve seen before.”

“Me neither,” Azem called. She circled back around from her circuit of the obelisk, all of her attention on the curiosity. “It’s manmade, obviously. But by who and for what purpose…”

She stopped, and tilted her head, squinting at one of the few runes she recognized. A moment later she gave it up as a lost cause. “Isn’t your analysis done yet?”

“Of course not. I’d have told you if so,” Hermes retorted. Still, at the reminder, he turned his attention back to his spell. It had not even taken form before him. Hermes frowned, pouring more aether into the casting, only to have it slip away from him like water through a cracked urn.

Not so much as a flicker of his spell appeared in the air. Rather than continuing the attempt, Hermes abandoned his efforts as futile. There was something about all this that just didn’t sit right with him. “Azem—”

“Ah, I know this one!”

He was just in time to see her lean closer to the obelisk, her lips pursed and eyes squinted in concentration. She reached a hand out to its surface, fingers outstretched to trace the rune whose purpose she recognized.

Hermes reacted without thinking. He lunged forward so abruptly that Meteion gave a trill of surprise and hopped from his shoulder. He slapped Azem’s hand away before she could touch the nearest rune, eliciting an indignant yelp.

The yelp soon turned to a cry of real surprise. As he moved, his hand brushed, just for a moment, against the surprisingly warm stone of the obelisk.

His shields broke. The urn shattered. All of the energy that constituted his life and soul poured forth from him in an uncontrolled torrent. Hermes could not move, could not scream; he did not have time for so much as a single thought before his consciousness evaporated.

Chapter Text

“Hermes! Hermes!”

The stillness of the air was shattered by Meteion’s high-pitched scream. Azem swore and stumbled back; then, when Hermes remained unresponsive, he swore again, his choice of invectives growing more unusual and more colorful. If Hermes had heard, he would have scolded the Traveler for using such language in front of Meteion.

Not that Meteion was listening. Not that Hermes was in any state to hear.

He lay prone and insensible, a crumpled puppet with strings cut, and made no response no matter how they shouted. Within moments, Meteion had worked herself into a fluttering panic, not at all helped by the echo of Azem’s distress. She dove for him, but before she could reach him—before she could approach within a yalm of him—Azem’s hand shot into her path, forcing her to flap frantically and bank to avoid a collision.

“Don’t touch him,” Azem snapped, his tone unusually severe.

Meteion hovered where she was, torn with indecision. “Azem, there’s something wrong with Hermes!”

“Yes, I can see that, but there’s also something wrong in general, and if we ignore one in favor of the other, then there will be many things wrong with all of us.” His words were rushed and bordered on the nonsensical, but Azem seemed not to notice. He stared down at Hermes, pale yellow eyes narrowed, as if with sufficient focus he would be able to discern what was wrong with their friend. “The first order of business is to calm down. It won’t do us any good to lose our heads. The second order of business—”

“Emmerololth,” Meteion interrupted, completely ignoring the first order of business. “Emmerololth would know. You can summon them.”

“Emmerololth has never in their thrice-blasted life answered my summons, and I don’t think that’s about to change now,” Azem snarled. “Besides which, I find myself reluctant to perform a great work of magick in a place antithetical to it. Your shields are worn out again, did you realize?”

She hadn’t, but Azem did not know how to recognize her dismay as a bird. “But—”

“But nothing. Hermes’s shields are completely gone. Yours are in hardly better shape. You come no closer. Hermes would never forgive me if I allowed you to come to harm.”

Meteion flew another unhappy little loop in the air, but in the end she obeyed. Azem knelt next to Hermes, inspecting him as closely as he could without touching him. He shot several suspicious glances at the obelisk; then in the end he straightened up. “Well. The good news is that he’s still breathing.”

“But you don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Meteion said.

Azem lifted a hand and tilted a finger at the obelisk, as if afraid to approach it too closely. “If I had to hazard a guess—completely off-the-wall, mind you—I would think it has something to do with that. Did you see if he touched it?”

“No. But.”

“But?”

“His spell. The one you asked him for. He didn’t use it. I think he was having trouble.” At last Meteion landed on the ground, tilting her head. “What do we do?”

“You do nothing.” Meteion’s beak opened, but Azem shook his head, forestalling her protests. “No. Whatever happens, your shields won’t last much longer without renewing, and I hesitate to do so here. As for me, I do something monumentally stupid.”

“What?” Meteion asked, but she needn’t have asked: Already Azem was moving. Standing as far from the obelisk as he could, he seized two fistfuls of Hermes’s robes and yanked, all in one smooth movement. Immediately he let go and quickly backed away, but the result was rather anticlimactic: Hermes’s unconscious body only slid several ilms across the ground.

“Don’t drag Hermes around like that,” Meteion said petulantly.

“I’m well enough, thanks for asking,” Azem said dryly. “It seems whatever’s wrong with him isn’t contagious.”

So saying, he reached down and lifted Hermes properly. Under normal circumstances, Hermes might have considered this the height of humiliation; now, he did not so much as twitch as Azem slung his tall form over his shoulders.

“And now we run,” Azem said grimly. “As far and as fast as we can, until we’ve left behind this evil place.”

He set off at an easy run that could be maintained for malms and bells on end. Meteion flew faster, fueled by worry and impatience. She darted ahead in the direction from which they had come; she circled back once she was almost out of sight, ensuring that nothing more had happened; then she repeated the cycle. Each time, Azem raised his head and lifted one hand, signaling to her that there had been no change.

At last, when Meteion winged her way back once more, Azem instead beckoned her to join them. She took a cautious perch on the branch of a dead tree, careful that it would not collapse even under her slight weight, and ruffled her feathers. “Now what?”

Azem sighed heavily. His breathing was slightly ragged, his shoulders slumped. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. They had left the rabbit-loving town just before night fell and arrived on the Plains shortly before dawn. After that they had been traveling for bells, to the local peoples, the river, and now up on the cliffsides. It was approaching one full, hectic day since last they’d slept.

No wonder Hermes was still unconscious. Azem almost envied him.

He laid Hermes flat and bent over him. To Azem’s inexpert eye, there had been no change, not for the better nor for the worse. Now that they’d gained some distance from the probable cause, Azem set about conducting a more thorough examination.

Naturally, that meant shouting in his ear. “Hermes, wake up!”

The sudden scream was so loud that it startled Meteion into flight. Hers was the only sign of movement to be had, both from Hermes and from their surroundings. Frowning, Azem checked his pulse, peered beneath his eyelids, and prodded him in the cheek, all while muttering vague threats about eating every last apple in all of Etheirys. At the end of it he rocked back on his heels, still crouching by Hermes’s side, and shook his head. “Well, he seems perfectly healthy, except for the part where he won’t wake up.”

“Then, Emmerololth…” Meteion started hopefully.

“We don’t have time for Emmerololth to come, and they would request a more detailed symptom list than ‘touched something he probably shouldn’t have and knocked himself out.’” Azem brushed a strand of hair from his face absently. “Come here, Meteion.”

She fluttered down curiously. When she alighted on the ground next to him, he placed one finger atop her head. As Azem’s aether washed over her, she shivered, shaking her feathers as if shedding droplets of water.

“Difficult but not impossible,” he muttered. “I suppose I’ve run out of excuses.”

“What excuses?”

Azem did not answer. He said, low and urgent, “Remember, I will allow no one to hurt you. No one. Just stay close to me.”

Meteion tilted her head. In lieu of answering, Azem drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was harder than he remembered to draw forth power for this his most signature of magicks, an effort that could not fully be explained by the moons that had elapsed since he had last cast it. Even so, he pushed on with grim determination. As the familiar tracery of golden lines came to life across the dried earth, as the soft hum of magick filled his ears and his aether warmed the wintry air, he did something he never had before while casting this spell: he prayed.

Please answer. Please.

Meteion hopped onto his knee, staring astonished at the magical array around them. Hermes did not move.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Azem did not answer, in case he was wrong.

Then two of the circles flared bright white, and all the breath rushed from him. A smile rose to his face, just for a moment, before he mastered his expression once more. The bright light faded, leaving behind the figures of two men staring down at them, one with clear concern and the other scowling as if to hide his worry.

Before the spell had dissipated, Emet-Selch was already speaking, his voice taut with agitation. “And just what have you gotten yourself—”

He stopped abruptly, staring. He had noticed Hermes.

Emet-Selch’s lips pressed together tightly. Though his eyes couldn’t be seen, the permanent glare of his mask was probably a good approximation of the look he was directing at the former Chief Overseer of Elpis.

It was Hythlodaeus who broke the silence. He brought a hand to rest on his chin, staring down at the body on the ground. “How unexpected,” he murmured, though his tone implied complete disinterest. “What killed him?”

“He’s not dead!” Meteion insisted in a piercing trill. “He’s alive! Right, Azem? He’s still alive?”

Azem frowned down at Hermes, confirming that fact hadn’t changed in the handful of seconds since the summoning. “He’s breathing.”

This time, when Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch looked at each other, Emet-Selch’s frown was puzzled rather than disapproving. Hythlodaeus crossed the distance between them, crouching down beside Azem and peering closely at Hermes. The corners of his lips curled up in a smile completely inappropriate for their situation. “Well, now. That is interesting. You’re right; he yet lives, despite the clear absence of a soul.”

Azem’s mouth dropped open. Emet-Selch snorted softly and shook his head. Then he lifted his gaze and turned in a slow circle, surveying their barren surroundings. When he was facing them once, he spoke. His voice was grave, devoid of anger or levity.

“Tell us exactly what happened. To Hermes, and to this place.”

Azem hesitated. He chewed at his lip as he collected his thoughts; then, slowly, he began.

Azem had gotten no further than their arrival atop the cliffs before Emet-Selch took to pacing. The Third Seat’s strides grew longer and faster the more he heard. By the time her explanation arrived at the present time, he was nearly running. His face was so contorted with frustration it was a wonder his mask didn’t fall loose.

“You saw a device of a clearly magical nature that you didn’t recognize and you tried to touch it,” he summarized. Hythlodaeus shook his head and pressed his fingertips to the temples of his mask.

“There were only so many ways to discern its function,” Azem said, altogether unconvincingly. “I thought I recognized the purpose of some of the runes—”

Emet-Selch whirled on her so quickly that she flinched back. “And so you tried to touch it? What have we told you about touching unknown objects? Next you’ll tell me you were going to lick it!”

“I know better than to lick things I don’t recognize!” Azem protested. “I’ve only been poisoned twice!”

Emet-Selch snarled. The set of Hythlodaeus’s mouth was unamused.

Azem swallowed thickly and looked down. “…A joke. That was a joke.”

“Now’s not the time for jokes,” Meteion said, tapping her beak against Azem’s knee.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Hythlodaeus reached up and doffed his mask. His sigh escaped him in a cloud of mist, but he seemed not to notice the cold.

“Why?” he asked quietly. There were so many layers to his question that Azem did not know which to answer first. Hythlodaeus shook his head, and it was with disappointment sharp enough to cut that he said, “You should have called us the moment you knew there was an aetherial abnormality.”

“I...”

She looked at Hermes, who was still thoroughly unconscious; she looked at Meteion, but the bird only canted her head, as if she too wanted to know. At last, finding herself without allies, Azem muttered in Hermes’s general direction, “...I didn’t want to.”

Emet-Selch lifted his arms in a dramatic, world-weary shrug. “Of course you didn’t. For once in your life, at the worst possible moment, you chose to exercise restraint.”

Hythlodaeus said nothing, but he turned and looked at Emet-Selch over his shoulder. That was enough to make his thoughts clear. Emet-Selch was the one to capitulate first; scowling, he clicked his tongue and averted his gaze.

Azem did not notice. She laced her fingers together and settled them in her lap, giving no further explanation. After half a minute of silence, Hythlodaeus sighed and shook his head, turning back to stare unseeing at Hermes with disappointment clear in his expression. Emet-Selch spun on his heel and stalked away, defeat and frustration dogging his every step.

It was his retreat that pushed Azem to speak at last. In a small voice, so quiet they would not have heard had they not been straining to hear even now, she admitted, “I was afraid you might not answer me.”

“You were afraid—” Emet-Selch began indignantly.

“I angered you the last time we met.” Azem dropped one finger atop Meteion’s back, stroking her in quick, anxious movements. “I did what I felt was necessary for the star and for the two who needed me. I ignored what you had to say.”

The twist to her lips was grim. She set her hand down on the ground, digging her fingers through the dirt and ripping out the withered remains of long-dead flowers.

“I still do not think my decision was mistaken,” she said softly.

“It wasn’t,” Meteion said, just as softly.

“But I made you justifiably angry. I didn’t know if I’d managed to ruin everything.” She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly at the ground. “I might have upset you to the point where you’d chosen to wash your hands of me. Or you might answer only to take me to task; or you would take advantage and enforce the Convocation’s will and your own. I was afraid I would turn to you for help, and in response you would turn your backs on me.”

Her words fell heavy in a silence broken only by the lonely whisper of the wind.

At last Emet-Selch’s shoulders slumped. His lips were twisted with some incomprehensible emotion. With slow, reluctant steps, he approached and dropped heavily to his knees beside Hythlodaeus. When he lowered his mask—

Whatever Azem had expected, it was not the gentleness of his expression.

“Do not ever hesitate to call us,” Emet-Selch ordered, quietly and fervently. “Ever. No matter what has happened between us, we will always come. We will do nothing to make you regret it.”

“We can imagine nothing worse than you meeting some horrible fate in our absence,” Hythlodaeus said, with a smile that made her heart ache.

Azem bit her lip and shook her head. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too,” Hythlodaeus murmured. “Dearest, most beloved Azem.”

“I really, really missed you.”

“Of course you did,” Emet-Selch said, though even he could not quite suppress his smile. “You always insist on telling us upon your return.”

Azem scrubbed her wrist over her eyes in a movement that completely failed at subtlety; then she scrambled forward on hands and knees and threw her arms around their necks before they could react. Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus collided painfully, the former with an exclamation of surprise and the latter with a breathless laugh, but Azem paid them no mind. She dropped her face to Hythlodaeus’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. After the moment of surprise passed, Hythlodaeus curled an arm around her, resting his hand between her shoulderblades. “Next time, think through the consequences properly before you decide to go gallivanting across the star for a year.”

“Honestly,” Emet-Selch grumbled. His fingertips pressed against on the small of her back, as if reluctant to offer further contact. “I’m surprised you held out for this long.”

(Unnoticed to the three of them, Meteion gave a small, contented sigh.)

“We were worried,” Hythlodaeus confessed. “I of course have the utmost faith in you, but Emet-Selch truly was at wits’ end. The deeper into his cups he got, the more he would grouse how you couldn’t even be bothered to let us know you were yet among the living—”

“Hythlodaeus.”

Azem laughed, then, a laugh that might have ended on a sob. She straightened up, dropping a kiss on Emet-Selch’s cheek. The reddening of his face that followed was completely incidental.

Emet-Selch coughed, quickly schooling his expression back into a scowl. “Do not think we have forgiven you. We will discuss your actions at length later. Right now, there are more pressing matters.”

Meteion hopped up and down, trying to regain their attention. “Hermes.”

Reluctantly Hythlodaeus sat back, pulling free from Azem’s hold. “That’s right. First, I think, we should set some of those shields. Emet-Selch, if you would?”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes, but still he raised his fingers and snapped. His aether wove over and through Azem’s with the ease of long practice, filling in the gaps to create a near-impenetrable barrier.

As he worked, Hythlodaeus stood. He held out a hand to Azem; she took it and he drew her to her feet, though neither showed an inclination to let go.

“As Hermes said, there is nothing alive for malms around. The ambient aether is almost completely gone. On the bright side, it’s obvious enough where it’s all gathered.”

Hythlodaeus paused for dramatic effect. Silently he extended his arm and pointed one long finger to the south.

Azem frowned, the gears turning slowly in her head. “But that’s…”

“Yes. That structure seems to be an aether collection device. If I had to hazard a guess, that is where Hermes’s soul has gone.”

With all precautions taken, and with no other ideas on how to proceed, they made their way back to the obelisk. By unspoken agreement, Azem carried Hermes once again, Meteion riding on his other shoulder. Though Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch were willing to assist in resolving this matter, they did nothing to hide their distaste for Hermes. Even so, Azem’s gaze kept straying to the two he had summoned, and his smile would not fade.

As they walked, Meteion would break into cheerful song, only to stop abruptly several seconds later. The fourth time this happened, Azem turned his head to speak to her. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

He kept his voice low. If Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus overheard from where they were walking ahead, neither turned to listen.

Meteion lowered her head, ashamed. “It’s because you’re in a good mood.”

“Naturally. They’re the people I love best on the whole star.”

“You’re… really happy. But you’re worried too.” Meteion paused, mulling over the truth of that, and then nodded as she confirmed her assessment. “How is that?”

Azem chuckled. He reached up, running the tip of his finger down her breastbone. “Men are complex creatures, little traveler. We’re capable of feeling many things at once. I’m happy to see them, and worried about Hermes, and relieved because everything will be all right now.”

“Everything will be… all right?”

“Of course. With the three of us together, there is nothing on this star that can stop us.”

Hythlodaeus glanced over his shoulder then. The sly curve to his lips made Azem wonder if he really had been eavesdropping. “That’s your obelisk now, isn’t it?” he called, pointing to the distinctive golden glow now visible in the distance. “Come. There’s no point in tarrying.”

Not too long afterward, they stood before the structure once again. Azem lowered Hermes gently to the grass, but there was no change in his condition, and he did not move or make a sound. Hythlodaeus’s gaze flicked across the obelisk, eyes narrowed and unfocused in the way of one who was concentrating hard on the aetherial plane. “I think…” he began with unusual hesitance, and then stopped.

Azem pounced on his words. “You think? You think what, exactly, Hythlodaeus?”

“…Ah. Only that this must have been constructed moons ago to have collected so much aether.”

Emet-Selch squinted at the runes on the structure’s surface, frown deepening. He approached the obelisk with great caution, first lifting a hand and tracing shapes in the air, then kneeling down and clicking his tongue at what he saw. At last he said, voice clipped, “Explain to us again why you thought it was a good idea to touch this.”

“I didn’t say it was a good idea. It was the only idea I had,” Azem said, as if that was supposed to help matters.

Hythlodaeus groaned. He’d taken to circling the obelisk, studying its construction and the flow of its magick. “How did you ever survive traveling alone?”

“The eternal question, really,” Emet-Selch said, slanting a disapproving glance at Azem.

“Normally I’m fine!” he protested. “I’m more cautious when I don’t have someone I can trust at my back. And, I would remind you, that someone I can trust is currently missing his soul, so if we could find it and put it back where it belongs, that would be much appreciated.”

Hythlodaeus squinted and finally shook his head. “There’s so much concentrated aether that locating an individual soul is a difficult proposition.” He flicked a finger toward the tip of the obelisk. “That seems to be the collection point; the aetherial density is thinnest there. There are transport lines underground, but they’re dormant and I can’t tell where they lead. I wonder…” He fell silent, keeping his musings to himself.

“Any way of disabling it?” Azem asked. “Even putting aside Hermes—”

Meteion squeaked.

“—putting aside Hermes, if this really is pulling aether from the land around it, we can’t just leave it be. That’s why I was trying to remember those runes. I thought I saw one for ‘transport’—”

Emet-Selch interrupted, his voice dripping sarcasm, “And ‘collect,’ and ‘entrap,’ and all sorts of others that should have told you that it is absolutely not something you should be touching.”

“All right! I’m sorry! I’ve learned my lesson. No more touching mysterious magical structures without consulting you first.”

Azem paused.

“…Or licking.”

Hythlodaeus did not quite manage to stifle his snort. Emet-Selch growled, turning his back pointedly on Azem. “We’ll resume your education on magical theory on your return.”

“Oh, please! No one needs to memorize thousands of esoteric symbols! Isn’t it enough to know the ones for ‘danger’ and ‘explosion’ and ‘call Emet-Selch right now’—”

“If you’re going to insist on prodding everything you see, then I am going to insist you know exactly what you are in for.”

Hythlodaeus suddenly crouched down, his gaze focused on a point near the obelisk’s base. “Ah. Found you.” He raised a hand, drawing their attention. “Emet-Selch, do you see him?”

Emet-Selch joined him, eyes glowing briefly as he focused on the point Hythlodaeus indicated. After a moment’s study, he frowned and rocked back on his heels. “It might be him. I don’t recall the color of his soul well enough to be sure.”

“But it’s also the only soul I’ve seen,” countered Hythlodaeus. “Do you think you can retrieve it?”

If his intention was to goad Emet-Selch into action, he succeeded beautifully. Emet-Selch shot him a withering look. Without a word, he stood, thrusting out his hand and slamming his palm against a rune at chest height.

Azem’s cry of warning came too late, but Emet-Selch did not move, and his scowl did not falter. The rune flashed bright for a moment before falling dark. With his free hand, Emet-Selch beckoned imperiously, then flicked his fingers at the body prone on the ground.

The effect was immediate. Hermes choked, shuddered, and opened his eyes.

“Hermes!” Meteion squeaked. She flew from Azem’s shoulder to his side. A moment later, a blue-haired girl was kneeling beside Hermes, tangling her hands in his robes. “You’re awake!”

Azem planted both hands on his hips, looking down at Hermes with a broad grin. “Are you all right? Honestly, how could you be so careless?”

Hermes still looked dazed. His eyes were unfocused, staring at the sky above, but he still had enough of his wits about him to retort, “You are the last person I want to hear that from.”

Azem rocked back on his heels, placing one hand over his chest in an expression of exaggerated hurt. “Insults? Really? I take that to mean you’re fine. Can you stand? Soul not rattling around too loose in there?”

With a clear effort, Hermes pushed himself to sit up. He clutched at his head, grimacing, and made it no further; Meteion wobbled for a moment and planted both hands atop his thigh for balance. Through gritted teeth, he said, “What happened?”

“You did something very foolish in an attempt to save an even greater fool,” Emet-Selch said shortly. Hermes froze, his reaction that of a small animal trying to avoid the notice of a predator. “Enough of that. Azem, come here.”

Azem hesitated, staring down at Hermes. Hermes turned his head fractionally, just enough to catch sight of Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus; then his brows drew together and he sighed as if deeply pained. After eyeing him with concern for a moment more, Azem stepped away and moved to Emet-Selch’s side.

Emet-Selch indicated the rune he had touched with a dismissive jerk of his chin. “’Stasis.’ As you would know had you attended to anything I’ve tried to drill into that thick head of yours. The device’s operations have ceased. For now it poses no threat.”

“For now?” Azem repeated. “I’d say it’s been plenty of threat in the past and could still be plenty of threat in the future. Why don’t we, er… break it? Overload it with aether? Press the self-destruct rune?”

“Most architects don’t incorporate a self-destruct rune into their creations,” Hythlodaeus said, somehow managing to maintain a straight face. “Generally it’s considered something of a design flaw.”

“All uniquely terrible suggestions,” Emet-Selch said calmly. “Assuming we do as you suggest, you would not appreciate the resultant explosion of aether. It would obliterate all life for half a malm around.”

He paused and amended, “If there was any life remaining other than yours. No, the hoarded aether must be slowly dispersed before we can destroy the collection devices. That is no trivial matter.”

“There should be a control mechanism near the point of the obelisk,” Hythlodaeus said. Emet-Selch shot him a sharp glance, to which he showed no reaction. “That’s where I would put it, where the aether is thinnest. Now, it could simply be because denser aether sinks to the bottom—”

A meaningful glance at Hermes, who was ill-inclined to offer an opinion one way or another.

“—but that would be the most logical place to incorporate a release valve.”

Emet-Selch watched him suspiciously for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in clearly conveyed skepticism, but Hythlodaeus offered no further explanation. At last he gave a dissatisfied snort and turned to search the device. Almost immediately his expression darkened, and he pointed one accusing finger at a symbol just below the tip of the obelisk. “This one. Do you know it, Azem?”

Azem squinted and tilted his head. “…‘Squid’?”

“No. Why would there be a rune for ‘squid’?”

“I assume even mages get hungry,” Azem said blankly. “Also, it looks like a squid.”

“They’re not pictographs—” Emet-Selch began, only to trail off into an aggravated sigh. “‘Reversal.’ An elegant operation to turn back the function of a spell. It’s currently inactive.”

He pressed his finger to the darkened rune, imparting to it just the slightest touch of magick. The light of his aether shone faintly before it disappeared into the blackness of the obelisk. They watched and waited with bated breath, but there was no other obvious effect, not even a flicker in the golden glow of the other runes.

It was Meteion who stated the obvious. “Nothing’s… happening.”

“No, it’s working,” Hythlodaeus said. His eyes were focused on the tip of the obelisk, as were Emet-Selch’s. “The aetherial release is quite slow, likely matching the initial collection procedures. That’s probably for the best.”

“You knew this would happen,” Emet-Selch said. It was an accusation, not a question.

Hythlodaeus smiled faintly and shrugged. “I guessed. This land would look very different if the aether drainage had been sudden and unexpected. The problem now is what to do with the others.”

“…The others?”

Though Hythlodaeus’s smile remained in place, his eyes were fierce and bright. “Of course. You didn’t think this was an isolated incident, did you? Collection devices are most often built in a network.”

And then, while Azem was still reeling from the revelation, he pointed to the southeast. “I’d like to study another, see if it differs in any way from this one. Emet-Selch?”

Emet-Selch was still staring at the obelisk, a scowl plastered across his face. “Yes, yes. Go on ahead. I’ll continue monitoring the situation here.”

Hythlodaeus clapped his hands together. “Splendid. Let’s be off, then.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on one heel and walked away.

For a long moment, Azem watched his old friend’s retreating back; then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced down at Hermes and Meteion. “Will you be joining us?”

Emet-Selch’s gaze bore down on Hermes, the weight of his disapproval like to grind him into dust. It could hardly have been clearer that he wasn’t welcome here.

“I’d like to see more of these devices if I can,” Hermes said.

Azem simply nodded and stepped closer, offering a hand up. Wearily Hermes heaved himself to his feet, and it was with Azem and Meteion hovering at his side that they set off.

With every step, Hermes reacclimated to his physical form. Soon enough he was walking without difficulty, though Azem matched pace with him, as if in silent apology for his earlier misjudgment. Hythlodaeus trudged ahead of them; he must have known they were following, but he never once looked back.

Azem sighed, a mix of discontent and longing that dispersed into the wintry air. Hermes pretended not to notice. It was Meteion who said unnecessarily, “Your friends don’t like us very much.”

“No, they don’t,” Azem said softly. “And neither do they approve of my association with you.”

The next nearest device was nearly two malms away. Under normal circumstances, Hermes would not have considered it an unpleasant walk; today, he could not help but feel uneasy in Hythlodaeus’s presence. Meteion stuck close at his side, as if by placing herself between them she could put him at ease. At the moment, though, Hythlodaeus had no attention to spare for anyone but Azem. They walked close together, their shoulders nearly brushing with each stride, and whether purposeful or not, Azem had drawn him so deep into conversation he barely gave anything else a glance.

Hermes was content to watch and listen. He’d never seen Azem with quite this expression before. They never were good at hiding their emotions; their face usually reflected all of their thoughts, and that was true now as ever. But as Hythlodaeus passed on the news of shared acquaintances and recent ongoings in Amaurot, and as Azem reacted with joy or confusion or comical disappointment, one constant remained: their face shone in a way he had never witnessed in all their travels.

Hermes had thought he’d grown to know Azem well in the time they’d spent together. Now he was reminded again that Hythlodaeus had known them much longer, and that no matter how they wandered, they had never lost sight of home.

“Of course, you would know all this had you visited in the last few moons,” Hythlodaeus said. Though his smile was mild, there was an undercurrent of ice in his voice, and there was no mistaking the pointed look he slanted at Hermes.

Azem slung one arm across Hythlodaeus’s shoulders, choosing to ignore the implication. “Alas! I spent so long basking in your love that the star grew jealous and demanded my attention. Endless troubles across the land, disasters to be stopped, people in need of saving. You know how it is.”

“I do know how it is,” Hythlodaeus said. “And I know that some of those people are not worth your time or mine.”

Hermes very much wished he were somewhere else. Briefly he wondered if it would not have been better to remain with Emet-Selch.

Azem’s highly expressive face twisted into a pout. With their free hand, they lightly patted Hythlodaeus’s cheek. He was startled into pulling away, violet eyes widening, and Azem clicked their tongue at him. “All people are worth it. I would not leave them to suffer for my absence and you would not ask it of me. You would not force me to choose.”

Hythlodaeus sighed. “I would not. But I also would not agree.”

“And so must we beg to differ.” Azem stepped away, urging Hythlodaeus onwards with a light push to the back. “But you know, that is the reason for my enduring popularity among the people of the star. That and I go to meet them rather than holing myself up in the Bureaus all day. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a word in private with one of those people. He’s very upset at your disapproval of him, you know. Simply devastated.”

Hythlodaeus canted his head and glanced at Hermes, as if to ask if he truly was devastated. Hermes wasn’t really; he would have much preferred being left out of this. But Azem was flouncing away and tugging at his arm, and he had no choice but to join them, Meteion trailing in their wake.

Azem dragged him along for only a few steps. Before Hermes could formulate a protest, they were releasing him, looking over their shoulder to confirm that Hythlodaeus was not watching. “Go on ahead. There’s something I want to check.”

Without offering any further explanation, Azem turned and scrambled away down the slope. Meteion gave Hermes only a glance before she followed. Shaking his head, he accompanied her.

To their credit, Azem was unsurprised at their curiosity. The Traveler bent over a shallow crack in the dry earth, nestled in which was a jumble of bright colors that shone in the sun. Their face was set in grim lines, though Hermes did not immediately understand why, not until he looked more closely and realized that the colors formed a pattern of autumn leaves against the backdrop of a deep blue sky.

“That’s a person,” Meteion said anxiously, and then, in case it wasn’t clear, “A dead person.”

It was abundantly clear. Though there was no odor and no sign of decomposition, the woman’s skin hung dry and loose in a way that was vaguely nauseating. There were no traces of a struggle, no blood or obvious injury. She might have simply curled up in the ditch and passed on peacefully. The three of them stood staring at the corpse, none of them making any move to touch it.

“The nomads did say some of their own had vanished,” Azem said at last.

“I don’t see her horse,” Meteion volunteered. “Or, um, any other people. Or feel them.”

Azem chewed at their lip. Finally their eyes were beginning to darken from that startling gold to a more subdued brown. “If we meet with trouble… that is, if anything unexpected happens… will you be able to assist?”

Hermes raised one palm, conjuring a dark green light with little difficulty; he closed his fist around it and caused it to vanish. “My shields are still intact, if that’s what you’re asking. We have enough distance from the devices that I can use magick if need be.”

“Good,” Azem said. They didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Good. That’s… well, I’m sorry. For my lack of caution, and putting you in danger.”

Hermes’s tone was light as he answered. “No harm done in the long run. But I must ask that you avoid such risks in the future. You have more experience with unusual situations. Meteion and I would have been at a loss without you.”

Azem winced, properly chastened; winced again and squeaked as a hand abruptly slapped them across the back. “He’s right, you know,” Hythlodaeus said cheerfully. “And perhaps if enough of us say it, you’ll actually start to listen. Now what have we got here?”

Hermes was not the only one to jump, though he did not wear Azem’s expression of perfect chagrin. They turned to face Hythlodaeus, who crossed his arms and shook his head. He flicked a glance at the corpse on the ground and said to no one in particular, “After a long enough acquaintance with Azem, one comes to realize they are absolutely terrible at keeping secrets. You might as well have just said, ‘There’s something I want to look into, Hythlodaeus, so don’t follow me.’”

Azem’s eyes narrowed. “There was something I wanted to look into, Hythlodaeus, so you shouldn’t have followed me.”

Hythlodaeus’s smile was as bright as if he did not see the corpse at their feet. He chucked Azem under the chin, causing their expression to morph into a scowl. “That may have worked if you’d said as much up front, but instead you left me with no choice but to investigate for myself. Now let’s see what we’ve got here.”

He knelt beside the body without hesitation. After a moment, Azem dropped to their knees beside him, placing one hand on his back for support.

After a moment, Hythlodaeus confirmed, “Most definitely dead. Her soul is gone.”

Azem gingerly reached out to the woman. Hermes winced as they grasped her wrist, curling their fingers around one of the woven red leaves, and gave it a forceful tug. The woman’s body rocked within the ditch, but the angle of her arm did not change.

“Still stiff,” Azem muttered. “In this cold and without decomposers, I suppose that’s to be expected. But she is drying out. She’s been here at least a sennight.”

Shock, disgust, and weary acceptance warred within him. This was a person they spoke of so callously. Near-mortal though she might have been, her life and her soul had not differed so much from theirs. “How do you…” Hermes started, and then found he couldn’t finish the question.

Azem shrugged. It was entirely too careless a motion. “It’s the same for animals. Our vessels of flesh aren’t so different from theirs.”

“What do we do with her?” Hythlodaeus asked.

Azem sat back on their heels, lips pursed. “Even if her soul remains still intact, there will be no returning to the body it came from. Her people have already given her up as dead. They’re insular enough that I can’t admit a thorough understanding of their funerary customs, but most important would be to ensure that her aether and physical form, all that she is, are properly returned to the star.”

“Almost all the aether has left her body,” Hythlodaeus said.

“Then all that’s left is to dispose of her corporeal remains.”

Meteion released a quick breath and looked down. Hermes placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He too knew not what to say.

He gazed into the woman’s face, unable to look away from that stiff, ugly caricature of life. Even with the skin falling loose around her protruding cheekbones, he could tell that she had been little more than a girl. She was a small, thin thing, with the stretched-out look of a youngster who had not yet reached full growth.

The very thought made his heart ache. Even the elders of her tribe were as children from the perspective of those who lived for eternity. How young had this girl been? How few years had she lived?

Slowly Azem pushed themself to their feet. “We’ll see to her after we’ve finished. Given the current state of the aetherial currents, it will be difficult to send her off before then.”

With one last glance down at the girl, they turned on their heel and set off again, Hythlodaeus at their side. Hermes lingered for a moment longer, staring down at the child.

The world really was cruel sometimes, to men and mortals alike.

“It’s not fair,” Meteion whispered, echoing his thoughts.

Hermes shook his head, rallying himself with an effort. “No. It’s not. But we will put an end to this tragedy.”

That was his duty. Not as a traveler, not as Hermes, but as a simple denizen of the star.

“First, stasis. Then squid…”

Azem circled the obelisk, muttering to himself. Hermes had been too disoriented to watch the first time they’d gone through this process; now he paid close attention as Azem first disabled the device and then reversed the flow of aether. There was no difference visible to corporeal sight, but Hythlodaeus confirmed that the operation had been successful… and then they all stood and looked at each other, at a loss as to what came next.

When no obvious course of action presented itself, it was Azem who broke the silence. “It’s good that both devices work the same way. We’d have had to go back and ask Emet-Selch for help had the process been any different.”

“The same type of device will nearly always have the same construction,” Hythlodaeus said absently. “Why waste unnecessary effort? This way there is need for only a single template.”

Hythlodaeus had been acting decidedly odd since they’d come across the first of the obelisks. Azem had noticed but did not ask; even Hermes had noticed, and he did not know Hythlodaeus nearly as well as Azem did. Azem frowned, squinting suspiciously at his long-time friend, but eventually said, “How many of these obelisks are there? Do we have to disable them one by one?”

“At least four others within sight, and yes, unless you have any better ideas.”

Hythlodaeus’s tone was expectant, as if he fully believed Azem would propose a ridiculous alternative. Azem did not, and so Hermes voiced his own query. “What’s the purpose of these devices? They drain and store aether from their surroundings… but for what?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Hythlodaeus murmured.

Azem would not drop the matter so easily. He shook his head and began to pace. “They’re obviously manmade. Whoever created them wouldn’t have just… created them here and left, would they? Not without intending to return and use them? I don’t see a reason to make them otherwise.”

“This is very much not the sort of creation one leaves unattended,” Hythlodaeus said. “And if I know the—type of person who would invent something like this, then he would remain somewhere nearby, overseeing the process.”

Azem spun on one heel and lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. Hythlodaeus merely shrugged, adopting a bland expression. “No, I don’t see anyone. But the brightness of these reservoirs far eclipses that of a single soul. It may only be that I can’t pick them out against the background aether.”

He glanced at the obelisk as he spoke. There had been no sign of the girl’s soul here, nor that of any of other missing person. None of them wanted to speak the most likely possibility into existence: that those souls had already been reverted into aether.

Oblivious to the dark turn of their thoughts, Meteion bounced up and waved enthusiastically. “Then! I’ll go look!”

Hythlodaeus turned to her. His expression could best be described as one of professional curiosity: It was the face he wore when evaluating a particularly interesting concept. “Oh?”

She stood with one arm thrust high into the air. “I don’t look for aether. I can’t see it. But feelings. If a person has feelings, then I’ll find them.”

Azem hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t have any better ideas. Hermes?”

It was the wisest course of action—the only course of action, if he was being honest with himself. Hermes frowned at Meteion. She matched his look, brow furrowed and lips turned down in imitation.

“I think we don’t have much choice,” he admitted. “All of our shields together should protect you for a time. Go swiftly, and we’ll wait here for your return.”

He did not give words to his other thoughts. “Be careful.” “Take no risks.” “Flee at the first sign of danger.” She had long grown past such warnings. Treating her like a child now would serve no purpose, and so he refrained, though still he couldn’t help but worry.

But Meteion beamed at him, as if those feelings too were transparent to her. “I’ll be back soon!” she promised.

Then, without waiting for an answer, she transformed and sped away. Hermes watched her go, a mix of regret and pride swelling in his chest, as her joyous song was carried back to them on the wind.

“She’s a good child,” Azem commented aimlessly. “Eager. Reliable. Determined to help.”

For a reason he could not quite explain, Hermes stiffened. Hythlodaeus turned only slowly, meeting Azem’s all-too-innocent smile with narrowed eyes. “Your testimony alone will not convince me of her worth.”

“You would agree if you’d watched her as I have over the past few moons.”

“As much as I value your opinion, you lack the professional experience to properly judge her.”

There was an edge to Hythlodaeus’s voice that Hermes did not like. Loath as he was to interrupt, he was even more reluctant to allow this to escalate, especially when it was Meteion’s right to exist under discussion.

“It may be best to set that aside for now and focus on the matter at hand,” he said. “We mustn’t allow ourselves to be distracted. Should we ask Emet-Selch to join us? If these devices really are identical, I imagine he can study their function just as well here as at the one we left behind.”

Azem looked away from Hythlodaeus at a speed that underscored his relief. “Yes… yes, that’s a good idea. Let’s see.”

He held out his hand before him, palm up, and a sphere of aether materialized almost instantly. From the way Azem’s shoulders jerked back, he had not been expecting that. Slanting a suspicious glance at the obelisk, he muttered, “At least it’s easy to use magick again.”

Whatever his thoughts, Hythlodaeus did not say. Azem leaned close to the sphere and whispered a few words that Hermes could not make out. The message flashed the same gold as Emet-Selch’s eyes and shrank to the size of a marble. It hovered before Azem for a handful of seconds, emitting sparks and rays of light at irregular intervals like a small, volatile sun, before it suddenly shot in the direction they had come.

Azem nodded to himself, satisfied, and sank to the ground, leaning his weight back on his palms and watching the message’s departure. Hythlodaeus crouched next to him, idly plucking stones from the ground and arranging them in a neat line. The silence between them stretched on so long that the set of Hermes’s shoulders began to relax. He began to wonder if he had been overreacting—but then Hythlodaeus said conversationally, never lifting his gaze, “Hermes, why did you not submit her concept to Architect?”

It was a reasonable question. Hermes still flinched back as if struck.

Hythlodaeus began to stack another line of pebbles atop the first. “The past ten moons have left me with ample time to ponder the matter. The Hermes I knew was exacting in his work. He would never have allowed anyone to skip the testing procedures, not even himself.”

He paused. His voice was cold and measured. “The only explanation I could conceive of was that you knew she was fatally flawed. She would never be approved, and so you thought to see her purpose served, even if it meant ignoring your duty and mine. Is that not the case?”

“No,” Hermes said through a mouth gone dry. Such a thought had never crossed his mind. He had always considered her concept to be sound. He had never once considered her, or himself, mistaken. If he were forced to voice a reason, it would be because he had been rushed and desperate. He had wanted so badly to find an answer that he had not stopped to think. But as for the truth deep within him…

He had seen enough creations in his time in Elpis to know that each was a reflection of its architect. Hermes had already believed himself an aberration. If Hythlodaeus had studied Meteion, would he have been able to discern Hermes’s hopes and dreams for her future? Would his weakness, his abnormality, have been laid bare for all to see?

“I don’t see why that matters now,” Azem protested. It was a weak attempt at coming to Hermes’s defense; he was grateful even so.

Hythlodaeus said, with a tiredness that did nothing to conceal his irritation, “It mattered before you ran off with them and it matters now. The familiar is a threat, Azem. I would know whether she is a threat born of intentional malice or breathtaking foolishness.”

“She wouldn’t hurt anyone—”

“Which you would not have been able to judge based on a few bells’ acquaintance.” Hythlodaeus turned to glare at him. His hand swept across the dry earth, scattering the wall of little rocks, but he did not seem to notice. “Your duty is to aid those who are suffering. Mine is to ensure that we cause no harm to the star. We should not be at odds, and yet in prioritizing one, you chose to ignore the other. That is what I take offense to: that you should run roughshod over my objections in favor of your own beliefs.”

Azem’s mouth fell open, but Hythlodaeus’s voice only rose, permitting no interruptions. “You would see them saved. Very well. I do not think them worthy of your regard, but very well. But why make them your responsibility? Why did you think we, in our wisdom and experience, could do nothing to aid you?”

Azem winced. Before he quite knew what he did, Hermes found himself rising to Azem’s defense in turn. Hythlodaeus’s words had relit an old resentment within him, the embers of which had been smothered but never fully extinguished.

“There was little you or Emet-Selch could have done for me,” he said. “Though you may fancy yourselves otherwise, both of you are children of Amaurot. You are no different from everyone I have ever known. You did nothing but criticize my thoughts and my actions—as if that has ever worked to convince me. As if it ever did anything but feed my doubts.”

The look Hythlodaeus leveled at him said that he was not welcome in this conversation. Hermes lifted his chin and met his eyes stubbornly. But the interruption gave Azem the moment he needed to regain his composure, and he ran a hand through his bangs and exhaled slowly.

“I did wonder if there was no other path I could have taken,” he admitted in a small voice. “I knew my methods were… extreme. I never wanted to leave you. But it’s as Hermes says. No matter how I thought on it, I couldn’t imagine another way to give them what they needed. Not on my own.”

Hythlodaeus broke gazes with Hermes so quickly it was clear he held no interest in their argument. Hermes scowled, hands curling into fists at his sides, but with an effort he held his silence. Perhaps he was not worth Hythlodaeus’s attention, but neither was Hythlodaeus worth his.

All of Hythlodaeus’s focus had moved to Azem anyway. He wore now an odd smile, fond and exasperated in equal measure. “You always have been something of a disaster when left on your own. Nevertheless. Even if you succeeded in this particular instance, that will not always be the case. You risked yourself as well as the entire star with your impulsiveness, and though you may find that acceptable, we do not wish to see what happens if you fail. Ask for our help next time. See if there is no solution that will satisfy us all, and stop running away if you don’t like what you hear.”

Azem chewed at his lower lip, thinking; finally, almost tentatively, he dropped his forehead to rest on Hythlodaeus’s shoulder. Hythlodaeus sighed, a sigh that gave way to a wry chuckle, and rested a hand on the back of Azem’s head.

Hermes looked away but said nothing. Even now frustration simmered within him. Once he had been certain that his answer would never be found within the rigid confines of their society. The very source of his dissatisfaction lay in the behavior of their people, and none of those people would ever have been able to convince him. But so too would he have laid the blame at the Convocation’s feet, for encouraging and enabling those attitudes, and it was one of that same Convocation who had stretched out their hand to him.

Perhaps, if he’d paid more attention to the goings-on of their star, there might always have been another way. Or perhaps this had always been the only viable solution. There was no way now to know for certain.

“I’m sorry,” Azem mumbled.

Hythlodaeus made a small, scolding sound. “You should be.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Is Hades going to stick a tracker on me so I can’t escape again?”

“He might. I’d be inclined to let him.”

“Better yet, you can come with me. We’ll journey together all over the star, and you won’t have to worry about me doing anything foolish because I’ll be with you at all times.”

Hythlodaeus laughed. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Unfortunately, some of us are adults, with adult responsibilities.”

“Some of us? What do you mean some?”

Hythlodaeus petted Azem’s hair gently, as if that would soothe his ruffled temper. “Now, now. I will settle for stories of your travels, if you are willing to share them.”

For the next half-bell, Azem recounted much of what had occurred over the past ten moons. Hythlodaeus kept his eyes on the flow of aether from the obelisk, but there seemed to be no irregularities, and he reacted to and commented on Azem’s tales appropriately.

Azem focused on the strangest details. The smell of the flowers in spring, the colors of the leaves in autumn, the heat of midsummer as they prowled through the canyons. The taste of the fish they had caught for breakfast this morning—and, much to his chagrin, Hermes found his stomach growling at the reminder, for it had been many hours since. Azem told Hythlodaeus of their victory in the hunt for the jeweled thrush, the need to introduce a giant eagle to the town they had just left, and, with great reluctance, admitted to the sickness that had overtaken the village. It was a necessary inclusion: word had long ago reached Amaurot by way of Emmerololth, and Hythlodaeus’s pointed comments seemed to imply that Azem would have found herself in a great deal of trouble had she tried to omit that particular event.

Even so, Hermes couldn’t help but notice holes in her retellings. Any impulsive decisions that were painfully foolish in hindsight were glossed over. Some of the more dangerous adventures that had resulted in injury or outsize destruction were skipped entirely. Hermes might have suspected Azem of trying to paint herself in only the best light, were it not for the occasional worried glances she shot Hythlodaeus when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Some of those situations might have proceeded more smoothly had she called for assistance. He wondered how often Azem found herself in peril and chose not to speak of it for fear of upsetting her friends.

Hythlodaeus was laughing at the tale of Hermes's struggles with the rainboar—Hermes’s nose wrinkled reflexively at the memory—when suddenly he turned and glanced to the sky. He shaded his eyes from the sun and nodded to himself. “Ah, there’s Emet-Selch. Sooner than expected.”

“He’s flying,” Azem said uncertainly. “If he’s flying, then that means it’s safe to use major magicks, right? So long as the devices are disabled?”

“I would assume so,” Hythlodaeus said. By now he could be seen clearly, a dark-robed figure riding a four-legged beast with hooves that trod an invisible road through the air. Hythlodaeus stood and brushed himself off, and without looking down, said, “Hermes.”

Hermes jumped at being addressed. “Yes?”

Hythlodaeus did not look at him, but the smile he wore was frightening all the same. “I expect to hear your account later. This time including all the gruesome details that Azem has deemed too offensive for my delicate sensibilities.”

Hermes’s mouth fell open. Azem spluttered. Hythlodaeus chuckled meanly and went to meet Emet-Selch.

“Please don’t tell him about the kraken,” Azem hissed. “Please?”

“I promise nothing,” Hermes said, and was hard-pressed to maintain a straight face when Azem wailed.

Emet-Selch wore his customary scowl when he landed, which, judging by Azem and Hythlodaeus’s reactions, seemed to indicate that nothing was amiss. His gaze lingered on the three of them for a time, clearly noting Meteion’s absence, but he did not speak of it.

“The obelisks are reservoirs of a sort,” he said without preamble. “Once the drain has been disabled, it’s a simple enough matter to draw from the pool of aether within. Those devices which are still active must be approached with caution.”

Azem nodded. “Hythlodaeus said there’s at least four more?”

“Hythlodaeus would know better than me,” Emet-Selch said, with a quick glance at the man in question. Hythlodaeus merely shrugged. “I am not much looking forward to walking to every last one of them.”

He paused for a moment, steeling himself for the inevitable protest, before continuing. “Given the gravity of what has occurred, and that long-term rehabilitation will likely be necessary, I’ve taken the opportunity to notify the Convocation of our investigation.”

“Why would you do that?” Azem whined, her voice perfectly pitched to grate on the ears. Emet-Selch winced, his glare sharpening.

“You did come here at Elidibus’s behest,” Hythlodaeus said. “When they notice our disappearances, they’ll assume we’re accompanying you. All Emet-Selch has done is prepare them for a longer absence and notify them that their support might be needed.”

Emet-Selch dismissed his flying construct with an elegant snap. “So it goes. If we’re forced to travel to each of the devices, this may become a long and tedious task. And, of course, there is still the matter of locating the culprit.”

His tone implied exactly what he planned to do to said culprit once they were found. For once Hermes found himself in agreement. He could not imagine what purpose would be worth this large-scale devastation, nor what kind of person would choose to carry out such activities far from the oversight of the Bureaus or any who might object.

He did not say as much. He suspected his reasons for taking offense were quite different from Emet-Selch’s. Instead he said quietly, “That may not be so difficult.”

They all turned to him then. Bafflement was writ clear on Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus’s faces; only Azem knew to grin and look to the sky in response to Hermes’s growing smile.

Hermes pointed to the east, where a lone bird was winging her way toward them. “Meteion has returned.”

His little bird led them on a roundabout path, switching back and forth along steep slopes and through narrow crevices. Hermes would have been hard-pressed to find his way through the maze of cliffs, but he knew Meteion would not lead them wrong. Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus did not share his confidence, but they trusted in Azem, and Azem trusted in Meteion, and so they pushed on without complaint, even as the day passed them by and gave way to the dimness of twilight.

They walked for so long across such harsh terrain that Hythlodaeus was left panting and Emet-Selch’s creased brow shone with sweat. Hermes found the journey only mildly strenuous; he was accustomed to worse after ten moons of being dragged hither and yon about the star. There was, of course, no end to Azem’s endurance. Their usual cheerful commentary had today given way to encouragement and gentle teasing, though by the time the sun had set, even that failed to raise their friends’ spirits or their ire.

Hermes had just begun to wonder if they would be traveling through the night when at last Meteion came to a stop. She twirled through the air, wings and feathers sketching an elaborate dance above their heads, before settling down on a ledge high up on the cliffside. At first Hermes could only stare up at her, perplexed, but then Azem squinted at the rocks around them and let out a laugh.

“Well now,” they murmured, pretending not to notice as Hythlodaeus took that moment to collapse against the wall. “Isn’t that interesting.”

Even then Hermes did not immediately see what had caught their attention. Azem skirted around a boulder fallen some few fulms from the wall and stood with arms crossed, squinting up the cliff. Only when he followed them and looked up was he able to make out the shadowy shape of a narrow staircase hewn crudely from the rock.

“It’s a far gentler approach than I would have expected from the hideaway of a dastardly villain,” Azem mused.

“Because you’ve put much thought into your plans to turn to villainy,” Emet-Selch mocked.

“Of course not. I’ve only considered what you might do if driven to it.”

Hermes barely noticed Emet-Selch’s indignant spluttering. He was fully occupied gawking at the staircase. It was a purely utilitarian thing with little attention paid to aesthetics. The steps were too tall for comfort, their heights and lengths uneven. Some of the stairs were sloped instead of flat, the mark of an architect in a hurry or simply one with a poor grasp of creation magicks. Even so, to find a staircase here, in a place where they had so far seen no sign of life…

Azem prodded Emet-Selch in the side, earning themself an impatient swat in return. “Do you see anyone now that we’re this close?”

Emet-Selch glared for at them for several seconds more, making it quite clear that they were not forgiven, before looking up to the cliffside. He frowned. “…There’s a cave. As with the obelisks, there’s a great deal of aether inside. With so much interference, I can’t pick out any trace of a soul. Hythlodaeus?”

Hythlodaeus did not respond. Hermes glanced at him, thinking perhaps he was so tired he hadn’t heard, but Hythlodaeus’s gaze was fixed on the ledge up above, his eyes unfocused.

“Hythlodaeus?” Azem repeated, and the soulseer blinked and looked at them.

“Ah… no. I can’t be certain yet.”

Without another word, Hythlodaeus returned to staring up at the ledge. Azem sighed, exchanged a glance with Emet-Selch, and shrugged. “Well, we’re almost there. One last push and we’ll see what there is to see. Shields all set?”

“Of course.”

They were so close to their destination now that Emet-Selch had grown impatient. He stalked up the stairs, posture stiff and jaw set, as if he was contemplating what violence he would enact upon the person who had had the temerity to make him come all this way. Azem joined him, bounding carelessly up the perilously narrow stairs and passing Emet-Selch in a matter of seconds.

Hythlodaeus chuckled watching them, but he made no move to brave the stairs himself quite yet. The tenderness on his face was unmistakable. Before he could stop himself, Hermes said, “You really are fond of them.”

Hythlodaeus did not even look at him. Though his tone was light as always, his words made clear his disapproval. “Of course. We’ve been close since we were children. That is why I cannot forgive you, you know, for running off with my lover on a wild romp across the star.”

Hermes nearly said it hadn’t been his idea; he nearly said that it was impossible to stop Azem once their mind was made up, a fact which Hythlodaeus well knew. He nearly said that their first point of conflict had been Meteion and that Azem might as well have been an afterthought. Instead he said, “Have you always been this unpleasant? You won’t voice what’s really on your mind, in the matter of the obelisks as well as in matters concerning me.”

“I haven’t the faintest what you mean,” Hythlodaeus said airily. “But perhaps you don’t know me so well as you thought, just as it seems none of us ever truly knew you.”

He pushed himself to his feet with an air of great resignation and made his way to the stairs, signaling an end to their conversation. Hermes sighed, shoulders sagging, but he too began the climb.

By the time they reached the top of the ledge, Emet-Selch was glaring into the depths of the cave, and Azem was chattering at him in a way that made it clear they were at least half to blame for Emet-Selch’s foul mood. “—Really, it’s a compliment! I think it’s a rather nice design myself.”

“It’s gaudy,” Emet-Selch sneered. “Overdone. And why, pray tell, do you think I am interested in hearing your thoughts on my theoretical ‘evil villain hideaway’?”

“I’m just saying! If ever you were to retreat into solitude to work on your dastardly plans, you could do worse than a place like this. I would visit.”

“I think a visit from you rather defeats the purpose of self-imposed isolation,” Hythlodaeus said, sounding rather amused for all that he was out of breath.

In this matter, Hermes found himself in agreement with Emet-Selch. By the entrance the cave was indistinguishable from any other, worn out by countless millennia of wind and rain. Several yalms in, the uneven ground gave way to smoothly paved granite of a dark, shining gray. The tunnel walls had been rounded off and overlaid with black marble veined in white and pale yellow. Roughly ten yalms from where they stood, a circle of white runes performed an endless stately march from floor to wall to ceiling and back again, throwing light across an elegant golden archway that served as the front door. Past the arch, Hermes could see nothing: a veil of darkness blocked the view of everything beyond.

Meteion fluttered to a landing to his shoulder and nibbled fondly at his ear. “In there,” she chirped. “There’s someone back there.”

Having learned his lesson earlier in the day, Hermes immediately asked the most pertinent question. “What are those runes? A defensive system?”

Emet-Selch squinted at the slowly rotating circle. “More likely an alarm to alert to the presence of trespassers. It seems harmless enough.”

“Well, only one way to proceed,” Azem said cheerfully. Before any of their companions could guess at their meaning, they were cupping their hands around their mouth and raising their voice. “Excuse me? Is anyone home?”

“What are you doing?” Emet-Selch hissed.

“It’s only polite to announce yourself before entering someone’s dwelling, isn’t it?” Azem said blankly. “We’re coming in!”

They made to march over the runes, but this Emet-Selch had anticipated. His hand shot forth, seizing their cowl and yanking them back. Azem choked and stumbled, turning hurt-filled eyes on him, but Emet-Selch merely gave them one hard shake. “Absolutely not.”

“Stop it, Azem, you’re scaring him,” Hythlodaeus said, though the impact of his words was ruined by his snicker.

“They heard,” Meteion said, startled, and fluttered her wings. “They’re coming this way.”

Emet-Selch stiffened. With one hard pull, he tossed Azem in Hermes’s direction, as if to say that the Traveler was his problem now. Hermes caught and steadied them, his fingers pressing a little harder into their shoulders than strictly necessary, and together they watched as the veil of darkness parted and their culprit emerged.

Hermes’s jaw grew slack. He wasn’t certain what he had expected of this so-called “villain,” but it certainly wasn’t a short, unassuming man, no taller than Hermes’s shoulder and possessed of an open, honest face. He was clad in the black robes of their people, the cowl thrown back and his mask nowhere in sight. His hair was a nest of tousled red curls that had never met a brush they couldn’t defeat; his eyes were a startling orange and crinkled at the corners from many decades of laughter.

The man spread his arms wide and beamed broadly. His welcome was so unexpected that even Azem took an involuntary step back. Hermes had to move to avoid being trodden on.

“Oh, my!” the man exclaimed, his voice ringing through the cave with unfeigned joy. “I wasn’t expecting visitors today—or, well, any day! Come in, come in!”

“See?” Azem said, into the stunned silence that followed. “It always pays to announce yourself properly.”

Chapter Text

If there existed a guide on how to play the perfect host, Daedalus must have committed it entirely to memory.

He fluttered around them as they walked through the cave, all wringing hands and wide smiles, an odd mixture of delight and chagrin. He had not been expecting visitors to his remote corner of the star—not now, possibly not ever—but now that they had arrived, he was ecstatic to have them. His home had not been built for the purpose of entertaining guests, much less members of the esteemed Convocation of Fourteen, but they were welcome to what little hospitality he had to offer.

All throughout this eager, fawning introduction, Emet-Selch wore a scowl that managed to be at once unsurprised and long-suffering, as if he'd grown accustomed to such adulation but had never once enjoyed it. Azem preened under the praise, their grin only broadening with each word Daedalus spoke. They deftly took charge of the conversation, sparing Emet-Selch and their other companions the brunt of his attention.

Hermes used that opportunity to observe what he could of the facility. There was truth to Daedalus’s protestations that his home was hardly fit for guests, much less guests of their elevated status. Only a few alterations had been made to the existing cave to render it suitable for man’s use: The ground underfoot had been cleared away and tiled over, and the layers of rock forming the walls had been smoothed and set with aetherlamps at irregular intervals. Even those changes were imperfect and incomplete. Azem trailed their hand against the wall for a time, and only when they flicked droplets from their fingers did Hermes notice the dark patches where water seeped through.

The winding tunnel was lined with doors and hallways leading deeper into the cave. Meteion stopped at each and peered through, unable to restrain her curiosity. One room was a library of sorts, books scattered across half-full shelves and stacked atop the floor. Another was an archive of crystals; Hermes could not tell what records they contained, but Hythlodaeus lingered, staring into the room with narrowed eyes for so long that he was nearly left behind. They passed what seemed to be an indoor garden, branches and trailing vines spilling out even into the hall, a stark contrast to the dried, dead flora that was all they had seen outside. But every time Azem exclaimed, and each time Emet-Selch asked, Daedalus laughed and deflected their questions.

“Later, later! You’ve traveled a long way and you must be tired and hungry. First you must rest and recover from your journey, though I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer such eminent guests.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Azem said amiably. They reached up and brushed their fingers self-consciously across their mask, as if the mention of their office had also reminded them that they were not currently considered presentable. “If you know who I am, you know I’m accustomed to living rough. Do you know where I slept last night?”

Emet-Selch growled a warning. This was hardly an appropriate conversation to have with a stranger. Azem elbowed him in the side and continued, undeterred, “That’s right, I didn’t! Any bed is preferable to none at all. Not that a bed is even necessary. A suitably flat stretch of floor will do as well, and you don’t seem to have any shortage of those.”

Daedalus’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “A bed at least I can provide.”

With a flourish, he gestured them to a plain wooden door, and they filed through into what passed as the dining room, containing only a small, rudimentary table and one lonely chair. Scraps of paper bearing notes in a neat hand formed an uneven halo around a forgotten glass of water and a plate still bearing traces of food stains. Flushing, Daedalus waved the mess away and manifested another three chairs, though he did not think to expand the table as he did. When they sat, they were crammed so close together that Hermes’s elbows bumped with those of Azem and Emet-Selch. Self-consciously he curled his long legs underneath his chair.

Daedalus planted his hands on his hips, surveying them with satisfaction. His gaze swept over Azem, to Hermes and Hythlodaeus, and finally stopped on Emet-Selch. Though Meteion hovered at Hermes’s shoulder, lips parted curiously, Daedalus did not glance at her.

“It would be my pleasure to show you my home, but if you’re in no rush, I should like to wait until the morrow. You will better appreciate my work after a good night’s sleep, and that will buy me time to clean up some of the mess.”

Hythlodaeus laughed, though he quickly stifled the sound behind his hand. Daedalus turned to him, beaming. “Emet-Selch and Azem I know by their masks, though we have not previously met. What of you two companions?”

Hythlodaeus tilted his head, and Hermes was struck by the sudden impression of something dangerous lurking beneath his smile, “Oh, no one of import. The hangers-on, if you will. We’re here only to support the Convocation of Fourteen in their work.”

Azem’s brows drew together and they opened their mouth. Before they could speak, however, they suddenly winced and turned to glare at Emet-Selch. As always, Emet-Selch was frowning, and his thoughts remained inscrutable.

“So it goes,” Hythlodaeus said, with a brief, amused look at his friends. “Our apologies for the imposition, but it’s as you say. Some of us have not seen a moment’s rest in far too long. If we could beg your hospitality and leave business for the morning, it would be much appreciated.”

Daedalus rubbed his hands together and glanced at the single door in the far wall. “Of course, of course. I was just starting to put together supper when you arrived, though I can’t call my cooking anything but mediocre.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly acceptable,” Azem said cheerfully. “Do you know what I ate for luncheon?”

“Azem—”

“We didn’t,” Hermes said, stealing the wind from Azem’s sails and causing the Traveler to glare at him. “Supper would be appreciated, thank you.”

“Well then! Let’s see what I can do.”

Without another word, Daedalus bustled into the kitchen. A moment later, wisps of dark green aether began to drift through the door. The visitors remained sitting around the table in awkward silence, fully cognizant of the absurdity of the situation. They had come investigating an unknown threat and searching out the miscreant responsible, and now the man in question had offered them his hospitality.

It was Meteion who spoke up at last. She stood at Hermes’s side, hands clutching her stomach, staring at the empty table disconsolately. “I’m… really hungry.”

Hermes flushed and lifted one hand to cover his mouth. Azem laughed.

“How does it feel having her always speak your innermost thoughts?” they asked. “Fear not, Hermes, we’ll make up for our missed luncheon soon enough.”

Emet-Selch leaned across the table and hissed, clearly unamused, “Is this safe? We know nothing about this man’s motives.”

Hythlodaeus laid one finger across his lips, effectively silencing him, and jerked his chin toward the kitchen. Daedalus’s off-key singing drifted through the open doorway; it was clear they had not been overheard. “Ah, Emet-Selch, mistrustful as ever. It’s fine. He means us no harm.”

“He’s… nice,” Meteion chimed in. “He’s happy to see you. He doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Hythlodaeus waved a dismissive hand at her. “See? If Hermes’s little mindreader thinks so, then all is well. There’s no need to be so suspicious.”

Eyes narrowed, Hermes stared at Hythlodaeus. The soulseer pretended not to notice. In all honesty, his refusal to name himself was most deserving of suspicion.

“It’s okay,” Meteion said. “We can trust him. He’s not a bad person.”

After a moment, Hermes bowed his head, acceding to her judgment. “I hope you’re right.”

Meteion’s wings fluttered, signaling her puzzlement, but he did not elaborate.

Azem propped their chin up in their hands and gazed toward the kitchen. Their stomach gave a dissatisfied rumble, and they winced. “What about you, Meteion?”

She looked at them blankly. Gently Azem pressed, “He doesn’t want to hurt us. But what about you?”

Meteion chewed at her lip, ruminating. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t hate me. Why? Isn’t that good?”

Azem glanced at Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus. Emet-Selch sighed and Hythlodaeus shook his head, but neither said a word, and it was Azem who reluctantly spoke at last. “I… suppose. Just be on your guard.”

Meteion looked unconvinced, but she nodded anyway. When she turned to Hermes, he gave her a strained smile. Though she had been trying for reassurance, she had done nothing to lessen his unease.

A lack of hatred might have been enough for Meteion, but Hermes knew apathy when he saw it.

The supper they were served was… edible. That was really all that could be said for it. The bread was slightly burned, the meat dry and tough. The vegetables had been boiled to the point of flavorlessness and then oversalted to compensate. Even so, Hermes had tasted much worse in recent moons, and so he ate without complaint. The same could not be said for Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch: Hythlodaeus picked at the meal and set down his silverware after only a few bites, and the disgusted curl to Emet-Selch’s lip was unmistakable.

True to his word, Daedalus rebuffed all attempts to glean more information from him. “In the morning,” he said, again with that broad, honest grin. “I’ll show you in the morning once you’re well-rested. You look like to collapse from exhaustion.”

Hermes looked to Meteion, who was indeed nodding off on her feet; he looked to Azem, who swiftly lifted one hand to hide her yawn. Hermes found himself yawning in sympathetic response, though he had at least had spent part of the day unconscious.

Hythodaeus chuckled and caught Azem’s elbow with one hand. “Curious as I am, I must admit you have a point. I take it you have extra rooms?”

“I have an entire guest wing,” Daedalus said smugly.

Azem laughed mid-yawn, resulting in a sound resembling a choked cough. Daedalus beamed genially and swept off, leaving them to follow in his wake. He led them back through the main hall and down a side corridor lined with more of those plain wooden doors, the first of which he threw open with a flourish and a bow. “I’m afraid they’re nothing fancy. I’ve had it on my mind to finish outfitting these rooms but never quite got around to it.”

“This will more than suffice,” Emet-Selch said shortly.

Hermes found himself in silent agreement. The room was much as he had expected, small enough to border on the claustrophobic and containing little more than a nightstand and a narrow bed. Still, that was more than he had hoped for when he set out this morning, and so it was enough.

Daedalus bowed, a shadow of satisfaction in his smile. “Then you are welcome to the use of this room, Emet-Selch.”

When he turned to speak with his other visitors, it was to find that Hythlodaeus had already wandered off, opening the door across the hall to reveal an identical room. Azem lurked at his side, peering inside curiously. “I’ll take this one,” Hythlodaeus called. Without waiting for a response, he stepped through, Azem at his heels, and the door swung shut behind them with a decisive click.

Daedalus stared after them, mouth hanging open, his pleasure at their presence temporarily displaced by confusion. Emet-Selch’s expression remained inscrutable, though his golden eyes were still focused on the closed door. It was only with an effort of will that Hermes maintained a straight face.

Daedalus rallied admirably, however, dawning recognition giving way to an affable smile. He nodded once and turned to Hermes. “Well! I suppose that’s settled. That just leaves you. Is there anything in particular you need?”

“At the moment I can think of nothing more than a warm bed,” Hermes said gravely. “Our thanks for your hospitality.”

He placed a hand on Meteion’s shoulder and steered her away. “Come along, Meteion,” he said, and found himself unable to resist placing emphasis on her name. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Meteion rubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn. Hermes gave Daedalus a brief nod of farewell and closed the door firmly behind him. The moment they were alone, he sighed, closed his eyes, and slumped back against the door.

He had not anticipated this turn of events when they came seeking the obelisks’ creator. He was no longer sure what they were doing. He wasn’t sure of much at all.

He’d thought Meteion would instantly curl up and fall asleep, either on the nightstand or taking up more than her share of the too-small bed, but when he rubbed at his temples and opened his eyes again, it was to find her standing directly in front of him.

“You’re upset, Hermes,” she said, and tilted her head as if to invite an explanation.

Hermes could have told her the truth. He was upset on her behalf. She had been offered insult and did not realize it; she was too inexperienced to tell apathy from kindness, friendliness from a lack of ill will.

But that was not a topic he could explain to her satisfaction in one night, nor perhaps at all, so in the end he only said, “I’m also tired, and that, I think, takes priority. Shall we call it a night?”

Meteion looked unconvinced but nodded anyway. Hermes sighed, caressed her hair gently, and stepped around her.

“Good night, Meteion.”

While Hythlodaeus studied the small room critically, doubtless judging the application of magicks that had gone into its creation, Azem had eyes only for him. There was a furrow in his brow she didn’t like but did not understand. When he turned to her at last, it was in a tone of mild dissatisfaction that he said, “Will you not go with Hermes?”

Azem opened her mouth. Hesitated. Closed it again, and it was with a frown that she said, “Hermes can take care of himself and Meteion both. He doesn’t need me to look after him.”

“And so you choose to look after me instead.”

“If anything, you’ll be the one looking after me. Your poor Azem is exhausted to the point of defenselessness.”

Hythlodaeus couldn’t quite repress the quirk of his lips. Azem reached for his plait, tugging at the tie and dropping it carelessly on the floor. She ran her fingers through his hair and continued, “You’re a right terror. I don’t envy anyone finding that out through experience. No, we’re safe enough; Meteion thinks so, and I agree, and so I would indulge myself with the pleasure of your company. Emet-Selch’s, too, except of course he would deny me.”

His eyes slid to the side, to their closed door and Emet-Selch’s room beyond. “Ah, well, he wouldn’t be Emet-Selch if he made his affections obvious. You mean to say you couldn’t live another night without us.”

“I couldn’t live another night without you,” she echoed, but her words were punctuated by a yawn.

Hythlodaeus tapped her nose with one finger. Azem flinched as his magick swept over them both, dispersing the dirt and grime of their travels.

“Bed now,” he said, taking her elbow and gently guiding her.

“My. Is this seduction? Are you seducing me, Hythlodaeus?”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Perhaps I am. But it is an attempt that is doomed to fail, I think, because my poor Azem is exhausted past the point of seduction.”

So saying, he shoved Azem unceremoniously onto the mattress. She fell with a startled squeak, and Hythlodaeus rolled her aside to make space for himself.

The bed was not particularly well-constructed: a little too hard, a little too short, just a smidge too narrow to comfortably hold two. That had never stopped Azem, who was accustomed to sleeping in some truly unpleasant situations, and as always Hythlodaeus was willing to humor her. They were not uncomfortable: the cold of winter leaked even through the rock, and she welcomed his warmth and the reminder of his presence.

Only when the night had grown still and silent, when the glow of all other souls had faded into slumber, did Hythlodaeus admit as if the words were dragged out of him, “I’ve met him before.”

“Hmm?” came Azem’s half-asleep voice. “Hermes? I know. You worked together.”

“Not Hermes. The other.” He paused a moment, rolling the name around in his mouth before speaking it aloud. “Daedalus. I know him.”

“Well, of course. You’re not normally so cagey about introducing yourself.”

He kissed the nape of her neck, eliciting a contented sigh. “And you’re not normally so accommodating when there’s a scheme afoot. Truly, I don’t know what to make of an Azem who has learned tact.”

She exhaled slowly, shifting until she’d settled in a more comfortable position. “I missed you. I’d do anything you asked of me.”

Hythlodaeus chuckled. “Anything? You should know that’s a dangerous proposition.”

There was no answer. Hythlodaeus waited, but Azem’s breathing had grown deep and even, and her brilliant soul had taken on the dull luster of sleep.

He sighed and rested a hand on her hip. “When you wake up, then. I’ll hold you to it if you remember.”

The Bureau of the Architect receives dozens of submissions each day, the majority of which do not reach my desk. They do not require my expertise; most of the decisions are clear-cut, simple enough for one well-versed in the study of concepts. Only the most complex or dangerous submissions are routinely passed along for my evaluation. Even then, there is rarely any reason for me to remember the inventor or the creation.

And so Daedalus’s case is all the more striking.

They say that the concept can tell you much about the architect, and so my first impression of him was of a man precise in his study and possessed of near-obsessive dedication to his craft. His work was exquisitely detailed. Diagrams were neatly sketched and annotated, the reasoning behind each decision was laid out in a logical fashion, and a list of potential variations was suggested. We do not often receive proposals outlined with such care. Usually they are born more of enthusiasm than rationality, submitted by architects new to their work or so drunk on their own imagination that they think themselves above such mundane considerations as “paperwork” or “common sense.”

What? Yes, yes—I approve them anyway, so long as their concepts pose no threat. Who am I to deny them joy?

No, it was not his meticulousness that caused him to linger in my memory. It was nothing more nor less than the concept itself. That was what brought a junior assessor to my door that day, uncertainty having shaken him to the very core of his soul. I sent him along on his business rather than leave him squirming while awaiting my verdict.

I read the proposal. I made my decision. And I delivered the message to its architect in person.

Rejected. No revisions allowed. Attempts at resubmission will be summarily dismissed.

Daedalus did not understand. From the way he stammered, the protests he made, he would never understand. I can say with confidence that the man has not a hateful bone in his body: he was confused and disappointed in my verdict, but not angry, never angry.

He argued, of course, though I told him not to bother. What flaw could I have found in his submission? It was to be his life’s work, his greatest contribution to the star and our people.

It was for the good of the star. It was all for the good of the star—but that has ever been a motive, not an excuse.

“Why tell me this?” Hermes asked softly.

Morning had come, bringing with it a breakfast of runny eggs, bread hard enough to break a tooth, and old, stringy meat. If Daedalus noticed their lack of enthusiasm for his cooking, he gave no sign. Instead, he had already devoted his attention and energy to showing them all around his facility. His excitement was contagious; Azem and Meteion both sported broad grins as they followed him. They were joined by Emet-Selch, reluctant as always, while Hermes and Hythlodaeus trailed in their wake.

Daedalus had little attention to spare for the “hangers-on,” as it were, and Hythlodaeus seized his moment of distraction to pass on what he knew to Hermes. Even now, Hermes could not understand the Chief of Architect’s behavior. Hythlodaeus disliked him immensely. Given a choice in the matter, his former associate would likely prefer never to speak to him again. And yet here he was now, warning—against what, exactly? And why?

Hythlodaeus shrugged. “We are no one,” he said, his tone deceptively light. “You and I are not of the Convocation of Fourteen; we are of little power and little worth. Better that you and I know where things stand so that we can take action if need be.”

As he spoke, Hythlodaeus’s gaze did not shift away from their companions. While he and Hermes yet lingered in the hall, where they could converse uninterrupted, Emet-Selch, Azem, and Meteion were exploring a room brimming with lush tropical plants, clearly not native to the region but flourishing nonetheless in the sunless cave. Azem was laughing at something Daedalus had said; Meteion’s wings were aflutter with excitement. Emet-Selch stood with arms crossed. Rather than the garden, he was looking at Azem with an unusual softness in his eyes.

A smile curled at Hythlodaeus’s lips as he watched. So that was what this was about. He had no concern for Hermes’s well-being. All the knowledge that he shared, he shared for Azem and Emet-Selch’s sakes.

Hermes lowered his head and smiled, small and bitter, and so did not catch Hythlodaeus’s startled glance.

“What about his submission was so objectionable?” he asked, pretending to study the carpet of springy moss inside the room.

“Ah. It’s hard to explain. It should have been a straightforward acceptance. The proposal was technically flawless; there were no errors in the theory. Most of the submissions we see are labors of love, but it’s rare for us to receive one so complete.”

Hythlodaeus narrowed his eyes at Daedalus. The architect was watching with unconcealed amusement as Azem taunted one of the oversized carnivorous plants, dancing in and out of its reach in a way that seemed specifically designed to rouse Emet-Selch’s anger.

“And yet the assessor was made uneasy, and I felt the same way during my own evaluation.” Hythlodaeus sighed, unhappiness drawing creases across his face. “Tell me, Hermes. In your tenure at Elpis—”

Hermes flinched, but Hythlodaeus did not seem to notice, and for once his words carried no recrimination.

“—Did you ever feel the same? Did you hand down decisions based on emotion rather than rationality?”

As if he even had to ask. Hythlodaeus knew well Hermes’s reputation for eccentricity. He would have done anything in his power if it meant the lifeforms under his care were granted the right to live, and not once would rationality have entered into the equation.

Hythlodaeus read his answer in his silence. “…Yes, I suppose it was foolish of me to ask. But this was one submission where I think most anyone would have agreed with me. No matter the practical advantages, the cost was too great to be borne. So I judged, and so I rejected it, so that a modified proposal would not find its way to the desk of one with fewer scruples than me.”

“I can’t imagine such a person exists,” Hermes said, quite sincerely. Hythlodaeus laughed anyway; laughed more when Emet-Selch, his temper finally frayed past bearing, reached out and yanked Azem back by the cowl, out of reach of the plant’s teeth. “It must have been truly appalling to upset even you.”

Hythlodaeus did not meet his eyes. “Yes, well, surprising as it may be, even I have standards. I suspect you can guess which concept it was.” He shrugged, wearing his habitual mild smile, though Hermes could only find it unconvincing in light of their current conversation. “In any case, we only ever met the once. I’m not surprised he doesn’t recognize me. I think it’s better if we keep it that way, don’t you?”

Hermes might have pressed the matter—he might have pointed out that Hythlodaeus was avoiding the consequences of his own actions, justified as those actions might have been—except Meteion was bounding over to them. There was a scattering of plant debris across her hair and dress, but she was grinning, and her hands were folded around the stem of a most unusual flower.

“Look, Hermes!” she crowed. “I’ve never seen a flower like this before!”

He smiled ruefully, brushing the leaves and twigs from her hair. Hythlodaeus covered his mouth and chuckled. “I see that. But you can’t go around picking flowers out of gardens. It’s not polite.”

“Azem said it was okay,” she said, as if Azem had the right to grant permission where other people’s gardens were concerned. “But I found it. I finally found it, the flower for you. Here, look.”

She thrust it at him, and Hermes accepted it with bemusement. In shape it was vaguely reminiscent of the elpis, though the rounded petals were smaller and more plentiful. In color it was a nondescript yellow-brown, the sort of plant he might pass by without a second thought or second glance.

But Meteion was looking at him expectantly, and Hermes could not help but humor her. He turned the flower this way and that until he caught sight of a soft shine nestled at its base. Frowning now, he gently brushed back the layers of petals, revealing pistils that glowed silver. When he cupped his palm around the flower, shading it for a better look, the light shone through, faint but steady. Even at night, when the flower’s dull color would render it invisible in the darkness, the glow would still be seen.

“It doesn’t look like much,” Meteion said. “It’s easy to miss it. But it’s shiny on the inside. You just can’t see it until it blooms. It made me think of you.”

There was a tightness in his throat that made it hard to answer. The longer he held his silence, the more she fidgeted, anxiously awaiting his reaction. Hermes swallowed thickly and at last managed to say, “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

She beamed, her smile bright enough to light up the room—and Hermes marveled briefly that the bird he had created for his research had grown into such a delightful, compassionate creature. He tucked the flower into her hair, settling it atop one of her wings. “I trust you’ll hold on to this for me until we can find a suitable container for it.”

Meteion nodded solemnly, and Hermes took her by the hand and brought her to join their companions. One look at Azem’s face, however, and his good mood all but dissipated. The Traveler wore an expression that he had grown familiar with over their acquaintance: teeth slightly bared, eyes slightly too bright, lips slightly curved up in a way that promised trouble. As he stopped, staring at them in apprehension, they laid a finger alongside their chin and said, “You truly do have a fascinating variety of flora here. There are so many plants even I’ve never seen before. I daresay even Halmarut would be impressed.”

Daedalus laughed. Nothing in his manner suggested that he had recognized the warning signs that were so obvious to Hermes. “Oh, psh. You exaggerate. Most of them are modifications of existing concepts, still in the experimental stage.”

Azem waved an arm, encompassing the whole of the greenhouse. “And yet I can’t help but notice that they’re flourishing in this cave when all life outside seems to be dead. Why is that, I wonder?”

Hermes flinched back, shocked by Azem’s bluntness. Even so—oddly so—Daedalus’s smile did not waver. “Oh, the explanation for that is simple enough. Come, I’ll show you.”

Daedalus stepped from the room, nodding to Hermes as he bustled past. Hermes glanced to Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus, and Azem, the four of them for once united in their puzzlement, before they followed.

When they stepped from the greenhouse, they were once again assailed by the chilliness of the cave itself. Meteion shivered violently, all the way up her spine to her head, and reached up to steady the flower in her hair. As they walked, Daedalus said over his shoulder, “I was planning on leaving this till last—working up to it, as it were. I should have known you’d be impatient. As you might have guessed, there is a reason I chose to live in an uninhabited corner of the star.”

Uninhabited?

Hermes opened his mouth but caught himself before he voiced his thoughts. More surprisingly, Azem too held their tongue, leaving the questions to Emet-Selch. “You’re conducting early-stage concept testing, I presume? As with the plants? There are facilities and researchers closer to the city that would be more than willing to assist in the development process.”

“Ah… yes. I know. But this idea is very dear to me, and I wished to see it perfected before sharing it with others. It has already been rejected once before and I wanted enough data on hand to support a repeat submission.”

Meteion was the only one who turned to frown at Hythlodaeus: She had not heard his story, but to her that mattered not. The others knew better than to react, and as always, Daedalus took no note of a creation’s movements. Emet-Selch said, his tone carefully neutral, “If it was rejected, does that not make it imperative to receive feedback, so that you may incorporate any necessary changes before the final submission?”

“That may be so, but I fear that inviting an early opinion will only muddle the waters.” Daedalus’s voice was quiet but firm. “It is for the good of the star. That is all that matters in the end.”

Hythlodaeus said nothing. He was staring at another nondescript door at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed and unfocused. Emet-Selch wore a similar look, watching the aetherial world rather than the corporeal. Unmindful of their uneasiness, Daedalus stopped at the end of the corridor. He drew in a deep breath, placed his hand atop the door in question, and shoved it open.

The space beyond could barely be called a room; it was little more than a natural cavern that had been sealed off with an artificial wall. The ceiling of the wedge-shaped cavern sloped downward so sharply that even Meteion would have had to duck to explore the cavern’s far reaches. The stratified rock along the walls was still pitted and rough. If Hermes had to hazard a guess, this might well have been the very first room, built in the heart of the facility.

The room was lit bright with crystals: not the orderly prisms used for recording and magical applications, but the chaotic outgrowths that sprang up in the wake of uncontrolled aether surges. They grew on the natural shelves along the walls and formed around stalagmites on the uneven ground; they glowed in all colors, fiery orange and cold blue and gentle yellow. The few artificial additions nestled between the crystal formations—a darkened panel on the wall beside the door, a block of black stone crawling with white runes in the center of the room—did little to illuminate the room’s purpose.

Hermes could be forgiven for staring. It would have been a jawdropping sight even had he not immediately drawn parallels between the central structure and the obelisks that had caused them so much grief. Even lacking knowledge of mage script, it was clear this was a different type of device. It was less than half his height but broader than the length of his outstretched arms, more a table than a tower, though he could not yet guess at its function.

Daedalus lifted his chin, satisfaction clear on his features as he regarded the room. “The ridges and canyons around here act as something of a natural maze, trapping and directing aether in predictable patterns. Several of the currents pass through here as they flow from the plains to the other side of the mountains. This cave was the ideal location to conduct my research.”

Emet-Selch’s brows drew together. He folded his arms together but offered no comment—he who had been tasked with overseeing the Underworld and the movement of aether about the star—and after an uncomfortable moment, Daedalus continued.

“As you have no doubt noticed, I am not particularly skilled at creation magicks.” He spoke with a slightly apologetic smile and a wave of his hand that encompassed the room. “My natural stores of aether leave much to be desired. I cannot do much at all without a physical catalyst to guide my efforts. And so I threw myself into the study and design of concepts, how best to leverage little power to great effect.”

Azem stiffened at his words but did not look back. Hythlodaeus’s smile remained small and distant, and Daedalus’s eyes passed over him unknowing.

“All of us, great or small, exist only to serve the star,” he said, and such was the quiet fervency in his voice that Hermes found himself instinctually agreeing. “If that is so, then each of us must have something worth contributing. If my magic and my power are insufficient, then I will devote my mind and my heart, all that I have to offer, to invention, that through my work others can contribute to the betterment of Etheirys.”

Hermes did not want to ask. He was afraid to ask. So it was that Meteion spoke, in a clear, innocent voice. “And did you?”

Daedalus’s smile was beatific. Even when he answered, he did not look at her, gaze instead sweeping across his fellows. “Yes. And even better, I found a way that even I might assist.”

Hythlodaeus’s hands curled into fists. Standing behind him as he was, Hermes was the only one to notice.

“All too often I found my own aether inadequate to the tasks I would perform. If such a limitation were removed, would we not all be able to contribute more to our shared cause? How many have grand dreams, magnificent dreams, for the star, but lack the power to turn them into a reality?”

Daedalus paused, then, seeming to remember his audience. His eyes narrowed and his smile faded a notch as he regarded Emet-Selch and Azem. “Though I suppose that has never been a concern for you. Members of the esteemed Convocation that you are, surely you have never wanted for power or authority.”

“We were not always of the Convocation,” Emet-Selch said, noncommittal. “More to the point—if your invention truly is as groundbreaking as you claim, why not invite an expert opinion? Even if it has been rejected once before, the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect is not so unreasonable a man as to rebuff you without reason. Infuriating, yes, but not unreasonable.”

Daedalus shook his head and stepped forward. Hermes held his breath, but Daedalus did not approach the central table—merely began to pace the length of the room, threading his way between the crystals growing from the cave floor.

“His disapproval was quite clear at the time of my initial submission.” He stopped at the wall, turned, and began to walk back. “It may help if I were to first explain to you the workings of the  concept in question. It is a system to collect and store aether. It forms a sort of shared pool, if you will, that anyone can then draw from. No longer would we be limited to that which we can accomplish with our own power or what we can scrounge from our surroundings. We would all be able to freely wield large-scale creation magicks and give form to anything we envision.”

Daedalus turned to them, sweeping his hand dramatically as if to invite applause. No applause was forthcoming; instead Azem said softly, “But aether is not born from nowhere. If not from your own stores, you must draw from the life around you or the existing aetherial currents. You mentioned choosing this cave for its location, but from the looks of it, you’ve done more than tap into the currents.”

“Ah, yes. It worked better than I could have imagined.”

Daedalus wore the blissful smile of a child with a new toy. At last he stepped toward the central structure but did not touch it, instead making a complicated motion with his hand. Dark green aether flowed from him, forming an image of lines and dots on the surface of the table. The resulting diagram was incomprehensible to Hermes, but after a moment Azem let out a small, thoughtful sound. “A map. I see.”

“I don’t see at all,” Emet-Selch groused.

“Don’t be like that. Here, look, that’s the plateau at the edge of the plains, the shape is rather unique. Then that must be the mountain range and the central dot is this cave…”

Though they stood several fulms away, they traced their finger through the air, as if the landmarks they indicated would be clear from this distance. Emet-Selch snorted, showing what little he thought of their explanation, but stared at the map regardless. “Each of those points is one of your collection facilities, then.”

“Yes, though a few appear to have grown dark in the last day or so. Your work, I imagine, though I assume you meant no harm.” Daedalus nodded. “It’s of no matter; I can fix them later. Each of the collection structures also acts as a reservoir. From the control facility here, I can draw on them and work great feats of magick.”

When he turned to them, his eyes were bright, his lips parted in wonder. “The amount of aether stored is… astonishing. There is no longer anything I cannot accomplish for lack of power. For the first time, I am capable of anything I set my mind to.”

“At the cost of all life,” Emet-Selch snapped. At last his patience had worn thin, his sharp words destroying the careful dance of unsaid accusations that had started the night previous. “You gathered enough aether to fuel your creation by draining it away from living creatures.”

Daedalus dipped his head in response, his faint smile never fading. “They are the most concentrated source of aether, to be sure. Individually they are faint and weak; all together they contain orders of magnitude more power than what we can gather from the currents.”

“They were living beings,” Emet-Selch said, and Hermes wondered at the fury in his voice. He might have thought Emet-Selch cared about the lesser lives—that the Third Seat possessed a compassionate heart—had that fury not been conspicuously absent in Elpis. Was this then what it took for him to act?

And then Daedalus said placidly, “All that we do is for the good of the star.”

Emet-Selch’s mouth opened but no words emerged. Ignoring his indignation, Daedalus turned to regard the central device. When he spoke, his voice echoed throughout the room; he addressed not them, but the world as a whole.

“We think nothing of reverting lifeforms that we might use their lives as we will. Is this not the natural next step? Improving the efficiency of a widely accepted method?”

“It is a matter of scale,” Emet-Selch hissed. “The life of one creature is of little impact. What you propose results in the death of many, the destruction of entire ecosystems.”

Daedalus’s smile was pitying. “Is that not inevitable?”

Hermes started forward without thinking, pushing past Hythlodaeus as he did. “Even so—”

“We remake the star to our own specifications,” Daedalus said. He spoke as if to a recalcitrant child, gentle and unyielding. “We destroy any species judged to be detrimental. We replace them with our creations and reconstruct the land to our will. Why not do so in one fell swoop? Their lives are so fleeting it makes little difference.”

“That decision is not yours to make!” Emet-Selch snapped.

Hermes ground his teeth, the seed of bitterness within him once more wrapping its thorns around his heart. Hythlodaeus maintained his silence, though his face had gone pale and sickly beneath the glow of the aetherial lights.

Azem had been unnaturally still. When they lifted a hand and swiped it across their mouth, it came away bloody: they had bitten through their lip. “And do you think the same of people?”

Daedalus looked politely puzzled. “People?”

“We found the remains of a girl on our way here,” Azem said. They snapped out the words and hurled them like stones, sharp with accusation and anger and grief. “At least two others are missing. Some of them researchers from Amaurot, some that might as well be mortals—all of them people, possessed of wisdom and laughter and love. So too have they been sacrificed on the altar of your ambitions.”

Daedalus blinked. His smile faded; he bowed his head, and Hermes began to hope for the first time that he might yet show compassion. But when he spoke at last, he said, “That changes nothing.”

Azem’s lips curled back over their teeth. They dropped their shoulders and snarled, like an animal on the verge of attack. Unperturbed, Daedalus continued, “I would avoid such incidents if I could, and yet my resolve does not waver. What worth do any lives, including ours, hold in comparison to the star? Even we intend to return to the Underworld. Whether that happens sooner or later, by our own volition or not, matters little in the end.”

He sighed, running an absent hand across the edge of the table. Runes flared white in the wake of his touch. “I did incorporate safeguards and release mechanisms, you know. Properly monitored, there will be no risk involved. We need not fear for our own safety or the safety of any others.”

“‘Any others.’”

It was only when they all looked at him that Hermes realized he had spoken. His voice was strange and twisted and choked. If he had been in any mind to listen, he might have recognized his tone as the one he had taken in Elpis: broken and disbelieving, wholeheartedly rejecting the truth of what he was shown. Meteion backed away from him, eyes wide, hands clasped together before her chest, but even that he did not notice.

“The only ‘others’ you might think about are our own people, and even their losses you consider acceptable for the sake of progress. What of everything else, flora and fauna and arcane creations alike? Do we consign them to death only because you deem theirs an acceptable sacrifice?”

Daedalus wore an expression of polite puzzlement that said, more than words ever could, that Hermes’s position was not one he could understand. He canted his head and noted, gently and condescendingly, “You hold affection for them. But theirs is a fleeting existence; to grow attached is to invite only pain. Better to turn your efforts to where they may do good than devote your attention to such impermanent beings.”

“I will not,” Hermes said, and such was the force behind his words that even Azem started with surprise. “They are worth no less for the shortness of their lives. They feel pain and fear and contentment just as we do. Their lives—any lives—are not for you to judge. We work for the benefit of the star, but Etheirys has no value without those who live upon her. So have I always felt, and so have I come to understand.”

A slight movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced to Azem. They bowed their head to him, and there was an odd, approving gentleness to their smile.

“I think there is nothing more to discuss,” Emet-Selch said. His eyes were as chips of amber, hard and unyielding. A look passed between him and Azem, this time one of unspoken consensus; then, flatly, he continued, “By our authority as the Convocation of Fourteen, we will be seizing control of this facility and all outposts. You will accompany us back to Amaurot, there to face the consequences of your actions.”

If anything, the puzzlement on Daedalus’s face only deepened. His gaze slid from Emet-Selch and Azem to Hermes and Hythlodaeus, but no aid was forthcoming.

“Unauthorized testing of unapproved concepts is a transgression of the highest degree; the testing of concepts that have already been rejected in no uncertain terms, even more so,” Hythlodaeus murmured. “However you might justify your actions, you will find little sympathy. For all of us, there is a price too high to pay. I’m afraid you have already paid it in the eyes of society.”

Daedalus stared at him, orange eyes squinting as if seeing him properly for the first time. His mouth opened, but no words emerged; he licked his lips and tried again. “I know you. I’ve met you. Where have I met you?”

The severity of Hythlodaeus’s expression did not fade and he did not answer. After a long moment, Daedalus sighed, his shoulders slumping, and reached up to tug at his collar. He seemed to age centuries in the space of seconds. All the joy leached from his face, overtaken by mulish petulance. He looked over his shoulder at the map on the table, shining the color of his aether, and murmured as if in a daze, “You don’t understand either. Why don’t you understand? As long as there are limits to our power, there are limits to what we as individuals can do. If I am capable of nothing but dreaming, then I would devote my dreams to the invention of tools for us all to use in pursuit of a better world.”

Daedalus turned slowly as he spoke, taking in the room containing the culmination of his life’s work. When he faced the central control structure, he stopped. He reached down and placed his palms upon its surface, running them lovingly across its edge.

Suddenly Azem hissed. They lunged forward, shoving Emet-Selch aside and knocking him off balance. On instinct, Hythlodaeus caught his shoulders and steadied him, but Emet-Selch’s low curse was drowned out by Meteion’s scream.

Hermes had no time to wonder at Azem’s startling actions. The console emitted a burst of white light, throwing the room into stark relief. The crystals growing across every surface flashed in sympathetic response, vibrating quickly enough to produce an audible hum. But the phenomenon was over almost as soon as it started. No sooner had a cry of dismay escaped Hythlodaeus’s lips than the light died down, the glow of the runes on the central device returning to a muted white.

None of them moved or said a word. Daedalus slumped over the console, hands dropping to hang at his sides, and only then did Hermes glimpse the length of steel protruding from his back.

Azem took a step back, releasing their grip on the sword. Daedalus hit the ground with a wet, sickening sound and did not move. His jovial face had grown slack; his eyes were open wide and staring. Uncomprehending, too stunned to speak, Hermes stared at the crimson staining the blade and pooling across the floor.

Azem stood with head held high, their fingers curling tightly into fists. In a voice that did not waver in the slightest, they said, “By my authority as representative of the Convocation of Fourteen, I have passed judgment on this transgressor.”

Chapter Text

It was an act of breathtaking violence.

Theirs was a peaceful people. They had devoted their lives to the betterment of the star. They believed in no conflicts that could not be resolved with words alone; they knew not privation nor despair; but most especially they did not fear death. There was no natural limit to their lifespans.; they could live forever in health and happiness if they so chose. Returning to the star was a reward and an honor granted to those who had served long and served well—and it was always, always beautiful, because there was no greater devotion than to give of one’s very self to the star they so loved.

Any other outcome was impossible. Any other outcome was unthinkable, so robust were they in constitution, so secure were they in their power. And—yes—on occasion there were accidents, whispers of someone returning to the star before their time, but such things were not spoken of in polite company. Accidents were so exceedingly rare that they were not worth a comment; they were not worth a thought.

But even rarer than accidents were those returns that were forced. For the average citizen, the very idea had never crossed their mind. They were kind, and peaceful, and well-intentioned. Never would have they imagined one of their fellows capable of horrifying violence. That one might choose to attack another as if they were no better than animals, they would have denied. They were, after all, the chosen, the cherished custodians of their star. Why waste the lives they had been gifted on fruitless, selfish pursuits? Surely none would ever choose to walk that path.

That such an action would ever be condoned by those in authority, deemed necessary even, they would have preferred not to know.

Meteion had never possessed that bone-deep understanding; she had no context for comprehending what had just occurred, save for the ripple of shock and dismay that passed through them all. Even so, she reacted instantly. A choked sound, half-scream and half-sob, tore from her throat. She covered her mouth with both hands, tears streaming down her cheeks—though if any had looked her way, they would have found that she was staring at Azem.

For once, Hermes had no attention to spare for her. He barely heard her. His eyes were riveted on the shapeless form slumped unmoving on the floor. Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus too were frozen in stunned silence.

Azem was the only one still capable of action. She stepped aside, carefully skirting the body without once looking down.

“The collection devices are still active.” Her expression was one of unshakable calm. Belatedly Hermes realized that the odd wavering of her voice, the shift in volume from nearly inaudible to far too loud and back again, was only his own inability to process the input from his senses. “Our first priority should be to dismantle them. We’ll want to act quickly to mitigate the damage.”

“Azem,” Emet-Selch protested softly. He was staring at her, eyes narrowed as if to discern her intent with sight alone. His annoyance of a few scant seconds ago had all but vanished.

Azem ignored him, just as she ignored Meteion’s tears. She leaned over the table, resting her hands on the edge and inspecting the fading lines of green aether emblazoned across the rock. “The map shows the locations of the remaining obelisks. There are seven more in total. On foot, we should be able to reach them all before sunset if we split up.”

She paused, then, the tips of her fingers pressing hard into the black stone and causing the runes to flare bright. She did not turn to face them. “If we can’t control them from here, anyway. What do you think?”

Emet-Selch’s dissatisfaction was clear in the curl of his lips, but obediently he shifted his gaze to the runes. His ensuing silence was answer enough. Hythlodaeus shook his head and spoke for the both of them. “The finished concept has undergone several major revisions since its initial submission. It would take some time to decipher its workings. Azem—”

Azem spoke over him, voice marginally higher and louder than usual. “It’ll be faster to go on a trip, then.”

She straightened up and stepped back. As she did, her foot knocked against the corpse on the floor. She jumped, just slightly, and slid her foot away without looking down. Meteion’s breath hitched at the same moment; her short sob cut high and sharp through the air.

“Hermes, Meteion, and I will head west to the lands overlooking the plains. I know the landmarks well enough that I should be able to navigate with little difficulty. The obelisks deeper in the mountains will be harder to locate. Those I would leave to the two of you: if all else fails, you can find them by soulsight, and we cannot.”

When none of them replied, Azem hesitated for the first time. Her stillness was unnatural, as if she held herself back from fidgeting, and she did not face them. “Well? Does that seem a reasonable course of action?”

“True enough that we should dismantle the devices posthaste,” Emet-Selch said slowly. The words left him only with great reluctance, and he never took his eyes off Azem. “They continue to do damage by their very existence. There’s no telling what will happen if they are left unattended.”

“I will defer to the illustrious Emet-Selch’s judgment,” Hythlodaeus said. There was an underlying pointedness to his words that said he wished someone would argue—anything to clear the stale, stagnant discomfort that had settled over them.

No one obliged. Azem made an abortive sound—cleared her throat—and then turned at last. Her eyes were determined, but there was no trace of her usual smile. “I’m afraid that leaves you two with the longer journey. We’d all better set off now if we hope to return before dark.”

“We’ll see you tonight, then,” Hythlodaeus said softly. Even so, he did not move, and it was Azem who shuffled her feet and averted her gaze first. Only then did he touch Emet-Selch’s shoulder, drawing his attention. Something unspoken passed between them then; Hythlodaeus shook his head, and Emet-Selch scoffed, and in the end they walked away.

As they left, Emet-Selch gave one last glance over his shoulder and murmured something. Hermes didn’t quite catch the words, but his tone was enough to convey his concern.

When the last echo of their footsteps had faded, a short exhale escaped Azem’s lips, a sound that might have been a sigh of relief. Only then did she look at Hermes. “We should set off too. We don’t have as far to travel, but we should still leave time for any unforeseen difficulties.”

Still there was no hint of abnormality in her demeanor. On the contrary, it only served to increase his own uneasiness. Hermes swallowed, throat bobbing with the movement, and tried his best not to look at the huddle of robes.

Were they to walk away just like this? Would they abandon the remains of a man here on the floor, ignominious and forgotten, his life judged and found wanting and discarded?

Azem pursed her lips, as if party to his thoughts, but did not answer them. She moved toward him, and Hermes dropped his gaze, unable to watch her or voice the questions on his mind.

Azem clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said.

Hermes did not argue. With Meteion trailing behind, still scrubbing tears from her cheeks, they went.

They had never before undertaken a journey in complete silence.

It was not fear nor breathlessness that prevented them from speaking: Once they escaped the maze of ravines, the terrain gave them no difficulty. They forged on grimly through the stinging wind and biting cold, and though Hermes paused to call up a spell of warmth and protection for himself and Meteion, Azem did not stop to do the same. Today his focus was entirely on navigating, head turning this way and that like a hound hunting for a scent on the wind. He spoke not a word, only strode along in such haste it was as if he feared pursuit.

Hermes might have been content to leave him to it had it not been for Meteion. She was hard-pressed to keep up: Though she had long ago stopped sobbing, tears still streamed unchecked down her cheeks, and her eyes were red from the cold and crying both. On occasion she reached up to touch the flower tucked into her hair, seeking courage within its petals.

If she so desired, Meteion could easily have fled and left behind the source of her distress. She did not. She always had been a compassionate soul. In Elpis, she had done all within her power to cheer and comfort him, and even now that had not changed.

“Azem?” she said tentatively.

Azem did not respond. Meteion looked to Hermes, an unspoken plea in her eyes that he could not help but answer. He quickened his pace, drawing abreast of their companion.

“Azem,” he said.

He too received no response. He was beginning to suspect Azem was not ignoring them so much as too wrapped up in his own thoughts to hear.

“Azem!” Hermes said, more sharply than he’d intended. Azem flinched, jumped, and landed with one foot on a rock. His ankle twisted beneath him and he stumbled. Startled, Hermes reached out to him, but Azem was already straightening up, waving away Hermes’s steadying hands.

“I’m all right!” he said quickly. “…I’m fine.”

The lie would have been obvious even to a child. Azem’s brow was creased with guilt and he was biting hard on his lower lip. Hermes raised an eyebrow meaningfully, and Azem looked down, shuffling back across the dead grass.

“I’m fine,” he repeated softly.

“You’re running away,” Hermes said, equally softly.

Azem laced his fingers together—recognized the nervous habit for what it was— dropped his hands to hang loosely by his sides. “I don’t intend to leave.”

“But still you’re running. Why else would you chase them away when you’ve spent ten moons complaining at their absence?”

Azem summoned up a faint smile. He shrugged one shoulder, trying and failing to seem carefree. He opened his mouth, doubtless to issue some sort of lighthearted retort, but no words were forthcoming. A look of consternation flitted across his face; he closed his mouth, licked his lips, and tried again.

“I’m not running,” he said, and this time sounded as if he meant it. “This is… not the sort of thing one can escape.”

His words brought to mind again the body crumpled on the stone, the blade and Azem’s hands stained in scarlet. Hermes shuddered. Though he remembered himself quickly and stiffened his spine, he was too slow to avoid Meteion’s notice. She peered up at them intently, reaching up to clasp a hand around her flower again. It crumpled in her grip, one of the petals drifting loose and settling on her shoulder.

Azem blinked, looking at her properly for the first time. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern for her momentarily eclipsing his own worries. “Have you been crying?”

She did not blink. “Azem… you’re screaming.”

Azem’s brow furrowed. He glanced to Hermes, trying to confirm what he already knew. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insisted. “You’ve been screaming all this time.”

Azem could offer no protest. Meteion looked down, tucking her hands behind her like a guilty child. She sniffled, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks, splashing on the frozen earth.

Azem sighed. He crossed the distance between them in two strides and tilted Meteion’s chin up with one finger, brushing away her tears with his other hand. “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, little traveler.”

“Why?” she inquired, eliciting a perplexed look from Azem. “You’re sad. Don’t be sorry for being sad.”

Once again, Azem looked to Hermes for guidance. Hermes only smiled faintly and shrugged. Azem stared at him for a moment longer; then he snorted, ruffled Meteion’s hair, brushed the petal from her shoulder, and began to walk again.

This time, he moved slowly enough that they could easily keep pace. This time, Meteion’s gaze on his back was thoughtful rather than distressed. At least Azem seemed to be conscious of their presence, occasionally glancing back and extending an arm to support Meteion when she struggled on the uneven ground.

When Azem spoke again, it came as a surprise.

“The first time I killed someone, it was an act of mercy.”

Hermes stumbled. After the events of the past few bells, witnessing Azem’s preternatural calm following the execution, he should expected this. On some level, perhaps he had.

Thankfully Azem pretended not to notice. The obelisk had at last come into view below them, a steep climb down from the ridge on which they walked, and he kept his eyes fixed on their destination.

“You know how mages can get,” Azem said. His tone was thoughtful and distant, as if he were commenting on tomorrow’s likely weather rather than his own past. “They devote their lives to the most ridiculously esoteric fields of study. Many become prideful and arrogant, brooking no argument from those they consider beneath them. Such people rarely agree to settle their differences in the Hall of Rhetoric. Sometimes they allow their tempers to get the better of them, then it explodes into scandal. I had the misfortune of becoming involved in a particularly nasty incident. By the time I got wind of the matter, the situation had progressed far past the point of reconciliation. One of the mages had been turned into a toadstool. Another transformed himself into a cloud and dissipated into rain rather than continue the feud.”

Azem drew a deep breath, blinking at the clouds in the sky as if expecting one to speak to him.

“One of the mages had become unwilling subject of another’s research in order to prove the rightness of her theories,” he said, still in the same tone of only mild interest.

Meteion’s reaction was all out of proportion to his words: She backed away with such haste that she stumbled and nearly fell on her back. Azem had been anticipating this. His hand shot out, catching her elbow before she lost her balance entirely, and he continued to speak. “She was engrossed in the study of living rock—layers of stone built of memories and aether that in sufficient volume can support consciousness. Her theory was correct, at least. Even when the physical form had calcified, the soul yet lingered.”

Hermes would not have been able to keep his composure if not for Meteion’s wide-eyed horror. He placed a hand on her back, urging her to continue walking despite the bile rising in his throat.

“Rocks are… not known for their ability to take action,” Azem said delicately. “With centuries of concerted effort, perhaps the victim might have been able to lift a finger, but she would have spent those centuries agonizingly aware of what she had become. By the time I found her, the physical transformation was too far along to be reversed. Forcibly returning her to the star was the kinder option.”

Hermes did not ask if it had been at her request. He found he did not want to know.

“The first time I killed someone, it was an act of mercy,” Azem repeated meditatively. “…The second time I killed someone was against her will. I found myself with little choice. I would have brought her back to Amaurot if I could, but she would not submit quietly. She tried to turn me to stone too.”

He hesitated and then added, almost apologetically, “I can think of nothing that would infuriate Emet-Selch more than having a statue with my soul delivered to his office door. No, that outcome was unacceptable. In the end the danger to myself was too great, and I had to take what measures I could to stop her.”

He fell silent then. They had reached the edge of the ridge and begun the descent to the obelisk. The slope was steep and slippery, nothing but loose shale and gravel; one wrong step and they would tumble without stopping until they hit the ground far below. Meteion chose to perch on Hermes’s shoulder rather than risk a fall, and it was in heavy silence that they picked their way down.

Though Hermes turned his attention toward the descent, Azem’s story continued to cast a shadow across his thoughts. He had heard nothing of these mage fights. Not so much as a rumor of the conflict had reached him. But Azem had never given him reason to doubt his honesty, not when it truly mattered, and so reluctantly he found that he believed.

Azem did not immediately speak once their feet were once again on level ground. Meteion remained on Hermes’s shoulder, fluffed up and shivering, as they approached the copse of rotted trees where the obelisk stood. Azem circled it with narrowed eyes and tapped the runes in the correct order. That done, he stepped back to survey his work and said without looking over, “When I returned to Amaurot, I immediately turned myself in to Pashtarot.”

Hermes blinked. He had expected words relevant to the work at hand, but it seemed Azem too was still dwelling on the past.

“I confessed all that I had done.” Azem’s mouth twisted strangely, falling into something that might have been a grimace or might have been a wry smile. “I threw myself upon the sword of law, as if through his actions he could lessen the weight of what I had done. And do you know what he did?”

“No,” Hermes said.

“No,” Azem echoed. “You’d have no reason to know. Pashtarot told me to stop wasting his time and go bother Emet-Selch. I would not have been appointed to the Seat of Azem had they not had faith in my judgment. I am the instrument of the Convocation’s will in faraway lands. I cannot break the law when I am the law.”

“But you don’t think so?” Meteion asked.

“Little traveler, if we were all so easily swayed by the opinions of others, we would live in perfect harmony.”

Azem looked up to the sun, shrugged, and turned on his heel. It was a moment before Hermes realized he was setting off for their next target.

Azem said over his shoulder, “There was no punishment Pashtarot could impose on me heavier than my own guilt. That he well knew, even as he believes it to be misplaced. It’s the same for him, you know. It’s much easier to rationalize and forgive another’s actions than your own—if you’re a fundamentally decent person, anyway. He dismissed me from his presence and told me to annoy Emet-Selch, so that I might remember that I am a fundamentally decent person and not lose myself in regret.”

Azem trailed off. He shielded his eyes with one hand, peering north toward the next obelisk, though they all knew it was still too far to be seen.

“I still inform him every time I make that choice,” Azem said. “It’s good to confirm with him that I have not strayed. But…”

There was a hesitance to his manner that struck Hermes as odd. Azem’s head tilted. Eyes unfocused, he stared far to the east. It was a moment before Hermes remembered it as the direction Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus had gone, and then he understood. “They don’t know. You’ve never told them.”

“They might know,” Azem replied, with a crease in his brow and in the mildly guilty tone that spoke more eloquently than words as to his inability to keep secrets. “They probably know. But we’ve never… spoken of it. I’ve certainly never done anything… like that… in front of them. But this time—in this situation—I had no choice.”

Meteion shifted and fluttered uneasily. Azem shrugged, a long roll of his shoulders up and down, and said with very softly and with true regret, “I had no choice. Emet-Selch would have been forced to act if I had not, and that would have been the worst possible outcome. He is charged with the aetherial realm and the keeping of the dead; I would not have him bear the burden of judging the living.”

“And so you would bear the burden yourself, and then flee rather than face them,” Hermes said.

Azem winced. “I think I liked you better without the pointed commentary.”

With a flutter of wings, Meteion leapt from Hermes’s shoulder to perch on Azem’s. He started at the sudden movement, but she only canted her head and said, “Why are you running from them? When you were so happy to see them again?”

For a moment Hermes thought Azem wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed and said, “I would say it’s complicated and leave it at that, but that wouldn’t satisfy you, would it? I’m afraid, Meteion. To suspect me of impropriety conducted out of sight is one thing. To witness a man die by my hand is quite another. I cherish their opinions over all others on this star. I fear nothing so much as that they might spurn me.”

“You have nothing to fear,” Hermes said softly.

“They love you a lot.” Meteion spoke the words as if they were inarguable truth. “And you love them. And Azem, we were there too, and we saw too, and we don’t hate you, so why would they?”

They walked for a time in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Though they moved briskly, strides devouring the distance to their next target, the heat generated by their movements was quickly dissipated in the winter chill. The dead grass rattled in the biting wind. Hermes shivered, unobtrusively passing a hand across his body and renewing his heating spells. Meteion leaned into Azem’s neck, her feathers puffed around her. He seemed to notice for the first time that he had taken no measures to protect from the cold; he reached up, stroking her head, and sent warm aether cascading over their bodies.

At length Azem said, “What have I ever done to deserve your friendship?”

“Would you like a list?” Hermes said dryly. That startled a laugh from Azem; Meteion’s wings fluttered in surprise, and Hermes found himself smiling in response.

“You’re a good person, Azem,” Meteion murmured, her voice gone soft and dreamy. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone if you didn’t have to. So you don’t have to cry.”

“Oh, little traveler. How I wish everyone held such a simple, kind view of the world.”

Hermes’s chest ached with the shared sentiment. He breathed in deep; the frosty air stung his throat and lungs and nearly set him to coughing.

If only everyone possessed Meteion’s optimism.

If only everyone had the strength to believe in man’s innate kindness, even after witnessing the extent of his cruelty.

The terrain west of the highlands was forgiving enough to make for an almost pleasant walk. Within a few bells, they’d reached the last of the aetherial reservoirs. Here as at the others, they encountered no resistance and no difficulty. Azem stared at the obelisk, as if by will alone he would be able to sense the aether drifting free and returning to the parched land; Hermes stared at Azem, waiting for the moment he could put off their return no longer.

At last Azem’s mouth twisted. Still watching the glowing runes, he said, “I don’t suppose—”

“No,” Hermes said with finality.

Azem sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically. “Oh, very well. Lead the way, then.”

Unlikely as it was that Azem would try to escape alone, Hermes watched him closely as they returned to the caves. The twisting ravines were still near-impossible to navigate; they would have lost their way countless times if not for Meteion. Again she took to the air, signaling their direction with dives and flicks of her wings. Even then, the sun was still just above the horizon by the time they reached the disguised staircase. Hermes released a sigh when they stepped into the cave, but Azem remained staring at the gilded entryway, brow furrowed.

“Rainboar for your thoughts,” Hermes said, as gently as he knew how.

“I’d be impressed if you found a rainboar to offer here,” Azem said. The corner of Hermes’s mouth quirked; at least Azem had retained that much humor. “…I was just thinking. There’s no one here now, is there?”

Hermes understood his meaning: There was a sense of odd displacement, the emptiness of a place missing something that had always been present. But he did not know how it felt to be the one responsible for that emptiness, and in the end he gave no answer. “Let’s go in. We should consider what to do for supper.”

“I have so missed hearing Emet-Selch complain about my cooking,” Azem said.

He stepped forward, but before he could pass through the archway, Meteion took to the air and flew circles around the two of them. “I’ll go! And show them the way too. They might have trouble finding us. So I’m going.”

Before Hermes could give his assent, or Azem could praise her for her thoughtfulness, she was gone in a darting bolt of blue. They stared after her as she vanished into the sunset; then Azem sighed wryly and shook his head. “I apologize, Hermes. It seems she couldn’t stand to be near me any longer.”

“Surely that’s not it,” he protested weakly.

A wry smile tugged at Azem’s lips, and he lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “In the meantime, I will do my very best to stop screaming. Come. Let’s see if we can put together a decent supper or if I’ll find something else to scream about.”

They walked through the stone halls, Hermes jumping at every shadow. Though he knew logically that the cave was unoccupied, he couldn’t shake the feeling that danger lurked unseen just around the corner. Unease crept up his spine at every flickering lamp and darkened doorway. He breathed a sigh of relief when at last they stepped through into the sad little dining room, Azem turning on the lights with a flick of his fingers and revealing that the cramped kitchen was empty.

Even the kitchen where they had never set foot felt haunted. Hermes kept starting at nothing; it still felt he might turn to see Daedalus standing just behind him, humming tunelessly with ladle in hand. He tried to focus on preparing supper, but all the foodstuffs they found were poorly preserved, molding onions and sprouting potatoes sharing pantry space with liquefied fruits and weevil-ridden flour. There wasn’t much they could do in the end save to throw the least spoiled bits into a pot and set it all to boil.

Azem folded his arms and stared at the pot, as if hoping by some alchemy it might transform into something edible. Hermes closed the pantry and leaned against the door. “What next?”

“Now we wait for the soup to finish and Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus to return,” Azem said. When Hermes didn’t answer, Azem frowned, blue eyes flicking to him. “…That’s not what you meant. Well. We destroy all traces of the experiments conducted here so that this creation can never be used again. We monitor the area for the next decade and rehabilitate it as best we can. With any luck, the flow of aether and souls returns to the way it was prior to this incident.”

That, too, was not what Hermes was asking, and so he kept his silence. Azem fidgeted uncomfortably under his scrutiny and looked away. Bubbles were starting to drift to the surface of the soup; Azem reached over, drawing his finger through the air above it and giving it an unnecessary stir.

“You’ve never seen anyone killed before, have you, Hermes?” Azem said, without looking over.

That word again—”killed.” No gentle euphemisms, no attempt to couch the ugly truth in lovely terms. Azem spoke baldly and directly, and so Hermes answered the same way. “Not a person, no.”

“But you have seen many creatures die in Elpis.” Azem settled back on his heels, resting his hands against the counter and frowning at the soup. One sad chunk of potato hissed and exploded under his gaze. “In the general sense, I suppose it’s much the same. His corporeal form will return to aether. His soul will return to the Underworld, there to be reborn. That much is a certainty. But that is also not what you meant.”

“Is it always like this?” Hermes asked softly.

Azem’s fingers drummed against the counter. When he spoke, it was with the cadence of repetition, words that had been passed on to him and that he passed on now in turn. “It’s different every time. You pray that it is different every time. If it becomes the same to you, you have grown accustomed to the act of taking life; if you have grown accustomed to taking life, you have ceased to care, and it is in that moment that you become a monster. Understand the weight of your actions. Carry the memories with you always, but…”

He faltered. “…But do not allow the burden to become so heavy as to overwhelm you.”

Head bowed, he sunk into thought. Hermes watched him for a time, but he had no words of comfort to offer. Instead he said, “I think the soup is ready,” and with clear relief, Azem straightened up and removed the pot from the stove.

Their pitiful supper was taken in silence, after which they retired to the small lounge intended to entertain visitors. Azem stretched his whole length across one of the lopsided couches and stared up at the ceiling blankly; Hermes first detoured to the archive room to select a few promising concept crystals and settled down in an overstuffed armchair to inspect them. He made little headway. As Hythlodaeus had said, the plans contained within were dense with such technical detail he would have had trouble comprehending them even had he been fully focused. As it was, he found himself looking up at least once a minute, whenever Azem moved or sighed, or when he encountered a diagram that gave him particular pause.

When the sound of footsteps echoed through the cave, Azem lifted his head and Hermes stiffened. From the pattern of steps, at least two people were approaching. There was no reason to think it was anyone other than the expected two; still, after all that had already happened today, Hermes found his heart racing. He put aside the crystal and folded his hands together as he waited for their arrival; realized a second later that he was too nervous to restrain himself thus and unclasped them again.

But when the footsteps stopped in the hall and one of the new arrivals poked his head through the door, Hermes released a sigh. There was nothing amiss after all.

“Hythlodaeus,” Azem said, and it was a mark of his dour mood that he did not even summon up a smile.

Hythlodaeus’s eyes narrowed, staring not at Azem so much as through him. His voice was just as solemn as he said, “You’re still here.”

Azem swung his legs over the edge of the couch, sitting up properly, and made an admirable attempt at feigning normalcy. “Of course I’m still here. We made soup for supper.”

Hythlodaeus frowned. Emet-Selch stepped around him, peering into the room with unfamiliar concern creasing his brow. “Are you all right?”

Azem tilted his head. “Of course I’m all right,” he said, voice artificially bright. “The soup isn’t that bad. Well, the meat was so questionable we didn’t add it in the end, and there’s practically nothing in the way of seasoning—”

Hythlodaeus came to a decision. He stepped into the room swiftly and purposefully. Azem fell quiet, staring at him with wide eyes, until Hythlodaeus fell onto the couch beside him and in one fluid movement drew him into his arms.

Azem stiffened but did not pull away. Hythlodaeus tangled one hand through his hair, pressing Azem’s face to his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still here,” he murmured. “You have an unfortunate habit of running away when upset, and we have lived long enough in your absence.”

Azem’s fingers flexed and slowly curled into fists. Still he could not move. “…You’re not angry with me?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Emet-Selch said.

Though Hythlodaeus’s face was turned away, the smile in his voice was unmistakable. “Why would we be angry at you for doing what had to be done?”

Azem sighed softly. He slumped against Hythlodaeus, closing his eyes, and it was with a pleased possessiveness that Hythlodaeus pressed his lips to Azem’s hair. He looked up for a moment at Emet-Selch; Emet-Selch gave a minuscule sigh and moved to join them. When he sank onto the couch on Azem’s other side and placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression was still uncharacteristically tender.

Hermes stood forgotten, feeling intensely discomfited just to look at them. After a moment, he shook his head, turned on his heel, and left. The other three said not a word; he couldn’t dismiss the possibility they hadn’t even noticed his departure.

That space was foreign to him. For one brief, bitter moment, Hermes wondered how his life might have differed had any ever showed the same care to him.

Meteion was supposed to have returned with Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, but she was nowhere to be found inside the cave. Hermes’s worry for her spurred him to step outside and lasted only as long as it took to spot her waiting. She descended to him in a flutter of wings and alighted on his outstretched hand. After a cursory inspection, in which he confirmed that she’d suffered no harm, he smiled and brushed a finger down her back.

“You do not have to linger here,” he murmured to her.

Meteion’s feathers puffed, though whether in indignation or simple distress, he could not say. “But…”

Hermes’s smile only broadened with affection. “Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus will see to Azem. You see to yourself. There is no reason for you to suffer needlessly.”

Still Meteion was unconvinced. She tilted her head, and though her expressions were more difficult to read in avian form, Hermes thought there was a glint of mulishness in her eyes.

“There is nothing here that will hurt you,” he said gently, and tried not to think of why: that through the actions of one man, there was nothing left that could hurt her. “Go on, then, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, silently conveying her disapproval, then spread her wings. Hermes settled himself atop a boulder just outside the cave and watched her go. When she had vanished from sight, he looked down to the concept crystal in his hands, turning it over and over as if that would provide some insight to its contents.

He did not know how long he sat there, lost in thought, lost in contemplation of the work of a dead man. When he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye, he started and turned. Emet-Selch stood behind him, frowning at him.

“Azem—” Hermes began, and then stopped.

“Hythlodaeus is looking after them,” Emet-Selch said. He too fell silent, a conflict that Hermes did not understand reflected in his eyes. Hermes watched Emet-Selch warily for a time; discomfited, Emet-Selch looked away, staring into the distance with a deepening scowl.

At last Hermes turned back to Daedalus’s crystal, rolling it between his fingers and sending words flashing through the air too quickly to be read. They spent so long in silence that Hermes jumped when Emet-Selch spoke again.

“…I wanted to thank you.”

Hermes stilled. Emet-Selch was still not looking at him. His arms were folded, fingers wrapped tight around his elbows; his lips were pursed in an expression of deep distaste.

Hermes opened his mouth but then hesitated, unsure if he wanted to draw Emet-Selch’s apparent ire upon himself. In the end Emet-Selch continued anyway, though his voice was distant, as if he were speaking to the air rather than to Hermes.

“Azem told us the events leading up to your collapse. You were hurt only because you protected them. They were more comfortable taking risks because there was someone they trusted at their back.”

“It was an unnecessary and foolish risk,” Hermes said, unable to help the flash of annoyance he felt at the memory. “Azem is the more experienced traveler and better able to summon help if the need arises. If only Meteion and myself were left, we would have been at a loss as to how to proceed.”

Emet-Selch did not answer immediately. It would have been too much to hope that he would leave now that he had said his piece. When Hermes chanced a glance at him, Emet-Selch was looking back over his shoulder, gazing through the stone at the souls still within the cave.

“We have always been the ones Azem turned to if they needed advice or assistance,” he murmured. “But these last ten moons they have been too damned stubborn to summon us, and we never knew if it was because they would not or could not call. But you were there,” he added, and Hermes jerked away as if struck, because there was no mistaking the resentment in his voice.

…Was Emet-Selch jealous?

Ridiculous as it seemed, he could conceive of no other explanation for the man’s behavior. As Azem cherished Emet-Selch, so too did Emet-Selch grudgingly, reluctantly cherish Azem.

When had Hermes become worth that jealousy, a target of feelings other than scorn?

Hermes selected his words carefully. “We have spent a long journey being dragged along in Azem’s wake. You know how they can be.” Emet-Selch snorted, but his eyes softened with something like fondness. “We have seen and experienced many things, but we have not encountered grave danger until now. If we had, I am certain they would have called you.”

“If you are attempting to comfort me, I assure you, I have no need of it.”

And yet Emet-Selch was the one who had raised the subject. Hermes maintained a bland expression, but still Emet-Selch glared at him, as if capable of reading thoughts as well as souls. Then he frowned, gaze sharpening as it landed on the object in Hermes’s hands. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Hermes had quite forgotten the concept crystal. He raised it into the air before him, studying the play of moon- and starlight across its surface, but made no move to hand it over.

“I thought it might be worthwhile to go through… his archives.” Hermes found himself reluctant to speak the man’s name aloud. Emet-Selch only nodded; perhaps he understood the sentiment. “Given the astonishing technological advancements in his work, I thought there might be ideas or concepts worth salvaging.”

“His work? Worth salvaging?” Emet-Selch snarled.

Startled, Hermes’s fingers loosened around the crystal, and it nearly slipped from his grasp. Emet-Selch plucked it from his hand before it could fall. For a moment Hermes thought he might fling it away into the darkness of the ravine, but Emet-Selch only stared at it, lip curling as if he were facing not the concept but the architect responsible.

Hermes blinked. When he next spoke, it was in the calm, level tone that had once belonged to the overseer of Elpis. “The creations do not deserve to be discarded for the faults of the creator. If there is anything there of worth, I would see it preserved, for the betterment of the star and her peoples.”

Emet-Selch grunted, making clear what he thought of that “worth.” Hermes felt heat creeping up his face and across his ears, but he offered no argument. The silence stretched awkward between them, empty of the usual nocturnal noise of insects and scurrying creatures—until at last Emet-Selch sighed, and it was almost, almost a concession. He held the crystal out to Hermes. Hermes accepted it and resisted the urge to hide it back within his robes.

“What do you make of all this?” Emet-Selch asked. He managed to sound cool and distant, the Third Seat soliciting the professional opinion of a colleague, and Hermes considered the question in the same manner.

“I think all of us can agree that he was mistaken in his approach. Everything that lives upon the land is intrinsically linked to the star. To sacrifice one for the benefit of the other is absurd. And yet, to some extent, that is what we do every day.”

Emet-Selch frowned, clearly not following. Hermes balanced the crystal on the tips of his fingers and searched for the right words.

“An entire network of obelisks would obliterate all life in these fields and mountains. Very well. What about the damage done by only one obelisk?”

“Even one obelisk is enough to kill everything within malms,” Emet-Selch objected.

Hermes bowed his head in grave acknowledgement. “Then what if we were to sacrifice only a single ravine? A single species? A single creature?”

Emet-Selch glowered as if personally insulted. Hermes shook his head, having no need to hear his answer.

“You would think nothing of reverting a single creature into aether,” he said. “You are not the only one. After that it is only a matter of scale. Is two creatures too many? Ten? One hundred? Where do you draw the line? Are we so lax as to leave it to each individual’s judgment?”

He rolled the crystal into his palm and wrapped his fingers around it. “It is something we must discuss. There is no avoiding it. If we must make sacrifices for the sake of the star, then I would have those sacrifices be made with full understanding of the weight of those lives lost. That is why I sent the Meteia to the stars, and that is what I would have our people learn.

“If we accept the deaths of a few for the good of the many, then it becomes no great stretch to accept the deaths of many for the good of all. It would be too easy to condemn this incident as the work of a madman—but I would have it be known that Daedalus was no more than a natural outcome of the society which shaped him.”

To Hermes’s declaration, Emet-Selch made no response, but the thin line of his lips spoke to his discomfort.

“We will be returning to Amaurot soon,” he said instead. Hermes stiffened, gripping the crystal so hard the tips of his fingers blanched white. “We would see this matter concluded with all haste. You will accompany us, both as witnesses and to answer for your own misdeeds.”

In lieu of responding, Hermes tucked the crystal into his robes. He had anticipated this, of course. They had not been intending to return to the city for another two moons yet, but from the moment he had awoken to see Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch, he had known their journey was nearing an end.

“Emmerololth spoke well of you,” Emet-Selch said, his tone almost one of apology—as if he would have let Hermes walk away if he were someone else, someone with less dedication to his office. “From them, that is high praise indeed.”

Hermes was taken aback. During their brief acquaintance, he had had the strong impression that Emmerololth was more inclined to cutting criticism.

Behind him came the sound of shifting robes and footsteps. Emet-Selch moved to stand beside him and looked down, eyes as bright as the moon and equally as inscrutable. “Nonetheless, their opinion has little bearing on this matter. Whatever your agreement with Azem, I cannot let you continue on, whether or not you’ve accomplished your purpose.”

“That’s all right,” Hermes said, and found to his surprise that he spoke truth. “It’s been long enough.”

Emet-Selch arched one brow, as if inviting him to elaborate—long enough for what, exactly? “Don’t tell me you’ve enjoyed it.”

“I won’t,” Hermes said, immediately and with such perfect honesty that Emet-Selch’s lips curved upward before he could stop himself. “In the beginning, it was more painful than enjoyable.”

“And after that?” When Hermes did not answer immediately, Emet-Selch pressed, “Has your journey been good? Has it been worth distracting Azem from their duties?”

Hermes mulled it over, there in the dark of night, watched over by the stars and a man with whom he’d have said he shared no common ground. He shivered at the cold whisper of the wind through his hair and the promise of snow upon his skin. The ravine was silent and dead below him. This was not now a land hospitable to men; it was not the sort of place he had thought to ever see. For a brief moment, he wondered where Meteion had gone and what she was doing.

It seemed a century since they had fled Elpis, denounced and disgraced. Ever since, Hermes had often resented what his life had become. He had experienced more fear and suffering in these last ten moons than he could have ever imagined. He had witnessed the astonishing, the ridiculous, the unbelievable—and looking back on it now, every step, every moment, had been worthwhile.

Hermes pushed himself to his feet. With a thoughtless brush of his hand across his cheek, he sent warmth coursing through his body.

“Azem claimed me as servant only as a means to an end,” he said. “They were trying to help in the way they knew best.

“‘Etheirys is truly a wonderful star.’ They wished only that Meteion and I would come to love our star as they do, and in so doing find our places and our purpose.”

He turned to face Emet-Selch fully. The Third Seat startled back, eyes widening. For the first time in memory, Hermes was wearing a full, genuine smile; for this single moment, his soul felt unburdened, free and light as a bird soaring the sky.

“In the past ten moons, we have accomplished what we set out to do, and so I will consider our journey concluded,” he said. “I will return to you with Amaurot and answer for my missteps and my mistakes. And if there I find forgiveness, if my heart is judged worthy and my intentions just, and if that road is still open to me, I would answer the request you made of me long ago. I would accept the Seat of Fandaniel, and I will devote myself to the betterment of our people and the protection of all life on the star.

“That is my answer.”

It was still early in the morning when Hythlodaeus awoke. His return to consciousness was slow and groggy. First he noticed the persistent chill, in the air and seeping through the floor; then he noticed the sound of quiet breaths taken out of sync.

The space next to him was empty. Hythlodaeus sat up and looked around. As he did, a violet blanket slipped from his body and puddled in his lap. He stared at it for a moment, half-conscious mind working to understand how it had gotten there, why it had not been stolen by his usual greedy bedmate, and what situation could have resulted in him sleeping on the floor. Then his eye was caught by an oddly shaped huddle of wool and protruding limbs a yalm away. Hythlodaeus snorted at the sight, though he immediately covered his mouth so as not to wake them.

Both he and Emet-Selch had been reluctant to leave Azem’s side the night previous. Azem had been just as reluctant to see them go. The end result was that they had never quite made it to the guest rooms: Overcome by physical and emotional exhaustion alike, they had dozed off one after another on the floor of the lounge. It reminded Hythlodaeus of their misbegotten youth—though as he stretched his arms over his head and winced as his back cracked, he thought wryly that he was not nearly as spry now, if indeed he had ever been spry enough to sleep on bare rock without regretting it in the morning.

Sometime during the night, Azem had wiggled away from Hythlodaeus’s side in favor of the greater warmth of Emet-Selch. Now they lay curled against him, wrapped tight in blankets of a warm sunny yellow and black threaded through with gold. Even without the lingering traces of aether woven through the fabric, Hythlodaeus would have guessed who had conjured them, just as he could tell which of the blankets had been stolen from its creator. In sleep Emet-Selch made no move to push Azem away; his head was tilted toward them, and there was something protective in the arm curled about them.

Hythlodaeus sat for a time and contemplated the sight. Tempting as it was to spin up a recording crystal, some priceless moments were better left to memory. In the end he stood and draped his own blanket around Emet-Selch to ward off the winter chill, though he had no doubt it too would soon be claimed by Azem, and went to see about breakfast.

Neither awoke as he slipped from the room. Hythlodaeus stood in the hallway and sighed, savoring the flow of the cold air through his lungs. A cursory glance told him that Hermes yet slumbered in the guest rooms. He was the only person awake at this hour. Stifling a yawn, he turned his feet in the direction of the kitchen.

There was one creature, not person, already fluttering about. She was frowning at a saucepan on the stove, bending over with great care to avoid the flames, and did not notice him. Hythlodaeus watched her for a time, but the aroma wafting from the saucepan was unmistakable, and at length he said, “You’ll want to strain the grounds out next.”

Meteion jumped nearly to the ceiling in her surprise. She turned to him, eyes grown huge and round in her small face, and backed away. Hythlodaeus remained leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not capable of eating, are you? I’m surprised you knew to grind the beans at all.”

“Um,” she said hesitantly. It might have been the first time Hythlodaeus had ever addressed her directly; certainly it was the first time they had ever been alone together. “I’ve. Seen them make it before. Hermes and Azem. I thought maybe they’d like it. Is that okay?”

“It’s not my home. As far as I’m concerned, you’re free to do as you like.”

Several seconds passed before Meteion nodded and moved to the cupboards. As she rooted around through the flatware, finally emerging with a bowl in hand, Hythlodaeus narrowed his eyes at the stove and extinguished the flame with barely a thought. Meteion started in surprise when she turned back and found it no longer alight; then, with a wary glance at Hythlodaeus, she lowered the bowl into the dark liquid. The tip of her tongue protruded from her mouth as she began to fish out fragments of poorly crushed bean.

Hythlodaeus made no move to assist. He made no move to approach at all. Instead, after some few minutes of watching her struggle, he said, “Thank you for telling us that Azem needed us.”

Meteion jumped, nearly spilling the beans back into the saucepan. She darted one anxious glance at Hythlodaeus. “Are they…?”

“Still asleep. Emet-Selch is with them.”

She ducked her head in acknowledgement but made no further response, instead returning to her work. At last, when most of the grounds had been removed along with a third of the coffee, Meteion set aside the wet bowl. She said, more to the saucepan than to Hythlodaeus, “Everyone was… really unhappy yesterday. So. I wanted to cheer them up. But I don’t know what you like or what would make you happy, except maybe coffee, but I haven’t made coffee before.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Hythlodaeus said blandly. Meteion squirmed under the weight of the supposed compliment. “Do you understand what happened?”

She nodded. “That man. He was alive, and then he wasn’t, and Azem did it.”

Hythlodaeus opened his mouth to tell her there was much more to it than that but hesitated. Meteion was already continuing, “It happened in Elpis all the time. The observers would shake their heads and look serious, and then the animals would die, and then Hermes would be sad.”

“It’s not the same,” Hythlodaeus said without thinking. Meteion blinked and tilted her head, clearly uncomprehending, and suddenly he realized: It was the same to her. She too was an artificial creation little better than an animal.

The revelation crept up his spine in an uncomfortable prickle, and he bit his lip and resisted the urge to avert his eyes. In the time it took to recover himself, Meteion returned to preparing the coffee. There had been no dairy to be found in the pantry—a blessing, for surely it would have soured or molded over—but she dropped a copious quantity of sugar into the pan and began to stir, her brow furrowed and lips puckered in concentration.

Emet-Selch won’t like that, Hythlodaeus thought aimlessly, and then, I wonder if Hermes takes his coffee that sweet?

While Meteion was doing her best to ignore him, Hythlodaeus narrowed his eyes and looked through her. With all the chaos ever since their arrival, he hadn’t had the opportunity to study her composition in detail. When they had first met in Elpis moons past, he’d found her quite intriguing. Truly she was a most elegant creation, as expected from one of Hermes’s expertise and passion. Knowing what he did now of her purpose, he was in awe of the quality of her construction. Really, he would have loved to see her concept crystal and development records. Even more fascinating was her ability to adapt. As they measured time, it had not been long at all since he’d last seen her, and yet she had changed so much that he might almost have mistaken her for a different creature entirely.

Hythlodaeus waited until she had set aside the sugar and returned to rummaging through the cabinets before he spoke again. “Your aetherial composition has changed, did you know?”

Meteion froze and did not turn to him. He ruminated, “It’s quite a substantial change. I wonder if it’s the result of your travels?”

“I…don’t know.”

Still he persisted. “When we last met, you were little more than a newly hatched chick, ignorant of everything outside of your little aerial nest. Azem took you along on this journey so that you might learn more of the world below. Were your experiences so significant as to define who you are now?”

“…I don’t know,” she repeated.

Hythlodaeus sighed and rolled his eyes, more at himself than anything. Of course she wouldn’t know. She was only a familiar, after all.

“But… A lot of things happened. Both bad things and good things.”

Meteion turned around. Her hands were empty; she had not managed to find what she sought. Though she was facing him at last, she still seemed unable to meet his gaze: She was staring at the ground beneath his feet, one hand twisting a thin gold bangle around her wrist. “There was a boar. A great big colorful one.”

Hythlodaeus blinked. He could call to mind the concept—if he recalled correctly, Azem had had a hand in its creation—though he didn’t know how it was relevant.

“Azem made us kill it and then threw it into the water. Hermes was really mad. But then we met people who lived in the water, they said they were fishpeople, and then it was okay, because they needed the boar and its life wasn’t wasted.”

Hythlodaeus was still digesting that when Meteion glanced down at the bangle, laying one finger against its topaz inset. “We caught a bird and then there was a wedding,” she said, and Hythlodaeus would have been confused by that sequence of events had he not already heard the story—heard it direct from Emet-Selch’s mouth, in fact, in a tone of utmost disgust that such a roundabout plan had actually worked. “I’ve never seen a wedding. The people getting married were really, really happy. And some people got mad at the people getting married, and also at us, but there were only a few of them, and everyone else was relieved. So it’ll be okay. They want it to be okay, so they’ll make it be okay.”

“Is that really how it works?” Hythlodaeus asked, amused.

Meteion shook her head without answering.“There was a village. Lots of people got sick. Some of them… died… before we got there.” She paused, her mouth working strangely around the world that was so foreign to men. “But. The people there aren’t ready to give up yet. So they’ll be okay too.

“And. We went high up into the mountains and down to the other side. There was a village there before, but there’s no village there now.”

Hythlodaeus froze. Meteion glanced at him and away again just as quickly. She did not read souls the way he did, but she could hardly have failed to notice his reaction.

“Azem cried,” she said quietly, and those two words were as a cold fist clenched tight around his heart. “They said they failed. It was their fault.”

“It wasn’t,” he said, though the words only escaped him in a whisper.

“They thought it was. But still. Even if people died because of them. They’re still here. Still trying.”

Her bluntness rendered Hythlodaeus speechless. Meteion turned back to the cupboard. She rolled up onto the tips of her claws and reached up, clumsily knocking plates and saucers aside as she did. Straining with the effort, she hooked her fingers around the handle of a cup at the back and pulled it toward her.

“…You are a cruel child,” Hythlodaeus said at last, unable to even affect a smile.

“Azem will be okay,” she said, still facing the cupboard. Her tone was familiar. It was the same way he or Emet-Selch spoke of Azem, with perfect confidence and unshakable trust. “You’re here. You’ll make sure they’re okay. And they love the star. Even if it makes them sad sometimes, it makes them happy more, and that’s what they want.”

As she spoke, she pulled cup after cup into her arms. Hythlodaeus stepped forward, meaning to take them from her, but at the sound of his footsteps, she stiffened. He rocked back on his heels and came no closer. Meteion rested one hand on the shelf before her and tilted her head up to stare at nothing.

“It was fun sometimes and it was scary sometimes,” she admitted. “It was good and it was bad and it was both. But. It wasn’t the end. Good things, bad things, none of them go on forever. And it’s like that for being happy too. No one was happy all the time for no reason. It’s hard work, being happy.”

“That’s a strange thing to say,” Hythlodaeus said.

“But it’s right. Happiness… isn’t a thing that just happens.” Meteion turned away from the cupboard. Her arms were overflowing with misshapen cups, enough for all of them and a few extras besides. The mug on top of the pile was precariously balanced and looked like to fall at any moment, though she didn’t appear to notice.

“We didn’t find happiness among the stars,” she whispered, and her eyes were dark and distant and full of remembered pain. “Everywhere we went, everyone was sad or gone, and they made us sad too. But just because you’re sad now doesn’t mean you have to be sad forever. Maybe they can all be happy again, and if they don’t know how, maybe we can remind them.”

“Just like Azem does?” Hythlodaeus asked gently.

Meteion nodded. “Yeah. Azem is good at helping. I want to be good at helping too. So I want to tell us… and tell the stars… don’t give up. Life is full of sad, scary, terrible things. But there’s also a lot that’s beautiful. I’ve seen it. Not all of it. I want to see more. And there’s so much good, I don’t want to give up because sometimes there’s bad.”

She stopped then. Her eyes grew wide as she remembered to whom she spoke, and she leaned away, the small of her back pushing into the edge of the counter. “That’s right, right? That’s… what it’s like.”

“I don’t know. I suspect it’s different for everyone,” Hythlodaeus said with complete honesty.

Such a small creature she was, so fragile and weak. Her aether was so faint and faded he could almost see right through her. And yet there was something in the way she stood and the way she looked at him, head tilted, lips set, that he couldn’t help but recognize.

Hythlodaeus chuckled, covering the sound with one hand. “You’re a willful little thing. That’s unusual among familiars. Azem must be fond of you.”

After a moment of hesitation, Meteion bobbed her head. “Maybe. But Azem likes everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Hythlodaeus said—which upon reflection was somewhat hypocritical, as he was most definitely one of the people Azem liked best. “But they like troublemakers and rascals and especially fellow adventurers. I have no doubt that that extends to you, little traveler.”

Meteion jerked away, her shoulders hitching upward with the movement, and nearly dropped her collection of cups. It was a reaction all out of proportion to his words. Hythlodaeus started forward without thinking, catching the top mug as it tipped over and fell from the pile, and righted it in his hands as he stepped away. Slowly Meteion said, eyes wide, “Little traveler. That’s what Azem calls me.”

“Ah. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” Still she looked uncomprehending. Hythlodaeus made a low, puzzled noise in the back of his throat. “So they’ve never explained themself? Then I suppose it’s my turn to tell you a story.”

“I like stories,” she said, though her tone said she was less certain she would like a story from him. Hythlodaeus bit his lip to suppress his smile.

“It’s a story Azem passed on to me long ago: an old fable told in the area where they grew up, before they encountered Venat and began their wild rambles across the star.” Hythlodaeus paused, gauging her interest before he went on. “Through an accident of magick, a man finds himself stranded in a desert with no way to call for help or return to civilization. There he has a most unexpected encounter with a strange young boy. The boy is from a very small, very distant star, and he has come to Etheirys in the course of a long journey to learn more of love and life.”

Meteion was watching him unblinkingly. “Like me?”

“Like you, except that you set out from Etheirys and the boy came from elsewhere. In any case, it’s a long story, full of absurd places and fantastical characters, as children’s stories are wont to be. Through his travels, the boy learns that there is nothing special about his star save for what he made of it—that it was the very act of loving his home that made it precious indeed. And at the end, heartsick for his home and his beloved, he chooses to discard his corporeal form and return to his star with all haste.”

Hythlodaeus did not need to see the pucker to Meteion’s lips, or the way her aether curled in on itself, to know that she did not understand. Gently he said, “It is Azem’s wish for you. That no matter how far or how long you wander, you will always find a home on this most beloved star.”

Meteion did not answer. She shook her head and sniffled; she bent her head over her collection of mugs, her eyes glistening suspiciously. Hythlodaeus smiled and turned away, carefully lifting the saucepan and ostentatiously pouring himself a cup of her very first attempt at coffee.

“Etheirys is… our home.” Meteion spoke as if the realization was a surprise and a wonder. “That’s right. We’re from Etheirys… and it’s where we come back to. It’s where Hermes is.”

For what was a home if not the place where the people you loved waited for your return?

“I… love Etheirys,” she said, exploring the sound of the words in her mouth. “I know that now. I didn’t before. I didn’t know what it meant to love a place. But I really, really love Etheirys.”

Meteion tilted her head, a slow, joyful smile unfurling across her features. “It’s… beautiful. We went to lots and lots and lots of stars. So many were empty, and all of them were sad, but this one is bright. This one is… full of hope. And I want them to know it too. So… I’ll call them back. The other Meteia.”

That was not what he had been expecting from this conversation. Hythlodaeus’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Oh?” he said. He hadn’t been aware they were giving her a choice in the matter.

Meteion nodded, once again wearing that same stubborn expression. “I’ll call them. Because I want to. Not for anyone else. They’ve only seen the sad empty stars. I want them to see the happy one too.”

She drew in a deep breath. Her eyes narrowed, and Hythlodaeus drew away, startled by the intensity of her gaze. “You don’t like us. I know. And you’re mad at Hermes for making us. I’ll call them back. But I… but we won’t let you unmake us.”

Hythlodaeus narrowed his eyes, absently waving away the cloud of steam before him so he could better watch the rebellious dance of her faint aether. “You would claim the right to live?”

She nodded firmly. The little bird truly possessed a will of steel. “We can do… a lot. A lot only we can do, because we can go to other stars. You don’t like us. But we’re alive, too. We want to help the star too. Isn’t that worth saving?”

“…Hm. I wonder.”

Hythlodaeus bowed his head. Only then did he remember the mug he was holding. When he touched his knuckle to the side, it was still scalding hot; with slow, deliberate movements, he blew across the surface of the coffee.

“It is not my decision,” he said at last. “Hermes proceeded with your creation and deployment in defiance of all established protocol. This is a criminal matter under Pashtarot’s purview. At most I will be called in to consult. But this much I will say: It is rare indeed for a lifeform under evaluation to provide a compelling argument for its own existence. At the very least, you will incite a heated debate on the sentience of creation.”

Hythlodaeus paused and added dryly, “If you’re lucky, Nabriales and Deudalaphon will be so distracted arguing the moral implications that Azem will be able to sway the Convocation in your favor.”

Meteion drew in a breath. “So…”

“I make no promises, little traveler, but Azem has claimed you as one of their own. I do so want to stay on Azem’s good side.”

He did not voice his other thoughts. Whether he’d meant to or not, Hermes had managed to design a wonderfully complex little creature. In the end, Hythlodaeus was a specialist in the field of creation, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t curious. He wanted to see all that she could do. More than the tedious, unimaginative concepts that crossed his desk on a daily basis, she embodied a promise of brilliant novelty, the ability to reach beyond the bounds of the star and exceed his wildest dreams.

His coffee had grown cool enough. Absently Hythlodaeus lifted the mug to his lips. Then he choked, almost spitting the coffee back out again. Meteion startled, sending the cups in her arms clanking in loud protest. “It’s bad?”

“It is a good try for a first attempt,” Hythlodaeus said through gritted teeth. “But—Meteion—I think you added salt instead of sugar.”

There were no more excuses to be made. Daedalus’s notes on creation and his archive of incomplete concepts had been reviewed, the innovations and conclusions summarized and collated for future reference. All of the obelisks had been located and disabled, and the soulseers among them had confirmed that the collected aether was slowly seeping back into the land. There was little more for them to do here. Any further action would require the permission and expertise of the Convocation.

And so, with their business all sorted, they made their preparations to leave. Azem opened a path to Amaurot that even Meteion could traverse. Instead of their usual rough sketch, today they covered one of the cave walls with a mural done in painstaking detail, depicting the city’s broad streets and towering spires as viewed through the open doors of the Capitol reception hall. Little dots of sparkling aether marked sunlight flashing off windows and lanterns shining bright; vague splotches might have been black-robed people going about their business. Looking at it, Hermes realized for the first time how dearly Azem must have missed the city. Despite the love they claimed for all of Etheirys, Amaurot was still their home.

Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch had their heads bent together over the remains of the central control device. They had shattered it thoroughly on both the physical and aetherial levels. No one would ever be able to decipher its construction or purpose again.

Hermes alone stood quiet and patient as they waited for the work to conclude. Azem paced in restless circles about the room, hands folded behind their back, distracting the rest of them with their movements. Meteion picked up on their nervousness, and despite her best efforts she kept bouncing up and twitching her wings anxiously.

After the fourth occurrence of this, when Azem’s roaming brought them so close that Meteion nearly transformed and took flight, Hermes had had enough. He folded his arms and cleared his throat; both Azem and Meteion’s eyes snapped to him. “What is it you want to say, Azem?”

Azem stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment, as if they really hadn’t been expecting him to ask. Their mouth worked up and down several times in silence; then, with a nervous look at Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, they said in a low voice, “Are you certain?”

Hermes sighed. Azem added, as if their meaning was unclear, “Going to Amaurot, I mean. We don’t have to. I promised you one year. I am prepared to stand by that if you just give the word.”

Hermes was unexpectedly touched by their offer. He glanced at Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, standing just out of hearing range. “You mean to sneak us out from beneath their noses?”

“That would be bad.” Meteion spoke the words with all the gravity of an ominous portent. “They were really happy to see you. If you go again, they’ll be sad and you’ll be sad.”

“Were they happy?” Azem said blankly. “I only remember being scolded by Emet-Selch again.”

Emet-Selch was not the sort of person to wear his emotions on his sleeve. There was no doubt that Meteion’s interpretation was accurate. Hermes chose not to press the matter.

“You took us along on this journey of yours as both punishment and an opportunity to learn.” Hermes paused, letting that sink in, before adding, “I would think you’ve made us suffer enough.”

Azem gasped. “How rude!”

Their voice was loud enough to echo through the cave, and Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus glanced over. Belatedly Azem raised both hands to cover their mouth. Hythlodaeus’s lips curved up in a smile and he turned away, though Emet-Selch continued to eye them suspiciously.

“And as we’ve suffered, so too have we learned.” Hermes glanced to Meteion for confirmation. She nodded encouragingly. “Ten moons ago we stood in Elpis. I had sent Meteion to the stars in search of answers, and she returned carrying nothing but grief.”

Meteion ducked her head. She reached out, seizing a handful of Hermes’s robes, and he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“You were the one who told me to keep searching until I found an answer with which I could be satisfied, because there is no worth in an answer that brings only sadness. And at last I have found such an answer. I do not know if it is the correct answer—if there is only one correct answer—but it is the one to which I would devote my life.”

Hermes looked Azem straight in the eye as he spoke. Tempting as it was to seek approval, this was one matter in which he could not allow himself to be swayed by the judgment of others. From Azem’s smile, they understood.

Hermes drew in a breath. “Only ten moons have elapsed, but ten moons is enough. I will go if Meteion goes.”

“And I’ll go if Hermes goes!” Meteion chirped. “If Hermes is ready!”

“Then it seems we’ll all go together, then,” Azem said, faint amusement in their voice. “And, Hermes, Meteion—well done, the both of you.”

“What did we do?” Meteion asked, puzzled.

Hermes and Azem shared a knowing glance. Azem chuckled. “All that anyone could have asked of you,” they said fondly. “Well then. Off to your next adventure.”

They took Meteion’s hand in theirs and tugged her toward Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch. Meteion released Hermes’s robes, only to grab for his hand and twine her fingers through his. Together they stepped forward.

Convincing their people would be no easy task—and yet, though frustration and discouragement surely lay before him, he was determined not to stray from his chosen path. No matter what difficulties he encountered, Hermes would cherish the resolve that had come to dwell in his heart.

The world was full of pain and sorrow, but it contained beauty in equal measure.

They would face their fates with heads held high.