It was more than an unpleasant feeling. It was the insidious sensation of having lost a pair of glasses, or of staring at a painting in a museum where the subject was only suggested in negative space—without being able to make out its shape. It was an unspoken word, a forgotten verse, a line of dialogue left out during a play... It was a tacit void, one you could easily overlook. It was an absence in the middle of a crowd, a gust of wind with the windows closed, a shiver when a ghost passes by. His intuition screamed at him to look, but his reason remained blind.

Since his secret conversation with Avkan aboard the Ouroboros, he had been living with the constant sensation that he had forgotten something important—like a word on the tip of his tongue, or a landmark on a map he couldn’t quite place his finger on. It affected him deeply. Perhaps more than it should have. But over time, the confusion had turned into concern, and the disquietude had grown into obsession.

Waru clicks his tongue in frustration. Questioning his own ability to manage affairs effectively—and inviting doubt in the process—was the best way to bring in mistakes. And yet, he had been slipping more and more of late. He had been too slow to detect Sigismar’s bureaucratic scheming, having wrongly pegged him as just another harmless trooper. But his prestigious lineage was not to be underestimated. He knew that now. All too well.

He takes a sip of his tea, only to find it has been cold for quite a while. He considers reheating it with Alteration, but dismisses the thought.

Mack?

No answer.

More out of bitterness than necessity, he picks up the newspaper—already several weeks old—that has been lying around on his desk. He unfolds the rag, spreads it over his knees, and begins reading through the articles one by one, almost religiously. He reads as if to satisfy a craving. He uses each bit of information like a brick in his mind, walling off the negative space that has taken root there, like a cuckoo in another bird’s nest...

As he absorbs the latest news from Asgartha, he applies a layer of nostalgia over the wound, like repainting a flaking wall, with full knowledge the coat won’t last. But he doesn’t care. All he needs is a distraction.

The words roll on, line after line. He sorts the information, catalogs it, sharpens it in his mind as if honing future weapons...

It is strange, how life just goes on over there. A date has finally been set for the elections, and early predictions are beginning to emerge: Anuncia as a potential candidate, of course, as well as Amaro. But other contenders are also surfacing—some of whom are unfamiliar to him.

Was there danger? The results will, in the end, hinge on each candidate’s ability to present their vision—and to anticipate the insights of their rivals. On their ability to read the room. Ultimately, it will be the ideas that will prevail. Fortunately for them, neither Anuncia nor Amaro were newcomers in the race…

He turns the page.

There were a few noteworthy updates in the Culture section—some of them troubling: Ozma’s Eidolon was struggling to manifest, except in her warrior princess form. Was there trouble in the Land of Oz, beyond the Veil? Was something blocking her incarnation—or impairing the mortals’ ability to imagine her? He assumes the Yzmir are already investigating the phenomenon.

Then there was the Phoenix Egg incident in the Miscellaneous section. Initial rumors claimed it had been stolen, that Haven had been sealed off—even for the Lyra—and only the Bravos were allowed to circulate freely now within its walls. An armorer named Tessalit Girum, who had been appointed to modernize the Bravos’ training dummies, had been taken in for questioning. Authorities were trying to determine how involved she had been in the theft...

Waru continues flipping through the Arkaster Echo, now skimming the headlines. Residents of the capital had witnessed myriads of moonlight jellyfish—normally confined within the Magisterium—taking flight and drifting over the sleepy lagoon. Many photographs had been taken to document this rare event.

In the Sports pages, an article details the surprising defeat of Gericht vaan-Brasht in a Colosseum duel—at the hands of a ruthless Yzmir sorceress. A feat only one other swordmaster had ever accomplished before her.

A hole in the ground, like a rabbit’s burrow. A chasm, the earth slipping away beneath him. That sensation again, like a white blot of ink in his mind…

Waru tosses the paper onto his desk and stares out the window, troubled. This dread refused to leave him, these days. It lingered in the corners of his mind. Always at the edge.

It didn’t come from the news he was reading, nor from doubts about the future of the Rediscovery Endeavor…

It wasn’t born out of fear of death—or even fear of failure.

It came from something much deeper. The sense that this void was an early symptom of something far worse. The fear of aging and decline. The fear that his mental faculties were beginning to fade. That little by little, his intellect will erode. And his mind spins endlessly around that thought.

He cannot allow it. He cannot even consider it. Not while there was still so much left to do...

I’m here, old brother, finally echoes a voice in his mind.

‘I'm here if you need anything, so feel free for whatever!’ she says cheerfully, even if it sounds a little clunky in the end. ‘Anyway, your leg’s healing—that’s good news.’

From her bed, Sunniva watches the Aegis aide-de-camp with a trace of amusement, rolling around in her mouth the blueberry candy her visitor had smuggled in under the nurses’ noses. Well, she supposes they are friends now.

‘If you’re offering so nicely, grab me a wheelchair and let’s get outta here, fast. I’m sick of lying in bed. I’ve got ants in my pants.’

The explorer watches a whole range of emotions flicker across the Ordis recruit’s face—from surprise, to embarrassment, to discomfort, and a bit of annoyance. But the funniest part is that Sunniva’s pretty sure the girl is seriously considering how to make the escape plan work.

‘Hey, Sunisa, relax. I was joking!’

A hint of relief, followed by a dramatic eye-roll. The recovering Bravos bites into the tangy candy ball while studying the young Ordis closely. It’s true that Sunisa is strangely full of contradictions, but that’s what makes her interesting. Dry-humored and by-the-book, yet she always seems to be holding back words she wants to say. She’s as disciplined as she is cheeky—especially with her superior. Basically, she’s a walking bundle of contrasts, and honestly, that was refreshing. Even if refreshing wasn’t exactly something you’d go for in the Storhvit.

‘Still, I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing’, she sighs in a rare moment of honesty.

‘Once you're back on your feet, we’re gonna raise hell. Promise.’

Even now, Sunniva still doesn’t know whether Sunisa is the type to seem calm on the surface, with fire raging inside—or the other way around. It doesn’t bother her too much, though; it’s more of a curious itch than a pressing question. She can either dig deeper or just let it go. In the end, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Sunisa has come to visit her several times since that brief talk by the campfire—even though she had no obligation to. Truth be told, it’s always been a very welcome distraction, and she was grateful for it. No need to overanalyze it.

‘Like what?... going on a shopping spree?’, she adds with a smirk.

A smile lights up the Ordis recruit’s face.

‘I doubt a prêt-à-porter shop just popped up in the Storhvit, but who knows? You can never rule out a new Lyra whim…’

‘Whoa, listen to that sass! Hey, that spa idea was actually kinda good.’

Sunisa rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the slight flush in her cheeks.

‘Yeah, well. What can I say? My parents always said I had a sharp tongue. That it would get me in trouble someday…’

Sunniva frowns slightly, thoughtful.

‘Don’t fret. I like it. And so far, it seems to be working out fine for you.’

Sunisa just shrugs, probably out of witty comments. Instead, she gets up and takes a few steps toward the entrance of the yurt, lifting the flap to peek outside. From beyond come the muffled sounds of the exploration forces at work.

‘Are you guys heading out soon?’, the Bravos scout asks.

Sunisa nods, as a sharp gust of cold air slips into the tent.

‘The Exalts are going to need all the backup they can get…’, she whispers, sounding a little troubled. A soft silence settles between them—something unspoken, like a blank space that, despite the snow-dampened noise, screams its presence. Sunniva catches the fragments of it.

‘It’s serious, isn’t it?’

The Ordis soldier turns back toward her, looking as reassuring as she can manage.

‘We’ll make it through.’

Sunniva opens the candy bag and pops another one into her mouth. Raspberry this time. When she instinctively translates those simple words through the filter of official jargon, it sounds an awful lot like: not sure we’re coming back. Her hand clenches on her lap, her jaw tightens. No cast had ever felt so suffocating.

For her, it had always been more than obvious: she might’ve looked carefree on the outside, but if you took the time to dig deeper, the embers still burned hot at the heart of her soul...