The strings of lanterns sway in the wind like tiny bells missing their clappers. They give off a dim, flickering light, as if little will-o’-the-wisps had snuck inside — weary little hikers settling in for the night inside their tents.

But good luck getting any sleep, because the Mess is absolutely packed. Not far from the grill stand, where squid sizzle over open flames, a clown with a painted face is busy doing flips without dropping a single juggling ball.

For a split second, Nev considers tripping the clown, just to ball things up — the pun alone almost makes it worth it. But the smell of those mollusks, basking in flames, is enough to kill her enthusiasm. Nope, no way; she still vividly remembers her last case of food poisoning. Too much squid had made her feel like a fish out of the water.

A big crowd had come down from the Wayfarer: the jesters, harlequins, and painters of Clan Tisdhera, along with new contingents from each Faction, arriving to support the exploration forces. In theory, reinforcements were welcome. But in reality? All it really did was make the food lines even longer. And that was really, really not cool.

More out of resignation than anything else, she lines up behind a mime with a white, tear-streaked face waiting for his bowl of stew. It’s the shortest line, and honestly, she doesn’t have time to fight her way to a bokhe — way too crowded — or an Alcadian string roll — the cook was way too slow. Trying to be patient, she stays in line like Fen taught her, even if she’s tapping her foot to show just how bored she is.

To pass the time, she watches, totally unimpressed, as an Auguste and a character clown squabble over a camera in a slapstick brawl. She spots a little boy waving around a giant paintbrush, playing with what looks like a gouache-made carp. Kind of like Blotch. Speaking of, where the heck was that sidekick of hers?

Flash.

Nev blinks, momentarily blinded by a sudden flashbulb going off. When her eyes adjust, she realizes the boy is staring at her intently. Then he tilts his head up, gazing dreamily — and a bit sleepily — at the sky. What the heck did he want? She shrugs. That’s the price of fame, she figures. Either that, or it was her flawless curves stealing the spotlight again…

Arms crossed over her chest, she scans the crowd and spots that rascal Nosk at a table. He’s just pulled a bottle of rice liquor out of his bag and is looking at it carefully, almost tenderly. Wait a sec — her drinking buddy was about to open a bottle without her? Without thinking twice, she steps out of line and storms over to him. Forget the stew. She’s about to plop down across from him when she suddenly remembers she’s expected somewhere tonight — and that Fen would be seriously pissed if she bailed for something so trivial.

Except… she eyes the label on the bottle. Katsubichi distillery? That was far from trivial.

‘Well? You sitting down or what?’, the comms officer asks, pulling out another glass for her.

‘Rhaaaaaa!’, she screams, clutching her hair in frustration.

Nev takes off at full speed, trying to escape this cruel dilemma.

“Huh…”

Nosk scratches his head, a bit disappointed, before shrugging and pouring himself a shot. He watches Nevenka’s silhouette disappear into the crowd, though by now, he’s gotten used to her unpredictable mood swings. He would’ve enjoyed some company — especially hers — to savor this vintage with, but in the end, this sake deserved to be appreciated solemnly, not drunkenly.

After taking a swig of the rice wine, he runs through the evening’s plans in his head. He had already scoped out the perfect spot, right in front of the stage. From there, he’d be able to broadcast wide shots of the concert through the Gestalt, just like Vera had asked him to. He had also assigned the other recruits helping him to different positions: overview shots, close-ups, panoramic views from behind the stage, even aerial angles to vary the perspectives. Together, with him as conductor, they’d be able to capture great cutaway shots, play with depth, and make the edit dynamic… Yeah, it was going to make the Coalescence buzz all the way to the depths of the Monolith! Well, assuming the Espars worked and the Tumult didn’t get in the way…

To be honest, even though he wasn’t exactly a die-hard fan of BLISS!’s music, the change of scenery was coming at just the right time. After exhaustively covering the progress inside the Storhvit and the descents into the first levels of the City of Scholars, supervising the broadcast of a concert — especially one of this scale — was a welcome break from his previous directing gigs. In the end, a little change never hurt anyone.

A group of Bravos sits down at the table next to him, snapping him out of his daydream. One of them, a bit of a clumsy oaf, even sits on the table itself, setting down a mug of Sap-flavored beer right next to him. They start whistling and looking up at the sky. Nosk joins them, though he doesn’t actually whistle, and he sees that the Lyra stage is moving in their direction. Even though its spotlights and screens aren’t turned on yet, its insect-like silhouette stands out against the growing darkness. Yep, it’s time to get moving if he wants to be in position on time.

He finishes his glass, carefully wipes it with a cloth, and packs it away.

As he slips out of the Mess, he can already hear vocal warm-ups, sound checks, and balance adjustments through the Gestalt. Backstage, Nina updates him on what’s happening on stage: Fen warming up her voice, the drummer tapping on his snare, the keyboardist absentmindedly playing on his kelonic piano… In a corner, Crowbar and the monkey are fine-tuning their instruments. Okay, it’s really about to kick off.

He picks up the pace, taking the steps to his perch two at a time. Focused on monitoring what he sees through the Gestalt and making his way through the outpost, he almost bumps into two figures sitting on a secluded terrace.

‘Oops, sorry!’

‘No worries!’

Kesh watches the Ordis officer walking away when, out of the corner of her eye, she notices beams of light — blue, yellow, pink — starting to streak across the sky. The stage spotlights shoot out and slash through the clouds before disappearing into the starry dome above.

‘I ran into Moyo recently. He says hi.’

Akesha turns toward Saskia, whose profile is lit up one moment in blue, the next in pink, then yellow.

‘Oh? How’s he doing? Still holed up in the Spires?’

The Muna naturalist shakes her head.

‘He’s decided to head down into the City of Scholars.’

‘But why?’, the mage asks, eyes wide.

Saskia shrugs.

‘Probably to test his connection with the Moths.’

Akesha starts swinging her legs back and forth, deep in thought, her heels tapping against the low wall where they’re sitting.

‘He really has fallen in love with those creatures…’

Saskia turns to her.

‘He’s not the only one who’s fallen in love…’

Kesh stiffens, then starts staring silently at the Screed. When she finally breaks the silence, her words come out clumsy, as if she’s chewing them.

‘I… I admit I do find them fascinating.’

Saskia touches a finger to the young Initiate’s cheek, her eyes sparkling green, red, or white, playful and teasing.

‘I wasn’t talking about you, you airhead. I meant the other Mages from the Spires.’

Kesh wrinkles her nose, relieved the darkness hides her blushing cheeks. Saskia’s expression turns more serious.

‘Especially after what they uncovered from the Nilam’s bark…’, she continues.

The mage tilts her head, a bit caught off guard.

‘You didn’t know? They found a still-living larva inside the trunk of the world tree. About the size of a fist. They’re raising it now in their lab.’

‘A larva?’

‘Yeah, a caterpillar, curled up and dormant. They called me in to study it.’

Akesha suppresses a shiver.

‘And now… how big is it?’

Saskia brushes a strand of her white hair from her face.

‘About the size of a medium dog.’

‘Yuck!’, the Initiate blurts out, making a disgusted face.

‘Don’t say that, she’s actually very beautiful if you take the time to really look. She’s delicate, careful, voluptuous…’

Akesha’s heart starts pounding in her chest as she meets her friend’s amethyst gaze. ‘We are still talking about the caterpillar, right?’

Saskia doesn’t answer, just lets her smile widen. Then she turns away, as the speakers on the Lyra stage begin to rumble.

‘I may have found a lead to help heal your sister.’

Kesh is suddenly pulled back to reality. As the bass starts making the Screed vibrate, her heart beats even faster. Saskia turns back toward her, placing a comforting hand on her back, almost pulling her into a hug.

‘I’ll tell you more when I’ve dug deeper into my theory. I don’t want to give you false hope. But I promise you, we’ll find a solution. You have my word.’

Tears welling up in her eyes, Kesh rests her head on the Muna researcher’s shoulder.

‘Thank you’, she whispers, her voice barely audible over Crowbar’s roaring guitar. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

On the main screen above the stage, Fen grabs her mic.

‘How can we make things right?
When nothing’s right at all
It eats up my mind, can’t stop the fall’

Fen gracefully raises one hand toward the sky, holding the mic in the other. Her notes are perfect, as always. And even though she’s exhausted — after a week of descending every day into the lower tiers — she basically tells her fatigue to go take a hike. She might be drained and at rock bottom before stepping on stage, but once she was out there in front of her audience, mic in hand, she’d open the floodgates no matter what. Because in those moments, there’s no room for fatigue.

‘They say forget the height, they say don’t look down
But how can I stand tall, when I’m in your thrall?
And hungry is the crown!
(Don’t back down)
(Don’t back down)’

Orbec steps back after shouting into his mic, focusing again on the keys of his keytar. Behind him, Tam is pounding away on his toms and cymbals with fierce energy. Boona diligently makes his bass strings thrum, baring his fangs as he plays… and then it’s Crowbar’s turn to join the frenzy.

The scarecrow’s fingers glide along the neck of his electric guitar, making it roar. His pumpkin head headbangs along. Every note is a scream — and for this song, a lament. Because this one tells the story of someone who’s a toy of fate and circumstance.

The Chimera turns his head toward the singer.

‘Like shifting sands, like burning coals
I’m screaming, boiling inside
Do you really think, I will abide’

Fen glances back at him, their shared music soaring, twisting like a tornado. He can see she’s drawing on her Ignescence to keep up the pace, but it doesn’t matter. Soon, all the energy from the crowd will feed them, push them higher…

‘So let me sink, as silence calls
Where I was, a hole in the world
A howl as I…’

Crowbar misses a note as a violent migraine rattles his head. A shrill feedback squeal scrapes across every ear, while Fen clutches her own head, mouth open in mute shock, eyes wide. Her Alter Ego turns toward her, visibly worried for the first time, while the other musicians keep playing, even though it’s clear they’ve all noticed something is wrong. They try to fill the space however they can, hold the moment together. But he’s stopped playing, just as the Alterer has stopped singing.

‘A howl as I…’

The singer seems to be searching for her words, stammering, staring at the crowd in pure horror. She looks dizzy in a way she’s never felt before. Already, murmurs ripple through the audience as the energy deflates, like it’s been instantly drained by that word stuck in her throat.

‘And hungry is the crown!’, Tamati suddenly barks, trying to finish the verse.

But while Orbec improvises a solo, Crowbar walks closer to Fen, his guitar swinging under his arm and against his ribs. He calls out to her in thought, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, there’s just white noise, a blank page.

‘What’s happening?’, he shouts, trying to reach his other half over the noise.

Fen turns to him, tears streaming down her face, sheer terror in her eyes. She covers the mic with a trembling hand and manages to stammer a few words.

‘I… I don’t… I don’t remember the lyrics anymore…’

Crowbar can’t help but let out a startled chirp of surprise.