I go deep to find sins
That linger in my blood.
Like ever-smirking evil twins,
They burrow deep and hard.

I scrub and scrub to banish filth
And wash it off my hands.
I dream of vibrant, blooming fields
And pray as hard as I can.

I scrub and scrub this dirty rag
I used to call my skin.
Corruption is my lowly flag,
I’m all corrupt within.

I pray to God and watch the flame
A candle casts through dark.
I call the Savior to tame
This beast that bears my mark.

Why can’t I be as pure as thee?
I scream in stark revolt…
I strike my head, I bend my knee
Yet wounds are thick with salt.

I cannot change… Forever beast
I roam these wild steppes.
My soul is dark and quick to twist,
Hyenas trail my steps.

Forgive me, Lord, I am so flawed!
A human cries within.
Perfection is a fickle word,
My only strength is sin.

I sin and fray, forever cursed
To roam this dying land.
I poison air, scorch the Earth
Yet long to have a friend.

Why can’t you make a better man
Of each of us today?
I know you see, I know you can,
I know, and I pray.

Two enormous eggs strained against each other inside the leathery vault of Ninna’s body, each jostling for dominion, their sharp ends gouging at the thin walls that held them. With every cautious step she took, they clashed like rival blades, threatening to split her supple hide and spill her blue blood and white bone across the cold stone in a glistening cascade.

She moved through the hushed vastness of the Apex of the Fifth Eye, claws whispering over polished walls that had never known daylight. Hidden deep within the Royal Spire’s heart, Ninna had never felt so utterly alone. Only Nin Ra remained at her side, a quiet shadow, while her heart ached for Anh—his heavy, overwhelming presence—more fiercely than she had ever known. What duty could possibly weigh heavier than her?

At last, she reached the low table. One clawed hand cradled the taut dome of her belly, seeking to soothe the stabbing beneath her scales. She could feel the cruel point of an egg pressing just beneath the surface, a constant, merciless thorn. Her hide, overstretched and fevered, throbbed with every heartbeat. When she brushed a loosened scale, she cried out; a bright bead of blue blood welled on her fingertip. The scales no longer lay neatly tiled across her skin—they jutted sharp and restless, like broken armor.

With a moan, Ninna sank toward the floor, only to be caught by Nin Ra, who slipped a tangled nest of soft braided pillows beneath her just in time.

“Bastet, darling,” Ninna breathed, still nursing her bleeding finger while the other hand pressed and shifted uselessly against her belly. Rearranging the eggs was as futile as trying to find comfort inside a noose, yet she could not stop. Exhausted, she listed sideways into the pillows. Dust, musk, and ancient mold rose around her, coaxing a wheezy sneeze. A thick glob of phlegm and silvery threads of snot landed on Nin Ra’s chest. The smaller creature wiped it away with patient tenderness and offered Ninna a fresh kerchief.

“I know what you need,” Nin Ra murmured. She reached into a shallow niche glowing with soft blue and crimson light. For a heartbeat, her small, clawed hand vanished inside that eerie radiance, veins glowing like rivers of fire beneath translucent skin. When it emerged, a pinch of firedust shimmered between her fingers.

“We are not allowed,” Ninna protested weakly, though her pale lips had already curved into a wicked smile, revealing rows of sharp, even teeth. “Anu forbade it.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do it!”

In one impossibly graceful motion, Nin Ra released the dust.

It burst into a swirling sphere of living light that completely embraced Ninna. The electrified grains clung to her scales, tugging gently yet insistently, lifting her swollen body from the floor until she floated weightless above the pillows. At times, when Nin Ra gave the puff too generously, Ninna felt a thousand invisible hands seize her skin—pulling, stretching, guiding—turning her into a leaf floating in the wind. In those moments, she could drift anywhere, untethered, though control was a distant dream. For now, she simply surrendered, cradled in golden fire and the fleeting relief it granted her.

Ninna laughed, a bright, nervous trill that echoed off the gilded dome. “I hope my head stays up this time!”

The floor fell away beneath her feet. A gentle tug bloomed at the center of her chest where a generous pinch of firedust had settled, glowing like a captured star. Warmth spread outward in slow, delicate waves. She felt her blood quicken—hot, electric—throbbing through her breasts and racing beneath the silver lattice of scales, every vein alight with strange, shimmering fire.

I wish I would float to the window, she thought, delight unfurling inside her like silk.

In her mind, she saw it: the tall, spear-sharp towers and golden domes piercing the thick orange fog, the One City awash in the Eternal Glow, a distant turquoise shimmer of the Sacred Grove. She ached to see the world. The forced seclusion of her pregnancy had become a slow suffocation. Too many cycles. Far too long.

Her body turned in a graceful, weightless spiral as the firedust carried her higher, drifting toward the domed ceiling of her gilded cage. For that was what the Apex of the Fifth Eye truly was—a beautiful prison. Still, she reminded herself, a gilded cage was kinder than any other.

Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to be an ig: to labor barefoot among the moss patches from dawn till dusk, to mate shamelessly knee-deep in swamp mud with some rough, sweat-soaked farmer who smelled of straw and yak. The thought had always stirred her. It was exactly what she had imagined the night these eggs were conceived. She let her hand drift across the taut curve of her belly. With the pressure eased by weightlessness, the eggs rested at last, their endless war momentarily forgotten.

But will they hatch?

The doubt slithered in, dark and corrosive, a pool of acid deepening with every breath. All her previous clutches had been tainted by the void—her void, the emptiness she could neither touch nor name.

Ninna closed her eyes. Tears gathered at the corners of her slitted lids, yet her large yellow pupils still caught the growing blaze of the window above. The light swelled, brighter, closer. This time, the doling of the firedust had been too generous, and it carried Ninna straight to her longing.

The Window!

She opened her eyes fully, and the world flooded her in a rush of molten orange. Everything was upside down. She blinked, disoriented, until she understood—she was floating inverted, the vaulted ceiling now beneath her like a stone sky. Far below, Nin Ra’s petite figure stood on the mosaic floor, casting a trembling shadow across the rows of tiles, her face tilted upward in anxious wonder.

It was then that Ninna realized she was in trouble.

The firedust was fading quickly. She floated too high this time, a fragile ornament suspended beneath the dome.

Is this how it ends for me?

The thought had barely formed before gravity reclaimed her. Air roared past her scales as she plummeted. The next thing she knew, she crashed into the mound of tangled pillows with a breathless thud. Nin Ra was already there, clutching her hands, her expression a wild tangle of terror and relief.

Yet something was different.

Ninna lay still, heart hammering, tasting the strange new shift in the air like ozone after lightning.

Ninna’s breath caught. Only then did she realize the relentless pressure that had tormented her for nine long cycles had vanished. The deep, gnawing ache was simply… gone.

In a surge of panic, she pressed both hands to her belly. Where the heavy, straining dome had been, her fingers met only a limp fold of empty skin, soft and unfamiliar, like a sail left slack after a storm.

Dread seized her throat—until Nin Ra’s gentle hand squeezed her wrist. Her maid’s face glowed with quiet joy.

“It’s just a rag, Your Hollowness!”

Before Ninna could answer, a wild plume of orange fog slammed into them both. They tumbled together in a spinning knot of limbs and laughter, crashing against the far wall and toppling the firedust dispenser. A glittering storm of golden motes burst free, swirling into the thick fog like sparks meeting sunrise.

Too many motes. Far too many.

The orange haze drank what it could, but the rest refused to be tamed. In moments, Ninna and Nin Ra were cocooned inside a luminous, chaotic sphere—bouncing, rising, tumbling on crests of living mist. The chamber of the Fifth Eye spun around them in delirious circles.

Terror should have claimed her. Instead, Ninna laughed—bright, free, and unburdened for the first time in ages. Weightless, giddy, she watched the gilded walls whirl past, sweet chaos without a trace of nausea. She hoped it would never end.

At one point, she glimpsed Nin Ra hurtling by, arms flailing, her face a frozen mask of pure terror half-hidden beneath the golden swarm. Moments later, the poor creature went rigid as a stick and bounced awkwardly through the fog like a discarded doll. The sight of her made Ninna laugh even harder.

Eventually, the fog grew greedy. It swallowed every last mote until the air calmed and the two of them drifted down like autumn leaves. Ninna landed softly on the pillows. Nin Ra flopped beside her with a dull thud.

The instant her stiff body touched the floor, Nin Ra’s eyes snapped open. She sprang upright like a startled ninja, swaying on her feet, frantically wiping the lingering horror from her expression.

“Are you alright, Your Hollowness?” she asked, voice trembling as she fought for balance.

Your Hollowness.

The title echoed through Ninna’s mind, richer now than it had ever been. Once mere flattery, the words had taken on deeper truth. She was hollow—by design and by necessity. The Ones taught that the void was sacred: the mother of all becoming. Only emptiness could welcome new life. What was already full could accept nothing.

She had always known this. Yet the fear remained—that in the end she might be nothing but the void.

Ninna pushed the dark thought aside. She sat on the cool floor, body still trembling with leftover laughter. Nin Ra knelt beside her, reaching out, only to realize her royal mistress was shaking not with tears, but with mirth.

Bewildered for half a heartbeat, Nin Ra surrendered and began laughing too. The two nins collapsed against each other—hugging, kissing cheeks and foreheads, laughing until their sides ached—while the last of the orange fog swirled lazily around them, rising toward the dome in soft, tufted clouds freckled with lingering sparks of gold.

The thunder of splintering doors shattered the fragile peace. Guards burst into the Fifth Eye, blades gleaming, only to freeze at the sight before them.

Golden motes still danced wildly through the air, clinging to the shattered remnants of the door like mischievous fireflies. Larger fragments drifted lazily toward the ceiling, sparkling as they turned. One sentinel stepped forward and immediately slipped on a slick puddle of condensed fog—now a glistening red mud—and nearly toppled. His companion seized him by the back of the neck and hauled him to safety.

Seeing no enemy, only luminous chaos, the first ursag snatched a floating shard of wood and hurled it with precise, practiced force. It struck the window lever cleanly. The great pane slid shut, severing the orange waterfall. The last sheet of ethereal jelly oozed down the wall like melting amber and pooled upon the floor.

“Looks like this chamber is in need of cleaning, Your Hollowness,” the sentinel announced, voice steady. “Shall I summon igs?”

Ninna tried to wave him away, but a savage cramp seized her belly. She doubled forward with a sharp groan, claws diging into the heavy, shifting bulge at her waist.

“Your Hollowness?” Concern edged the guard’s tone, yet he dared not step closer.

“Send for Gula, you fool!” Nin Ra snapped, cradling Ninna’s shoulders, rocking her gently. “Go! Now!”

The guard vanished down the corridor. The second sentry remained at the broken doorway, spear planted, eyes fixed resolutely outward to guard the sanctity of the moment.

“Bastet…” Ninna’s voice was barely more than a breath, soft and worn thin as old silk. “The eggs… do you think they will be empty again? They are always empty…” Her laughter crumbled into raw, choking sobs. “Why are they always empty? What will I tell Anu? I should have crashed. I wish I’d died…”

Grief swallowed her whole—vast, perpetual, boundless. What greater shame existed than delivering yet another disappointment to the One in Command? To be the single flaw in his otherwise flawless existence. The Hallowed Void that could not give birth. A living threat to the perfect Order he had bled to create.

Am I to be his undoing?

The thought cut deeper than any blade. She clutched the moving bulge, feeling it sink lower, heavier, urgent now, pressing toward the birth canal.

There was no time.

“Bastet!” Ninna commanded, voice suddenly steel. “Help me to my feet. Quickly.”

“Is this wise, Your Hollowness?”

“There is no time! Help me to the nest.”

Nin Ra obeyed, though reluctance shadowed her face. She pulled her mistress upright, slipped a slender arm around her waist, and together they waddled toward the inner sanctum of the Apex. Behind them, unnoticed by the vigilant guard who kept his back turned, a glistening trail of blood and ooze followed like a dark, wet ribbon across the polished stone—silent witness to the royal birth already unfolding.

Back in the hushed sanctuary of her nest, a strange calm settled over Ninna like warm mist. She clung tightly to Nin Ra’s hand, claws gently pricking scaled skin.

“I feel them coming, Nin Ra,” she whispered. Then— “Ah!”

Not pain—the One’s birth was painless—but pure startled wonder. The first egg arrived without warning, sudden as fine china slipping from careless fingers. A slick rupture of warmth and wetness bloomed beneath her, blood and mucus mingling in a silky rush. The sensation crashed through her in a wild chorus: shock, release, disorientation. Though she had laid many times before, the strangeness of it never dulled.

No sooner had the first egg settled into the nest than the second wave seized her—an exquisite tension laced with deep, rippling pleasure. She shifted her weight, sweeping her long tail aside so the new arrival would not crush its sibling. A swarm of icy lightning raced up her spine, chased instantly by a golden flood of endorphins. The second egg slid free with a soft, solid thud, coming to rest beside the first.

Only then did Ninna realize she was still holding her robes bunched high above her slender legs, far higher than modesty required. Blue blood and glistening ooze painted her thighs in dark, shining streaks. She stood dazed, drunk on the afterglow of rupture, barely aware of the world around her.

A quiet entourage of maids had arrived with Gula—too late, as always. They moved in efficient silence, wiping her legs, cleaning her feet and tail, and tenderly bathing the two new eggs. Nin Ra remained at her side, arms wrapped gently around her shoulders.

“You may let go of your gown now, Your Hollowness,” she murmured. “You are clean. The eggs are here.” With a quiet gesture, she waved Gula’s assistants back toward the doorway, where they clustered, wide-eyed, staring at the two gleaming orbs nestled in the soft bedding.

“Will they hatch?” Ninna asked Gula, striving to keep the tremor of despair from her voice.

“Of course they will, Your Hollowness,” came the familiar, soothing reply—the same words spoken over every clutch. Gula’s gaze never left the eggs. They shimmered softly in the dim orange light, still moist, almost luminous. She stared as though trying to pierce the smooth white shells with her eyes alone. The smaller egg leaned at a worrying angle; the larger one stood proud and straight.

Then—the larger egg twitched.

Ninna gasped. Her grip on Nin Ra’s hand tightened until her claws sliced through delicate scales, drawing bright blue amethysts of blood. Nin Ra did not flinch, her eyes locked on the nest.

“Wait… is that… a crack?” Nin Ra breathed, pointing with her free hand. “Look—there!”

Ninna’s heart hammered against her ribs. She had to summon every fragment of courage to lift her gaze. A single hairline fracture, thin as black lightning, had appeared across the porcelain surface. It trembled, lengthened… then paused.

All three—Ninna, Nin Ra, and Gula—leaned forward as one. In the narrow crevice, gleaming with impossible life, they saw it: a tiny, shiny yellow pupil staring back at them from within the egg.

“I must tell Anu,” Ninna whispered, the words slipping from her lips like a prayer.

Still half-dazed, she stepped closer, bent low, and peered into the delicate fracture. Something living stirred within—slow, languid, unmistakably alive. She reached out, trembling, only for the Gula to catch her wrist with gentle stubbornness.

“Don’t,” Gula instructed. “It is forbidden.”

She drew Ninna back with tender firmness.

Together they watched, breathless, as the crown of the shell lifted a fraction, then settled again. Once more it rose… and fell. The newborn struggled, persistent and determined, until at last a small piece of shell chipped free and tumbled aside.

A gasp escaped Ninna’s throat.

A newborn! A living blood!

After so many cycles of barren, hollow clutches, the sight struck her like lightning. Even Nin Ra and Gula—though they had witnessed many true births—stood frozen in astonishment, as if they had never expected one from her.

Their reverent silence was shattered as heavy footsteps and voices surged through the corridor. Anh had arrived.

It had been ages since the One in Command had descended from the Sixth Stratum. The sentries looked as stunned as Ninna felt. Her heart thundered against her ribs; a wild, joyful breath rushed from her lungs.

“Anu!” she cried, too familiar, too raw for ceremony. Then she caught herself. Straightening, she drew on every shred of royal grace, lifted her chin, and spoke with solemn reverence:

“Your Radiance, behold your heir!”

She gestured toward the shattered egg, where a small, wet, glistening head now pushed through the opening, crowned in fragments of white shell.

Anh had to duck low to pass through the ruined doorway, his massive form filling the chamber like a living mountain. I forgot how big he was, Ninna thought, a pang of longing piercing her chest. It has been too long.

Nearly a full cycle had passed since he last visited her at the Fifth Eye. For many heartbeats, he had grown distant, almost ghostly, rarely leaving the Sixth Stratum. He summoned her only when the need for mating overpowered his solitude. The stupid, ironclad Order forbade her from ascending to him uninvited. She was Royal Consort, true, yet still a prisoner of station.

The last time she had dared question it, Anh had looked at her with flat, unreadable eyes and spoken as though to a hatchling:

“All Ones have their stations, Ninna. Such is the Order of Things. What becomes of the world if stations may be changed at will? Chaos. And chaos devours everything.”

“Give me an heir!” he had commanded.

She never could.

That failure had grown inside her like black mold, filling the sacred void where life should have taken root. With every empty clutch, her confidence withered. Lately, she could not meet his gaze; she stared only at her feet when summoned. During their matings, she remained silent, cold, and slipped away the moment he was finished.

How had it come to this?

Yet now, as the tiny heir wrigled free of its shell, something ancient and fragile inside her dared to hope that the long winter of shame might finally be over.

For the first time in countless cycles, Ninna met Anh’s gaze with steady pride. Courage and regal poise shone in her serene yellow eyes as she looked straight into the face of the Order itself.

“Your Radiance, come closer,” she said, voice warm with wonder. “Don’t be afraid—he won’t bite!” A nervous laugh escaped her, bright and fragile, betraying the storm of hope and fear beneath her composed mask. He. She had called the newborn he. The word had flown from her lips before thought could catch it, born of desperate eagerness to please him.

Anh moved forward slowly, each step measured and heavy. Regret flickered through Ninna as she realized her uninvited boast. She swallowed the sudden sting of tears, restored her serene expression, and stepped toward him. Taking his enormous hand, she could only wrap her slender fingers around one massive digit. His scales were like living obsidian, hard and cool; her own skin felt impossibly soft against them. The touch sent a shiver through her—strange, electric, almost like the very first time he had ever laid his hand upon her.

In that instant, the excitement of her youth flared back to life, vivid and intoxicating. She remembered the young, foolish pair they had once been, when the world still glittered with promise. So much had changed… Yet here, standing together over their living blood, hope rekindled like dawn breaking after endless night. She could give him more. She knew she could.

“Let’s celebrate!” she whispered, clutching his hand tighter.

Anh gently withdrew his massive fingers and pointed instead toward the second egg—the smaller one—still resting crooked and forgotten beside its larger sibling. It leaned at a precarious angle, clearly unbalanced.

The other!

Ninna’s joy faltered. Why must he always find a flaw? she thought, heat rising beneath her scales in a flush of blue. When joy is so rare, why does he have to dwell on imperfection? His precious Order demanded it, she knew. Yet this moment was hers. She would not let him tarnish it. Chaos take your Order, she nearly hissed aloud.

Before she could speak, the smaller egg gave a sudden bounce and rolled sideways. It struck its brother, tipping the larger shell and spilling the first youngling onto the soft nest in a tumble of dried moss and shell fragments.

Both Anh and Ninna froze, breathless.

Gula, too, stood speechless, golden scroll slipping from her grasp to clatter upon the floor.

Then the smaller egg cracked open as well. A tiny youngling emerged with surprising vigor, clambering free of the shards. It circled its empty shell once before darting forward to press its nose against its larger sibling, forked tongue flicking in tender greeting.

“He is a curious one!” Gula declared at last, her voice warm with awe.

He. The word rang through Ninna like bells of silver and gold. Joy surged through her veins until she felt the very ceiling of the chamber dissolve above her. She could have leaped into the air, soared through the window, and become one with the swirling orange glow and crimson fog beyond—weightless, boundless, and—finally!—triumphantly whole.

She clasped her delicate hand tightly around Anh’s massive clawed finger, tugging him gently forward as triumph sang through her voice.

“Your Radiance,” she declared, glowing and unyielding, “may I present to you Lil and Ki… your sons.”

She lingered on the word sons, letting it ring like a bell of victory through the chamber. After endless cycles of barren shame, of whispered humiliations and polite exclusion, the moment was finally, gloriously hers. She had given him not one heir but two—and both of them male. No one could diminish this. No one could take it from her. She would be celebrated at last.

Anh watched in silence as the two tiny younglings crawled free of their pearlescent shells. They tumbled onto the soft floor at their mother’s feet, small air pouches pulsing rhythmically beneath their chins. Slanted golden eyes blinked against the orange light. Six delicate toes tipped with jet-black claws flexed and curled. Patches of vivid blue scales shimmered along their slender necks—clear proof they were males.

“Wait!” Gula interjected, her voice sharp as a cracked blade. “You have a Light One.”

Her crooked finger, claw uneven and yellow, pointed straight at the smaller newborn—Ki.

The words crashed like stones through a mirror. Silence thickened. Anh and Ninna stared at the tiny creature in disbelief. After so many failed attempts, after so much longing, why must one of their two sons be born a Light One? Rare as stargifts, the Light Ones lived beyond the Order of Things. They could never inherit, never rule.

Yet Lil remained—a perfect Dark One, strong and rightful. Ninna clung fiercely to that truth. It did not matter. It could not matter. One true heir was enough. She would parade Lil during the Rite of Hatching, letting the One City rejoice. The arrival of a Light One was no more her fault than stargifts falling from the orange skies. She refused to let it tarnish her triumph.

Still, a stubborn wave of disquiet stirred deep inside her. There was no certainty that Lil would one day succeed Anh as the One in Command. She had worked too long, whispered too cleverly among the Ens Most High, planting seeds of ambition in every noble house. Many now had sons of their own—some still in the Nursery, others already placed in higher stations. Surely they all dreamed of their blood rising higher rather than fading into obscurity.

She had spoken to their nins. To her surprise, most had seemed reserved. Only she, the once-childless one, had burned with purpose. Now that her dream had taken shape and breathing form, she was determined to see it through. The Council would convene soon. She had massaged the idea so thoroughly into their docile minds that it must have traveled home to their ens. It must have.

But that was a battle for another cycle.

Now was the time to celebrate.

Ninna lifted her chin, squeezed Anh’s hand once more, and let joy—raw, hard-won, and luminous—flood her entire being. The long night of emptiness was over. At last, the void had given birth.

Ninna turned to Anh, choosing her words with delicate precision, though an edge of command shimmered beneath them like hidden steel.

“This moment is ours to cherish, Anu,” she said. “It is time to celebrate the hatching of your heir.” Despite her careful courtesy, the demand rang clear. “The One in Command… will you decree the Rite of Hatching?”

Her voice pulled Anh from his stunned silence. He straightened, vast shoulders rising like a mountain awakened.

“What? Yes, of course,” he boomed, authority rolling through the chamber like thunder. “I will command the celebration of the Rite of Hatching!” Then his gaze darkened. “But first… we must deal with this.”

He pointed at Ki.

Though the two younglings looked nearly identical at first glance, the difference was now unmistakable—even to the sentinels. Lil lay curled peacefully at his mother’s feet, air pouches pulsing in slow, steady rhythm, patient as stone. Ki, however, writhed with restless energy. His long black tongue flicked wildly, tasting the air. His head swiveled in every direction as he tried to circle his parents, only to be held back by his tail pinned beneath his larger brother. Tiny clawed feet scrabbled uselessly against the cool slate floor.

“So restless…” Nin Ra murmured, half to herself.

Ninna shot her a withering glare. The maid’s eyes dropped instantly.

“I beg your pardon, Your Hollowness, I only meant—”

“Be silent, nin!” Ninna snapped. “My sons are perfect. Go. Fetch the Keeper.”

“And the Seer,” Anh added gravely, his eyes fixed on Ki as the little one finally wrigled free and waddled straight toward his father’s massive feet. Anh recoiled, visibly unsettled. The sight of the mighty One in Command shrinking from a creature no larger than his palm almost drew a smile from Ninna. She fought it down.

Anh recovered, reached down, and gave Ki a gentle nudge back toward Lil. “Here,” he rumbled. “Go play with your brother while you can. You will not see him again for a long time… if ever.”

He knew what came next. The Seer would carry Ki to the Floating Rock, where the Light Ones dwelled free from the Order. Perhaps one day Ki might become a Seer himself and glimpse his brother from afar. But until then, he would vanish into the rocky heights above the city, unseen by ens below.

The Keeper arrived first. He moved through the corridors and stepped from the elevator with practiced ease, clearly no stranger to the Fifth Eye. Anh ig, as all Keepers were, he wore plain grey robes that covered most of his scales. In one hand, he carried a gilded cage; in the other, a basket lined with soft blue moss.

He set his burdens down, glanced at the two younglings, and addressed Ninna with the faintest trace of insolence bordering on accusation.

“I see there are two, Your Hollowness. I was not told.” His eyes flicked between Lil and Ki as he searched for an excuse. “Which one am I taking?”

Ninna’s jaw tightened at the Keeper’s audacity, but her face remained a mask of regal calm. Only her voice betrayed the flare of anger, sharp as a finely honed dagger.

“You are not here to collect my son, Keeper.” She spat the title like something distasteful, putting the lowly ig firmly in his place.

“You will have him after the Rite of Hatching,” Anh interjected, his deep voice brooking no argument. He ignored the unspoken question hovering in the Keeper’s eyes—which one?

“Fine,” the Keeper replied, unruffled. With a careless nudge of his foot, he slid the gilded cage and the basket of blue moss toward the younglings. “Here is the cage to keep him in, and moss for when he grows hungry.”

The sudden movement caught Ki’s restless gaze. The tiny creature waddled eagerly toward the basket, clamped his small jaws around a thick strand of moss, and yanked. Blue fibers spilled across the floor in a fragrant heap. Ki began munching noisily, utterly delighted.

If Anh had possessed eyebrows, he would have raised them. Instead, his heavy silence spoke volumes.

“A hungry one,” the Keeper observed, still unfazed. “I brought only enough moss for a single youngling. Shall I fetch more? And perhaps a second cage?”

“The Seer will see to him,” Anh rumbled, waving the ig away. “Go now. You will have the Dark One after the rite.” He stepped forward and pointed to Lil, who still lay curled peacefully at Ninna’s feet. Then, with surprising gentleness, Anh reached down and lifted Ki into the air.

Blue moss dangled from the youngling’s mouth as he chewed, tiny sharp teeth working busily. Anh brought the tiny face close to his own and stared into those bright, slanted eyes.

“Who are you?” he whispered, as though searching for some hidden destiny within them.

The Keeper bowed lightly and retreated through the shattered doorway. As he stepped into the corridor, he nearly collided with the Seer—an ancient Light One elder whose long, silvery beard shimmered like liquid moonlight. The Keeper made way, cast one last curious glance over his shoulder at Anh still holding Ki, then vanished toward the elevator.

The Seer’s arrival shifted the very air. A quiet, divine gravity filled the chamber, as though the room itself had drawn a reverent breath. Whether it was the flowing silver beard or the eerie depth of his unseeing eyes, his presence commanded silence. He was not blind, yet when he looked at you, he seemed to gaze through flesh and bone into something far beyond.

The Seer’s strange eyes swept across Ninna, Nin Ra, and Anh before settling on Ki. The little one had finished his moss and was squirming furiously in Anh’s grasp, desperate for another helping.

“I will take him, Your Radiance,” the Seer said, approaching with calm authority. “Bid your farewells to Ki now,” he added, turning to Ninna.

How does he know the name? she wondered, startled by how effortlessly the elder’s presence overshadowed even Anh’s immense stature.

The Seer reached out and took Ki into his arms. At once, the youngling grew still, mesmerized by the flowing silver beard. Tiny claws stretched upward, grasping at the ghostly strands as though they were living moonlight.

The Seer tilted his head, drawing his ancient gaze closer to Ki’s while keeping the flowing silver beard just beyond the reach of those eager, tiny claws.

“I believe I see who will succeed me,” he murmured, enigmatic and soft, never looking away from the youngling. For once, his eyes did not pierce through—they rested upon Ki with something almost like recognition.

A quiet wave of relief washed over Ninna. She let the Seer’s words settle inside her, turning them over like precious stones. Pride stirred, tentative but growing. Though the Seer stood outside the Order, Anh still sought his counsel. That carried weight. She would be proud of both: Lil, the rightful heir to the One in Command, and Ki, the future Seer. Certainty was a luxury she could not afford, but belief would be enough.

Her face softened into its most beautiful expression in many cycles, the long strain melting from the delicate lines of her neck and cheeks.

Anh, too, seemed unburdened. He turned to Nin Ra. “Put Lil in the cage and give him moss. Do not just stand there.”

Nin Ra obeyed at once. Lil crawled willingly into the gilded confines and began sniffing delicately at the offering.

“And summon Ra,” Anh added. “Tell him to meet me at the Apex of the Sixth Eye.”

The command was unnecessary. Ra materialized in the doorway, radiant with excitement, his sagsu helm gleaming upon his large, conical head—five elegant golden horns twisting upward like living flames.

“You sent for me, Your Radiance?” he asked, perfectly poised.

Anh noted the helmet with quiet approval. He thought of it! Few ens understood the Order so instinctively. Ra would make a worthy successor one day, when the time came. Whenever that might be.

“Prepare for the Rite of Hatching, the Second in Command,” Anh proclaimed, his voice rolling like deep ocean waves. “We ride in one shar.”

“One shar?” Ninna interjected, indignation flashing. “So soon?”

“It has always been one shar, Ninna,” Anh replied, irritation carefully veiled. “The—”

“—Order of Things demands it!” Ninna finished, sharper than she intended.

Ra chose to ignore the exchange. “On my way, Your Radiance.” He offered a flawless bow—deep enough for respect, yet not excessive—and withdrew.

“One shar!” Ninna hissed the moment Ra had gone, wheeling on Anh. “I have waited countless cycles for this moment, and you grant me only three thousand and six hundred heartbeats?”

Anh consulted his pulsekeeper. “Three thousand five hundred and ninety-eight now,” He corrected her, unmoved. “Best not waste any more, or the celebration will be very short indeed.”

Speechless, Ninna turned away in a storm of silk and wounded pride. Her long gown brushed against Anh’s feet like an accusation as she swept from the chamber, leaving only the faint scent of orange mist and simmering resentment behind.