The Rite of Hatching commenced only when the Royal Consort brought forth new life, a star kindled in the deep of her body. For Ninna, this was the first. Cycle after cycle she had yearned for it, and now that the longed-for dawn had broken, she felt only hollowness—an empty pit where joy should have blazed.

Everything changes so swiftly, she thought, and just as swiftly slips away. The bright thread of happiness twisted in her hands and darkened into heavy foreboding. Why does my heart not sing? I have done what I was born to do. I have given Anu his heir. Is it the Light One who haunts me still? She tried to summon pride in little Ki, to imagine him grown tall and wise, the next Seer whispering counsel into Lil’s ear. Would that not be a glory worth every ache? Yet something vast and ponderous gnawed behind her ribs, a shadow that would not be named.

Why is happiness so fleeting?

She summoned her maid. Nin Ra drew a gown of translucent silk over Ninna’s scales like moonlight poured across still water, then crowned her with a helm of rainbow gold whose five elegant horns curved upward on each side like petals reaching for the sun. The outfit mirrored Anh’s in every line, save that his helm bore six horns—taller, heavier, crowned with the weight of rule.

Together they descended in the whispering elevator and stepped into the cool air of the Sacred Grove. Anh waited beside the royal litter, his great frame so vast the gilded ark seemed almost too small to hold him. Soon he will need a new one, Ninna thought, watching igs in protective overalls hurriedly spreading a fresh layer of glowing blue firestone along the litter’s keel. With each glistening stroke the vessel rose, lighter than breath, until it hovered a foot above the muddy ground.

Anh unfolded the steps with stiff courtesy and offered her his hand. Ever gallant. Ever cold. She climbed inside; he followed. Burdened by their weight, the litter sank precariously yet managed to remain aloft, soft mud beneath it rippling in concentric circles.

Nin Ra approached, carrying a gilded cage. Inside, little Lil squirmed, his slitted eyes wide and luminous with newborn wonder. The maid placed the cage gently in Ninna’s lap and bowed low. “Enjoy the Rite, Your Hollowness,” she breathed, then withdrew like a shadow at sunrise.

Anh waited until the steps were folded away, then lifted his massive hand. The Grove fell silent. He gave the honor to Ra.

Tall and radiant, though not as immense as Anh, Ra stood gleaming beneath his five-horned helm. Orange mist swirled around him like living flame. “On behalf of the One in Command,” he declared, voice rich and solemn, “I hereby announce the Rite of Hatching. Let the celebration begin!”

He patted the litter’s side. The porters stirred.

It was little more than a gilded box adorned with intricate fractal patterns that caught the light like frozen music. Two long steering poles jutted from its sides. The litter floated on firestone, yet needed souls to move it. Three scrawny igs took each pole—six before, six behind. Though they bore no true weight, Anh’s colossal presence gave the vessel such inertia that all twelve had to strain together, muscles trembling, before the great ark glided forward.

From her seat, Ninna saw only the heads and straining shoulders of her carriers. And in that moment, the hidden truth of their labor revealed itself to her, sharp as a blade of starlight:

It is always igs who carry the load of ens.

Over long ages, the burden has grown lighter, yet it remains a burden still.

The Sacred Grove lay drowned in thick orange mist, the Father Tree visible only as a vast, brooding shadow against the city’s eternal glow. Along the causeway, the royal procession followed, servant igs waited with firedust dispensers. As the litter approached, they opened them in unison. A storm of golden motes burst forth, devouring the fog, lifting its heavy curtains high above the path like silken veils drawn aside by invisible hands. The royal couple shone, revealed.

So many… Ninna thought, gazing at the sea of unfamiliar faces—ens and nins pressed shoulder to shoulder along the route. The One City, which had seemed empty and silent beneath the mist, now brimmed with life. So many Ones…

An endless wall of faces flanked the causeway. The silence was strained yet reverent, broken only by occasional murmurs and the pointing of fingers toward the gilded cage resting on her knees. Should I raise it higher? she wondered. She glanced at Anh, ever reserved, ever watchful. Why risk his disapproval? Her hand rested lightly atop the cage, but in the end she simply turned her head and offered the crowd a gentle, luminous smile.

Anh rode beside her in perfect stillness, staring straight ahead, aloof and distant. Does anything stir him? she wondered. Does he even remember what happiness feels like? She was no longer certain she remembered either—until this moment. Tiny bubbles of joy began rising within her, soft at first, then brighter, faster, until they could no longer be contained.

She rose to her feet, lifted the gilded cage high above her head, and cried out with all the strength in her voice:

“Til-la Lil! The long-awaited heir of the One in Command! Til-la Lil!”

Her words rippled outward like a stone cast into still water. The murmur spread, swelled, bounced from wall to wall, building into a mighty roar that shook the very air of the One City:

“Til-la Lil! Til-la Lil! Til-la Lil!”

For the first time in eons, Ninna saw Anh come alive. At first, he reached for her in alarm, lips tightening with silent reprimand. Then something shifted. Golden sparks kindled in his eyes as he watched the crowd chant his son’s name. A faint smile—rare as stargift—touched his face. Amused. Perhaps even proud.

Ninna kept the cage raised high, her own voice soaring with the thunderous chant as the litter glided onward. Even some of the igs pulling the poles joined in, their small voices threading bravely through the roar. Anh’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment. Participation without command! Now that is true Order.

Ninna watched him, heart soaring. Pride for Lil? For her? Or only for himself? She could not tell. Yet to have drawn even a flicker of warmth from Anh’s cold heart felt like victory enough. Elation lifted her higher than any mist or golden dust. In this shining moment, the city, the chant, the roaring joy—all of it belonged to her.

As the royal procession glided onward, the proud towers of the inner city dwindled, sinking lower and lower until they vanished entirely into the glowing orange haze. The causeway stretched before them like a river lost in fog—neither beginning nor end visible, only the endless tunnel of mist. Ninna’s arms burned from holding the gilded cage aloft, yet she refused to yield. She swept the pain aside like cobwebs and kept chanting, her voice bright and restless: “Til-la Lil!” Each time a fresh wave of roar crashed over the litter, she smiled wider, feeding the fire.

Golden motes swirled above them in luminous spirals, turning the air into living starlight. Even Anh had softened. He sat relaxed now, nodding in quiet approval. Finally, Ninna thought, joy blooming inside her chest. At last, we can both feel. This is happiness. This is it. She tried to carve every shimmering detail into her soul so she might carry it forever.

But fate, ever cruel, never lets light linger.

As they neared the city’s edge, the graceful spires and stout towers of ens gave way to the crooked shacks and mud-choked hovels of igs, huddled together in chaotic clusters like broken shells washed ashore by restless waves. Red mud squelched greedily beneath the porters’ feet, sucking at their toes with wet, resentful sounds. Crowds of igs pressed close on either side—small, sullen figures bunched in ragged packs. Their faces told stories of hardship: some streaked with red clay, others scarred by blue pockmarks, eyes swollen half-shut, teeth or claws missing.

“You should return to your seat, Ninna,” Anh commanded, his voice tight with unmasked concern. “These ones do not partake of the Tree of Life. They cannot share our joy as fully. The Order knows I have tried to ease their burden, but there are so many… and the Sacred Grove is too small for every soul. Not all can be ens, Ninna.” He spoke almost to himself, then added softly, “Please sit.”

She obeyed. Relief flooded her trembling arms as she lowered the cage, muscles screaming in protest. The mist had grown heavy, condensing into drifting droplets that lingered in the air like hesitant tears, neither rising nor falling. Then came the sounds—loud splashes behind the litter, closer each time, mud hurled in anger.

Ninna glanced back. The royal guard followed close—twelve sentinels with bronze firestone-tipped spears, their bluish glow cutting through the fog. One of them was dragging something heavy off the causeway, a dark shape she could not quite name.

Beyond the hovels, endless moss fields stretched into the orange void, dark figures swarming around hulking machines. Not all igs had abandoned their labor to watch the royals pass. Here, the air felt heavier, its glow dimmer, swallowed by the eternal dusk.

“Best we turn back now,” Anh commanded the porters.

Just in time. A massive shadow weaved out of the mist ahead—an abandoned harvester, looming like a forgotten giant. The porters strained against the litter’s inertia, muscles taut, turning the gilded vessel in a slow, sweeping arc, narrowly avoiding the collision. Huffing and puffing with effort, the royal procession reversed course, retreating from the outer fringes back toward the heart of the city.

The eternal glow grew strangely dim here, as though even the sky had turned its face away. Ninna thought she glimpsed movement in the haze—fleeting, uncertain—but the thickening orange condensation blurred every shape. It clung to their bodies like heavy sap, turning translucent gowns into sodden second skins. Large auburn droplets rolled across Lil’s tiny head; his narrow black tongue flicked out again and again, tasting the strange rain.

Shouts erupted behind them. Sentinels rushed toward the abandoned harvester, spears flashing. A body fell. Another was speared and dragged into the mist. Anh refused to look, his profile carved from stone. “Chaos is the friend of igs,” he muttered. Then, sharper: “Faster!”

Ninna had never heard him raise his voice like that. The command lashed like a whip. She needed no warning—distant screams and the clash of combat told her everything. They were alone now, accompanied only by twelve porters who were themselves igs. Fear uncoiled inside her, sleek and predatory. She clutched the gilded cage until her knuckles ached. “Faster!” she cried, but the red mud clutched greedily at every footfall.

One porter slipped. Another tumbled after him. Both vanished into the swirling fog with nothing but a few choked grunts. Then silence—save for the wet, rhythmic squelch of those still running.

A new shadow lunged out of the mist ahead: not a harvester this time, but a massive moss-filled wagon deliberately toppled across the causeway. Too late to stop. The front porters veered desperately, yet the litter’s momentum was merciless. It slammed sideways into the wagon with a bone-shaking crash. One steering pole snapped like a dry bone. A jagged splinter whistled past Ninna’s face. Another ricocheted off Anh’s armored scales, shredding his wet robe but drawing no blood.

The violent halt hurled them both forward. Ninna’s fingers flew open. The cage tumbled from her grasp and sank into the red mud. Lil squeaked in terror.

“Lil!” she gasped in desperation, trying to steady herself.

Before Anh could rise from the wreckage, something heavy and round struck his golden helm with a dull, resounding thud, denting the metal just below a curving horn. He roared—a volcano of rage—and erupted from the litter, flinging debris in every direction.

Ninna crawled through the sucking mud, eyes burning, reaching for the cage. The fog licked at her like a hungry lover, clotting her vision with sticky amber tears. “Lil!” she called again.

“Stay down!” a voice shouted—whose, she could not tell.

Anh’s roar split the air once more. She turned to see swarms of small dark figures launching themselves at his colossal form. They looked like rats—frenzied, desperate rats. He thrashed and spun, his massive tail whipping like a war-mace, smashing them aside in waves. Yet more kept coming, leaping from the mist. Too many. For one heartbeat, she forgot even Lil, mesmerized by the terrible beauty of his fury. His size and thick scales gave him savage advantage; scores of attackers already lay broken in pools of steaming purple blood.

Thank the Order, igs are forbidden weapons, she thought—until terror for her son flooded back.

“Lil!” She staggered upright. A hand touched her shoulder. Ninna whirled to find an old, scrawny ig nin standing behind her, drenched in red mud, holding the cage in her trembling arms. Inside, Lil squeaked frantically; a raw, bleeding patch marred his small back where the fall had torn him.

The crone pressed the cage into Ninna’s hands without a word, then melted back into the fog like a ghost.

“Long life to you!” Ninna cried after her.

Only the swirling mist answered.

Suddenly, the sky cracked open with light. Searchlights speared down through the orange murk, and the low, guttural hum of flyers stitched the air. Reinforcements had come. Igs scattered like startled insects as ens descended in gleaming armor, forming a living wall around Ninna and Anh.

Bodies lay everywhere, half-submerged in red slush. So much for the celebration, Ninna thought bitterly. She sank into the mud and laughed—high, wild, uncontrollable—still clutching the gilded cage as though it were the last solid thing in the world.

No one noticed her until Ra came sprinting through the chaos. He seized her arm and pulled her upright with surprising strength. “Come with me, Your Hollowness,” he said, voice steady and warm. His charming smile never faltered, even here. “His Radiance will join us later. He has a battle to command.” With gentle insistence, he guided her toward the nearest flyer and helped her inside.

As they rose, Ninna pressed her face to the viewport. Far below, a single powerful searchlight pinned Anh in its brilliant circle. Towering and majestic, he stood amid the carnage, issuing orders to sentinels. Ursags darted across the site like golden sparks. The scene shrank, blurred, and finally vanished as the flyer carried them toward the Royal Spire.

I am safe. Anu is safe. Lil is safe.

She looked down at the cage. Lil still squeaked faintly, tiny claws scraping against the muddy bars. She held him tighter. She would never let go. Not ever. Yet she knew she must speak with Anh about keeping their son closer. The chances he would listen were thin as starlight… but she had to try.

She remembered nothing of the journey to the Apex of the Fifth Eye. One moment, the world was chaos and mud; the next, Nin Ra was gently stripping the ruined gown from her body, wiping red filth from her scales with trembling hands. The maid’s face was pale, etched with worry.

“I am glad you are unharmed, Your Hollowness,” Nin Ra whispered. “You need a proper bath. I will prepare—”

“No bath,” Ninna cut in. “Where is Lil?”

“With the Keeper.”

“So soon?” Ninna’s voice rose in protest. “It is not time yet!”

Nin Ra offered a soft, reassuring smile. “The Keeper is still here. He will not descend to the Nursery without Anh’s leave.”

Relief washed through Ninna like warm rain. Then the world tilted, and she fainted, slipping silently into the nest. A single sharp fragment of eggshell pressed cruelly into her side, unnoticed.

When she woke, Anh stood before her.

He looked transformed—more alive than she had ever seen him. His eyes burned with golden fire. His air pouches pulsed rapidly beneath the sleek black combat suit that clung to his powerful frame like liquid night. A firestone-tipped dagger hung at his belt, deadly and beautiful. For the first time in memory, Anh looked… happy.

The Keeper waited beside him, relaxed and insolent as ever.

“It is time,” Anh said quietly. “Bid your farewell to Lil before the Keeper takes him to the Nursery.”

Ninna’s heart plummeted. “Anh—Your Radiance,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “I beg you, let us speak of this!”

But his gaze was already distant, immovable. He stepped closer and helped her to her feet with surprising tenderness. “We have spoken of this many times, Ninna. My answer remains the same…”

“The Order of Things demands it!” Ninna finished for him, her voice sharp as shattered crystal, flung straight into his face. “Chaos take your precious Order! Is it more important to you than me? Than Lil? Your own flesh and blood?”

Anh raised his massive hand. Invisible power flowed from it, gentle yet absolute, silencing her trembling words. “You saw the chaos by the harvester, Ninna,” he said, his tone more sorrowful than scolding. “You witnessed it with your own eyes. Do you truly wish us to live like… like igs?” He stepped close, so close, and cupped her face between his enormous hands with surprising tenderness. Tilting his head, he looked deep into her gleaming yellow eyes, his voice softening to a whisper. “The Order of Things is the only wall between them and us. You know this, Ninna. You know it in your bones. The moment we forget, chaos will devour everything, and you will beg for Order once more—only then it will be too late. Lil must go to the Nursery.”

“But—”

Her protest died as her body sagged, strengthless, into his arms. He lowered her gently back into the nest.

“With any luck,” Anh continued, “we will have him back in a few cycles…”

We. The single word pierced her like starlight. He had said we. Something had shifted inside him. Deep beneath that armored heart, he cared. Stubborn as the Father Tree itself, he cared for their son. Lil would be his heir. He must be.

“…if he survives,” he added, almost absently.

The words struck her like a fresh blow. All the terror, exhaustion, and grief of the day crashed over her at once. She broke—sobbing wildly, uncontrollably, her body shaking as though the abandoned harvester had risen again from the fog to crush her.

For once, shame flickered across Anh’s face. He reached out, awkward but sincere. “I know he will survive. The Keeper will see to it.” He shot the ig a heavy, warning glance.

The Keeper’s expression remained flat, unmoved. He had witnessed countless such farewells, countless mothers’ tears. His hide was thick, and he was only an ig.

“As Your Radiance commands,” he replied tonelessly. He stepped forward to claim the cage. Lil was clean now, the wound on his small shoulder neatly patched.

“Wait!” Ninna cried. She rose, steadier than before, and knelt before the cage. Slipping one claw through the bars, she stroked the tiny head, rubbing gently between his eyes. “I will see you again, my darling,” she whispered. “Show them who you are—the future En Most High, my One in Command!”

Lil murmured something soft and secret, circling her finger with his small body as if in promise.

The Keeper cleared his throat, then lifted the cage and vanished down the shadowed corridor without another word, carrying her heart toward the elevator and the Nursery far below.

Ninna turned to Anh. She seized his massive hand and pressed it fiercely to her chest. “Promise me one thing.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “Promise you what?”

“That during this cycle’s council, you will speak of the matters of succession.”

“Ninna!” Anh rolled his eyes, exasperation flaring. “Not this again. Enough—I have said enough!” He stormed from the chamber, his battle gear shimmering deep violet in the low light, like thunder given form.

Yet as his heavy footsteps faded, Ninna found herself smiling through fresh tears.

Beneath the harsh words and the storming exit, she had seen the crack in his armor. This time… this time he might truly listen.His ghastly exit left Ninna smiling. She knew that despite the harsh facade and fierce act, he actually might listen to her this time.