And they left them there. Savior watched as the Paradisiacs entered the Gene thread. Just before VENICE shimmered away, into the lining of fabric, he/they turned to Savior and pressed their finger to the air. It gained a hidden sheen of a color that appeared to be both yellow and black. And a face gained visibility there. And although Savior could not see it, they suddenly felt a shock run through the orange of their being. More than VENICE, this person was different.
“K Jeong, we call you to Sector I,” VENICE said.
“Thank you, Dante A,” came the reply, and VENICE stepped out. And a deep sense of color seemed to return to Savior’s world, but they didn’t see anything new. “The revolution is incredible. Scions I have never seen before.” But VENICE hadn’t heard, and Savior saw the Paradisiac called K Jeong step out gingerly from the canvas, from a glimpse of forests and trees, and onto the floor.
“Did you know that we have not measured the potential of traits?” K Jeong said, and embraced Savior. Savior felt that they were in new and different straits.
“Meraki is our greatest example. Sappho his bodiesification can be argued to surpass him in identity, while he continues to find new purposes of light.” Savior argued nothing but felt once more that they were only a vehicle for information going in no particular direction. But their blindness would one day give in to sight.
“We are Savior,” they said.
“I know,” K Jeong replied. “I am the second Paradisiac. There is a future to this world that you do not know. I am searching for it.” The smile the Paradisiac gave felt to Savior like a dimmed room, replete with light but only in its corners; and a single lamp was breathing in that light, in the process breathing out pinpoints of color.
“What are you doing on that quest” Savior asked.
“Each and every Scion represents an infinite depth of power and color and beauty and self. We once thought that art was the most infinite thing. The philosophers and Twitfolk dove into the concrete waters of humanity. But the way a trait changes, the way a trait can be, is the new horizon.”
“Are we a Scion?” they asked K Jeong.
“No,” K Jeong said. “You are technically not bodiesified. You are a special case. Our composers, costumer, and stager all did not explain to you. But how could they, they are so lost in their art…”
Savior wanted to say that they were lost, but did not. They decided to stop asking questions that did not give them answers.
“If only Sappho were here. No, she would not have explained either. If only Meraki were here. He would have explained everything. But he is so preoccupied with the infused beings of Sector III. He didn’t even attend our last full meeting.” K Jeong’s hands were trembling.
K Jeong put a steady hand on Savior's right shoulder. “Thank you for joining us, formerly ones named Revé, Reify, and Hector. The stage always needs a light.”
Savior nodded.
“We provide the light,” they said.
“Yes,” K Jeong answered. “Our performance is in the second Sector, soon.” K Jeong looked at them, and smiled, lips closed. “You once saw the world in alliterations? Some same starting letters?” Savior shook their head, vertically. “Good. It is one of the signs of bodiesification, but I really think that term deserves broadening,” and K Jeong clapped hands. “Until then, you need an arc. What shall it be. Training, hero, orange and blue?”
Savior thought.
“That’s already what happened.”
“Freedom,” came the response. “Now you can choose.”
At this point in time, Savior knew without a doubt that continuing to interact with these performers would be useless art and philosophy. But their words that came next only had one shape.
“Power,” they said.
K Jeong, who had been wearing a thin, soft material that resembled hide, withdrew a pencil from one of its folds, and drew a small but identifiable P across the right arm.
“Aquila has doubts, but in my world you’re on the right path. Do you still have your card?” K Jeong asked, briefly showing a white card from another fold, a card which had words in different colors on it. “It needs to be changed for the current version.” K Jeong held it out to Savior, who saw that in place of CALVIN / HOBBES read SAVIOR (Lighting).
Savior looked at their own card, whose names had no colors. But as they looked, the former lighting members’ names were replaced with those of Savior. And their name was orange.
“Of course, the others’ will appear in color for you as you advance in yours,” K Jeong said. “Now. Do you see our purposes? Under ‘We Conduct.’”
“We see.”
“As I said, we’re performing in some time. Which of the others would you like to get started on first?”
Savior saw the word Gene in every one—except for the last. Prevention of Demonkind.
“Are there demons?” they asked, pointing to the line.
…
From within the folds of the cloak, K Jeong removed a book. It was medium-sized. On the cover were two entities, one screaming as it lay in the other’s hold, both bursting out of a door, with what appeared to be a purple grimoire emptying its contents through the air. Savior saw the demons’ names above them.
“I would value your assistance in systematizing this world’s first magic system, as you’re fairly new to it. Meraki is hard to talk to. But your choice.” K Jeong put the card, as well as the book, back inside the folds.
“Power system.”
“Oh, this is going to be exciting.” K Jeong laughed, and embraced Savior again. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
They looked into the Gene thread together, and flames and rainbow threads across its way Savior saw a pinpoint of light.
“Open your hands, William,” Agent Lind requested, and the First Agent acquiesced, unclenching her fingers.
Her hands were filled with receptors.
“It’s the chartreuse pair, Raegoth,” Lind said, reaching in and plucking one out. He handed it to him, and Raegoth inspected it. He brought it up close to his eyes—but it didn’t do anything.
“It’s just a receptor.” Agent William nodded. Both her receptors—the ones on her ears—blinked.
Raegoth had a question. “How do we have Dube Dube’s receptor, and not his chartreuse halberd?” He looked at William—she looked back, unblinking.
“The Blue Horus has holoscreen,” she said.
“That’s right. Raegoth, everyone’s been verified, but technically Dube Dube’s receptor would have recorded their last moments. But only Dube Dube—an alive, Thought-capable Dube Dube—can access their receptor.” Lind retrieved it and plopped it back into William’s outstretched hands. William closed her hands and stuffed them into the pockets of her Agency uniform. No receptors fell out.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“I appreciate the exercise Raegoth. But we’ve been to the Menagerie, the Training Glass, the Library, and now look, Artok is emerging from the Stone. Thanks for calling them, First Agent.”
William nodded.
It only took a minute for Artok to reach them, their long legs paving way through the campus green. Their Weapon rose over their shoulder, brightening in the sun. A long shadow swayed over their steps.
“Good morning, Lind, First Agent William. Raegoth,” Artok said, bending their head with each greeting.
The shadow their Weapon cast felt to Raegoth like standing under an enormous steel umbrella. But there was no rain and only sun.
“I have an appointment with Lind at the nearest coffee venue, so I’ll provide everything I know,” Artok said.
“Are you bringing the Weapon with you?” Raegoth asked.
“I am,” Artok replied. “Agent Dube Dube specifically requested the length needed to surpass my own so that they would have the longest weapon in the Agency. They chose chartreuse, and I did the rest. Lind, we’re going for all eight today.”
“All purecaf, then,” Lind said. “No binelan either.”
“Wait,” Raegoth said.
They all turned to him. Agent Lind was looking slightly exasperated, or at least short for caffeine.
“None of this is going towards why someone would kill an unranked Agent,” Raegoth said.
Exasperated. He hadn’t been to the coffee with Artok as of yet.
Raegoth thought.
“Agent Rexy might have the reason,” he proposed. “Had Dube Dube not been killed, they would have battled Rexy for the Tenth and ranked position.”
Agent William shook her head.
“Logically unsound. If C. P. were capable of defeating Dube Dube, they would have done so normally,” Lind said.
“Not quite,” Artok said. They lowered their Weapon to the ground. “Killing an Agent preemptively avoids the wait, and possible refusal, of a challenge.”
Raegoth thought of Rexy. It took sixteen years, but I finally attained completely black eyes. The disposition of a planning mind. It made complete sense that a person might have lived their life with the sole purpose of becoming an Agent. It’s similar to my plans for 2237. Perhaps C. P. was planning further. Raegoth made a brief mental note to inform Xeric and Mik’vael.
“Lind, not everyone’s been verified,” he said.
Lind sighed, and reached into the lining of his uniform’s shoulder band. He removed a fresh bag of binelan. Uniform quid.
“Second Agent Istria went over this yesterday,” he said.
Raegoth shook his head. “Everyone except for the person who killed Dube Dube, if that person was not a member of the Second Bureau.”
“And C. P.’s in yours,” Artok said. “Quick deduction, Raegoth.”
“Agent William, can you summon them?” Raegoth asked.
“If they did kill Dube Dube, they would have no reason to tell the truth,” Lind said, sighing again.
Agent William shook her head, her right receptor blinking. “Holoscreen,” she said.
“They could have taken it off, First Agent,” came the response. Lind by now had finished eating the binelan. Sighing loudly, he shook it off onto the ground, and the crumbs were absorbed. “Agents have been extradited in the past. But if you really want to do that to our new star, Raegoth, you’d be handing it over to Tay and Istria.”
Raegoth thought of how Agent Tay had fumbled with Mik’vael’s aegis. But he could not be First Agent for no reason. The Second Bureau did not regularly meet with descendants but was capable in its own right. And Agent Istria had seemed knowledgeable.
“C. P. is potent,” he said. “But if they killed Dube Dube, then we must bring justice to them.”
“Another outdated term, Raegoth,” Lind said, but stood and linked arms with Artok’s. “But now that is your problem, and we’re getting coffee.” As the two walked away, Raegoth heard Lind say, “Let’s go somewhere with binelan cart,” and Artok nodding in step.
Raegoth turned to Agent William, who shrugged. She turned and left, soon leaving him alone on the campus green.
So he would do this without a partner. The thought turned colors within him. He turned and found himself walking.
After some further moments, his feet soon took him back to his domicile. Once there, his hands reached deep into his desk, with a movement that gave his arms a tingling nostalgia. His fingers alighted upon a small object; he removed it, and the sensation felt as if removing his hands from water.
The desk soon resumed its plain, empty splendor; in his hands he held the receptor.
And a bare memory struck his mind.
the person currently named Raegoth, 2084
“And here is the receptor,” Van said, handing me an outdated model—the Terra, of the Earth Works line. “Don’t worry, it’s not supposed to work,” he said. “Just place it inside the receptacle that Raze gave you.”
“But it already has two,” I said.
“It needs three, you know that,” he said. “Just put it there. It will come to purpose later.”
I took it, and made a Thoughtnote for: Insert receptor. “What else, director?” I asked, and he smiled. “I haven’t been that for long enough yet. You, however—” He paused, and his hair, golden as the mane, waved in the light of the early sun. “Next, you touch the Thousandtree.”
I looked outside the window at the sapling we’d planted with the Society of D. “It’s just a normal tree, with Alter seeds put into it,” I said. “Is it going to live a thousand years?”
“Maybe,” he said. He took my arm as we left his study. “This Agency you’ve set up. I’m not sure I’m the best one for the job.” We walked down the spiral staircase that led to the Enclave.
“I can’t do it,” I told him, not for the first time. “Not since I changed my name.”
“You’re right. Raegoth Ni’rial. It is a clever anagram.” By now we’d reached the Garden and the two portals that lay at its center.
Raegoth looked up at the door.
Hector was not there.
I see the driver. Raegoth put his hands on the receptor and said his full name.
A girl named Eleanor walked by the front doors of the palace. Its spires were tall and graceful and asked her to come in. She thought about it, putting her chin on her fingers. Through the doorway that led into the atrium she saw a king and queen and their loyal jester, dancing about their feet. The princess took a step. And she felt a warm fire—but it wasn’t coming from inside the house. She looked to her right and saw large rectangles of a clear translucent glass. Sunlight shone through them. And by their light she saw the wizard. He was brewing clear potions with leaves of myrrh. The girl named Eleanor took one last look at the king whose figure seemed shrouded. But when she turned back to the wizard his face was clear and strong. It had wrinkles but they held his face together. And the smell she smelled through the glass was real.
Eleanor stepped over the threshold of the greenhouse. Her knees nearly brushed some camellia sinensis leaves wedded to their thin branches, and she saw the familiar sight of aquarius folium sitting in pots grouped around the grass floor. Adult nudd trees watched over their children from the back. Seated on the low bench, his legs put up, was Tupil and he was waiting for her.
He stood up, and stretched his back. He reached down for what appeared to be a freshly made cup of tea, but no smoke was rising from it. As Eleanor watched, he held his hands around the ceramic cup and a thin curl of smoke rose.
“You know,” he said. He was not meeting her eyes. He was staring just past her, at the entrance to the glass.
Eleanor did not know what to say. But she held out her hands, palms faced upward.
Tupil placed the cup gently into her hands.
It was warm. Her hands became warm.
“I am—” she started to say.
But she could not ask it. It was just a play.
But how did they know? Had her parents given them a summary in advance? She wouldn’t speak with them. She couldn’t. Coming here as soon as the troupe departed. Just like her father searching for her in the garden. Her mother—she had suffered all this time—under a lie. That only ended by putting on false truths. Tupil—her father—to be one and the same, or not?
“I will answer your questions, Eleanor,” the Fire Man said, sitting back down. “Please sit with me and I will explain.” He reached over for a second cup, and as she watched, he warmed it with only his hands.
“No, I cannot,” she said.
“Are you bodiesified?” she asked.
Tupil looked at her. “All I know is that your father was,” he said. “Before I left him for the last time.”
“But what is it?” she asked. “And who were those performers? How did they know?” For what she knew, she could not wait any longer. If Tupil didn’t know, the troupe had gone; there was only one person left who did. Father.
If only—if it was a better thing for her to do. Then she wouldn’t have to keep on agonizing. She could get this hard truth out of Tupil and then she could talk to Father and leave the garden and return to that hidden palace of shadowed halls.
But she didn’t want to return there. What had the theater troupe said?
We bring a truth. One that hopes to sway, means to calm. For fire.
For fire.
Tupil opened his mouth and she reached over to touch the nearest clump of leaves.
Talking wasn’t action. Thinking wasn’t words.
Eleanor was.
And in moments she remembered for the third and final time the hologram dragons. Mother had been burned. By Father she. Eleanor burned the leaf, and she watched with what had been a slumbering fascination its progress along the stem. Tupil watched with her, and as she watched the fingers of fire touched his arms and joined the sheen of his skin. It was turning orange. He was not in pain, and neither was she.
Eleanor saw the face of the Fire Man become, and through his burning pupils she saw her existence.
“Let us go to your father,” the Fire Man said, and he led her out of the greenhouse. She let her arms trail through the air and the fire lick them.