The Spire doors swung open, releasing what looked like a thick cloud of smoke, as if the whole inside of the building was on fire. From the corner of her eye, Aissaba could see Tassadu roll his eyes. The Master of Language had a few different forms, and “the swarm” was the one Tassadu held in lowest regard.

As the cloud descended upon the crowd, Cassandra tensed – probably thinking it was flies or mosquitoes. But as the air grew dark with particles, the sound was not buzzing but song – each particle emitting a fluctuating tone in perfect, ever-shifting harmony with the others. A swirling ethereal music engulfed the courtyard, bringing goosebumps to Aissaba’s skin and tears to her eyes.

Smaller than grains of sand, the dark particles moved too quickly for the eye to track. Unlike a sandstorm, the grains never touched the skin, never entered the nose or mouth. They darted around obstructions so effortlessly that they seemed to pass right through you, giving you the impression that they weren’t real. Or that you weren’t.

Aissaba heard Orion and Cassandra cry out when the particles all lit up at once, like fireflies flashing through the colors of the rainbow and filling the shadowy courtyard with splendor. The air was on fire – a reminder of how beautiful an inferno could be if it wasn't trying to burn you alive.

Over the next minute, the swarm coalesced into a burning column beside the Master of Mind and compacted itself into the form of a human man much shorter than she was. Each particle acted like a pixel, their totality forming into blue robes, at the top of which was bald head with tufts of gray, a beard that was somehow both thick and scraggly at the same time, and a potato of a nose that tied it all together.

“Welcome, everyone,” he said, in an unassuming voice, a bit nasally, as if the sinuses behind the potato were partially blocked. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Shall we begin?” said the Master of Mind, impatience written in the narrowness of her eyes. Or perhaps it was worry.

The Master of Language withdrew a scrap of paper from the pocket of his robes and said, “We hereby call Cassandra and Orion Johnson to join the ranks of the Fortress, an army of light dedicated to the preservation and salvation of the last remaining world.”

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Aissaba had heard the words so many times that she had them memorized. Usually, it was the Head of Recruitment Tours who recited them. Speaking of which… where was her boss? Aissaba scanned the crowd. With so many new people in attendance, the absence of his familiar face was all the more conspicuous.

She met Tassadu’s eyes. Where is he? she said with a shift of the eyes and a twitch of the mouth.

But Tassadu just looked at the grass. Aissaba was suddenly convinced that whatever had happened to him was going to happen to them. Perhaps the Master of Mind had overheard that the tour was a bust and informed the Master of Language. Perhaps they’d already dealt with him. After the ceremony, they were sure to be next.

“If you choose to stay,” said the Master of Language, “your new parents will present you with your first robes and your new names. If you choose to leave, you will return to Earth with no memory of the Fortress. In a moment, we shall open the gates…”

Aissaba felt Cassandra inhale and hold it.

Here the Master of Language paused. What he said next was not part of the usual script. To the Masters of Maps and Life, he said, “After a brief communion with the Master of Virtue, I have decided to make a small change. I apologize for not finding the opportunity to discuss it with you first.” He took the brown robes from each of them and–

Aissaba’s mouth dropped open.

–handed one to her and one to Tassadu.

“I’m aware of what transpired in the Room of Dreams,” he said, very quietly. “I hereby call on the two of you to serve as Fortress parents.”

Aissaba could barely think. “Are you kidding? Nothing happened! A kid put her head on my shoulder. That doesn’t mean anything!” were the words she was shouting at him in her brain. But nothing actually came out.

To the crowd, the Master of Language announced, “Now the Fortress parents will take their positions. Let the gate be opened.”

When Aissaba and Tassadu stood frozen, the Master of Language gently took them by the arms and stood them in front of Cassandra and Orion. In their hands, the limp brown robes flapped in the breeze.