According to cat-Styxx, all of the confusion about the Rot and their supposed mission to destroy the world boiled down to linguistic nuances. “Take the words Rot and Virtue, for example,” he said. “These are your Master of Language’s translations for two very ancient concepts. Tell me Tassadu, what words would your people have used?”

Taken aback, Tassadu said, “My people? Like before the Fortress? Back on Earth?”

“Before the Fortress?” said cat-Styxx, laughing – but not meanly. He was, Aissaba realized, a lot cuter than the Fortress Styxx. The cat modifications suited him. “Before Earth, I mean. Your genetic modifications are inspired by the ancient dragon worlds, aren’t they?”

If Tassadu could have blushed with pride, he would have. Scales twinkling, he said, “It was the subject of my thesis,” he said. Then, putting it about as humbly as possible: “I reconstructed their genetic code and basically just grafted it into mine.”

“Just like that,” said cat-Styxx, whiskers twitching with mirth. “You integrated your own genome with that of a magical race that died before Earth’s star was born.” He said this in a whisper, almost a purr. It gave Aissaba chills. Tassadu tried to speak but failed. “In your studies, Tassadu,” he purred on, “did you ever attempt to graft their language into yours, their concepts onto your mind?”

Tassadu scowled. “I was told this endeavor was… unproductive.”

“Oh?” said cat-Styx, with mock surprise. “Your Master of Language doesn’t have teams translating the dragon records? Or those of the other ancient races?” With each question, cat-Styxx’s mock surprise mounted, quickly reaching comical levels: “You mean to tell me that billions of ancient pebbles are just gathering dust in your Fortress somewhere?”

“My mom was authorized to study some of them,” said Aissaba, probing. She suddenly had a euphoric feeling that whatever her mother had been trying to tell her was something that cat-Styxx also knew – something hidden behind his surprisingly bright golden eyes.

“Nessassa, yes,” said cat-Styxx. “Cast down from the heights of scholarship for following a single gossamer thread connected to the world beyond her labyrinth. And what was this thread? Nothing more than the etymology of a single word.” He tapped Tassadu and Aissaba on their noses simultaneously as he said the word: “Rot.”

“So…” said Aissaba, nose tingling. “Are you going to tell us what it means?”

“No,” he said, placing his hand on the door to the spire. “I’m going to show you.”

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Inside, it was quite similar to the Hall of Maps, except that there were no people, and all the doors were closed. The silence made it feel like a temple, or a graveyard. How he knew what he was looking for amongst the unmarked doors, Aissaba didn’t know. She herself was quickly lost in the maze of passages and stairwells that trended generally upward.

“This one,” he said of a door like all the others, “is reasonably safe. Good for newcomers. It’s where I take recruits to demonstrate the key difference between our Fortress and yours.”

“Reasonably safe?” said Tassadu.

Cat-Styxx reached into his pockets and came back with two handfuls of blue pebbles. “You passed our entrance exams, so you obviously have a good grasp of pebble magic,” he said. “These are flashed with an eraser protocol. Don’t let them touch your other pebbles. And if you see anything dangerous coming toward you – throw them all at once.”

Before Aissaba could ask any clarifying questions, he opened the door to a jungle and stepped cautiously through, as silent as a cat. Aissaba noticed immediately that the trees themselves had pebbles – studded throughout their trunks like green stars. This was the primary source of light in the otherwise dark forest. A light mist gave them halos. If there was fauna amidst the flora, it made no noise.

“Unlike your Fortress,” whispered cat-Styxx as he led them down a vine-strangled path, eyes darting in all directions, “ours remains docked at all times to the planet we protect.”

At this, goosebumps spread across her whole body. “We’re not on Earth?” she breathed.

Cat-Styxx approached one of the trees, withdrew a small knife, and began prying a life pebble out of the trunk. The moment his blade touched it, though, the pebble began to burrow and to produce a detonation of fresh vines, as if it didn’t want to be harvested. With a skillful flick of his blade, however, he managed to pop it out and catch it with his other hand.

He eyed it, like a jeweler assessing the quality. “We are most definitely not on Earth,” he said absently. “Every door you saw back there opens somewhere on the surface of this world.”

“We were told that Earth was the only world left,” said Tassadu. “But I guess I’m not surprised we were lied to.”

“You weren’t lied to,” said cat-Styxx. “We’ve kept many secrets from your Fortress, including the existence of this place. But if anyone at your Fortress did know about it, however, I’m quite confident they would call it the Rotten World, or the Planet of Rot, or some nonsense like that.”

“What should we call it?” asked Aissaba.

“We just call it Master,” said cat-Styxx, eye watching them very carefully. At Aissaba and Tassadu’s silence, cat-Styxx said, “Whereas your so-called Master of Virtue remains locked in the top room of your Spire, ours was set free long ago.”

Aissaba shivered as the words whispered across her mind: The Fortress is a prison; the Fortress is a prison. The ground beneath them seemed to vibrate ever so slightly, as if shaken by distant thunder. The pebbles in the tree trunks flickered. If planets could speak, she thought, perhaps this was “hello” in its native language.