Arthurius gulped when he heard his name.

"It’ss not every day I’m impresssed. You’re the wealssiesst man in the country... neigh... the world, without anyone wissser."

The black merchant’s heart raced. No one alive should know his name, much less about Miriam. His most secret safe house had been found, and now this stranger knew of his daughter. He felt exposed, vulnerable.

He had mastered the art of disarming his enemies with information, but this was different. Whoever this was, they were his equal. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. A ruler of the underworld didn’t lose composure.

"Relaxss. My agent’ss long gone. I’m merely introducing mysself… through Miriam. Sssweet, sssweet Miriam."

Arthurius forced his expression to remain neutral. His daughter had been brain-dead for over a decade—unresponsive, silent.

"How are you doing this?" His voice was strained.

"You and I, we’re puppet-masssterss. We pull ssstringss from the shadows. My ssstringss are ssspecial. I can connect my mind to hersss..." The voice paused, considering. "Like a chain linking two gearsss on a byssicle."

Arthurius saw no chains or strings. Only a skin bottle spilled on the floor. A drug, perhaps? He’d need to consult a poison master later.

“With all your technology, thisss...” Miriam’s eyes rolled toward the Cerberus, “isss a fine brain prossthessis." Only her eyes moved. Her head remained strapped to the chair, making the scene even more unnerving. Arthurius had seen horrors in his life, but this—this sent a chill down his spine.

"Am I close to success?" Arthurius probed.

"That dependsss on how you play our game."

"What game? Who are you?"

"I told you. I’m a fellow puppeteer. A new player in town. I arrived with nothing, and now I’m a millionaire under your nossse. It wasss easssy."

Bold words. Arthurius was irritated. He kept tabs on everything that happened in his territory. No new figure had risen in the underworld—at least, none his network had detected. This made him uneasy. Could this stranger be playing outside the shadows, perhaps in the open markets? The recent collapse in the oil market crossed his mind. He kept his face blank.

"What game are we playing?" he asked, his voice steady.

"A game for your daughter’s life."

Arthurius froze. Every crime, every scheme, every lie had been for her—to hold her, speak to her again. The Cerberus project was promising, but incomplete. This might be his only chance.

"State your terms."

“Sssimple. First to make a hundred billion crowns wins.”

A hundred billion crowns. Arthurius did a quick calculation—his wealth was roughly half that.

"Does our current wealth count?"

"Yesss."

So, I have a head start, he thought. My opponent is confident.

"If I win, you’ll heal her?"

"Yesss."

"And if you win?"

"You become my butler."

"Butler?" The word was absurd. Arthurius ruled the underworld. Politicians, criminals, and law enforcement danced to his whims. Now this upstart wanted him as a servant?

"Yesss. A retired old one like me could ussse a butler."

Retired? Arthurius narrowed his eyes. Was this a misdirection?

"What are the rules?"

Miriam smiled—a smile Arthurius hadn’t seen in years. It should’ve warmed him, but it only chilled him further.

"We can only ussse puppetsss. No direct intervention. First to a hundred billion crowns wins. Or, if you find my lair, as I found yoursss, you win."

He was given every advantage—a head start, multiple win conditions. He wasn’t restricted from using violence or any other method. His opponent was confident, too confident.

"Why are you doing this?"

Miriam’s eyes began to glaze over. As the connection faded, the voice whispered one last time.

"Because it’sss fun."

*

It had been weeks since Joey last visited his mother. The lake incident had kept him busy, but he knew that wasn’t the real reason for his absence. It was hard for Joey to see her. Every visit, she was a little older, a little more lost. Watching her mind fracture was unbearable.

At the hospice, they gave their names at the reception. A short doctor with thick spectacles approached, walking with small, deliberate steps. Joey suspected the doctor took two steps for every one of his.

“Good morning, Joey. Hello, Marie,” the doctor greeted them warmly before turning to Molly. “And who is this? Your sister, Constable Joseph?”

“No! I’m not Daddy’s sister! I’m his daughter!” Molly giggled.

“Ah, my mistake. I thought you were forty already,” the doctor teased, making her laugh harder.

“How’s she doing, Doc?” Joey asked, his tone serious.

The doctor’s smile faded. “Joey, you know there’s nothing we can do but wait. The damage from the poison... it continues to ravage her mind and body.”

Joey squeezed Marie’s hand, and she squeezed back, offering silent support. Sensing her father’s distress, Molly hugged his leg. Joey noticed the doctor hesitated, as if holding something back.

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“What else, Doctor? Is everything alright with my mother?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Since your last visit, she and the other patients have been experiencing... collective hallucinations.”

“Collective hallucinations?” Marie asked.

“In mental institutions, it’s not uncommon for patients to fixate on the same idea, person, or object. This has been happening here for a few days. It’s rare, and we’ve contacted the Psychiatric Society to document it. When you see your mother today, she might ramble. Please, try to ignore it. It’s... just the illness talking.”

“Mommy, is Grandma okay?”

Marie knelt beside Molly. “Grandma’s very sick, sweetie. But don’t worry, once you show her your drawing, she’ll feel better.”

“Where is she?” Joey asked.

“Near the fountain, with the others.”

The hospice was a cluster of buildings with a garden at its center. The greenery was meant to soothe troubled minds. Joey could hear the fountain’s gentle flow from a distance, its clockwork jets spouting water in rhythmic bursts.

As they approached, Joey spotted his mother seated in a wheelchair under the sun, her gaze fixed on the fountain. He took her frail hand.

“Ma, it’s me. Joey.”

She didn’t look at him, but her grip tightened. Joey’s heart sank. “I brought Marie and Molly. Your granddaughter.”

On cue, Molly climbed onto her grandmother’s lap, chatting excitedly about school and showing off a drawing she’d made of them together. Joey’s mother didn’t shift her gaze from the fountain, but her expression softened.

“Grandma, tell me a story,” Molly asked eagerly.

Joey stepped forward to explain that his mother couldn’t speak, not anymore.

“Certainly, my dear,” his mother replied.

Joey froze. He hadn’t heard her voice in years, let alone stringing together full sentences. He exchanged a stunned glance with Marie.

“Once upon a time, there was a world—a vast world, far bigger than Earth. It was covered in water, and in it lived a mischievous creature...”

Joey’s mother hesitated, then corrected herself. “No, not a creature. The water itself. Or perhaps... an eye? It was a clever, beautiful being with a knack for making trouble and amassing wealth.”

Joey stood dumbfounded. His mother, who had struggled to speak for so long, was now spinning such a wild tale.

“After centuries of legitimate business practices, the creature became the wealthiest being in its world. But it wasn’t satisfied. A neighbor’s silver is more precious than one’s gold. So it set off for the stars, amassing treasures from distant planets: rubies from Antillaris, emeralds from Sirius, pearls from Omax. At one point, it was so rich, it bought a planet and built two moons—one of solid gold, the other pure sapphire.”

Joey’s mother smiled faintly as she continued. “But jealousy is a powerful thing. Forced to flee from authorities, the creature realized something: the journey brought more joy than the destination. The game, not the prize, filled its soul. So, it sought a distant world, unknown to the stars, to build one last empire and retire.”

Molly clapped, delighted. “Grandma, that was the best story! No one tells it like you.”

Marie, still puzzled, asked, “Have you heard that story before?”

“Of course! It’s the story of Ambyssus!” Molly said.

Joey’s heart skipped a beat. “Ambyssus?”

“Yes! All my friends know the story.”

Joey frowned. He hadn’t heard it until a few days ago, yet now it was everywhere. “It’s not the first time I hear that name this week.”

“I’ve been hearing it, too,” Marie said.

“It’s odd, though, isn’t it? A word no one knew before is suddenly on everyone’s lips,” Joey commented.

“Kids spread things fast,” Marie said. “Maybe one of them mentioned it to a patient, and it caught on.”

Joey paused, his detective instincts kicking in. The sound of conversations around him felt louder than usual. Families were talking with their loved ones, but the patients... they were all speaking of Ambyssus.

“I heard Ambyssus can see from kilometers away!” an old man whispered to his grandchildren.

“I hear him singing by the fountain,” a young woman told her mother.

“I dreamed of Ambyssus last night. He congratulated me when I won at Domino,” a man boasted.

Something was very wrong. How could a name spread so quickly? How could patients who were usually catatonic suddenly speak so much?

His mind raced, connecting dots: the lake, the graffiti, Geoffrey’s painting, the children at the train station. “Do you think this has something to do with the lake?” Joey asked, testing his wife’s reaction.

Marie sighed. “Joey, you’re overthinking this. It’s just a children’s story, nothing more.”

“And a story told by mentally unstable people,” he added, uneasy.

Marie gave him a look. “You need to relax. You’re talking crazy.”

Joey rubbed his temples. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was seeing connections where there were none. “Maybe you’re right.” He forced himself to smile. “Now, where should we go for lunch?”

*

Monday arrived, and the city slowly woke from its weekend slumber. The tension over rising inflation still hung in the air, worsened by soaring fuel prices. Steam-powered tractors drove agricultural work, factories depended on fuel to power their furnaces, and transportation relied heavily on sirenia. The only good news was that the lake’s waters had receded, allowing producers to resume oil production, even if their facilities hadn’t yet been fully restored.

Joey waited for Esther in the hotel lounge. The décor was tasteful—glass-topped tables with white, carved metal legs gave the room an understated elegance. Chairs with gray and green cornucopia patterns added a subtle charm, while beige curtains framed walls adorned with paintings of Grassum Lake and the Aurum River. Through the window, Joey watched the city wake. People bustled outside, most headed to work. His gaze lingered on a bulky man with singed mustaches—likely a blacksmith—and then on a cyclist with a rucksack. A locksmith, maybe.

As Joey passed the time, a gleam of golden apple syrup caught his eye, dripping down a glorious stack of pancakes on a nearby table. It looked delicious, but when the waiter caught him staring and offered him a portion, Joey waved him off.

“No, thanks,” Joey said, forcing a polite smile.

“Good morning, Joey,” Esther greeted him as she approached.

“Morning, Professor. How was your Sunday? Got much reading done?”

“Enough to stay sharp. I trust you were able to rest?”

“Yes, ma’am. You?”

“I can’t say I did, no,” Esther replied, her tone calm but weary.

Seeing her settle in, the waiter approached to take her order. Esther declined politely. “Just the newspaper for me, thank you.”

Joey raised an eyebrow. “It’s going to be a long day, Professor. Are you sure you don’t want a proper breakfast?”

Esther gave him a curious look. “I thought you’d noticed, Joey.”

“Noticed what?”

“You don’t eat or drink anything that isn’t prepared in front of you. I do the same.”

Joey blinked, realizing she had been just as cautious. After a brief, awkward silence, Esther continued.

“Have you ever heard of dracunculiasis?” she asked.

Joey shook his head.

“It’s a parasitic infection,” she explained, her voice dropping. “One of my first assignments as an academy emissary was to visit a town where the entire population had fallen ill. People developed blisters, and then... parasites crawled out. It was horrific.” Esther shuddered, her usual composure faltering. Joey felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“There was no way to kill the parasite,” she continued. “You had to keep the patient still while it painfully emerged, or it could die inside them, causing infection. People died horrible deaths. We eventually traced it back to contaminated water—worms had laid their eggs in the town’s water supply.”

Esther paused, taking a steadying breath. “One of my colleagues, Barry, wasn’t careful enough. He died. Ever since, I can’t stand to eat or drink anything unless I know it’s safe. I boil water for fifteen minutes before drinking, and I always prepare my own food.”

Joey’s mind flashed back to his own experience. “For me, it was my—”

“It’s alright, Joey. I know,” Esther interrupted gently. “Everyone knows about Jebediah.”

Joey sighed. What were the odds that both he and the professor shared such similar scars? Just then, the waiter returned with the newspaper, and Esther opened it, skimming the headlines.

“Anything interesting?” Joey asked, eager to change the subject.

Esther’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned the paper toward him. “I’d say so. Do you recognize anyone here?”

Joey’s eyes scanned the headline: Local Hero Saves the World.