There is no good or evil.

Only consequences.

— Excerpt from Meditations, by the Red Emperor

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ZhiXia City

A respected Scholar said the first day of the Festival of the Hero was meant to face the past. It was a time to accept and reflect on the challenges the year had brought; more importantly, it was a time to empathize with others who had faced their own challenges, to trade understanding and support and, ultimately, to accept that the time had been just another year in one’s life. Perhaps that was why it had become the day people gathered to listen to the story of the Companions and remind themselves of their shared history, so that they could bid goodbye to the previous year as one.

The second day of the Festival was meant to face the present. An acknowledgment that just because the year was over did not mean the consequences did not carry through. Some things could not be forgotten; other things could not be forgiven. But wallowing in an unchanging past does nothing to change it, and we should only ever live in the present with an eye towards the future. For many, the second day marked a time to come to terms with the journey that had led them thus far. No matter what had transpired, a new year was just around the corner — and with it, a chance for a fresh start.

The third day of the Festival, then, was meant to face the future — or at least, the year ahead. A reminder that tomorrow was always just a Sunrise away, and that to eternally gaze back at the past was no way to walk forward. Traditionally, this would be a time both of reflection and of planning for the year ahead. Much like how the Sun served as a daily reminder for the efforts of the Companions, so too should those of the present strive to prepare for the coming future.

But Molam shared ZhiXia City's lamenting grief as he walked through the City's ruined streets. His muscles clenched over the warm loaves of bread and hot soy milk in his arms. The empty, hollow looks on peoples’ faces mirrored his own as they rummaged through the scenes of destruction, looking for what they could salvage.

Perhaps most painful for Molam to see was those who had been unwilling to accept the bodies. Those in denial could be found all along the streets, digging with a focused frenzy through the rubble. Here and there, several others had come to find the searchers-in-denial. Some of these encounters had turned ugly.

Nearby, a mother tried to drag away her husband as he shifted away more rocks, his hands bloodied from a night of vain toil. She screamed in a shrill voice at him to come to reason, but found no response but grim determination. When she tried to pull him away, he shoved her to the ground, asking her why she had given up on their daughter so callously. Molam shuddered at the wild look in his eyes, distorted with an inhuman desperation.

A boy that must have been their son ran up, crying for the mother to stop, and the mother pressed the child's head to her shoulder, taking care to avoid his father's blood. She rocked back and forth on her knees as her husband continued removing the rubble, closing her eyes when he cursed at them for not lifting a finger to help search for their missing family member.

But the daughter was not here. Master Ji's search had been very thorough. The mother continued to plead, her voice hoarse in her raw throat; why was her husband here instead of with their daughter's body? She was interrupted by a sudden gasp as the father found something in the remnants of their destroyed house — when he held it up, Molam saw a broken bolang gu, a toy for children.

One of the strings had been torn off, the drum punctured through. The father's wail told Molam it had belonged to their daughter.

Molam hurried towards Sanctuary. He could avert his eyes, but he could not close his ears. The wail of grief echoed throughout his thoughts.

The scenery inside Sanctuary was no better. Rows upon rows of bodies draped in white, illuminated by the yellow-orange glow of torches. The shadows seemed to have more life than their owners, sitting glumly next to the bodies as they paid Molam little heed when he swept by.

Neither could Molam look any of them in the eyes. He worried that if he did, he could no longer keep down that clammy feeling threatening to make him double over and vomit up the rising sensation of guilt weighing down his chest.

All of this is my fault.

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Sanctuary

Molam found the small room in the back of Sanctuary where Martyker's nameplate lay. The body had already been taken away by the Priestesses to be prepared for cremation. He flinched upon entering, surprised to see it occupied by a large shadow.

"I'm sorry, I'll —"

The Whale of ZhiXia held up a finger, silencing Molam with a single look. Then he pointed down to his lap, where Nettie lay fast asleep. The solitary candle in the room illuminated little, but Molam could still see the dried tear tracks down her brown cheeks.

Molam lowered his voice, closing the door behind him. "I wasn't expecting you, Master Ji."

"How is your shoulder?"

"A Priestess mended it as best she could, but I'll be sore for some time." He shuffled to a nearby table, laying out the food. "Have you eaten yet, Master Ji?"

"You gave Primrose a task and left her to do it alone." Master Ji spoke in an even tone, but Molam heard the accusation within.

"Only trusted people know about this room, and no doubt Primrose told Nettie to not leave." Molam set the food down on the table, laying things out so Nettie could eat later.

"You went to look at the aftermath." Another statement from Ji.

"Of course I did," Molam nodded. "I… owe it to the dead."

"Why burden yourself with regret?"

"Not regret." Molam busied himself, pouring out some of the soy milk. "An acknowledgment of responsibility. If I hadn't been desperate to trick the OutCast into summoning an echo..."

"You lived." The man's voice contained no hint of bitterness, only weariness. "Focusing on the rest only dishonors those who died to make it happen."

Molam sipped at the soy milk, hoping his stomach would not complain. "I don't mean to dishonor them. I did not know Martyker for long, but I came to like your disciple in the short time I knew him. I am… sorry he died because of me."

"No." Master Ji's gaze did not move from Martyker's nameplate. The greatsword leaned nearby, gleaming dully in the candlelight. Though sheathed, it still showed bits of dried blood — the OutCast’s blood — on the hilt. There had been little respite since the battle and Molam had not found a chance to clean it. "I am reiterating my disciple's last wish; dismiss any notions of it being 'your fault.'"

But the guilt remained. Even if Molam could ignore Martyker's death, everything he had seen since yesterday remained with him. The crumbling buildings where people lived and made their living. The destroyed streets and the wild-eyed residents still digging through them. How could Master Ji not understand how he felt when Martyker was dead?

Then Molam remembered — the Whale of ZhiXia once had two disciples a mere twenty Sorrows ago. The two young auramasters had tried to kill the Empire's Prince when he fell into slumber at Teljumaya, only to encounter the Empire's Titled Ones guarding their Prince. The records only indicated Master Ji's late arrival and the subsequent destruction of Teljumaya, but then…

"Then, my condolences," Molam offered. Time to try the empathetic approach Kalle always encouraged. "I can only imagine your pain at having lost another disciple to the Empire."

"Condolences," The Whale of ZhiXia echoed in a guttural voice. The candlelight flickered at his tone. "Is that all you have, Molam?"

The question threw Molam off. Was that the wrong thing to say? "I don't understand."

"Words are just sentiments, Molam. Particularly words of etiquette." Master Ji did not turn to look at him. "You already believe that manners are mere… niceties, for making human interaction more pleasant. I have been observing you too. You and I are the same; we believe that for people with ability, words are always insincere unless they are backed by action."

Molam held back the urge to give a pithy response. "Don't play subtle with me, Master Ji. It's not your style." Molam lowered his voice to a slight murmur, "If you want me to do something, you can tell me outright without resorting to roundabout hints."

A moment later, Master Ji shifted his head, finally looking at Molam. "It was my fault for not realizing that Roxxa would have received a token of the Prince's power, allowing her to break free from her restraints. And yet, you survived — with most of your group."

Molam felt the tension dissipate. He had not expected the man to give a sudden admission of fault. "Things were hectic, and we were focused on getting back Nettie."

"True, but you did well with what you had." Master Ji settled Nettie onto a bundle of blankets on the floor next to him and unfolded his legs, standing up to his towering height. "I will be direct. What do you want to do? Why did you come back down?" He leaned down, laying a heavy hand on Molam's shoulder. His dark eyes found Molam's gaze. "You aren't incapable despite your disadvantage, and that means you need to stop holding yourself back. I'm asking you to make a choice, Molam. The Empire has obtained the Ring of Flangel the Wise, and that means the SunFlower's design is within their reach. You might believe none of this will affect you if you return beyond where mortals are allowed to walk, but the Empire wants the SunFlower because it will help them open the Stairs."

"Pointing out that I'm affected whether I like it or not isn't exactly me making a choice, Master Ji."

"Your choice, then," Master Ji emphasized, "is to choose whether you care now… or be forced to care later." The hand on Molam’s shoulder squeezed, eliciting complaints from the healing limb. "Remember. No matter what — always be taking action."

The door opened silently, only evidenced by the extra light emanating from outside. "Master Ji," Primrose's voice seemed smooth as she put away a gleaming blade. "I wasn't expecting you."

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"Leave the door open," Master Ji responded, "I only stayed to look after Nettie while you were gone."

"Of course," Primrose bowed her head slightly, holding the door open for him. "Thank you for watching over Nettie." She stood to the side as the Whale ducked through the door. It closed behind him.

"Is everything all right?" Primrose asked, watching as Molam rearranged the blankets around Nettie. Somehow, she had found the time to change into an elegant black outfit. "Master Ji's aura seemed particularly… despondent."

Molam checked Nettie's condition, noting the quick shift—and the attempt to hide it—in the girl's eyes. "Everything's fine. Moreover," he looked at Primrose. "Did you do what I asked?"

"Ahh, yes. Here's what I have for now but…" Primrose handed him a small slip of paper. Molam unfolded it to see lines of names written in neat calligraphy. "It's incomplete, as it's only been half a day. The rest are still unidentified."

"There's food on that table if you want some." Molam muttered, reading each name on the list. "Please give me the rest when you have it."

"Same habit from JiangXi, I see." Primrose knelt down to look over Nettie herself. A gentle hand brushed the girl's forelocks to the side. "Madam Scarlette wants me to relay her warning to not indulge yourself in what you cannot change."

"She should speak with Master Ji. They seem to share a deep interest in the topic of what I do." Molam paused. He recognized one of the names. No surname, but the occupation "confectioner" was written next to it.

"No doubt she'd enjoy said conversation, but I also find myself wondering…" Primrose found the bread, then a blade flashed and disappeared into her sleeve. She turned to Molam, pinching off a piece of the freshly cut slice. "What are we doing, Molam? You took leadership of the Dao. You succeeded. Then you disappeared, without a word to Shurra or me. Do I take over when you're gone? If you don't explain your thoughts to me, we can't be effective as a group."

Molam did not answer, still trying to understand the surge of feelings at seeing Jiovanny's name on the list. Something felt lodged in his throat. Had he not swallowed his food correctly?

"Well, Molam?" Primrose prodded. "The next move?"

Molam looked up at her voice, not fully seeing Primrose's face. He had never had a chance to see Jiovanny since he returned. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forced himself to answer as normally as possible. "The Dao means the Way, and the point of the group's existence is to prove to the Free Cities and the others that there is another path, one that doesn't involve cowering in fear of the Empire."

He looked down to the list again, trying to continue reading, but his eyes kept going back to Jiovanny's name. "If… if the situation ever calls for it, remember that as the guiding point for all decisions. And I trust your judgment in my absence, as the original leader of the Dao." Molam forced himself to look at Primrose again. "You, Shurra, and Kalle all have your expertise and good judgment. I am only able to ensure our efforts are maximally effective."

Primrose pressed her fingers together. Molam kept his face impassive. She knows something is wrong. He could see it in the way she raised her eyebrows at him, but he didn't know what to say. Someone he didn't bother spending time with was dead? Whyever would Primrose care about that?

"That's quite the confidence in us," she replied finally, as though disappointed he wasn't saying anything. "But I still don't know what you want us to do next."

"We've taken a city, and we've driven four of their Titled Ones back. But now the Empire has the Ring, and we need to understand what that means." Molam pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if that would help stem the tears that threatened to come out. "It's like a game of dragon chess. You either move towards victory or prevent the enemy from achieving theirs."

Ah, Molam realized as the words came out. Master Ji was right.

"I asked for your thoughts, then you go on and tell me your philosophy," Primrose sighed. She paused, as though waiting for Molam to say something, but he did not oblige. Eventually, she then added, "And? Which of those are we doing?"

"First thing first, we confirm what the Empire can do with what they took." Molam knelt down next to Nettie, grateful Primrose didn't pursue his distress. "The worst thing that can happen is we become blindsided by an opponent's victory. Nettie?" He brushed a gentle knuckle alongside the girl's forehead. "Nettie, you've been awake since Master Ji left."

When the girl did not respond, Molam sighed. "There's bread and soy milk if you're hungry."

The girl cracked open an eye in an admission of defeat. "Nettie is tired."

"That's because you haven't eaten or drank anything since yesterday morning." Primrose knelt down, holding a fresh slice of bread and a cup of soy milk.

The smell of food, tantalizingly close, coaxed the girl to push herself up from the blankets with a lazy rubbing of her eyes. When she held out her hands, Primrose tutted at the dirt on the girl's hands and wrapped the food up before handing it to her.

"Don't let your hands touch the food," Primrose warned her.

"Thank you," Nettie managed through a large bite of bread.

Molam pushed the cup of soy milk at her. "Chew thoroughly, no one's going to steal your food."

Nettie nodded, her bright eyes wider now as she ate. Molam waited for her to finish half of her food before he sat down across from her with crossed legs. "Nettie. I'm sorry, but we need to know some things about Master Flangel's Ring. Can I ask you a few questions?"

The girl nodded, her mouth still full. Primrose wiped a crumb of bread off from Nettie's cheek.

"Thank you. I only remember you saying it was gone yesterday, and you know that it was the HushFang who took it. You said that it contains the SunFlower's design. Does having it mean they can now build a SunFlower?"

Nettie shook her head, chewing slowly. "They can't open the Ring."

"Why not?"

"Sealed. GrandFather only wanted…" the girl paused, then continued."Someone specific to have the Ring. Nettie was supposed to destroy it if Nettie couldn't give it to that someone, but…" she looked down. "It was GrandFather's Ring."

Molam shared a look with Primrose, who nodded. Nettie was hiding the person's name. "How is the Ring unsealed?"

Nettie resumed eating. "The person who is supposed to receive it. Or a Master Alchemist."

This alarmed Molam, though he took care to not show it. "So, any Master Alchemist can open it?"

"No. A Master Alchemist who understands GrandFather's design." Nettie bit her lip, then looked down. "Only from Techoria."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up that memory." Molam reached forward, hesitatingly brushing away the girl's tears. "Thank you. Eat your fill now. Primrose, we'll let her eat in peace for a bit."

He stood up, gesturing at Primrose to follow him outside. After checking the hallway for anyone within earshot, Molam waited for Primrose to close the door before beckoning to her ear.

"We need to move Kalle," Molam started grimly. "Away from JiangXi. Perhaps here, with us. He's not safe alone."

Primrose seemed surprised. "What? Why? If we move Kalle, who's going to oversee JiangXi? How are we going to keep it?"

"JiangXi isn't something we can hold." Lowering his voice, Molam gestured subtly towards the room they had just left. "There are only two alchemists from Techoria left: Nettie and Kalle." He met Primrose's gaze firmly, expecting her to understand. "The Empire wants the SunFlower's design, and they can only get that if they open the Ring. We can only hope they believe that the rest of Techoria's Master Alchemists died with Techoria, but the Tempest has seen Kalle." When Primrose's eyes showed understanding, Molam pressed his point further. "We don't know if Kalle can open the Ring, but we can't risk them capturing Kalle either. Our only hope is that the Empire hasn't realized this yet and act before they do to ensure Kalle doesn't fall into their hands."

Master Ji's words echoed again: Always be taking action.

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The Great Bonfire

Priestess Komura and Priestess Shantayla found the Great Bonfire to be acting exactly as the messenger described; the flames had turned a deep, burnt-crimson, a far departure from the bright yellow and orange colors from the past two days. Other Priestess pairs had arrived as well, shepherding the residents away in case the situation turned for the worse.

"Can you sense anything?" Priestess Komura asked her mentee.

"There's… something," Priestess Shantayla shook her head. The two of them had tied their hair up into tight buns, but Priestess Komura saw a few strands had escaped. They had worked throughout the night to help the wounded and care for distressed residents, and the toll was beginning to show. "I don't know what it is. It's aura, if I had to state what I'm sensing, but it feels different and..." she paused, then added, "Burnt."

Raising an eyebrow, Priestess Komura asked, "Are you sure that's not the bonfire you're smelling?"

Priestess Kanteru walked up, the weathered lines on her brown face looking deeper in the bonfire's light. "Should we worry? It's technically well-within Sanctuary's borders, so I can't imagine the Leviathan ignoring it if it's dangerous… but maybe the Empire never left. The WildFire?"

"Wait," Priestess Komura said as she felt Priestess Shantayla tugging on her robe. She followed her mentee's pointing finger, then spoke in a more urgent tone. "Something's happening with the bonfire."

The flames flickered, taking on a changing hue, alternating between various shades of red, orange, and yellow. Each change grew brighter in color, until it became blinding to look at directly, forcing each of them to close their eyes. Komura attempted to shield her eyes with her hands and arms but found herself turning away on instinct; such was the intensity of the light. And just when the bonfire's light became too bright, it disappeared, leaving them all blinking away the dark spots in their vision.

"What… was that?" Priestess Kanteru asked uneasily, looking around at the extinguished bonfire. "Was that an attack?"

Komura gave Priestess Shantayla a questioning look — the young woman shook her head, though she seemed bewildered as well. Komura replied to Priestess Kanteru, "No. At least, Priestess Shantayla doesn't think so."

The elder Priestess gave Priestess Shantayla an appraising look, then nodded. "Should we relight the bonfire? It was keeping the people warm and provided light. It would be best if —"

"No," Priestess Komura interrupted, looking up at the night sky. "The Festival is over."

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Sanctuary

Molam jerked with surprise when the feather wrapped around his wrist brimmed with heat. The voice echoing in his head relaxed him.

You are injured. Who did this to you?

Molam's navel itched with warmth. He tensed on reflex, then relaxed as the remnants of pain melted away. The warmth traveled to his shoulder and leg, even to his lower hips that had been stiff the past day. The healing process felt different compared to before; faster, and the itching was less pronounced.

"It's you, Fiery One." Sighing with relief, Molam added, "Thank you. The pain was beginning to bother me."

A burst of flame erupted near his head and the phoenix materialized to perch on his shoulder. What happened? The spirit's voice seemed to have taken on an immeasurable depth. How did you become so injured, during the Festival of all times, in ZhiXia of all places?

"All good questions, but I don't want to tell this story twice." He greeted the spirit in measured tones. Molam shifted his steps, shouldering the unexpected weight on his right shoulder.

He paused. Weight?

Taking another look at the phoenix, he realized it seemed brighter, bristling with a warm glow that hadn't existed before. The claws that wrapped around his shoulder dug lightly into his clothes, and he could smell the faint scent of… burnt.

"Congratulations on your rebirth, Fiery One."

Why thank you. The phoenix preened itself, then examined Molam closely. You smell of dried blood and earth. Were you wrestling in the mud?

"You'll get the story soon," Molam replied, "I was just preparing my thoughts." He turned a corner, looking for the nondescript door. "You can hear about it with the Oracle."

Remarkable. One of the Great Spirits is sitting on your shoulder in their full glory and you are focused elsewhere. I sometimes wonder why I bother granting you my presence when any other human would be groveling beneath my tail.

"I could grovel, but then you'd be on the same level as RainBringer," Molam replied mildly. "I stand straight so you can feel… higher. Better than that, even."

… I did miss your way with words. And? How was the Festival?

"Disastrous."

I can see that, given how distracted you are instead of focusing on the honor of having me ride your shoulder. Your emotions are everywhere like a hatchling about to take flight.

"Then it's a good thing this isn't about flight, considering you've seen how fast I fall," Molam reminded the spirit as he reached the door into the Inner Sanctum. He reached for the handle, then paused to take a deep breath. The list of names — Jiovanny's included — sat heavily in his pocket. Molam tried to cast aside the guilt again, focusing solely on his breathing.

Are you here to ask a question or return to the Castle?

Molam shook his head. "There's more I need to do, and I'm going to need the Oracle's help in doing them."

Now that's a change. If I may give advice: she has just woken up, so speak softly.

"I didn't know she sleeps at all," Molam replied, stepping into the Inner Sanctum.

Once again, darkness greeted him.