My life has been a series of endless failures disguised as triumphs.

So this is what my friend meant when he said "regrets are the most painful reminder you chose otherwise." Regret is a constant companion, a heavy cloak that drapes over the grand tapestry of my life. All I can think of are the constant missteps, echoing the question: "what could have been?"

The Prince, once the embodiment of my dearest friend's legacy and the culmination of my teachings, has strayed from the path of righteous wisdom. Children are not guilty of their parent's sins, but a student's failures can only ever reflect upon the teacher's failings. He may not be of my blood, but I have lost another son.

If only I had been brave enough to face God Yven's call, I would not be burdened with the truth of my own despicable legacy. Hubris stalks me once again, telling me that so long as I live, I have a chance to make amends.

Nettie — I hope to do right by you. This time I shall start small: I want nothing more than for you to live a fulfilling life.

Your happiness will be my final legacy.

— Excerpt from the journal of Flangel the Wise

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ZhiXia City Center

It was still early morning when Molam walked into the City Center, carrying steamed buns wrapped tightly in a white cloth and a jug of hot goat milk. He looked around, noting the many bleary-eyed Sharks in the office. They sat around a large slate table, each one holding a piece of chalk. Molam noticed the table bore several sketches and brief notes written in shorthand.

He could sympathize with their fatigue — it seemed the Sharks were working out the logistics of lowering the earthen platform the OutCast had raised during her rampage. The renovations on that particular street had been paused for some time now, and would need to remain so until this problem was resolved.

Khalim looked up from behind the counter and said, brusquely, "Captain Aster is not here."

"Then it's a good thing I sent Primrose to the memorial," Molam said, raising the bundle of food. "HuaLang Chamber sends their well-wishes and regards. I don't believe your people have eaten?"

Curiosity and hunger had overridden the Sharks’ normally iron discipline. Molam sensed eyes on the bundle in his hand. Khalim looked past Molam’s shoulder, nodded in what looked like resignation, then called, "Sharks! Someone's brought food for us. Let's take a break and give our thoughts some rest. I expect you all to return refreshed in an hour, so someone can come up with a better solution than Torje's idea of pounding the spike into the ground so the platform lowers with it."

A young Shark with sandy-blonde hair held out his hands in a look of resigned defiance. "What? That's still way better than making it fall. We've already agreed breaking it apart isn't safe, and it would take too long to build something structurally sound enough to lower it with rope."

"I never said it was bad, Torje," Khalim replied testily as the others got up from their seats. He went to the back of the counter, looking for something. "Just that there could be something better."

"Being technically correct is the least accepted form of being correct, you know," Torje grumbled as he came over.

"You're in the wrong line of work to be thinking that." Khalim returned with several cups, doling them out. They laughed at Khalim's dry joke and flocked around Molam, thanking him for the food. Two of the Sharks patted Torje on the shoulders, conversing in low tones as they sat down to eat and drink.

"Thank you for the delivery, Molam," Khalim said, indicating the seat in front of the counter. "Was there anything else you wanted?"

Molam sat down, picking up the last steamed bun. "To eat."

The man seemed both disappointed and annoyed at Molam's response, but reached down and brought out another cup. Khalim poured the dregs of the goat milk into it and pushed it towards him before leaning back and biting into his own bun. "Fwah hweh haaah," he huffed, his normally stoic face turning into a mix of urgency and surprise. "Hyaaaaaaa. Hahhhhhh."

"Careful," Molam peeled apart his own, letting the steam disperse. "They're hot."

"You could have said that earlier," Khalim glowered, sucking in air to cool his tongue.

"I couldn't have known you wouldn't wait," Molam replied.

"He's got you there, Khalim," Torje piped up. "He's technically correct." Several of the Sharks snickered; a few coughed to hide their laughter. Khalim pressed his lips as though he disapproved, then smiled.

"That's true. Molam isn't able to predict the future," he said, pinching out a section from the bun. He blew lightly on the filling before putting it close to his lips to determine if it was safe, then popped it in his mouth. "Mmm, pulled pork. If HuaLang Chamber only reestablished itself as a restaurant, I would visit twice weekly."

Molam pinched off a section of his own bun's tender, juicy filling. The pork and spices coalesced into a harmonious blend of savory and slightly sweet as they melted into his tongue, a pleasant contrast with the rich dough. He savored the bite, allowing it to linger as his slow chewing melted the rich dough.

"You could only visit the Earthly Needs," he commented after swallowing.

Khalim raised a brow, then slowly smiled. "Again, technically correct. But that would be a hard sell to my wife and daughter."

"I don't know anything about being a husband or father," replied Molam. He took a swig from his still-warm goat milk to wash away the slightly fatty aftertaste and give his palate something different. Instead of the strong overpowering scent most people would associate with goat products, it had a gentle earthiness that combined well with the aftertaste for a smooth finish. Perhaps HuaLang Chamber had boiled it with some herbs. "But a man with your reputation should be more confident in your position."

"Reputation, is it?" It was more a statement than a question.

"A powerful thing," Molam replied. "How many would dare accuse a man with your reputation of improper relations? You could go in broad daylight to sit down for a meal, then pay and leave with barely more than a few raised eyebrows and whispers."

"Reputation is powerful and flimsy, inscrutable and ever-shifting." Khalim paused to eat, then added, "It is nothing more than an idea, and nothing kills an idea like another idea. I prefer something more undeniable — to respect my wife with my actions. To be a good role model for my daughter. Even if it's just for food, going to a glorified brothel is hardly going to achieve either."

Molam gave that some thought while Khalim drank. "I can appreciate that way of thinking," he said eventually. "I had an idea for saving Master Ji — several, really — but what truly affected the outcome was undeniable action. But then," Molam added, swallowing the rest of his food before continuing, "Can we attribute the outcome of his trial to his action, or to the resurgence of an idea associated with him as the Whale of ZhiXia?"

Khalim gave him a flat look, then said, "I suppose I should congratulate you on a job well done in that aspect." He brought out a teapot, flipped open the lid to check inside for water, then put it on their table and added two cups. "Though I imagine it played out quite differently than either of us envisioned. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll drink it after I'm done with this," Molam indicated the rest of his goat milk. "And you're correct. I don't believe the situation unfolded… quite under anyone's control. But we made the best of it, and now the Whale's reputation has been restored."

"But the City has yet to be." Khalim pushed a steaming cup towards Molam, then poured one for himself. He set down the teapot and settled back in his seat, eyeing Molam with his default mildly disapproving glare. "Restored, that is. Things have changed. And whenever I encounter change, I have a recurring question: is this for better, or for worse?"

"A good question. And? Your answer?"

"For the City? It's certainly been worse." Khalim gestured towards the table. "We're stuck on ideas for demolishing an earth and rock formation held in midair by a stalagmite over eight floors tall. An entire street cannot be restored until this has been dealt with, displacing multiple shop owners and preventing about eighty families from returning to their homes. We can't haphazardly deconstruct it due to its lean, but the clamor of unhappy residents asking us why we haven't resolved the problem is a daily occurrence."

Khalim leaned to the side, grunting with effort. "Or did you mean for the Whale of ZhiXia? That's more of a question for him, but I'd say it's hard to claim it's better. He was blamed for the OutCast's rampage. Although he was also acquitted, people often have short memories for good and long memories for bad. The fresh emptiness in their lives hasn't suddenly been filled either, and no doubt people will think about blaming him the next time trouble strikes even if they can do nothing about it." He sighed, then added, "There's been other tension. The Sharks would like to ask for his help with the OutCast's rock formation. He could probably solve most if not all our problems, but none of us have the courage to ask him after putting him in chains. And thus both the City and the Whale’s reputation are neither restored nor destroyed, but sit somewhere uncomfortably between the two."

"The alchemists would say to always look into the root cause of anything," Molam replied. "Who caused that formation in the City? Who is truly at fault for the deaths and destruction? If you trace this line of thought back to its origin, the answer has always been that the Empire—"

Khalim held up a hand. "Don't," the man said flatly. He downed his tea and refilled it before continuing. "Just… don't. I know that line of thinking, Molam. And before you interrupt me again, yes, I believe it to be perfectly reasonable. Admirable, in fact, to take on such a large burden for yourself. As though you need more Sorrows."

Molam finished his goat milk and set down the cup. "I hear an impending 'but.'"

"But," Khalim continued, "until you accomplish your goal of killing the Bloody Prince, the daily lives of my people haven't improved, only worsened. Should you fail, it will only intensify in its regression. And my people won’t think of the Empire, a nebulous threat so far from their doors. You saw how they turned their frustration onto the Whale. He lives among them. Easier to see means easier to blame."

"So you'd rather live with the bigger problem in the distance than exacerbate it by attempting to remove it," Molam postulated. "Is that it?"

Khalim pressed his lips together. "No," he replied, "That's not how I think of it. But if you follow the alchemist philosophy, focusing on identifying cause and effect, I can see how you would think that way. Our focuses are different. That's all."

He fell silent, with Molam mulling over what he’d said. "I don't want you to think I don't understand," Molam said slowly, "Because I think I do. Do you remember that story I told you about the village and the boy they offered as tribute?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Khalim frowned, then raised an eyebrow. "You think our positions have switched now, do you?"

"No. You're still doing your best to do what's right, and that is to follow the law as it was agreed to. But," Molam leaned forward, tapping the counter once. "Aren't you the same? If the Free Cities agreed to sacrifice ZhiXia City to prevent something worse, could you do it?"

"I don't have an answer for a hypothetical like that," Khalim murmured. "But I do see your point. We should never delude ourselves into believing there will always be a 'right' answer."

"'There is no right or wrong, only consequences,'" Molam intoned.

Khalim frowned. "The Red Emperor?"

"No, the Red Emperor wrote 'There is no good or evil, only consequences.' Flangel the Wise didn't see the world that way, so he rephrased it." Molam shrugged at Khalim's stare. "It may sound the same, but apparently the meaning is drastically different. One could argue it was this difference in perspective that caused Flangel the Wise to go on and establish Techoria."

Khalim peered at Molam over his cup. "You seem well-versed in Flangel the Wise's history."

"A Scholar at the Fallen Star Pavilion would not keep the progress of her research on Flangel the Wise to herself," Molam replied dryly. "I can only imagine the state of her dissertation. If it isn't complete yet, it should be getting a new section added regarding Techoria's fall."

"Perhaps she should've chosen topics that are less in flux, then," Khalim said idly. "Things can always change, and for the worse." He sipped in silent thought, then said, "Well done. Bringing Techoria into this conversation. A City that's been destroyed."

"I have no idea what you mean," Molam replied, sipping his drink.

The man regarded Molam with a disappointed air, then added, "For what it's worth, I don't want you to misunderstand me either. I simply have a different focus and would like you to succeed. It's my understanding you'll need all the help you can get… given the Bloody Prince's reputation."

"His seems less flimsy," Molam observed. "Perhaps I should ask the Sharks for ideas on how to kill his reputation?"

"Hah, after hearing about our wondrous solution to the renovations? I'm afraid his reputation is more rooted in certain… undeniable results," Khalim replied. "Even if the stories are only half-true, he's earned his reputation many times over."

A young man poked his head into their space, tapping Molam on the shoulder. "A mursashu is outside looking for you," he said.

The Mursa must have an answer, Molam thought grimly. He stood up, nodding to Khalim. "Thanks for your time, Khalim."

"Leaving so soon?" the man asked, hopefully.

"I'm expecting something from the Mursa, and may need to discuss its contents with my group."

Khalim waved a hand. "Thank you for the food. And I do wish you much luck in that regard."

"I'll most likely need that luck," Molam picked up the empty jug and made to leave, before turning around one final time. "And… you do know you could just order food from HuaLang Chamber, right?" He held up the jug, adding, "They deliver."

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Edge of ZhiXia City, Memorial

Primrose entered the memorial at Sunrise, just as the light of the Sun painted the sky with hues of soft pink and warm orange. The memorial's designer must have been a genius, for the Sunlight bathed the bronze and silver placards inside in an ethereal glow that looked like aura.

The memorial doubled as ZhiXia City's mausoleum, though neither bodies nor ashes were interred here. Primrose walked past rows of names on the walls, remembering her times entering this place whenever HuaLang Chamber had suffered a loss.

As a Flower herself, she understood there was a high likelihood her body would never be recovered, but it didn't matter. The feelings did not hold sway because of a lifeless husk, but because of the memories associated with a bond. And for one to remember, one only needed a name.

Primrose walked past several she recognized. Rosemary, Daisy, Ivy, Marigold, and more. Not their birth names, of course, but they had all discarded those when they had earned their flowers. She herself would never answer to her birth name ever again, for she was this generation's Primrose, the Flower assigned to a specific red nameplate on top of the Madam's wall.

She found Aster sitting in the same place he always did. He did not acknowledge her when she sat down next to him. Primrose matched his sitting posture: back straight, hands interlaced on her lap.

"Captain Aster," she greeted.

His amber eyes shifted a moment later, as though breaking free from a reverie. Glancing at her, Aster held out a hand to reveal a wrapped piece of soft candy. Primrose unwrapped it, popping it into her mouth as the two of them sat in silence, looking at two bronze placards:

Rhea Songbird

Beloved wife. A mother who loved with all she had.

Silas Songbird

Treasured son. A boy who brought smiles to all he met.

Though several bronze placards had turned a dull green, these two shone as bright as the day they were minted twenty years ago, with only the faintest hints of scratches on their surfaces. A testament to one person’s longstanding care.

It was Aster who broke their silence. "I thought I handled it well when HuaLang Chamber and Sanctuary managed to dilute the votes. But then… the Empire's second appearance was unexpected. Was that arranged too?"

"I think the one who brokered Sanctuary's involvement did not expect the timing either."

"Such is life," he sighed, shaking his head. "I heard it was an idea from the Oracle's vessel. I believe you're affiliated as a group?"

"The Dao," answered Primrose.

"An interesting name for your group. 'The Way,' correct? Who came up with that?"

"It's — nevermind," Primrose shook her head, too embarrassed at her own contribution to want to explain it to Aster. She swallowed the rest of the candy. "Are you disappointed?"

"Only in myself."

"Why did you do it? Madam Scarlette said you denied it having anything to do with Silas, but she thinks it's still related."

"Is that what you came to ask? My reasoning and motivations?"

"I —" Primrose hesitated, then said, "I believe you're more than that, Aster. I just… I understand why the others would think you never forgave the Whale for being gone."

"The time for loathing has long passed," came his reply. "I will say it again to you and Scarlette both: I do not hold it against the Whale that he cannot always be in ZhiXia City. Losing Silas and Rhea taught me that it was my own inadequacy I should have resented."

"Then why, Aster? Why target the Whale?"

"Seedlings cannot grow in the shade of a large tree; and the Whale is the biggest tree of them all. I merely saw an opportunity for change and tried to take it." He paused, then continued, "I understand HuaLang Chamber believes differently, but that's why we're alive, isn't it? We all believe in sowing the seeds of tomorrow, just in different places. People carrying different ideas, coming together, clashing, and then one winning. In the end, the world only allows for what is possible. Not just ideals — reality tends to be a bit more grounded than that."

"I don't disagree," Primrose said. "The problem is whether you allowed your personal feelings to influence that decision."

"The same could be said for you," his voice softened. "Aren't you and Madam Scarlette allowing your feelings to influence your decisions? She has her feelings for the Whale and you have your gratitude for him bringing you back from Teljumaya." There was no bitterness in his voice, just flat acceptance. "It is unfortunate, but I do understand. And because I do not blame him for what happened to Silas, I stress that I have much respect for him. If I had let my feelings get in the way, I wouldn't have done any of what I did. I only did it because I believed this was truly for the best."

Primrose fell silent. Aster's words had… some sense to them. Scarlette's unrequited affections aside, how much of her own feelings were due to being one of the orphans Master Ji had saved when he went to Teljumaya? Could she ever draw a blade against him if he was an obstacle to her own goals?

Then she shook her head. "I don't deny my gratitude to him. But even if you were right… I can't agree with the way you went about it. Losing the Whale would destabilize ZhiXia and open it to the Empire's attack."

"It could," he agreed. "Which was why I left the results to the public's decision."

"That's a poor excuse for something you wanted. Something you started."

Aster closed his eyes, sighed, then turned to Primrose. "Should I have not?"

The intensity behind his eyes had dimmed compared to the fire she had seen two days ago during Master Ji's first trial, and Primrose noticed wrinkles near their corners. She wanted to frown; Aster was just over fifty Sorrows. It seemed surreal that the man who had trained most of her generation of Flowers in combat could age.

He pointed down the hall to the placards near the entrance. "Four hundred and seven new names. Some might say that these names belong on the OutCast's ledger, and I don't disagree. But the Whale of ZhiXia's negligence is real. He submitted to the trial because he understands it too; had he chosen differently, those placards wouldn't be there right now. Do you dispute that?"

"It's…" Primrose hesitated. "It's complicated."

"Such is life."

They fell back to silence, staring at the placards again. Primrose noticed a black aster placed on the offering tray, then decided to change the subject.

"Madam—" Primrose paused, then corrected herself, "Scarlette wanted to come too, but she was scheduled to play Dawn's Call this morning." She brought out a scarlet pimpernel from her sleeve, then untwisted a blue satem flower from her hair and placed them on the offering tray next to the black flower. "We worry about you."

"What is there to worry about?" Aster asked, his gaze unmoving from the placards.

"Just… everything." Primrose scooted closer to him, much like how she used to as a younger girl. She stopped short of laying her head on Aster's arm, then continued, "We should have said more when you left the Chamber, but you told us not to worry. Scarlette believed you wanted to work through it by yourself, but it's been over ten years." She paused, then added, "Dahlia and Cassia say you never stop by for tea."

"I'm simply doing what I need to do, as is everyone else," Aster replied. "HuaLang Chamber has enough talent. ZhiXia City, however, does not."

"I understand you put a lot of care into ZhiXia City, but life is too short to forget having tea with those you care about," Primrose asserted.

"Madam Ixia would be proud we all remember her sayings." He nodded towards the placards at the entrance. "Is your friend remembered here too?" he asked. "Did you have time to sit down for tea with him?"

Primrose paused before answering. "No and no. Martyker — the Armed Swordsman — his name belongs in Oasis." A memory surfaced — pretty flower lady. Yes, that was what he had called her. "I didn't know him long enough… but I think I wouldn't have minded sharing tea with him."

"That's a shame." Aster replied. Then, "Why are you here, Primrose?"

The relaxed tone had changed. Gone was her Flower brother; Captain Aster spoke now.

Primrose measured her words before she spoke. "The Dao is planning to finish what the Frozen Saint could not; and we intend to do it while the Bloody Prince is weak and defenseless. Molam — the Oracle's vessel, if you still don't know his name — says we need more people. Talented people."

"And you want to recruit me." A flat statement.

"Yes. Molam thought it would be a good idea to have you on our side." And I do too, she wanted to add, but she already knew his answer from his tone.

"I'm not interested. I have more important things to worry about."

Primrose didn't want to leave it at that. "The things you worry about. All of them could be ended if we kill the Bloody Prince."

"If," Aster replied, forcefully. "Despite all I've said, I don't think you and Scarlette understand why I left HuaLang Chamber at all. The world isn't just the expanse from the unknown edges of the Endless Sands to the Deep Waters. I don't mean to downplay the importance of what the Dao and HuaLang Chamber want to achieve, but I simply see things differently. People live here too — and it's been twice now that the Whale was unable to prevent horrors from happening because he was not able to stay." He gave her a grim smile. "I appreciate the offer, but ZhiXia City is where I need to be."

A little girl's voice surfaced in Primrose's memory: Nettie thinks you should not think about accepting where you find yourself, but finding purpose in wherever you happen to be.

"I see you've found your purpose," Primrose stood up, smoothing down her dress. "After hearing that, it would be rude of me to convince you otherwise."

The man nodded, then held out his hand again. Another piece of candy lay on his palm.

"Aren't those for Silas?" asked Primrose.

"Silas gets these every day," he replied. The hand did not retract. "He was always one to share. If you come tomorrow, I'll bring your favorite red bean buns."

After a moment's hesitation, Primrose took the candy. "Thank you," she said to Silas' nameplate.

Aster nodded, his eyes closed. "I don't think I ever told you, but Silas would have liked you," he said to Primrose. "And Rhea would have wanted you to avoid becoming 'Primrose.'"

"It's too late for that," Primrose said quietly as she unwrapped the candy.

"Yes," Aster sighed, opening his eyes again. He stared blankly forward, and Primrose could not tell if he was looking at Silas and Rhea's names again. "It's too late."

Primrose popped the candy into her mouth. It was licorice.