Timbrelle apologized to Trestovan profusely and repeatedly. He’d done his best to convince them to stay on the Daliega lands, even offering a small cottage with exponentially more privacy. They left him on the steps of the courthouse with Gren, a promise to visit and an innocent suggestion that the two men spend more time together. Trestovan caught her eye as they turned to leave. It may have been innocent, but it wasn’t subtle.

Adna and Timbrelle walked along the canal. Apparently the minuscule aurora stone she snarfed earlier was a much bigger deal than she thought. While, yes, the book she’d read at the library described aurora gems as “exceedingly valuable and precious”, she didn’t think an itty-bitty one could truly be worth what Adna claimed.

“You could not buy a house with that.” She insisted. “That thing was microscopic! It could have easily been a bug.”

“So did you eat a bug? Is that what you would rather I believe about you? You just saw one and said ‘huh… I haven’t eaten a bug in a while.’ Think of a better excuse, Timbrelle. That was weak.

“Anyway, Gren told me that were Daliega so inclined, they could have you thrown in jail for life. Stealing an aurora jewel gifted by a high priest is bad news.”

“I think I’m going to be sick. Actually, smack my back, maybe I can get it back up.” Timbrelle turned away from Adna and threw a thumb over her shoulder.

“Ew. You’re so gross.” Adna said.

“Fine. I’ll ask Fede if there’s a replacement we can send. I don’t want to give it back if I can help it. The idea feels like returning one of my fingers.” She wiggled her fingers with a shiver.

“Can I tell you a secret?” The muscular woman whispered.

“Of course. I’m surprised you even have one.” Timbrelle took a seat by the canal and unwrapped their egg sandwiches. A special at the Daliega estate, Timbrelle didn’t want to think of waking up in the Temple of Nerrus tomorrow morning without them. For the scant three meals they took there, egg sandwiches were a staple. Though, from the way Gren plowed through them, it was probably Moira’s contribution to Trestovan’s seduction.

Adna heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, don’t judge me… I tried licking the wall in the temple—no, no, no, don’t laugh! It’s not weird.”

“Why did you wait until I took a bite?”Timbrelle gasped for air. “You goblin! You just had to see what the fuss was about with the irresistible rocks everyone’s been eating!”

“You said you wouldn’t judge me!” Adna yelled indignantly.

“I didn’t promise that. Not even once. If anything, it’s the opposite. If you ever say something bad enough I promise to wedgie you so hard that I could use your underwear as straps and wear you around like a baby Bjorne.” Timbrelle managed through a stream of tears.

“Your jokes would land better if your audience knew any of your references.” Adna sneered.

“All I hear is ‘boo-hoo, I don’t get it’.” Timbrelle mock whined at her.

They finished their sandwiches, chuckling to themselves. Timbrelle looked to Adna after a long silence. The mirth had faded into something resembling melancholy.

“Can I tell you another secret?” Adna asked.

Timbrelle waited, quietly. The mood had changed drastically in the few minutes of eating.

“I’m a little scared.” Adna clenched the fabric of her pants into her fists. A familiar gesture for Timbrelle. Adna’s anxiety was palpable. “There have been no missing person reports, no weeping family members to pick me up. I don’t know who I was before, but is it possible that I had no one to look for me? That Adna before the Dorark went missing and no one even noticed?”

The waiver to her voice was less familiar.

“It is a very big world, Adna. There are many more places you could be from. Just because we didn’t find your people right away doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

The woman nodded faintly.

Timbrelle continued on. “Until we do, I’m your people. And I’m pretty ok, all things considered.”

Adna sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. I just—what do you always say? I just ‘got the scaries’ for a minute. I swear I’m doing alright.”

They finished their sandwiches in oppressive silence.

“…should we change the subject?” Timbrelle blurted out.

“Oh gods. Yes. Anything but talking about my feelings in such an open and honest way.” She stood and shook out her body. “Come on, the canal is giving me the willies. I don’t like sitting so close to the water.”

Once they left, trickle frogs stoked their song back up. A noise vaguely reminiscent of cicadas. Their popping chorus could be passed off as the babbling of the canal—if a little loud.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Let’s get to the temple.” Timbrelle said. “Fede said I’d get Crystalurgy lessons tomorrow. I hope it’s with Tuna. She seemed fun.”

***

Timbrelle sat across from Loren. The ample man looked to both be her age and the age of her father. These estimations were entirely too low, of course, as aurors lived very long lives when pumped full of aurora gems. Loren was probably closer to Fede’s two-hundred than Timbrelle’s… whatever age she was now.

“Your mind wanders yet again, Chosen.” He chided. To be fair, she had checked out much earlier and was, indeed, allowing her mind to wander during “aura visualization”.

“I’m really not joking, Loren. I can see the auras clear as day.” She pointed to each of the upturned cups, individually. “Blue, red, purple, blue, blue, green. It leaks out from under the cups. I don’t mean to beat your game. Could we just skip this part of the curriculum?”

The bald man huffed. “While you may show some aptitude for aura visualization, there are more ways to sense an aura.”

Timbrelle perked up. This was news to her. Would she start hearing jewels sing? Would she hear them talk? The more she learned about Crystalurgy the more she wanted to learn about it.

Loren smiled triumphantly at her undivided attention. “Interested now? It’s true. Some aurors never develop aura sight and depend on other senses. There is some fascinating discussion of this trait being indicative of a higher intelligence. There are aurors, such as myself who can actually smell the jewels.”

Timbrelle dropped her pen.

***

“You did much better during the second half of our lesson, Chosen. As promised, ask any questions.” He packed up his notebooks happily.

Timbrelle narrowed her eyes at him. She’d recently taught Adna this lesson. “That wasn’t the whole promise.”

“‘—without judgement.’ Yes, yes. I promise.”

“Alright. What is the name of this planet? Don’t look at me like that, you agreed to the conditions.” She snapped at him.

“Kitos. Kee-tohs. The second of three planets orbiting the sun. We are in the southern hemisphere on the continent of Abadados.” He rifled through his papers and retrieved a map. “Abadados and Kornennan are the only current continents.”

“Current? How could that number possibly be flexible?” She asked.

“The Central Plains are set to clear up this coming year. It’s been six years since the last sinking.” Loren said, twisting his mustache, the only hair on his face. If you didn’t count the bushy hamsters he called eyebrows, that is. Timbrelle did not.

“Oh! I mentioned in the hearing that Adna and I were moving to the temple…” she quickly trailed off.

“Gods alive, girl! How is your standing with House Daliega after such a public revelation?”

She winced, “I didn’t know it was such a big deal. Which leads me to my next question: what do people think of Nerrus? Because, on one hand, members are largely rich and powerful. But on the other hand, your ‘temple’ looks like it hosts a rotating cast of homeless people and a whole lot of meth.”

“I don’t know what ‘meth’ is and I can puzzle out ‘homeless’, but I think I understand the question. Our God’s name is a buzz word for good and bad. He is the single richest entity in this world and the wealth of He and His followers is incalculable. And yet, there are still those who believe that shack Is his temple.”

“Exactly. What is the truth and what is the public image of Nerrus?” She asked.

“Followers of Hammomam have a legend of a bejeweled devil that eats children. In Brassus, the city god demands a holiday be held every year. It roughly translates to ‘The Enucliation of the First King’, to celebrate Brassus removing Our God’s eye.”

“The one that I ate?” Timbrelle asked, still wary of the topic.

“The other one. The High Priest of Brassus carries it with them on a staff called ‘illumination’. It’s rather disgusting.” His tone was not one of blind devotion like Fede’s. Loren answered her question like a teacher. Able to approach the issue with a degree of objective separation. It made her wonder if she could truly ask him anything.

“To answer your question. Our God does not shun those who wish to join the congregation. For safety, one can only join through familial relations. This leads to a highly nepotistic structure that favors those with generational wealth enough to protect themselves and their houses. While little is truly understood by the public, they think that we’re full of treasure for them to break open like a piñata. They grasp that it’s a dangerous life but that often mistranslates to being dangerous people. What is the public’s perception of us? In short: convoluted.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Any other questions?”

“Have you ever heard of Earth?” She’d only asked this question of Cake’s son once. The memory was distant, lifetimes ago. The boy had been teaching her to forage for mushrooms—a lesson she’d reflect on daily over the next few months. He had no answer.

“The home planet of the Unmade?” Loren looked surprised until an epiphany landed in his lap. “Oh! This makes so much more sense. You’re Unmade.”

Timbrelle reeled. “What makes you say that? I never claimed that.”

“If I wasn’t able to suss out something so obvious, I should lose my emeralds.” Loren waved away the concern. “I’ll admit that this is a topic I know little about, though I knew an Unmade fairly well. He was constantly droning on and on about soda and gummy candy. Among the elite they’re known for speaking cryptically and staring into space. However the public knows them as an unstoppable, unkillable, cult-like force of demigods and monsters. We Kitons sweep them into the allotted positions and try to forget they exist.”

“Are they… well respected? Why not just wipe them out if they’re so terrible?” She ventured.

“An impermanent decision. They don’t arrive on a schedule, but they are inevitable. Culling the population, as has been done before, only results in creating new Unmade without elders to guide them. They don’t have an appointed leader as it’s more of an ethnicity, while true ethnicity from your world seems to be secondary.” Loren flipped through her study book and pointed to a page. “Here’s a list of the diplomatic Unmade—the ones working in government. These are the only open records of Unmade. While they must be registered with the government, their names and positions aren’t public knowledge.”

“The judge said she’d contact them for me.” Timbrelle said, uncertain she wanted to meet these so-called monsters and demigods.

“Ah! This is good news, no? They’ll find you in no time.” He looked at her expectantly. “Any additional questions? Certainly an Unmade would be curious about our world. I would like to take this opportunity to learn everything there is to know about your world. But… even I wouldn’t go against the Unmade. They keep all that intelligence locked up tight.”

Timbrelle considered the man. Perhaps it was time to reconsider him. A pompous dirtbag at first, the position of instructor truly showed him in a new light. His forehead stone and choker of dark green aurora gems did quite a bit to hide his face. Unless she focused, she could only see his shiny head poking out the top of the aura cloud. Much like Fede and the judge, her opinion was shifting as she spoke to him one-on-one.

“Loren, have you ever heard of ‘smart phones’?”