His Kendra was our Kendra, a hidden hope for a future we still yearned for.

I remember waking before I was meant to, and my stomach roiled from the chops of the deep currents far below any wave or wind. A slender hand put a mask over my mouth, but the whip-legged helminth had awoken too, and would let no ether coax its host to sleep again, now that it had tasted consciousness. Something in me told me to fight my way free, but something in me told me to be still. I chose something in between and smiled, then asked if I could have something to eat.

"No," said a voice. It was a man's, old, strong, familiar. I was not allowed to see his face. But a white robed figure tapped the center of my brow with a long finger. It wore a white robe and was very, very tall. It's conical mouth grinned and, bird-like, its head cocked to the right. It squawked, in a reptant way, and the old man shook his head.

"Once he eats food his body will crave it, like a battery does power after a premature charge.

Another squawk.

"No."

The slender hand returned to cup my head. "I think he might grow hair."

The old man came close, his face in mist, and his rough fingers brushed the woman's aside. "I doubt it. At least he shouldn't."

The white robed creature scratched along my scalp, and I felt its claw send tingle down my spine that made me shudder, but it felt wondrously relaxing, and I almost fell back to sleep, only the helminth wouldn't have it.

"Will he be able to sleep?" asked the woman.

"Only if he eats," said the old man, his face in mist. But I could see his head, round and glossy, smoothly shorn.

I had long hair in my thirties...

I woke before I was meant to. My vessel had wrecked, and I was weak from hours of spewing over the forecastle, desperate for the craft to calm enough for me to drop down without sliding off the hull. The Cataphracts had ringed the shore, led by the Batu Revenant, and I was clinging to a rock, battered by waves. Blood had fountained from my forehead for an instant, but my helminth was stronger than the others and closed the gash. Still I was dizzy, and in impossible pain. My young fingers could no longer cling to the jagged rocks and I was floating on the waves out to sea. I heard the captain of the Hussars shouting my name, and then I heard nothing but the pounding of Blitzkrieg's guns.

An odd peace came over me, and just like food, the thought of death caused a stirring of something in me, and I wanted it. I wanted a girlfriend, like Martus had, and I wanted to have sons and daughters, like Astartes had. So I felt an insurmountable calm wrapping around me like a cloak of bulletproof silk, not caring in the slightest when I saw the glow of seraphim's electrostatic fields. In my mind I could see the battle; their tendrils gripping the air around them as they blasted the beachhead with their sonic artillery. Tyriel would likely lead a sortie past their lines, and Blitzkrieg would not miss the chance to fight him one on one, so he'd break formation and the Cataphracts would pour in through the gap, forcing the Devils to turn their guns away from our sub. The marines who survived the wreck would emerge and take the Devils from the rear, while the Revenant kept them busy further up the shore, fighting like pine martens because they knew they wouldn't stay dead for long. But I only saw it in my mind, and only because of the memories of every time it happened before.

Others floated in the water; the Batch was gone. Only my helminth could overcome the extent of our trauma. I saw 28 floundering for a while, but his lungs were filling with water and he was poked full of holes. His centipede could only manufacture so much blood and tissue at once, and drowning was something they hadn't figured out until they made me.

I was fine with all of it. I let it all wash away. 28 stopped fighting and began to sink. I touched his fingers as he passed me. Then I closed my eyes, the fires of the battle glimmering on the surface of the water like the sun looked in promos from Elvedon. That was to be my sun then; the red sun of war. Someone else would have to clear the way for the old and gold one, 'cos it wouldn't be me. I let it happen, let my lungs fill with water so I could sink, and I felt good. I would let myself sink to the bottom and lay there forever. But then I thought, Wait, why is it warm?

"I still say he'll grow hair," she said, holding my head against her stomach. The Old Man got angry whenever I called her whaea, but she said it was ok, so I did when he couldn't hear me. I looked up then and said it, then squeezed her wrists.

White Brother came clicking by, twitching his head happily. Black and Grey Brother weren't far behind, and after them came Red and Yellow. Red kept his distance from me, as always. Then came the dogs, bounding around the Color Guard's feet and running up to me.

"Oscar! Tyr!" shouted the Old Man. "Dolores, get them out of here, or I'll have sent back to your ship."

"No!" I cried.

"Here boys," she said, and they came running behind her as she led them out of the chamber.

"I'm sorry Ms. Rivers," said Alma, who I called Kendra, mostly because it made the Old Man madder than anything.

Black Brother came close to me and tapped me on the brow. Dolores had told me that was their way of hugging, so I grabbed his finger with both hands and squeezed it as hard as I could, grunting and growling, though I couldn't hold back my smile. The zep'syrah were almost as strong as giants, so I couldn't hurt him, but it made laugh hysterically when he pretended I had, crumbling into a heap on the floor and faux whimpering.

The Old Man sighed, and the Color Guard stood in a row behind us, and I was flanked by whaea and the Old Man.

"Where's Amaranth?" he asked angrily.

Amaranth. I called him Violet, which also made the Old Man mad, 'cos it sounded like a girl's name and Amaranth was a man. Everything made the Old Man mad, which is why I first started to hate him.

Violet came in just after, squawking all his reasons and holding up a box full of crystals.

"What's wrong with this one?" the Old Man asked, holding a golden pyramid up to Violet's nose.

The zyp'syrah could pick one of us up in one hand, even someone as tall as the Old Man, or as heavy as Martus and his dad. I wanted Violet to pick up the Old Man and shake him, but he nodded and set his box down by the wall. I caught a glimpse of the crystals in it. They looked like flowers.

"Manning," the Old Man said into his wristpad, "Manning, we're here. Get me Icarus Actual."

"Colonizer Diaz is ready to transmit, Doctor," said Manning's voice.

The lights dimmed and Skip, short for Skipper, called that because he let me, because he liked me (everyone but the Old Man did... and they still do), flickered to life in the room.

"How's our saviour?" asked Diaz.

"Show him, Victor," said the Old Man.

I was going to show him the glowing mark the Color Guard made for me, but the Old Man swatted at my hands and shook his head. I sighed, then walked over to the table where they had the surgical knife, and in front of Skip, I cut my hand, then my arm, and for a boy so young, the pain was excruciating. I winced, doing my best not to cry, and felt ashamed at the sound of my skin slowly coming back together. Skip, whaea, the Old Man, and even the Color Guard were all excited, but I felt like a monster.

Skip knew how I felt. I imagine he had the same feelings, and though I was just an image in his office, he bent down as if he and I were standing in front of each other. He took off his helmet, the only piece of his shell that was removable, and with a smile he said all I needed to hear, while sparing me the embarrassment of discussing my augmentations openly around normies.

I lost more than my memory. I lost my conviction, and I lost my ability to care. With those things gone I drifted into a deeper, colder sea than the watery one I'd fallen into. How I washed up onto a shore instead of getting wedged between some reef, or eaten by some big fish, is unexplainable. Even more incredible is that I was found. From there the whorl gained speed, and time was lost to me, along with my own name, and when that was returned to me I clung to it, though little else. I had an inkling, I suppose, that I was unique in some way, but I could not figure out how, so I did my best to sink into obscurity, and those who lost and found me were creatures I did not recognize, so I walked among them in fear, shuddering at their advancing mania.

When Dolores was recalled, it was not long before I became completely detached. The Color Guard had taken up the mantle, and the Old Man argues with them constantly. Worse than that, the higher ups kept pushing for us to go underground and join the oligarchs in the habitat.

"The time for democracy is over," they would say. "Now's the time to do what me must to survive."

"We did that already," he would say, "and look how it turned out. You lot made your bed, now sleep in it."

And I could tell he was disgusted with me.

"Is it because of my white skin?" I asked once, trying to hold my colorless arm to his brown one.

"No."

"Then why?".

"I lied. It is because of your skin."

But I knew it wasn't. but I couldn't figure out what it was.

He reached out to the giants, and the birds, and bugs and the sparkplugs and the lizards and the freaks and the fomorians and the stoics and the of course the zep'syrah. But no one wanted to talk to him. The zep'syrah said the Dolomites were traitors, and no longer had any species after they tainted their own blood with ours. I couldn't understand why. They didn't look any different. Mayne they were a bit smaller. But they could breathe better, and eat more types of food, and they got sick less.

"But they aren't the Dolomites," the Old Man said about the Color Guard.

"They served them, and they perpetuate their treason!" shouted the zep'syrah.

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And the giants, they didn't trust any of us. The birds wanted to help, but they got sick too easy. Other than that, it was as it started; every species for themself, and ours was going under ground, or into the sky. But nothing good came from the sky, and everyone who tried to get beyond it came crashing back down. When the Colonizers grounded their last ark in the Bay of Plenty, the Old Man lost it, and again went begging to the giants and the birds and the lizards and the bugs and the zep'syrah and the light bulbs with their weird, bleeding eyes. But all he did was stir the pot and they were fighting each other before long, instead of us, and they wanted to give the Old Man a wreath but he refused it and he locked down our facility, and I never saw Dolores or Oscar or Tyr or the Color Guard ever again, until I escaped.

The old furnaces turned on in the night, and since then nothing has been the same. I used to think this life was life, and I enjoyed the balls and the stories by the fire and the music and the festival. The old man was kind enough to sneak a genie up for me, and to let me have two of its three wishes so I could see and hear everything going on in the castle. I wish I could walk so I could go down there and watch, even if no one spoke to me, and even if I never grew up, though I wish I could. But they don't even have parties anymore now that the old furnaces turned on in the night, so I feel stupid for even caring about that stuff anymore. And that makes me sad, because I cared so much about those things, and I kept getting excited when the old man told me I'd be able to visit the big city one day. He said there was a grown man there just like me, who would help me learn things that no one else could, and that there was a doctor who could fix me better than he could. I begged the old man to take me and he promised and he spent more time reading so he could learn how to fix me enough for the journey, and kept making up stories so people would give him food and not ask why he chose to live up there after the old engines turned on, and even after those two lights showed in the sky and made the air hotter than water in a kettle. I heard people say the lights made it rain, and their rain was burning the ground, before my genie stopped coming out of its bottle. The old man told me they never really die, but sometimes their bottles break and they can't come out. He left to go get me a toy, and he told me that the drink he gave me was what I needed, and that soon I'd be able to leave and go to the big city to find the grown man like me. I asked him to give me a name instead of a number so I could tell the grown man like me what to call me, but the old man said that he had a number too, and that my number was the luckiest, so I didn't ask him again and then he went to get me a toy but I heard them screaming and I heard that sound the doors make when things are bad and now I've been here alone for a very long time and I'm sad. But the straps keep getting tighter, so I think I might be growing up now, which makes me happy. I just wish it didn't hurt so much. But maybe it's supposed to, like when a butterfly is born it hurts and they have to try real hard to come out, but I dunno I feel more like a moth because I'm ugly, no matter what the old man says, because I don't have any blood, I mean if I had blood I wouldn't be so white, but I do have blood, I do! I know because I tried to come out like a butterfly and the straps cut my skin and I bled as dark and red as he did the day before he gave me the straps so I could be comfortable, only I got better, so I didn't get to watch the blood for more than a few minutes. But I keep cutting myself on the straps, so I get to see it those other times, and then I think my arms and legs are gonna break but, the straps did, but I still can't walk, at least not yet, but that's how it is with the butterfly 'cos its wings are all shrivelled up at first like my arms and legs, but then they stretch and spread out, and when my legs heal I'll go to the big city, or maybe even better. The man told me the real doctor came from underground where the sun is, and that that's where he brought all his medicine from, and that when enough time went by, the people down there were gonna let everyone trapped outside back in, so I might as well just wait for all the monsters to die so we can be let back inside, and I might as well just stay here then because there's plenty of food and I figured out the doors and the people are all still here even though they're quiet, but that's ok because I found another genie and got it to play music and I can set the people up like they're dancing if I use the curtain rods, so I'm getting to have all the fun I missed now, and I even gave them all names, except for Kendra, she keeps telling me her name is Dolores. Dolores. I don't know a Dolores, do I? But Dolores is tall, and strong. Kendra is a name for a small girl who I like that way, even though I don't know it, so I want this little girl to be Kendra, because I think she was probably a pretty girl before she got sick and went to sleep. I don't know why they all got sick and went to sleep, because there's plenty of food here and the genie turned the music on so they could dance when they got better. I keep going outside and I saw the hot lights again. I think they're baby suns, and they came close but then they stayed up there for a while and there was light inside the castle and up where the old man figured out how to turn on the old engines, but they kept hovering like they was watchin' me without saying hello and then they left. It's ok! The grown man from the big city is here! it has to be him! He looks just like me, and he has friends! I want friends!

If I am the twenty-third, then where are the others? I can imagine some of them have finally found a way to perish, but not all of them. And certainly a few of us may have taken up some hidden office, but not all of us. And I could imagine being kept in the dark about some fates, but given the import with which I am almost always received, that could not account for every absence. The turks want me to be a Cataphract, but surely they've learned I was not born to follow. Surely they've learned by now that I have a higher purpose. And if een I can see the limitations of their leader's plan, then would not my predecessors have as well? Perhaps I will find the answers in Thirty-Third Day after all. There, I have heard, the first of us still dwells.

But, before I go there, I will search the great library in the grounded ark, and see if I cannot find my specific codex. Something tells me I am more likely to find it there than anywhere else. I certainly won't learn anything from the Dolomites. I should have listened to the turks and stayed away. But, I suppose it's good I didn't. I now know that something worse than aging is to blame for their degeneration. And that is important because it tells me their initial beliefs were true, and that we are indeed the native species, whose blood contains the secrets to surviving Tarthas long term. If only the tyflochs would have trusted them.

And there we were, V and I, wrestling for possession of a symbol. When he was dominant it was a worm, when I gained the advantage it was an egg, but always it was made of diamond. Eventually it grew weary of our contention and it split in two. His half crumbled, but mine remained intact, so I hid it by thrusting it into my brow, and he believed it all to have dissolved as a result of our bickering. He then pleaded to me for a truce, at least for as long as it took to learn the truth once and for all. I agreed. And when we both stood in the same place we saw our progenitor in a vast domain of sights we could not interpret, being led by creature like both the Angels and the Devils, but not yet divided, and with him too were the Colour Guard, though they seemed changed from our previous visions, and Neophilus too was older. His scalp was still bare, but he had grown a magnificent white beard.

Adeptus Red spoke to the soldiers gathered outside the place designated for the meeting. It was an amphitheater within a square field. The stage was triangular so it could be seen equally from all views. Around it was a raised area shaped like the arena and chamber walls themselves, and beyond them were rows of comfortable chairs, each row arranged in the shape of a flower's petal when seen from above. In the unpaved spaces there were fields of lotuses and poppies, and somewhere above us a machine poured cherry blossom petals that rained down on us very gently, except for over the stage had been set a pavillion of shimmering auras that kept the blossoms from landing there so that the discussion might not be interrupted.

The grandest feature of the place was the ceiling. Much like the pavillion over the stage, but of unimaginable power, it both separated and revealed the locality of the amphitheater. All the roof above us was aflame, a cavern of blackened rock whose hide was blistered with cinders the size of mountains, removed so far away they seemed like grains of burning sand.

All throughout the debates the Colour Guard continued to amaze and perplex me, speaking with absolute command on the topics they had struggled to become passably proficient in after their masters were entombed. Neophilus too was amazed, and he also seemed suspicious, but at the same time grateful and not surprised. V ignored them, focusing on the words of the scholars of the oligarchs. They wore togas to appear virtuous, though in some vaulted memory I recalled the day I met Colonizer Kharn, and those scholars were depicted on a relief behind him, wearing uniforms of rarest fabrics that bore ornaments of armour; epaulets and vambraces and the like. Kharn had lingered on the opinion that I had of the surface, but was persuaded to stay below by Colonizer Betrogen, who had yet to earn the name of Blitzkrieg.

Neophilus argued well, vouching for the surety of the Fates, naming them Earth, Wind, Water and Heaven. As they were spoken in his strange old dialect, being so vague as to simply call Heaven a space, often dropping the definite article out of colloquial laziness, I heard the names as I knew them in my time; Gaia, Pazuzu, Ulmo and Anpiel. But in the furthest recess of my thinking, the Lady revealed herself.

Have you always been here?

Yes.

Why is V creating fake children?

Is he only creating children?

I don't know. I didn't think to find out. Does it matter?

Everything matters. But all I can tell you now is that he is a master manipulator. Be cautious of everything he says or does.

But how can I know what to believe?

You received the truth, and you put it in the place that matters most, the place that is closest to the eyes. No lie will ever surmount that wall, Victor. Remember it.

Thank you. I sense that he is aware of you. Can you tell me anything else before you fade away?

I will never fade away, and while he is aware of me, he is not aware of us. Before you were unaware, but now you must play a role. For the sake of all, play it well. And to answer your question; yes. Ask me no more on this topic, as it brings me pain. I acted out of virtue, so I've no guilt, but in turning against my own kind I abandoned ascension, and my son and daughter were birthed into eternal liminality. They are an arrow and a heart, those two, always working together for what is good, and keenly aware of the omnipresent pain that accompanies virtue. They might find a final end, as you seek as well, but I fear theirs will not come for a long time.

They ring the bells, don't they?

Yes.

Will I ever meet them?

You already have, and you will again. But when you do, there will be no time for words, so you'll have to be content with what I've indulged in now and follow them without question or delay.

And she was gone, and V turned his head. He smiled, having seen or heard the validation he sought, and when I saw again what I was looking at I saw that the Colour Guard had removed their robes, showing to the subterranean physicians that they lacked the lesions that had already claimed the rest of their kindred.

"We're all impressed," said a man as wise in appearance as Neophilus, "but we need proof of more than this. You still haven't shown us a demonstration of transference, or the boy you claim can perform it."

"That's because he can't," Neophilus replied. "More iterations will need to be developed for the gift to manifest effectively. But every other ability in their suite has shown itself at least in part in the first of the batch. It's only a matter of time."

"If these truly are the Dolomites, as you say, in younger bodies, then we certainly believe in the possibility of the work. But what no species alive on the surface has very much of is time. Unless those responsible for perpetuating the clouds can be stopped, all life is sure to perish in a few generations."

"You'd be surprised," Neophilus answered, "how many ways people have already learned to adapt. And the Dolomites, who are in truth before you now, have expanded their work to include enhancements that will allow the tyflochs to survive their rot, and maybe even become immune to it altogether."

"As I said, we are impressed, and have no reason to doubt the brilliance of the zep'syrah remnant. But I asked you a question. How many iterations?"

"Spread across the three species we've outlined, and the megathere-human hybrid, one hundred and twenty, divided into thirty per batch, give or take a few."

The eyes of the men in togas grew large, and many whispered and shook their heads. "There won't be time," they said.

"They'll be operated simultaneously, testing each system for cross reference. This is the most expedient... "

"We're sure it is. We cannot stress enough that we revere both you and the Dolomites, and trust that you have found the fastest, surest method for achieving your goals. But we must be pragmatic. The surface population cannot survive the timeframe you..."

"The Winds can be called from Clarion," Neophilus said, and then he claimed that while Anpiel would not be able to hear their call unless the hidden fortress were found, the Winds could be summoned from anywhere if the fragments of the founders were all gathered.

"But how many times can they be summoned?" asked another scholar. "Do we have the power to call on them more than once? They may well be needed if we are to raise Anpiel, will they not?"

"Three times," said Neophilus, and the crowd was hushed. "They can be summoned another three times. I have put automated measures in place to allow only two for the purpose of clearing the air. The third will require a very specific series of checks that only the completed human avatar can pass."

"That's you," V whispered.

"It won't clear the air!" shouted another scholar. "It will only push the debris somewhere else!"

"Ground zero will benefit significantly," said Neophilus. "That remains our link to Clarion, and where the Dolomites have concentrated their work. I don't say this easily, but all other regions are expendable."

The debate raged on, and sadly I have offered you the only tidbits that seemed relevant. Mostly there were accusations of misused and finite resources, and the credibility of the Color Guard was frequently questioned. It seemed to me they had offered themselves to the preserved minds of their masters as they were interned in Elvedon, and the success of their sacrifice was called into question.

The vision ended with a sweeping vista of the nation underground, and an acknowledgement by Neophilus that they had the best chance of any for long term survival. I knew the words he said next, but we were drawn back before he himself could utter them, and I knew my singular account was no match for the scenes of terrible prosperity that our conjoined minds revealed. He was fixated on the hovering platforms with their vast domes, in which visions of blue and gold were etched in moving paint upon their sanctuary skies, and his eyes grew bright at the sight of their towers too tall to measure and too numerous to count. But where he saw the powers of life and divinity in the massive engines that kept this mechanized ruse in operation, I saw a prison more engulfing and asphyxiating than the one I'd known above. The oligarchs, who wielded vast power, were content with survival because they had the temporary means to disguise survival as life. I wanted nothing to do with it, so I rejected it in my heart, cleaving to the warning given by my sweet Lady.