Theta had impeccable vision.

Perhaps that’s why he saw the eternal auroras for what they were: gorgeous.

Luminous red and green brooks capered the sky's inky canvas, the afternoon sunlight shadowed by the mystic hues. Dotted across the neighbourhood skyline were birds—everyday enigmas that flew in different sizes, shapes, and elements. Like the oxygen in the air, the chirps were barbed and broken, yet all still breathed them, and no one died.

“So what’s the problem?” Theta wondered aloud, his dog-button nose grazing on the balmy climate that seeped through the open window. As he leaned onto the sill, he took in everything: the hissing of the stove in the kitchen next door, the savoury tang of rice, and the peppery palette of shrimp and calamari that hung on his tongue. Everything that held taste and intrigue was food for thought to him; the troublesome sirens that hummed countless streets away were of no substance. There was a certain peace in exploration, his chestnut eyes sparkling as he swept more shrimp tails from the flooding bowl in his hairy hands and popped them into his mouth.

It was a familiar flavour, but never left something to be desired.

Peace.

“Would we need to pay for these animals, if I may ask?” A low, feminine voice sounded mildly behind him, accompanied by the tender sipping of boiled tea. “The page didn’t really say much.”

Theta shut his eyes, reeling from the window to place his bowl on the dining table behind him. He gazed out into the glowing shrubbery outside and processed the question with ease.

“Putting a price on hopeless animals is criminal,” Theta replied coolly, crusty fingernails scratching against his shaggy beard like chalk on a blackboard.

“Oh, true, true, my apologies—”

“I bet you also thought my post looked shady as hell—”he cackled huskily, shifting his buff stature towards the doe-eyed woman sat patiently at the table—”and I don’t blame ya because my wife took a jab at it too!—”

“I hurried to an ATM as well…” the woman breathed, an awkward laugh laced into her unease to match this unusual bear in front of her. She sighed into her steaming cup, a gurgle of satisfaction hitting her throat as she lowered the tea. There was a certain peace in her expression, her azure irises piercing with understanding as she wore a dignified demeanor that shone even when she was briskly wiping tea and saliva from her chin with the back of her hand.

Despite the circumstances, it was a favorable fervor; she held an evident desire. It was tasteful, so by nature, the man would poke his nose into the matter.

“Thought this was a robbery?” Theta probed, shuffling into a seat.

“Partly… partly—”

“You’ll eat wood—with this level of hospitality?—”

“I think that’s shrimp fried rice Mrs. Eta is cooking, isn’t it?—”

“It’s godly—”

“Right, that may increase the hospitality points by a bit,” the woman said, resting her cheek on slender fingers and playing a coy smile.

“You’re witty—” Theta grinned mischievously, fiddling with a piece of calamari —“and still showed up to what you thought was a robbery?”

“I… guess so—I was in a hurry—”

“Well, this is very much a real deal, so you can hold your money—”

“Thank you—”

“But you’re coming into this with a… pretty, uh, lighthearted composure,” Theta observed, resting his head on clasped hands as he inched close with curiosity to stare deep into her personality—like a book. “You’re obviously aware of the biz you’re getting yourself into. Harmonization Culture is no joke—”

“Right—”

“It’s a bloody effin thing—”

“Yes, it is—”

“And you’re… fine?”

The woman pursed her lips, exhaling lightly through her nose. She ran a hand through her blonde locks, indulging in her tea to gulp down the loaded question. She let the liquid simmer at the mouth of the cup before bringing it down to the table. As if she had thrown caution to the wind eons ago, she beamed at the older man and swiped at her chin again.

“I’ll face obvious difficulties if I do go along with the whole Harmonization thing—”

“I see—”

“Though I must if I want to protect my family.”

Theta digested the information and nodded, nibbling on calamari like the butt of a cigarette.

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“That’s honourable—”

“No,” the woman stressed.

Theta furrowed his brow.

“Eh?—”

“What I’m doing is anything but honourable—” she scrubbed her forehead with her palms, her voice straining with a pang of frustration—”and God, I wish there was another way to go about this.”

There was a quietude as warm winds swept through the room, the woman delving back into her tea with hunched shoulders. Theta felt like he was in her bubble for a second; he had just read an abstract. He grounded his lofty mind and understood the surface-level details of her character. His mind wandered and discerned potholes in the psyche she presented to him, laying out inviting insights into her unconscious—all on a silver platter. He’d jump into these potholes soon enough; he always did.

The man broke out of his rigorous stupor as the woman in front of him coughed down her now-finished drink.

“Sorry—apologies for that—”

“It’s fine, Ms. Ryd.”

Silence.

“Can I please, uh… have more tea?”

“Don’t even have to ask! Take! Take!” Theta barked jovially, amused by the lightning-fast speed at which the woman grasped the kettle and filled her cup not even milliseconds after his response. She drank her umpteenth fill like a junkie.

That made two of them.

His toothy grin flattened into an easy smile, processing the conversation in his mind that never ceased to come to a halt. Even when he was stagnant, chewing rampantly at his seafood, he kept traversing his thoughts and wringing his brain.

The bell rang.

The woman’s eyes instantly locked onto the door’s direction, raring and daring.

The flabby tufts of the cat ears that sprouted out of Theta’s head twitched echos after, urging the man to scrape the chair behind him and shoot up promptly. He turned his head towards the woman training her sights on the door, adjusting his loose-fitting vest over the small round of his belly and slipping his Croslite clogs onto his mangled feet. He scratched his scruffy hair, from which flakes fell, but his intrigue and confusion rose.

He had to tread carefully.

“This isn’t a very angelic route to take in life,” Theta commented while trudging past the woman, who now shifted her dilated pupils towards him. He noticed her suddenly damp forehead and made a mental note to close the window later. Putting a close to any sliver of unease she had was near to impossible; this was a glaring entrance to being swallowed by society’s underbelly. However, he knew he was smart, so he had absolute faith in his creed—a scientific reassurance. “Though, I assure you that once you three are seated, I’ll bring upon you a fantastic doctrine of sorts that may just help even the weak-hearted get into the Harmonization mindset.”

The woman slowly stood up out of some instinct, clasping the chair’s cross rail with heightened security. She watched Theta stomp through the corridor, leaning forward as the rich mahogany door of the front entrance was swung open by the brute.

She became rigid.

“Ah! Welcome! Welcome!” Theta roared, hailing the more tepid guests and ushering them out of the foyer. “Ms. Ryd is already here!”

The woman strained her eyes and caught a fair glimpse of the two newcomers plodding through the doorway. There was a tall man, bald and bulky—woolly white turtleneck, red sweatpants, and Converse shoes. He looked drawn—awkward and unfamiliar—but he still managed to shake the older man’s gauntlet of a hand with a lopsided smile.

This stranger looked too casual; he posed zero threat. She slackened.

“Wait, my labcoat—hun, are you almost done with that rice!?” Theta exclaimed, hopping tirelessly on the spot after floundering for the stairway.

“I’ll dish it out in a minute!” A lady’s neighbourly voice sounded from another room. “Get your act together, oaf—”

“Love you!” Theta then scuttled up the steps, his trousers sagging as he raced up the lane of photographs. A treacherous peep by the three other adults graced them with the unsightly sight of the older man’s exposed boxers.

He disappeared, but the bewilderment lingered.

The woman’s stance loosened fully, her rosy cheeks ballooning as she stifled spits of laughter.

“Jesus Christ…” The bald man exhaled tiredly, his reddened eyes widening at the ceiling in disbelief. “Father God—what the hell did we just accept?”

The woman stared up from her half-squat with a friendly smile, fully revealing herself to the other guests by popping herself out into the corridor. However, her smile wavered, her sight falling onto the second figure her now-constricting pupils couldn’t notice. The figure was hooded, drenched from head to toe in black clothes, and latched tightly onto the arm of the man.

She saw no eyes—just boreholes in grisly purple skin that housed muted wisps of light.

This figure wasn’t loud, so they appeared small to her. She still knew that that was a human, so she’d approach the situation normally.

She held her gaze for too long, noticing the figure’s grip tighten.

Her pupils were back to normal, and there was some uncanny safety. To avoid prolonging the silence, she decided to open up.

“I prefer a weirdo dealer to be honest with you,” the woman jested, approaching the guests with more pep in her step. The man tilted his head downward to inspect the woman, wearing a surprised look. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the other figure swiftly turn to the man before looking back at her. The mood was difficult to read, but she didn’t worry. She scrubbed her clammy palms against her jeans, lifting her hand towards the astonished man and maintaining strong eye contact with both of them. “You guys got tricked too?”

The man blinked in response to her hearty laughter and shook the hand, returning the chuckle. The purple figure clutched tighter at his sleeve.

“If we’ve been had, then at least I can say that I am absolutely overjoyed to see whatever that was running up the stairs,” he scoffed, earning a chortle from the woman and an affectionate, bloodcurdling squeeze from his companion. As far as he knew, he cherished his life, so he took his partner’s subtle cue with utmost importance. “Name is Sinjin Ingram, and this is my girlfriend, Cosima Manco.”

The grip became more benign.

The other woman nodded silently in understanding, interrupted by rampant thumping from upstairs.

“Tanairy Ryd, it’s a pleasure!” the blonde responded, shaking Sinjin’s hand once more before shifting to Cosima. However, there was a sense of resistance from the hooded woman, who only managed a minuscule hand wave before tugging at Sinjin’s sleeve. Understanding the situation, Tanairy withdrew her hand and reciprocated the wave. “May we get along well?”

“Likewise, likewise,” Sinjin replied steadily, gritting his teeth as he inspected the furniture around them.

“Yeah… sure.” That’s all Cosima could muster. In her marred mind, Tanairy had too much and had it too easy.

She pulls off a blonde bob cut well.

Her cheekbones… are quite defined.

Her body… is very slim.

Those blue eyes are abnormally attractive—they probably caught Sin’s attention.

Blue trench vest, crop top, ripped jeans…

It all fits. Who the hell is she trying to impress?

The thoughts were all streamlined to a single word Cosima abhorred: ‘attractive’.

She stayed small, watching the other two engage in trivial yet causal conversation regarding the house.

She grimaced and took a different angle.

Her eyebrows are hairy—that’s undeniable.

That nose is a bit too pointy…

She’s outgoing… but she looks sweaty. Is this a facade?

Seriously, does she shave her brows?

Sin likes brunettes.

Nosejob.

It was then that she realized that she wasn’t as tickled pink as the other woman.

So, her brooding became more colorful.

“Right! Sorry for the wait!”

The three adults shook at the boom of the call, their thoughts at a standstill. Theta lumbered down the marble stairs, staring at them all with a haughty gaze. Barefoot, worn-out vest, greasy hair, patchy beard—all culminated in his inelegance. However, as he wore the white epitome of rhyme and reason, he looked more reputable yet didn’t exalt his image with all other things considered.

It was clear that he was more concerned with concepts beyond himself; he was careless in his presentation. Though, despite what may be perceived of him, he knew he was smart.

“My wife’s cooked us up a feast,” Theta boasted, pinching his dog nose as if he were attempting to pick up more of the aroma. “So let’s talk this over lunch. I’m not oblivious to the many worries you three most definitely have, but trust me when I say this: I know the method to all the Harmonization madness, in and out!”

He noticed the incredulity that shaped their stares, but deep down, he knew there was a willingness to listen to what he had to say.

Because in a world where hope is hidden in insurmountable haystacks, any bite-sized opportunity had to be eaten, or else starvation was inevitable.

Akin to a seraph, he’d shine a new light on them.

After all, he’s a man of impeccable vision.