Under the everlight, a wide cobble street tired from the day’s busy commuters, rests alone in silence for the evening. It will be a few more hours before it sees the typical weary faces from the previous day. The chemical dance of millennia past has long been forgotten. There exists a new magic now. With that new magic ushers in new understanding and new ruin. Trees, if they could be called such, struggle to cling to life from the harsh realities of the cold air. The Keige soften the blow of such temperatures, but no tree has access to such tools, leaving them at the mercy of the wielders.

As the coolness sweeps in, a faint flicker of light bounces off the stone. It belongs to the inn nearby, filled with natives and travelers looking for company, solace, or both. Here, it is said that not even the ghosts sleep. As turmoils arise, they find their way to the Gadding, not to be resolved but to cling to one’s life in misery as they enter its cage and throw away the key. Willingly, most of the time. They all want to face hardship deep down. They want to look the demon in the eye and know its secrets.

Light rain began to patter on the roofs of this small corner of the city. A commanding, ambitious, and passionate voice could be heard in the distance, shouting words of admonishment laced with encouragement.

“Brothers! They seek temporary things. Frivolous things. Things that will dry them up, little by little until, one day, they are so far from who they were that they are unrecognizable. They sense it but they cannot understand it. They feed it while they starve themselves. We were never meant to exist in such a state. Remember that every action bears the weight of eternity upon its shoulders. Act with confidence, live in peace. On that fateful day when the world crumbles, we will not be a part of it. No, we will weep for them while we stand as survivors among the rubble. Poor we will be in circumstance, but we will remain whole. That is the glory, brothers.”

A hooded man had stood by the ornate building listening in, intrigued by the message. He ignored the rain momentarily, moving closer to the cracked door, until it became an annoyance and drowned out the compelling message. He trudged on, picking up his pace to a light jog in an attempt to remain dry.

“Welcome to the Gadding, lad, what can I start you off?”

“Nothing for the moment, Rud. Just looking for a friend.”

“Oh, Rore, is that you? Didn’t even recognize you with the hood. Is that a light beard coming in too, I see? I didn’t know that was in your gene pool. Should fit in quite nicely with that darker skin of yours.”

“Figured it was about time to try it. I can only go so long before I get inspired.”

“Sure I can’t get you anything? An Ironclad? Your favorite.”

“I shouldn’t,” Roram said as he began to move away from the counter. He flicked his head back, “Ah, send it where I sit. If you see a lonesome Sapien huddled in a corner, perhaps with nice hair, I’ll be close by. Drop a BluCoe by while you’re at it. For him.”

“Comin’ right up, lad. Won’t even charge ya stips for these first rounds just ‘cause I like ya. Not my favorite, but I like ya.”

He swiftly moved through the people, chairs, and tables, glancing around. This was the place they would come on nights to relax, argue, revel in sorrow, or simply abide when times were kind.

“Ah, enjoying a fine game of Fast Castle, boys?” He said genially to the gentlemen at the table he crossed “Who has the upper hand?”

“Not I,” the Sapien on the left said. “Not yet, at least. Just wait for Jett here to do his telltale move that gives him away. His heartbeat. I’ll see you momentarily,” he slowly said to Jett.

“Not if you mistake the heartbeat for something else entirely,” he replied. “The Castle will be mine. Yet again.” Confidence poured out of him like wind through trees.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Roram replied, clearly seeing the intensity and not wishing to interrupt.

Roram had a more important task in front of him. That had been why he came here, not for games. He’d know the beige hair, streaked with dark but thin lines of grey, neatly pulled to a tail, when he saw it. The grey lines were darker compared to the hair of other Sapiens, perhaps suggesting resilient blood. Well, according to tradition. It was most likely only a genetic marking. It was, however, not a similar shade of grey that surrounded his pupils. Like all Sapiens, this ring of stone inhabited every eye, and it was mostly lighter. Corvallis was a man distinguished first by his hair, second by his words, and not at all by his eyes. He sat down in the corner next to a man hunched over a table and nudged him.

“You didn’t have to use your key”, Wren spoke while looking straight ahead.

“Not feeling very colloquial today, are we? Stick with Keige. Or that other word Pip uses, no one here has a clue what that would be. And how else was I supposed to find you? Rud doesn’t care. I know he doesn’t like using his but he won’t mind it used here and there should it benefit his loyal customers.”

Wren was silent, deep in thought, perhaps a bit tired. “Doesn’t matter, I’m muffed. Only you can hear these whispers.”

“What’s going on, Wren? You weren’t at the station when your shift started. You know Bolga won’t tolerate abandoning a post, how much emphasis he places on night cycles.”

“Yes, Clea also reminded me, thank you,” he responded, a half hearted attempt to hide irritation.

“Oh, so Clea has done something again. I can talk to her.”

“Here we are, gents,” Rud exclaimed, passing the drinks to the table, the motion smooth as butter and consistent as time. “You two enjoy. Would love to have a fraction of that hair, Wren.” He walked away, rubbing his bare head without thought.

“No,” Wren continued. “Not what Clea did, but what I didn’t. She asked about the search for the old keys.”

“How does she know about it?” Incredulity swept across his face. This was a secretive task the two had undertaken, specifically to be kept between them. The exclusion made Roram feel valued by Wren, that he would entrust even just one room from his mansion of thoughts, surely dusty and decrepit from lack of attention, to Roram.

“Well, she didn’t. My wanderings have raised suspicion. That and being around Pip so often these days.”

“I still don’t understand why you keep his company. You need to send him back where he came from. If the others knew an Udo descendant was setting up shop, in our city, they’d sever you.”

“Are you serious? He was thrown out. They hate him. If we conclude the same, what does his fate become? I won’t abandon him.” He looked at Roram, his broad shoulders, determined yet concerned face, unconcerned at the new hair coming in to distort his familiar face. “Besides, we have the same goal. You know he is invaluable to the research. A peek into the very mind of the creation. That is a gift, Roram. Almost too convenient. We have to take it.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Exactly what I mean. Don’t trust him. Be careful, and know how it will have to end. I know you already created an attachment to him, I see it in your face and hear it in your voice. The reality is that he can never be a citizen of Nidus. It just isn’t possible.”

To that, Wren did not speak. He knew how Roram saw Pip and his kind. It troubled him greatly but he also couldn’t blame him. The culture in which they lived from birth had taught them to see Udo as enemies. They were the reason for the hindrance of Sapiens’ great progress, and it was only by the sacrifice of humble Sapiens that they survived and used the keys to create a better future. Like so many others, in Roram’s mind they would have discovered the key technology themselves had they been in the right place and time, making it pure chance that the Udo rested on the land ready to birth the secret. They always argued that they would have done it better.

As the two sat without words, Roram pulled out a small cylindrical apparatus along with a small pouch, pouring dust from the pouch into the cylinder.

“Stormbreather,” Wren muttered with disdain. “I thought I told you the ill harm that stuff causes.”

“Relax, brother. Just helps calm the nerves, even out the senses. Rebalance the scales.” He leaned back, cylinder in mouth, his Keige now red as if aflame.

“You may even burn your lips doing that enough. Take the skin right off.”

“That’s what the crystalline water is for,” he mumbled. “Not just hair cleanliness.” He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them to consider Clea again.

“So, I take it Clea is angry she didn’t know sooner?” He said.

“Right.” Wren stared at the table and wearily shook his head. “We were only trying to protect her. But she didn’t agree. She actually has no idea that you also know.”

“Which will certainly make her angrier when she discovers that. Look, Wren. I was all on board for telling her back when we started this. I went along with your reasoning since this was your idea. But hear me now. Doing all of it, doesn’t it make you happy? Finding something that could potentially fulfill your purpose in life, even if you never reached the end?”

He thought for a moment, considering it. Did he need to have answers to feel the fulfillment he so longingly sought? Did the source of happiness resort in the journey, or the possibility of an ending?

“My father believed in me, I suppose that’s what started it. He sought to show me things that would illuminate this path.”

“Yes, and you shared that with us all those years ago, regardless of the consequences. You didn’t hold back that happiness because you believed it was worth sharing. Why do so now?”

The truth, deep in his being, was that he loved Clea. He could not pin exactly when, just as one cannot recall when their knowledge of sentience began. Her dark hair and brown eyes would visit him in his dreams more often than not. Genetics that signified royalty. She would walk with grace without expectation. She would talk, mesmerizing without effort. She could carry the burden of existence without complaint. Above all, she followed the law and was loved for it. This invasion of his thoughts was one he could not prevent and did not mind. But it didn’t matter. The assignments in which they had together as adolescents prohibited intimate relationships within the group. If the Hierarchy could choose who they interacted and bonded with on a daily basis, they could also choose whom they loved. In a sense, they knew love would follow for some. This was inevitable. The system they devised was understood by all, allowing fear to take root in the hearts of those even tempted to break it. The children were grouped firstly on their likelihood to be unsuccessful in an intimate relationship, and secondly on their prospect in a given career field. Thus, according to plan, more and more wandered the streets with broken hearts. Fated to love and fated to lose, they would say.

“Why don’t you hate them like you do the Udo?” Wren asked without answering Roram’s question.

“Who, the Hierarchy? Why would I hate them? Or are you saying I should hate them?”

“For what they do to us. They control every part of our upbringing. Where we live, who we are in relation with, what our interests will be, where we will one day work. It goes on and on. Doesn’t that feel suffocating?”

“Those things were for our good. Are for our good even now. It was to keep us on the optimal path. You know this. We don’t even retain those boundaries into adulthood. They are for children. We would’ve been so wild without them, Wren. Just like a parent caring for their own. How is that bad?”

“They have everlasting consequences. The intent isn’t as benevolent as you try and paint it.” Saying the words, he knew he had convinced himself of such dark deeds without a hint of proof aside from his own experience.

“And you know this how? Wee are researching to discover what the Udo did differently, what they hid from us. Not what we did wrong. The Keige, they’re perfect, but what if they could be even better because we’ve missed something? We had this discussion when you first began. You’re beginning to ask different questions now. What have you found that you aren’t telling me?”

“I’m not hiding anything. It’s a simple thought experiment, a thread to follow in the ever complicating tapestry. Keep an open mind and you will never let your story dictate the truth, my mother would say. I only wish to live as she did.”

“Aye!” Jett yelled a few tables over. “It was only a matter of time!”

Roram looked back to Wren. “I could say the same to you”, he said, looking him in the eye, a seriousness about him. Roram was loyal and devoted, but with such qualities came a spirit of passion and fury. Where he walked, fire closely followed behind like a shadow. Its origin was not found in anger, but rather in seeing loyalty and morality as equals.

“We can have a difference of opinion. I accept that. As long as we learn together and seek the same result in the end. You’re my brother, Wren, and I know nothing can come between us no matter how far apart we may drift in this life. You and I can both agree that all of this is about more than self preservation. It’s about community, about living life as it was intended.”

“Of course,” Wren said, though he saw doubt in how they could both reach this conclusion in complete agreement on how to arrive there.

“Show up for work next time, will you? I can’t have you slacking on the job every day, leaving me to pull the load of two.”

“Forgive me, I never meant to cause chaos. I can easily lose track of time when distracted. I usually snap out of it.”

“I understand, Wren. We all have different seasons in life, and we can’t always control the order in which they come. But please remember: curiosities are just that. They aren’t what you live for. They aren’t supposed to keep you up at night, tug at your mind during conversations, make you late for work, forgetful of your friends. Those traits belong to obsessions, addictions. You’re above such monstrosities. Just consider setting a timer on that Keige of yours every once in a while.”

Roram stayed a while longer to exist in the in between, to escape from it all, even if just for a few hours. Yes, he had come looking for Wren, he told himself. That was all he needed to rationalize his visit. Conversations lingered longer than they should have, far too much food was consumed and wasted, drink was aplenty, and the lighthearted musical hums were almost in unison. The Keige, always in his hand, shone bright, appearing red through parts of his translucent skin. Tonight was good.

Afterward, The two went their separate ways, if only temporarily. Roram would see Wren the following evening, he was sure of it. The man never neglected his duties for an extensive period, especially if he brought it to his attention, exposing the truth that had traversed from his mind to the world. Tonight, the little street of Tereth he called home was quiet as it always was. No visitors, no packages, and no memories. Slipping his Keige into the lock, he walked inside a home with an appearance as if he had been there for hours. It was warm, the lights were dimmed, a low tune was playing, and an aroma of fresh coffee hung in the air. It was late, but no time of day would dissuade him of that smell. Tumbling into bed, he felt such peace. He loved his Keige as he loved himself.

The following morning Roram visited his mother. He enjoyed dropping in to see how the place was holding up after his father passed. It had been a terrible shock to everyone. He had come home from school to find his father lifeless in the stables. A closer look at his Keige had proven that no alert of any health issues had come to warn the poor man. Potentially a horse kicked him, but there was no physical evidence on his body. He was simply gone. As such, Roram’s mother became stable master. From that point on, he had always been suspicious of the goings on at the stables. The horses, the cattle, all of them held a secret they refused to tell him, surely to cause suffering, he convinced himself. As if the animals could speak his language, or any language for that matter. In the end, he learned to live without the closure. If his mother had, so could he. And that was why he still showed up to the old place. She lived, and that ought to be enough.