Rousing from a deep sleep the following morning, Wren arose from bed with a headache. That had to be the last late night, he told himself. After arriving home, he had gotten into another intense thought session. The Keige always obliged, never questioning. It was more than simple logic puzzles this time around, though he was well acquainted with those. These were unsolvable puzzles, if they were to be taken seriously, called paradoxes of nature. If Roram hadn’t posed that question to linger endlessly. Was happiness found in the journey or in the end? He questioned his motives, what the end would truly look like after the all was done. The old “Theseus’ Ship” came to mind, and along with it identity. Where did he begin and his father end? The external influence had intruded on a microscopic level; There was no changing such intricacies.

He never did well on little sleep, whether from late night activities or the silent racing of the mind. Why he had a career in night cycle monitoring, then, he hadn’t an idea. What he needed, even more so, was to visit Pip. After yesterday’s mishap, they hadn’t finished their discussion. It was often repeated information, but Wren didn’t mind; eventually, the same points became new ones if he had the mind to look long enough.

Fumbling around for his Keige to no avail, he hurriedly went to the kitchen to scrounge for food. The fuel of life was a waste of time, he thought. Thankfully, the Keige made this aspect of life significantly more efficient. Push it in the invoking lock, and out came the exact portion size and style according to the cycle of the sun. It involved the bioengineering of meat and other products using stem cells, that much he knew, but never cared to venture further on the subject. Caloric tradition was favorable to him; eggs, fish, toast, and coffee were essential to the morning.

His Keige still eluded him. He looked around ignorantly before quickly realizing he could feel it. The mantle. He enjoyed putting his Keige places nonchalantly when arriving home but clearly needed to break the habit. It felt redundant to bother with the precision of its resting place when he could sense it with little effort. He grabbed it, hastily threw it in the food lock, then ran back upstairs to don clothes and bathe. The microcrystals rushed over him, removing any dead skin and hair, being careful to avoid his head to the exposure. Of course, it happened, and many found themselves at hair re-plants throughout the city, regrowing the follicles by day’s end. While refreshing, the crystals seemed largely an artifact from the past, when hair was deemed a quality of lower intelligence beings. When such results didn’t make their way out of the genetic code, the Sapiens created their own rules. For a time, hair was seen as an act of rebellion or hatred toward their own kind. Today, it was largely accepted that societal pressures were not paramount to one’s enjoyment or desires from life.

This routine began and ended the same as every day: the long tying of the boot laces. The multiple zipping of the pants. The many buttoning requirements of the shirt and vest.

Finally, he could finish with the long trench coat, essential for the endless cold days. The last tidying he deemed necessary was a brushing of the teeth and pulling his hair back to a tail. Not bothering to check the time, as he knew it was much later than he would have liked, he hurried out the door while the apartment began to shut down, preparing for another day of rest with no visitor nor owner.

Electricity. The concept still lingered in his mind. It flayed its way through gray matter without restraint since adolescence. By discernment, the Keige operated no differently. He watched the movement of trains on a rail, the street lamps with everlight, observed tall buildings in the process of repairs, water being moved along over cisterns in the flowing river. Then he looked down at what rested in his hand. Such things could not be explained. One had to be content in the marvels and releasing frustration from ignorance.

A loud noise interrupted his reverie. A horn. An angry fist. He was in the middle of the street rail. Jumping out of the way and moving to the sidewalk, he watched it pass on. The man proceeded to look back down at a paper as the vehicle moved along.

Wren hurried along to the street market on his typical route. Trains rumbled underneath his footsteps as he stepped in line with other Sapiens, their minds filled with the day’s tasks and demands. The trains were the easiest way to get about the city, but like most days Wren enjoyed the sights and sounds while walking through the city. Observing others in their natural environment gleaned information he could never dream up.

He trudged along with the small corner market in mind. Pip would need some food and water. No invoking lock existed in the library. With a decent walk ahead of him, he considered some entertainment as he walked through the crowds and streets. trotting alongside many of Sapiens were the latest Canine units. Beautiful things, modeled after the old pets past civilizations had. These latest models could look like any breed the user desired. Just enter your Keige into the lock, and it knew. None of the side effects of the old canines either, like hair, noise, and required exercise. Just as Nidus had become the pinnacle of their category, of civilization, so had they.

Wren looked down the rows of papers presenting various bits of media as photos. ‘Eight ways you have been misusing your Keige!’ ‘Love your Keige and it will love you’. ‘The Rise and Fall of Civilizations Past: A Short Documentary’. ‘Animals: Do you really know them? Are you one?’ ‘The Greatest Stories of the World’. With piqued his interest, he pointed his Keige at the last image, allowing it to jump into his mind. There, it began to show what the greatest stories were and why. “Have you ever heard of Shakespeare? Have we got stories for you” the voice began. It spoke of Homer, Dostoyevsky, and other literary giants. The stories that endured the test of time. Wren noted those he hadn’t read for later exploration. He found himself at the market soon after, noting how the media made quick work of the commute.

“Welcome in, Corvallis, what’ll it be today? Any pure extracts? Or electing for the more classical offerings, sausages, eggs, and the like.”

“Just some of the basics will be fine, Koel.” He put his Keige into the lock without allowing the shop owner to ask any more questions.

“Ah, I see you’ve already used your allotment for the 6 to 12 window. Hungry man today are we?”

“Some water too while you’re at it,” Wren added, not acknowledging the question.

“Sure, sure, here you go. That’ll be twelve stips.”

“Thanks, Koel. See you.” He meandered back into the bustle of the few people still walking to and from their morning destination. Even as the morning was drifting to a close, he recognized faces that usually were in a building by now, busy doing work to pass their seemingly endless days. There was Beckard, a responder in the reinforcement unit. Wren pondered the job and did not envy it in the least; Acknowledging the problem was one thing, but putting an end to it was another. Beck was tough even in his aged years. Wren decided to turn to his Keige for any other faces he may know. Using this ability was commonplace, but Wren was often apprehensive. Yet boredom would often take over and the apprehension would turn to curiosity. He wasn’t seeing anyone else on this path.

To the west though, Weaver was sitting in a cafe, apparently enjoying the latest espresso offerings. He never took him for a high stip drinker, just the basic drip. If Wren had the know how and the will for hard labor, his job could be the new frontier. Keeping up with the machinery and the Keige that accompanied them surely sounded like a more pleasant way to pass the time opposed to monitoring. There were certainly spikes of mania on his front, but also long stamps of nothing. The truth was that Sapiens behaved themselves more and more every year with reports to prove it. Would it make his job obsolete? He wouldn’t bet on it. It would simply continue on its lazy trajectory for the next generation of families chosen for the career. It still nagged at him that he was chosen for a job such as this. From all that was known in their genetic code and family history, it should’ve been a dream for him. Was he to be at fault, or the system? Roram and Clea loved what they did. But by all accounts they were programmed, conditioned even, to do so.

Next he knew, the library was in front of him. He entered and immediately turned down a set of stairs, a dim light guiding him. He entered, looking around anxiously. “Pip?” he called out. “It’s me. It’s safe, you can come out. I have some food for you.”

Groggily moving out from his small space, he rolled and stood up. His long arms elongated parallel to his body as he clenched the air in relief. “Oh, Corvallis, welcome. I didn’t know how long it would be until I saw you again.”

“I’m sorry about Clea. I probably should have stayed away longer, but I have been eagerly awaiting our discussion that was cut short. Have you eaten?”

“No, but I am fine for the moment. You shouldn’t worry so much about Clea. she is kind. And…” he stammered for a moment, debating his next words, “I have met her before.”

“What? When?” Wren was taken aback. If anyone knew Pip was here, even existed, the worst consequence awaited them both.

“It was before your discussion with her yesterday. She allowed me to tell my story. She was gentle and treated me as she treats you. Normal as far as my definition of normal is concerned. Meaning you can and should trust her with any secrets you may have.”

He didn’t know what to say. Trying to protect Clea only caused a wall to be built between them rather than the enemy that he so feared. He sat down, regretting his decision. Telling Roram but not Clea frustrated him. He had justified it to himself then but seeing its foolishness now.

“I’ll talk to her as soon as I can. First, the keys. What else do you know?”

“Of course.” He trotted over to his desk to reach his notes.

“You ought to teach me to write someday,” Wren said upon seeing the writings.

“Oh sure, it isn’t as difficult as it looks. You speak and read, that’s much of the battle. But later. For now, Let me start again at the three forms of essence. I need to retrace my steps if I am to make any sense of this cloak of confusion.”

And so he began, starting with The names and the destiny therein. Spiritus, Corpus, and Animus they were. Three beings to make up one individual. There was much mysticism attached to these beings due to their lack of comprehension. After so many years, the names took on an esoteric familiarity, existing because of their status in memory, not faculty or utility. They were passed down, generation after generation, fulfilling the duty of the one set before it. They therefore existed both inside and outside of time. If they truly made up an individual, one could not say. But they did make up the Keige. And from that flowed all of life, as if unlocking a master lock with required precision, timing, and belief. The Keige required all from a Sapien. It would bring them to the end and tempt them before the abyss. To most, if not all, it was a small price to pay for the luxury that was henceforth awarded.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Pip then spoke of the difference he suspected between the old and new devices. The animus. It was his belief that this was unable to be given by the Udo because it did not exist. The writings he had uncovered to summarize these things suggested as much. It then had to be his belief; his realization that a Creator, in part, differentiated its creation. If the animus existed but was withheld from him, the true intent of the Creator became revealed. And so were his emotions, for meaning seemed to dissipate. He was now lesser than. Not chosen, only forgotten.

“Pip, don’t say that. I had always assumed the old keys had the exact same essence. And even if my assumption is wrong, it certainly couldn’t be so different as to affect your status in life,” Wren responded in earnest.

“But you don’t know that. As I just told you earlier, even the material is different, so who is to say more is also added? Besides, why question your people and their writings? I should think they know much more than we do on all of this. That is why we have their work here in front of us.”

Wren sat in silence, thinking. He had come to love Pip just as he had Roram. Like a brother. It had nothing to do with memory even, just fate of circumstance. United in goal, they sought to change the unchangeable and move the immovable. They both thirsted for knowledge and, deep within, belonging. Pip longed to be accepted by his people while Wren only wanted to get away from his own. Occasionally, this desire ripped at his core, attempting to divide his essence a third time.

“What if Sapiens are wrong? What if yours have it right?” Wren asked.

“What does right even mean? It all feels relative. One’s right cannot cover up their multitude of wrongs. I don’t know how the old keys function. Right is somewhat irrelevant at the moment.”

“But not entirely. It would only take one right to show us the way forward. Listen, I told you about how my mother died. She was terrified. She would go on about these dreams, after the severence. What if it is connected to this?”

“What if delusion had taken her?” Pip responded solemnly but firmly. “Wren, I understand loss. My family thinks I am dead. I cannot imagine such pain. Or even the pain of seeing me alive after many years of acceptance of death. You have grievances with your father and in turn the hierarchy. If you let your emotions run wild, you will jump to conclusions that never existed.”

“My mother wasn’t crazy,” he fought back, almost defiant. “Speaking in riddles doesn’t make one lost, but a maze to be discovered through careful turns and consideration.”

Pip felt the argument growing, but rather than retaliation he chose pacifism. “All right, yes Wren. Forgive me. If you would like to question that which is presented to you by the highest authority we have ever known for thousands of years, you are free to do so. It doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Coming back to his senses as the sight of Pip’s admission, Wren felt a cool sensation run back over him. The Keige in his pocket, unbeknownst to them both, was cooI to the touch. “I can’t argue with your reasoning. We should stop now while we are ahead. We haven’t uncovered much and if we continue poking around, who knows who will find out.”

“Well, we can certainly discuss the legends if you wish. No harm in telling stories passed down from generations.” Pip quickly became more excited as he seemed to be released from his prison of reality to escape to a world of mystery and contemplation.

He turned to his well worn copy of the legends and began turning. “Here, let’s recount this one. The master thief himself, Kepler Vireo.”

The book was known as Legends: Retellings of Events as they Become Myth. The chapter lay open, bare to Pip’s large eyes.

He began to read.

It is worth noting that the following event is pure myth. Let it remain true that the event written below has been passed down through the ages to inspire generations. There have been multiple tellings of this tale and have all been left in for the sake of preservation.

Once, there lived a man who went by the name of Kepler Vireo. Whether it was his true name, it needn’t concern this story, as his actions spoke louder than his name or title ever could. This man could have been multiple men were it not for the unfailing love of his betrothed, young Lynella Avocet. Lynella only loved one man it is certain. In the kingdom, Kepler was renowned for his ingenuity and conniving plots. Now, he never used these talents for evil, only good. Those that sought harm on the unsuspecting or took from the helpless, he returned to them their fortunes and then some. It was then that a man tested him. He puffed his chest and said, “I do not believe you bear much talent, only luck. Prove to me that you truly have what you claim to possess. Take what is not yours, but this time unencumbered by the frivolity of justice. Take because you can.” He asked Kepler to take not from his own people, but foreigners. One of their keys, to be exact. “I would never do such a thing; take hold of that black magic,” he responded with anger. He now questioned who this man even was, why he requested such a strange task, and why he would need to prove anything to him. “Your nobility is proven, sir. It was only a test, to which you responded correctly.” Kepler went on his way, happy to understand that he may be even better than he thought he was. Nobility was the prize.

But that night, he had dreams. Of a key. And a bird of dark colors. The bird called to him, beckoning to come get the key in his claws. The power that rested in it was in danger, and only he could keep it safe. Only he of such nobility and honesty could do this. So the very next day, he set out to fulfill his calling.

“I haven’t heard this one before,” Wren interrupted. “How old is it?”

“I’m not sure, these are your legends, not mine. The best part is coming up, listen.”

Upon reaching the foreign region, he searched for the bird and key with no luck. He had to be quiet and unseen, knowing he would be imprisoned or even killed if he were to be caught. By chance, he saw a flag laying on the ground close to a nearby tent with a painting of a black raven. He took it as the sign he needed and approached the tent. Inside, he found a key. The key from his dreams. He snatched it and hopped off in the darkness, almost in disbelief of his fortune. But he was not alone. He had been seen by a foreigner in that same tent. In his desire for the key he did not notice the small youngling in the corner. The youngling alerted the people and Vireo was caught. But before he had been, he buried the key. For days he was imprisoned. And he wasn’t alone. There were others imprisoned that looked just like him, caught in this same territory but for different reasons. He decided to plot with these men an escape. That night at their food offering they would strike. And strike they did. They escaped, running up and down corridors, making their way outside and into a cave. They determined that they were stuck and deemed to die. One who had pulled a dagger from the fallen guard suggested ending their own lives now rather than suffer the penalty of escape and further tortures of imprisonment. Remembering his beloved Lynella, Kepler did not want to die. He deeply regretted ever coming here and forfeiting his true prize. This had been deception, a test he realized he failed. In this light, he took the dagger and ended the lives of the men that requested freedom. It came down to himself and one other. They were to use the dagger on each other, to bleed out and die. But as they were about to do so, they decided that two would be easier to smuggle out than a large group. Given this realization, they left the winding cave unharmed. Kepler escaped with his life, but not with the key. It is said that it is still buried to this day.

“So, why do you like this story so much? What was the point exactly?”

“There could be a myriad of points. Draw whatever conclusions you can. Whether Kepler should have gone on his journey, what the intent of the mysterious man was, whether he should have ended the lives of those men or not. Endless possibilities in my opinion.”

It did have his mind turning a bit. He had never considered what it would be like to travel the regions outside of his own. When he had found Pip, he thought that would lead to the answers for the remaining questions for the ancient keys. But what if it demanded more? What if it required the impossible? He put it out of his mind. Interacting with Pip was far and wide enough action worthy of treason to his people.Traveling to their homeland was blot out his family name and be a death sentence to himself.

“Tell me about your home, Pip. You rarely, if ever, speak of it. How is it compared to here?”

“Wren, I shouldn’t. If they knew of the secrets to be revealed. I know they never considered I would live because they believed it an impossibility.”

“Maybe they misunderstand us then,” Wren replied. “What if we took you home? I could travel with you, learn about your people, and them about mine.”

“But why? Why do you care so much about these keys? The truth is plain and right in front of us. Just read any of these texts!”

“I don’t believe them,” He said in a low voice. “I don’t think your people are as evil as they lead us to believe. You are proof enough to me of that. I know Clea and Roram would agree with me. You are as intelligent as any Sapien.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, dear friend.” He pushed back his little cape as he hopped down from the desk.

“Would you still believe that if I told you I hold the legend of Kepler Vireo to be true?”

“True? Why in the Regions would you think that? Some of it was pure nonsense. He escaped far too easily, for one.”

“All stories have some embellishment, I’ll admit. I mean the buried key. I believe it exists and is waiting to be found.” He took a deep breath as he walked over to his cubby and sat. “One secret I will say. The histories are true. The war happened. But how it was caused is debated.”

“I see, one side claims the other started it. Never wanting to take the blame for ending a civilization.”

Pip looked at him with serious eyes. “Our stories say you stole something from us. When I came upon this ‘legend’, it suddenly came together. Your people no longer fear because you believe you cut yourself off from the rest of the world. It was only a matter of time until a tear in your dome appeared.”

“What dome? What are you talking about?” Wren asked as the information came spilling out. Pip was upset but not angry. Not with him.

“You live in a dome,” he repeated, “one made of a living organism, genetic material of the archaics.” There existed a sort of reverence in his eyes now.

“A what? A dome on Nidus? How does that even make sense?”

Pip sat back, now regretting his decision to reveal this information but fully realizing its necessity.

“We created the lattice shell that makes up what we called the Geodesic dome. The Sapiens took the idea for themselves for isolation. We used them on much smaller scales. For plants, animals, and similar applications. We used them to thrive and build, not to survive and hide. They create weather patterns that meet the demands of the organism that is to be contained. Yours,” he continued, “covers most of the continent and the islands therein. It is awfully impressive what you managed to create. The scale alone seemed impossible. But it’s true.”

Wren didn’t believe him. “That’s impossible. I can go outside right now and ask three, five, ten different Sapiens if they have heard of such a thing. They will all say no. How could that be? We are all living a lie, is that what you are suggesting?”

“No… and yes,” Pip concluded. “Not everything is a lie, with you its ultimate victim.”

“Then what am I to do with this information? I don’t believe you.”

“Truth does not need your belief to necessitate its existence. Do you think reality cares about such metrics? Does an ultimate power need to be believed in order that such a power may be granted?”

“Existence has a place in reality and the mind. I can’t invalidate the things you speak of, but I can influence its importance.”

“Therefore increasing or decreasing your ignorance to the thing at hand,” Pip concluded.

Wren pondered for moment the vastness of knowledge, seeing the logical flaws and truth in both of their reasonings. For him, witnessing something gave it value, gave it the weight of truth; without it, things could simply be claimed without the burden of revelation, a flaw in Pip’s argument. Yet, he could not argue that observation was the only requirement for truth. It was only part of it.

“This is in part true,” he admitted. “Maybe we were in agreement from the beginning. And maybe I am ignorant of the things you speak of. But remember that you came into our society, not the other way around. Truth looks different here.”

Pip seemed to understand this, perhaps why he pushed Wren to open his mind and see things in a way his people had long forgotten. In truth, there existed malevolence throughout the world the Sapiens could not comprehend, that they had closed themselves off from. Choosing isolation hadn’t made them safe, only more vulnerable. But such tales were unbelievable.