The Wheel of Fortune is associated with change, but it’s never easy. Often a bit of guidance is necessary to help you along the right path – Madam Tobin’s Guide to Tarot Cards

Operation Menu: Phase Lunch (D+10 hours)

A young boy with tousled blond hair sprinted along a meandering dirt path, the earth crunched beneath his feet. The sky above cast a hazy pink hue, painting the horizon, as the largest of the twin suns settled behind a distant mountain.

Swinging gently from a worn leather strip fastened to his belt, two well-loved books accompanied him on his journey. Breathless, he paused atop a gentle hill, his chest rising and falling as he inhaled the crisp air. Gazing downward, his eyes locked onto a towering figure, a man whose height rivaled the very doorframes of the nearby cabin he stood next to. Eagerly, the boy's hand shot up, his fingers cutting through the air in an enthusiastic wave.

From the stout stone chimney of the man's dwelling, a thin tendril of black smoke spiraled upward, blending with the rosy tint of the sky. This single wisp of darkness, like an artist's brushstroke, swirled around and around.

The man's face lit up with a broad smile as he returned the boy's wave, his massive hands gingerly placed a hammer and chisel on a nearby workbench. The man had the same dishwater blonde hair which had a slight curl but with the addition of a few streaks of grey.

With a burst of speed, the boy's excitement propelled him down the path, his voice ringing out in shouts, 'Papa! Papa!'

The distance between them closed rapidly, and the anticipation built in both their hearts. As the boy reached for his father's open arms, the world seemed to pause in a perfect moment of connection. The father's embrace enveloped the child, a warm cocoon of affection that squeezed away any worries and filled them both with a deep sense of belonging and love.

The boy's laughter echoed in the chill air, as the father spun him around in a circle before finally putting him down gently.

“And what has your rockets all fired up, Lil’ T?” his father asked.

“Papa,” he said as he caught his breath. “I not only passed my math test, but I got the highest grade in the class.”

T.C.'s fingers danced between his books, written on the spines “Geometry” and “Macroeconomics”. With a purposeful pull, he extracted a slightly crinkled paper that had nestled itself amidst the pages of the math book. Swiftly, he presented it to his father, who took it with a curious look.

His father's eyes roamed over the paper's contents, the creases on his forehead deepening as he absorbed the words. His father’s face, was emotionless as his eyes went over the paper. T.C. stood there, his gaze bouncing between his father's expressions and the notes inked on the side.

Amidst his father's contemplation, T.C.'s gaze never left him, his heart swelling with anticipation. And then it happened – a slow rub of his father's chin. As his father's eyes lowered to meet his own, a triumphant grin spread across T.C.'s face.

The words formed a hesitant procession on T.C.'s lips, his voice carrying both excitement and uncertainty.

“It’s just like you said Papa, study hard and believe in yourself because…ummm,” T.C. said, but was looking up at the sky hoping he would remember the rest.

"If you don't believe in yourself, who will?" his father said with a soft chuckle and a blend of warmth and familiarity. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

The absence of his mother was felt, yet her spirit seemed to swirl in the spaces between their hearts.

T.C.'s steps led him to a well-worn workbench. His fingers grazed the surface of a pristine block of marble, tracing the lines etched by pencil.

The silent language exchanged between father and son found its natural conclusion as the father, with the grace of a Mason revealing a hidden treasure, rotated the marble block. As the stone pivoted, an intricate carving adorned the once-concealed side, a testament to the artistry that had been cultivated within these walls.

T.C.'s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening like he was woken up from a long hibernation.

"That's Mama!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and emotion.

In response, his father's lips curved into a knowing smile, a glint of light in his gaze. He reached for a cloth, its fibers bearing the memories of countless polishing rituals, and began to gently wipe away the residual dust that had settled on the newly revealed masterpiece.

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"Papa?" T.C.'s voice held a curiosity. "Wouldn't it be easier to let the Auto Quarry Bot handle this? It could finish the task in no time, right?"

The father's hand passed through T.C.’s hair, tousling it up to match his unkempt hair. Then, with a measured grace, he knelt, his eyes meeting T.C. at eye level.

"Indeed, my young apprentice," he replied, his voice carried. "We could surrender to the swiftness of automation, relinquish the labor to the Quarry Grinder's mechanical embrace."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air, each syllable carefully chiseled into T.C.’s thoughts.

"But" he continued, his gaze unwavering, "the act of shaping the stone by your own hand, of imprinting your spirit upon it, holds a significance beyond pushing a few buttons. In this realm of life our family has built monuments and buildings across the great empire, and with each strike of the hammer and chisel you and transforming this block into something greater than what it was. It's important that you never give up trying to improve yourself."

T.C. stared back and blinked a few times and back at the stone.

“I just need to tell you more thing, son,” Papa said.

“What’s that?”

“Wake up,” he said.

T.C. blinked his eyes again, struggling to pierce through the veil of disorientation that clung to his senses. Gradually, the fog lifted, revealing a dimly illuminated cave that seemed to wrap around him like a shroud. Lying on his back, he could feel the cool, rough texture of the cave wall against his skin, its uneven surface offering an unsteady support.

With an effort, he attempted to shift his arm, only to be met with a searing jolt of pain that shot through his body. It was as if his muscles were bound by invisible chains, protesting any movement with fiery dissent. His breath caught in his throat, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling within him.

Amidst the echoes of his labored breaths, a presence seemed to hover nearby. He felt warm puffs of air grazing the side of his face, and as his gaze turned, he encountered a pair of eyes – orbs that gleamed like polished obsidian in the dimness.

As T.C. peered into those abyssal depths, the creature before him revealed itself in fragments. Its form materialized gradually – a massive shape looming in the shadows, its contours defined by subtleties in the cave's ambient light. The creature's head, crowned with those arresting eyes, was crowned with tufts of fur that danced in the dim light.

Before T.C. could react, the creature's tongue darted out, its wet warmth brushing against his cheek.

“Triumph?” T.C. asked, spitting the dog slobber from his lips.

“Uhh yeah?” Triumph replied.

“What…happened?” T.C. asked.

“You got hit with a concussion bomb and fell a vent shaft,” Triumph said licking the side of his face again.

T.C. wiped the drool from his face with his hand, he realized it didn’t hurt as much as before.

“Whisper and Indigo?” asked T.C.

“Dunno’ lost’em when I jumped in after you.”

“Probably cause of all this stupid iron,” T.C. said and reached under his rear and pulled out a rock that was poked him. “I don’t even know why Boss Kitty wants this stupid pit anyway.”

Triumph began to emit a glow, a mix of greenish and white light. A soothing sensation enveloped T.C. and caused the tension in his muscles to melt away.

Feeling reinvigorated, T.C. tried to get back on his feet, but Triumph said, "Wait till you are healed k’," and tugged at his jacket.

“I have to go and try to help everyone,” protested T.C. “This was my mission, I planned it and now failed everyone.”

“Sure, but wait till you are healed up, k’” Triumph said.

Grumbling T.C. sat back down and Triumph began to glow brightly again. He placed his head on his hands and sighed.

“I…got Heather and Tauru killed. They are probably going to be so mad at me,” he said.

T.C. felt a pit in his stomach, which became heavier as he took a breath.

“I was so useless I couldn’t even help Indigo and Whisper,” T.C. said as his eyes began to swell with tears.

“I…let down Boss Kitty who was convinced that I would take this cursed mine,” he continued as tears ran down the side of his face. “And I had to be saved by a dog.”

Triumph stopped glowing and nuzzled him with his large snout.

“No offense,” T.C. said petting the dog.

“None takin’, now rest and giv’ your old bones a chance to knit,” Triumph said as T.C. rubbed behind his ears. “I got a sumptin’ ta’ tell you about this same exact situation. It wasn’t dat’ long ago when…”

The dog's voice trickled forth, a leisurely stream of sound that flowed without urgency, casting a lulling spell on T.C. As he gazed into the heart of the cave, the flickering light danced across his vision, a distant rhythm matched the beating of his own heavy heart.

The chill from the iron mine seeped into T.C.'s clothes, tendrils of cold that wound around him like a gentle embrace. Oddly enough, this coldness brought a strange comfort, a sensation of being hugged in the earth's protective grasp. The cave's walls shielded him from the world beyond and the mechanized monstrosity.

His thoughts wandered to the last time he was in a cave and was fighting for survival.

Caught between the hypnotic cadence of the dog's voice and the intermittent hum of the flickering light, T.C. felt the pull of slumber. Yet, he hesitated, reluctant to offend Triumph by succumbing to sleep. Instead, he chose to surrender his eyes to darkness for a fleeting moment, a brief respite that he hoped would keep his weary mind awake.

***