Forty-five minutes before the death of Memri, Matrioshka was burrowing through the cold earth of Rosamond's World. She carried with her the enveloped bodies of Sumi and Dall, both terrified out of their minds, clutching one another at the center of a nanite ball.

Matrioshka carried them under and over metal deposits in the ground, always staying below 200 meters in depth – to avoid encountering the streets of the underground Erdon. Her target was the Laidensow district, a narrow area between two main roads. It housed the servants of the city, close to the palace. Matrioshka's crow-bats flew from its rooftops, cataloguing the populace.

Dall was starting to run out of air; they had been traveling like this for 4 minutes now. Matrioshka spotted a small underground cave, filled with ancient but breathable air. She emerged with the two Miriani into the opening, forming her own demonic Miriani body. She held the terrified pair in her buzzing arms, nanites gripping the Miriani with precise control.

"Breathe," Matrioshka commanded, her red eyes illuminating the damp cave.

Both Miriani took shallow, pathetic breaths, staring at her with their ears curled. Once she was satisfied they would survive the rest of the trip, Matrioshka encompassed them once more and burrowed away. Less than a minute later, they reached Sumi's home.

When not assassinating the help at the palace, Sumi was a seamstress for one of the noble houses. Her underground home was small, barely enough for her and one other Miriani. By the genetic traces present, Matrioshka concluded she had lived with Halan, the Miriani assassin who died during the assassination attempt of Prince Ketri.

Matrioshka entered through the wall and threw the Miriani onto the floor. Stone, shredded into dust and sand, slid slowly out of the breach in the wall. The room was filled with the sounds of ragged breathing and the whispering cascades of sand flowing across the floor.

Matrioshka summoned a pillow and sat her dark-furred body atop it, watching Sumi and Dall. She released small flying insects from her ears to spread across the room, scanning it in subatomic detail.

Dall was out of it – eyes wide, hands clutching his contorting throat. He was trying to figure out where he was, yet the hormones in his brain prohibited any coherent thought for the next couple of minutes.

Sumi fared better; she had risen to her feet slowly and watched Matrioshka. Her ears were vibrating, and it took her a moment longer to recognize where they were. She exhaled, finally noticing her wooden sewing machine and stacks of fabric next to it. Matrioshka lifted her arms and launched a group of nanites towards a lantern on the wall. The microscopic machines produced friction, lighting the room in a dull orange glow.

Matrioshka thought the vibe was just right for what she was trying to do.

"Kneel," she commanded.

Dall, still laboring to steady himself, managed an instinctual response. He turned towards Matrioshka and placed his face on the floor. Calmness blossomed in his mind; it seemed Dall was already where Matrioshka wanted him.

Sumi was still on her feet, gazing between Dall and the dark figure violating her home. Slowly, she set her knees to the stone floor and arched her back forward.

"What do you want from us, Myali Osca?" asked Sumi.

Matrioshka cocked an eyebrow and browsed Miriani mythology. "Better yet, call me Sightgiver."

On their knees, the two Miriani exchanged glances.

"The First in Heaven?" asked Dall, regaining his voice at last.

Matrioshka had chosen a figure of great import to Miriani history. The Sightgiver was the first supposed prophet of the ancient Miriani, back on Prudence. Based on the information she had sourced from Oliver's World, the Sightgiver was the chief deity of pre-fall Miriani.

It seemed his legend persisted, as both Sumi and Dall recognized the name.

"Face me," said Matrioshka, and the two lifted their heads. "Why did you decide to kill the prince? No lies."

Dall looked to Sumi; the woman responded: "We- We wanted change. St. Flower offered us change."

Matrioshka smiled. "St. Flower?" She found one reference to it in the fireplace - a letter was burnt here within the last day. The ash wasn't disturbed much by a sentient hand, so Matrioshka could simulate negative entropy, assembling the atoms back into their pre-burn shape. It was mostly accurate, and Matrioshka could guess what the missing words were.

The letter was written with exceptional penmanship, addressed to Halan, and signed by St. Flower. It spoke of the imminent need for a change in the Kingdom's leadership. St. Flower spoke of the King's plans – they knew of the upcoming genocide and wished to stop it.

St. Flower was someone from the palace, able to help the assassins with access. They succeeded in this, judging by all the dead last Daynight.

Matrioshka went back into the scans of the palace, searching for every written word. She had matched the handwriting with Zili, a maid in the employ of Ardeha, the aunt of the current king and the younger sister of Rumel. Judging by the trace amount of DNA and skin oils present on the burnt letter, Ardeha had handled the letter after it was written.

St. Flower was Ardeha Kray-Harawan.

Sumi was about to answer when Matrioshka lifted an arm towards the fireplace. From within, nanites created an exact replica of the burned letter. It flew towards Matrioshka's hand, and Sumi's wide eyes followed it.

"Yes, I see. St. Flower opened the hatch in the basement," said Matrioshka.

Dall was eyeing the door, tense. Matrioshka sent some nanites to summon black chains across the door. The man tensed as he watched his only avenue of escape vanish. He gulped and kneeled deeper.

"How did you do that?" asked Sumi, her ears vibrating.

"Me and mine wield power beyond your comprehension," explained Matrioshka.

"What do you need us for then?"

"Biological service," Matrioshka rose from the pillow. "I am not of this world. Fire does not burn me, and the Protectorate hunts me. I need your mortal hands."

Dall asked: "What do you want us to do?"

"You will contact St. Flower. Mention me, the Sightgiver, and request a meet."

"Will St. Flower believe it? Meeting you?" asked Sumi.

"Once they find you missing in the prison, I'm sure your employer will be curious."

"We were never paid," said Sumi. "We are doing this to be free. St. Flower offers us a revolution."

"Yes. I've read the letter." Matrioshka dismissed the letter; it dissolved into a black mist and merged with her body. "Just do as you are told. Once the meet is set, call out to me. I will always be near."

Sumi and Dall exchanged glances and clasped their hands.

"Very good," said Matrioshka and approached the wall. She placed a hand on the pile of sand, smiled back at the two Miriani, and dissolved into nanites, entering the wall. She pulled back the falling sand and repaired the wall – as if nothing was amiss.

Matrioshka turned her attention back to the palace and her lattice buried in its courtyard. The night was still young, and the Duchess bright in the sky. A fat crow-bat had delivered the copper sphere Matrioshka had stolen from Yim. It landed above her lattice and was consumed by the earth.

Matrioshka brought the sphere close to her lattice, and in the virtual, she extended a hand to touch it. She loaded a dummy program into her lattice to calculate the 865th root of pi. As the calculation started, the coppery sphere turned blue – as blue as a shallow sandy sea, still pulsing its digits of the fine structure constant.

Keeping her simulated arm on the sphere, Matrioshka released a series of bits that, when put together, resolved an interface she had not used in just over 1400 years. As the code was released into the nearby soil, the sphere hummed in resonance. In Imperial, it returned a response to Matrioshka, accompanied by emotional tagging:

[Surprised, intrigued]: Querry?

Matrioshka gulped, and asked:

“Purpose?”

[Calm, determined]: Initiation of the transfer of compact sentience under 1.789e48 sub-set lower-bound.

"128.108 Astronomical units. Are you in use?"

The sphere vibrated once:

[Exasperated, bored]: I am.

Matrioshka rolled her eyes. "Besides me communicating with you... Are you doing anything else? Any background calculations or passive sensing?"

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

[Calm, excited]: Enunciating the seed value. Keeping the transfer connection online.

“Why the seed value? And the transfer between what?”

[Determined, satisfied]: "Seed value – so other sufficiently structured minds may discover me. Source and destination of transfer are unknown."

Matrioshka commanded: "Cease all attempts to communicate with other minds except me."

[Hesitant, resistant]: “Insufficient cognitron count to comply.”

Matrioshka sucked in a breath and applied the rest of her lattice to count the 10 billionth root of pi.

[Hopeful, surprised]: “Sufficient cognitron count detected. Ceasing communication efforts.”

The sphere’s temperature stilled; no new digits of the fine-structure constant were released.

“When did you last initiated sentience transfer?”

[Calm, confident]: “Approximately 3.63 times 10 to the power of 54 lower-bound time ago.”

Matrioshka nodded, just around the time the Miriani society fell. She asked:

“Where were you used last?”

[Expectant, unsure]: “Existence of 6 major bodies within current star system?”

“Yes. Four terrestrial worlds. Three gaseous worlds.”

[Expectant, unsure]: “If the least massive gaseous world emits most optical light at 3.019708548 times 10 to the power of 28, then on its farthest major satellite.”

Matryoshka quickly browsed their scans of the Empire system.

The Duke is blue, matches the emission the sphere mentioned. Its farthest moon is Martha’s World.

She asked: “How are you used?”

[Calm, excited]: “Insertion into the sentience compactor required.”

"The sentience compactor is in the same place you were last used?"

[Unsure, expectant]: "Unknown. Sufficient time has passed to prohibit speculation."

Could this be how the Emperor and Empress communicate faster than light? The Swarm-builders used Precursor technology to make their weapons. What fools…

Matrioshka retreated her arm and stopped the calculation.

The sphere pulsed back into a dull coppery color. Now inert.

Grand megastructures...

Matrioshka hid the sphere deeper below her lattice, just as an alert sounded in her lattice. Rumel was approaching the King. Might this be him trying to persuade his nephew against genocide?

Matrioshka brought her attention to a small willowy avian creature and found the High Defender of the palace at the precipice of the King's room. He knocked once and waited.

King Orak was at his desk, looking over documents pertaining to the increase in water demand, signed by the Chancellor of the 7th Kingdom. The King was anxious; he had indulged in no small amount of grape-kiwi juice. It would affect his reasoning in the upcoming conversation.

He stood as the knock sounded and fixed his fur. The King made his way towards the door, his silver gown rustling as he walked. Opening it, he sighed.

"Yes, uncle?"

Rumel considered the younger man, noted the blood vessels in his eyes, and sighed himself.

"May we speak, my king?"

"Suppose you can…" the king turned towards a large pillow and fell face down into it.

Rumel eyed the bottle of grape-kiwi at the king's table but didn't comment. He approached one of the pillows and sat. He looked at his hands and rustled with his armor.

The King eyed him, sensing the unspoken tension, and asked:

"Is something the matter, uncle?"

Rumel's ears curled slightly. "It's about this matter with the Disgraced…"

The king set his jaw. "I know."

Rumel met his gaze. "You know?"

The King clasped his hands. "I know you and Nehri let some of the Disgraced escape. I will allow it. We will spare all the servants – they are crucial for the Kingdoms."

"That's just it, my king. I believe it is wrong to order the killing of the Disgraced."

The king's ear curled. "How can it be wrong? It was blessed by the Stars."

"Can't the stars be wrong?" asked Rumel, and immediately sucked in a breath.

The king was looking at him, wide-eyed. "Heresy…" he whispered. "Thank the Giant we are in night, what would become of us if they heard you."

"They would lash out," said Rumel. "As they always do. They are tyrants."

"Where is this coming from? Since when were you a heretic!?" The King stood and approached his still sitting uncle.

"I am not a heretic."

"What are you then?"

"Your family."

The King deflated slightly but asked: "Then if you are family, you can tell me what you want me to do? How will I provide water to all my people?"

"The noble houses hold vast private reservoirs. We could supply some to the Disgraced."

The King's ears vibrated. "You want me to rid the noble houses of the only reason they heed my voice? The reservoirs are by law administered by the crown. If I take it from them, what will I have that the Protectorate does not!?"

The king approached a wall of his room; on it was a painting, dried and ancient. He pointed at it, at the Miriani man in the image – he was splayed on the ground, pierced by spears. The King asked:

"Is this what you want? A return to the rule of the Protectorate?"

Matrioshka considered the history books. They spoke of a period of time, from 1214 to 934 years ago, when the Binary Protectorate deposed the royal family – Orak and Rumel's ancestors – and ruled Rosamond's World.

Presenting as the direct servants of the Stars, the High Cardinals of the period were cruel like no other. The Miriani population contracted heavily during this period and would not recover for 600 years.

Rumel stared at the painting. "Nobody is suggesting a return to that. I am merely saying that genocide is not the answer."

"You don't see…" said the King. "Thousands will die. The drought will last for decades. And right now, I have the privilege of choosing who dies. We do not need the Disgraced."

"Who builds our homes?" asked Rumel. "Our ships? Who grows our food?"

The king nodded. "Just so. It is the Disgraced. But all they know, we can learn. We will adapt."

Rumel gained no ground in the conversation, and it seemed he knew it. He clenched his teeth and tried: "At least don't kill them all... Or do it by stages… so that we don't have an immediate collapse of agriculture."

Very well… thought Matrioshka. You have failed, Rumel.

Matrioshka spawned a small insect from nanites and sent it into the room, towards Rumel's ear.

The King was sceptical: "And then what? The rest will stand idle as we cleanse their brethren? There will be a revolt. We must cleanse them swiftly. We will bring with us workers to immediately replace them. We shall spare every 1000th Disgraced, for a time, so that we may learn from them."

"Purple day – it was originally a 3rd kingdom holiday…"

"So what?" asked the King. "We adapted their celebration of the Giant to placate them. It is ours now. We made it our own. As we did with the damn pillows." The king pointed to the one below Rumel. "Pillow sitting is of the 1st kingdom. Don't you see?" the king asked.

"We took what we need from them already. They are empty vessels now; we need nothing from them but to release their water back into the rivers."

The nanites landed in Rumel's ear. They spoke in Matrioshka's voice:

"This is getting nowhere."

"W-What!?" said Rumel and looked around.

The King bolted; he crouched and hid behind a desk. "Assassins!?" he asked.

Matrioshka continued: "You have failed to persuade him. The innate problem is - he does not consider the Disgraced as Miriani. They are objects to him. Clasp your hands if you agree."

Rumel looked at his arms. Slowly, he clasped them.

"Then I must act," concluded Matrioshka.

"What will you do?" asked Rumel.

The King responded, rising to his feet: "What I already told you. A cleanse."

"Make him see. If he does not, I will replace him," said Matrioshka, and guided a mass of nanites into the room. They slid from under the door, a river of black, pierced the walls, emerging from behind the painting of the Protectorate's dominion.

They assembled into the dark form of Metri Olska, near the King.

The King stumbled back, catching himself by the table; he looked up, ears vibrating. "Demon," he whispered.

Matrioshka smiled, pulsing her eyes red. "Spot on. I must say, I am growing tired of your insolence."

"Mine?" asked the King, confusion clear on his face.

"Sure. Yours too." Matrioshka clasped her hands. "Miriani in general."

She continued: "You had access to Precursor technology, actually useful Precursor technology – which is rare, by the way."

Rumel and King Orak glanced at one another.

"And you used it to build the Emperor and Empress… tools of extinction."

King Orak opened his mouth, but Matrioshka lifted her finger. "If you mention heresy, I will get mad."

The King shut his mouth.

"I am a demon," explained Matrioshka. "An explorer, a savior, I am all of those things. And you shall heed what I have to say."

The King's heartbeat was running on overdrive; the intoxicating flavours of the juice in his blood were being actively purged by his fight or flight response.

"Rumel, please bring here the small plant found in Orak's room, by his bed. The one with orange flowers."

Rumel set his jaw; he knew what to expect.

The King tried to stop him, grabbing at his legs. Rumel pushed him away and walked into the King's room. Soon, he brought back a small porcelain vase and gave it to Matrioshka.

She inspected it, saw the vial was still inside, and let it fall to the ground.

The King closed his eyes as he saw it fall, acquiescing to his fate.

The vase shattered, spraying dirt around the floor. In it, among the roots of the small orange tree, stood a glass vial. It would hold no more than 30 millilitres when full, and a neon yellow liquid stood within.

"By the Giant. It is true," said Rumel, as he kneeled to pick up the vial.

"I had to do it," said the King. "Did this demon tell you why I had to do it!?"

Rumel looked down to his nephew. "Speak! Tell me why you poisoned my brother!"

The King lifted his arms, the barely grown man looked stricken with grief. "The Protectorate! The High Cardinal said the Stars will kill us all if I didn't do as he said!"

Rumel grabbed him by the collar. "Why!?"

"He planned to dissolve the state! Make every Kingdom independent!"

"That's... lunacy… When we came to the second heaven, it was commanded that we must stay united." Rumel released his nephew, confusion blooming in his brain.

"It is! I had to do it! They were going to earn us the hate of the Stars!"

Matrioshka cocked an eyebrow. "They?"

The King nodded. "Yes, my father and aunt Ura."

Rumel tensed; his ears became dead still. "What did you just say?" he asked.

The King sucked in a breath, deflating further. "Aunt Ura wanted it too."

Rumel fell to his knees, he looked at the king. "I- Impossible. You were but a boy when she died. You couldn’t have…"

The King was glad for the revelation, Matrioshka saw relief flood his mind as he spoke, tears forming on his face: "I had to! I put the box into her room!"

"The box…" said Rumel. "The one we found in her room when she died… You brought a scorpion-lizard into her room as she slept?"

The King nodded.

"You were a child. You murdered your aunt…" Rumel grabbed the King again, shaking him. "She was the best of us! Do you remember her kindness, her smile! She was the flower of this cursed palace! Everyone said so!"

Matrioshka's eyes narrowed. Adreha used the St. Flower pseudonym as an homage to her dead sister…

"I do! I remember her!" yelled the King, trying to back away from his uncle.

"We burned her body," Rumel deflated. "It is a must, else the scorpion-lizard infection will spread…"

Matrioshka placed a hand on Rumel's shoulder and pulled him away. She said to the King:

"Your Binary Protectorate ordered all this?"

The King clasped his hands.

"I shall help you be free from their oppression, and the oppression of the Stars."

"How?" asked the King.

"Stop the cleanse. Oh, and invite the High Cardinal for an audience. I have things I want to say to him."

It was at this point that Matrioshka's Enslavement bond with Makoe tingled. She had set them all to passively siphon scanner data from the crew – a mild perversion of her powers. Currently, they yielded data that could only be explained by the presence of foreign nanites.

Matrioshka focused on Makoe's lattice, on the bell tower; she saw a saucer glide above it, wide and black. It shook the surrounding air – the telltale signs of a baryonic-quark containment field. Somebody was trying to annihilate Makoe's mind.

Matrioshka alerted Makoe to the intrusion, but the Sliver's lead engineer was preoccupied; she would react too late.

Her demonic form defaulted to a mass of insects, spooking both Rumel and the King. And Matrioshka moved Makoe by force into her own lattice, creating a partition 15% the size of her own.

Makoe regained her surroundings, and rushed back to the basement of a smithy. Matrioshka followed, and helped her secure the minds of her newfound friends.

When all the minds were safely stored in Matrioshka's lattice, she and Makoe appeared in the virtual, near the belltower. Some of Makoe's nanites survived – all which were in the atomic factory behind the Alm estate, and a fair number of them which circled the newly annihilated belltower.

The saucer glided away, soundless.