Before I can even fully comprehend what’s happening, there is a hundred-foot-wide semicircle of people girdling both the stage and a stack of shaking cages.

A familiar person walks up with a smirk on their face—Owl. “Oh, Miss Nightingale, don’t look so stiff. Loosen up a little; you’re a star amongst little fireflies!” Owl walks up the stage’s small staircase with his moving picture, ‘camera’ device. Pointing the camera’s eye at me, he flexes his muscles, declaring, “Now shine, Miss Nightingale! Shine for the little fireflies watching!”

‘Star amongst little fireflies? Shine?’ I stare at the swarms of people and then shake my head. ‘Nay, Owl! I am the littlest firefly!’

“If you’re unable to see, there are three screens set to the north, south, and east that our masked volunteer here will be streaming,” Dennis says, pointing at Owl.

Glancing at me, Owl flips the camera’s eye onto himself and waves at it.

Dennis laughs. “Ah, he’s a man that’s at home both in front and behind the camera!”

Owl reorientates his camera but faces it away from both of us. “Miss Nightingale, I know you’re probably nervous, and I won’t say it’s a low-stress situation, but there’s wonderful natural energy in the air right now.”

Once again, I shake my head. His lips purse as he thinks, and a tiny smirk spreads across his face.

Stepping down the stage, Owl whispers something to Dennis, who nods.

“We’re gonna give Fairy just a moment to prepare, but once she’s ready, we’ll get this show on the road.”

Owl rushes back over and blocks the crowds’ view of me. “Listen, Miss Nightingale,” he removes a small metal trinket that’s in the shape of an owl. In the middle of this trinket is a tiny wheel that Owl spins with his thumb. As he does so, the owl trinket’s eyes open and close. “This is a little fidget device I made years ago. Hold it and spin the little wheel; it can help distract your nerves.”

Nodding, I take it and spin the little wheel, making the trinket’s eyes shut.

I point at the trinket and then Owl’s mask. “Why dost thou fancy owls?” I ask, writing on a sticky note.

“It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the quick version.” He peeks behind him to make certain that everyone is distracted with their discussions before continuing, “When I was a boy, I grew up in a remote area with grandparents that had very little love left to give anyone or anything for that matter. A childhood starved for love and affection inevitably led to me suffering from horrible anxiety. I still have the occasional nervous fidget, which is why I carry the owl statuette. Still, I found some traces of happiness in life, one such trace being an owl that would perch on my window seal every night….”

Feeling Sir Mouser’s presence near my kiln, I nod at Owl and then write, “Aye. I can understand finding joy in such things.”

Expecting Owl to finish his story there, he instead continues, “...But one late night, it never appeared. With my typical routine disrupted, I suddenly realized I hadn’t heard the footsteps of my grandparents on the floors above in over a week. It was then, in that remote place dozens of miles from anyone, I heard something….”

My head tilts.

“The faraway whine of something whimpering in the woodlands.” Owl pauses. “...After a few nights of listening to the noise, I decided to investigate.”

I shake my head. “Why wouldst thou do that? Art thou insane?” I write in messy letters.

He shrugs. “I was pretty hungry at this point, so I decided it was all I could do. So, after deciding to do that, I went into the attic, grabbed an old polaroid camera, and went into the woods. Even as I walked deeper, the whines never grew any louder… Except eventually, I came across a misshapen hole in the side of a peculiar mound of clay. I raised my camera and took a picture and then stepped forward, planning to investigate the small hole.”

My pen nearly breaks as I scratch the words, “That’s the worst idea that has ever graced my ears!”

“Well, I never actually went in, Miss Nightingale.”

Without realizing it, my hand moves to my chest. ‘Thank the lord Sir Mouser! There appears to be at least an iota of good sense left in this world.’ I notice Owl’s face, turning a little pale, and I realize something. I ask, “Out of curiosity, didst thou see something within the camera’s portrait?”

His eyes shivering, Owl chuckles and waves his hand. “No, of course not! Far, far too dark for that old rinky-dink camera!”

My own eyes narrow, but Owl has already moved on.

“The reason I didn’t go in was that at some point between the flash and me walking forward, I heard an ‘ooh.’ Somehow, without me noticing, the owl that would always come to my window seal had placed itself between me and that hole.”

From behind me, I hear Lincoln sigh and murmur to himself, “I wanted to know what was inside.”

Owl continues, “Something about how that owl watched me was both calming and understandable like it knew everything, and all I needed to do was follow. So that’s precisely what I did.”

“And then?” I write, worried he may end the story short.

“...I’m not sure how long I followed it, but it was at least a few days. I witnessed many things during my time following that owl, several things I never want to remember again….” His face recovers its usual color, and he smiles. “And several I dream of every day.”

As I am about to ask about the latter, he holds up a finger.

“Sorry, Miss Nightingale, that’s the long version. So, I’ll just tell you the ending, okay?”

My shoulders slump as I nod. ‘Fine… The ending shall do, I suppose.’

“Well, after seeing all those things, I walked out of the forest and found myself at the edge of a bustling metropolis. It was the first time I had ever seen the city, so I stared at it in awe…But then the bushes behind me shook, and I nearly jumped out of my own skin!”

I nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“From the bushes, two other young people that I still know to this day walked out—an absentminded Rabbit and a remarkably shy Wolf.”

‘That’s how he met those two; they simply walked out of bushes!?’

“After that, time passed in blinks. I’ll confess, our relationship was rocky at first, but ultimately, the three of us found our place in the world at each other’s sides.”

I peek at Terra nearby.

Glancing back, Owl motions toward the immense crowd. “And right now, Miss Nightingale, all those people behind me are roaming their own personal forests, and they’re in need of an owl….”

My eyes drift to the quill, resting on the table in front of me, that simply reads, ‘The Fairy’s voice.’

“Ready to go?” Owl asks.

I spin the owl trinkets wheel and then write, “Aye, I thank thee for thy story. It has eased my own anxieties a tad.”

Nodding, Owl takes a few steps back and points the camera at me.

My eyes drift across the countless faces and then to a piece of paper filled with names. I take the quill and write, “I thank thee for thy patience, Pilgrims. If thou art still here, then thou hast remained resolute and resolved to stay, knowing that there shan’t be a reliable way to leave Manhattan after today.“

A man in the front raises his arms, faces the sky, and yells in a booming voice, “We ain’t no namby-pamby runaways, are we Pilgrims!?”

Hearing the man’s words, thunderous applause breaks out as the crowd claps and pats one another on the back.

Minutes pass before the crowd calms down enough that I can write, “And to aid thou, we shall bestow three powerful tools upon thou: knowledge, preparedness, and information coherence. To do that, Dennis and Director Waltzmen of the BDP shall take over until the top three contenders in the quest are secured and prepared to be judged. Prithee, pay close attention to each and every insect Dennis and Director Waltzmen show thee. The information that shall be conferred to thou today might be the difference between life and death tomorrow.”

Not words, but the crunch of thousands of feet adjusting their footing answers as all hundred thousand people face Dennis and an older man in spectacles, Director Waltzmen.

Time passes as the BDP Director takes the people through the dozens of creatures that have been collected over the past fortnight. “This creature was captured by two Pilgrims named Savannah and Elliot, and the BDP has formally classified it a ‘Savelli Grub.’”

People talk over Director Waltzmen, so Dennis says into the speaking device, “For the people babbling over the Director, it’s called a Savelli Grub if you didn’t catch that.”

Director Waltzmen nods and then holds the wiggling Savelli Grub higher. “And don’t forget! Since one of our aims is to standardize and systematize information, in other words, information coherence, try to remember their names, okay folks? It’s vital that we can all communicate information to one another in a productive and efficient manner.”

This continues while Chance, who left our booth, and others from Pilgrim Hill Schematics assemble three steel enclosures around the largest three cages. ‘...I pray that I am not meant to pay Chance for all their services. Though Chance said I should not thank them, perhaps another greater token for all they have done for me is in order.’

When several more minutes elapse, Director Waltzmen backs into the crowd while Dennis takes a step back, allowing a familiar man in military attire to step forward.

“Now, guys, this is United States General George P. Riddick,” Dennis says, introducing the second speaker of the day. “General Riddick is here with the blessing of Fairy as well as… the Mistress!” whispers spread through the crowd. Taking a few more steps back, Dennis nods. “Indeed, the rumors are true; there is a mysterious Tower Mistress. Now General Riddick.”

Owl points his camera at General Riddick. “Hello, as the gentleman stated, I am General Riddick, formally listed under the U.S. Army.”

The crowd’s murmurs fade, and numerous people’s expressions harden.

“I’ll begin by stating that I’m not in Manhattan to enforce the mandatory draft of awakened individuals that was announced several weeks back. If you aren’t aware, President McCracken has exempted Anchorage, New York City, Jersey City, and various municipalities from the draft. So for now, everyone here has been released from that burden.” As the expressions loosen, General Riddick glances at me before then continuing, “At this time, I’m here to make everyone conscious of and vigilant of a fungal infection circulating within the northernmost region of Manhattan Island.”

The murmurs resume as people say things like:

“Fungal infection? Are we supposed to know about this?”

“Another disease; why the fuck is it always a disease?”

“I-it’s not another Crawler virus, is it?”

“To answer some of the questions I’m hearing, I’ll say the fungal infection does not utterly mutate or reshape people, like the Crawler virus that devastated Anchorage. However, it does exhibit some comparable symptoms.”

The whispers take on traces of panic while growing more turbulent.

Ignoring this, General Riddick continues, “The Army has been holding back the tide of this fungal infection, but it has been challenging. We’ve found that part of the challenge stems from the fact that people are ignorant of what’s occurring.”

“Wait, wait, y-you said it was comparable to the Crawler virus,” one woman in the crowd shouts. “So tell us, what does it do? What are the symptoms?”

“I’ll explain what I’m able to.” General Riddick raises a hand. “So please, be patient and allow me a moment to get there.”

The woman crosses her arms and nods.

“First of all, this is an issue where if everything goes well, no one here will ever have to face the infection.” General Riddick drops his hand and glances over the crowd. “If everyone recalls the creatures that attacked the Fairy a little over a month ago, then you’ll have a basic understanding of what the fungus looks like because those creatures were infected with it.”

Hundreds of jaws open as many recall the writhing roots that budded from the Wretched and Elderly Rat’s bodies.

“As for the symptoms, they’ll manifest in the following order: itchy eyes and coughing, forgetfulness, small orange bumps on the nape of the neck, difficulty speaking, tuber growth, high levels of aggression, loss of awareness, and ultimately, a compulsion to contaminate anything nearby.” General Riddick lifts a finger and, emphasizing his words, says, “Everything I’m about to say from this moment forward is of tremendous importance. It’s absolutely vital to help guarantee the safety of both yourself and everyone around you.”

He allows the fidgeting people time to prepare their writing utensils.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Raising his hand and extending all five of his digits, he begins counting down. “Number one, do not, under any circumstances, go north of West 178th Street in the Washinton Heights area. Number two, if you or anyone you know develops orange bumps, quarantine and have an uninfected person report it immediately. Number three, do not, under any circumstances, consume any mushrooms or funguses, at all, until further notice. Number four, do not consume nor approach any food, trees, or carcasses showing signs of mushrooms or tubers, resembling those you might find on a potato—leave the area and report anything like this. Number five, do not, under any circumstances, approach someone who has displayed symptoms of tuber growth including family and friends.”

There’s a hushed stillness.

A few seconds later, the crowd begins to whisper amongst one another, that whisper becomes arguing, and the arguing becomes yelling.

Split in half, one side shouts something along the lines of, “This is the kind of thing we should have been alerted of before it became impossible for us to leave!”

While the other shouts back some resembling, “How many times does the Fairy have to warn you before you understand!?”

Bickering ensues as General Riddick shouts, “Quiet down, and I’ll answer what questions I can.”

The arguing only grows louder. He stands there for a moment, yet the crowd never quiets down, but rather, some people threaten to become violent.

Shaking his head, General Riddick turns, waves at me, and walks away.

My eyes narrow.

I lift my quill and write, “Very well done, Pilgrims. Thine chances of future prosperity are now smaller.”

Owl swings his camera toward me.

Hearing the Fairy’s Voice echo across the park, everyone turns to find General Riddick has taken a seat next to Terra on the stage.

“H-hey, wait! You can’t just walk away without telling us anything more!?” someone in the crowd shouts.

“The honorable General has said all that he deemed necessary. What has been lost is the chance to inquire with him further. Any additional information or dangerous areas will be posted on the bulletin board near the Falconer statue on Frisbee Hill.” Glancing up, I find that the enclosures have been fully erected around the three cages. “We shall now move on.”

Smiling, Owl resumes aiming the camera at Dennis.

{Wow, Constance, that was… assertive. I like it,} Terra remarks in my head.

{Because I wanted to hear more. General Riddick would not give us the full details, so I hoped social pressure might goad him into revealing more. Yet the Pilgrims ruined it by bickering, and... it’s simply frustrating!}

Raising his hand, Dennis begins moving things forward. “Alright, you all heard the Fairy; it’s time for us to move onto the main event.” He points at the large cages, and the people quiet down. “These are the beasts narrowed down by the BDP as the top three. It will ultimately be the Fairy’s responsibility to pick the most ‘interesting’ as the quest specified, but I’ll ask for a show of hands after each creature is shown. Sound good, everybody?”

Everyone nods.

Waving at two people in the crowd, Dennis continues, “Then first we have a creature from Nyle Olsen, the Head of Orm’s Finite Scale, and Belladonna Ladock, an outside representative of Winter’s Eternal Brotherhood.”

Nyle and a woman, Belladonna, in a coat and cowl that shrouds her face, walk out side by side. The coat and cowl is the standard dress amongst Winter’s Eternal Brotherhood, so it’s not surprising that their representative is outfitted much the same way.

Belladonna raises a hand stiffly while Nyle simply nods at the crowd.

Dennis holds the speaking device close to Belladonna. “Sooo, Belladonna, can you tell us the name of this creature before it’s allowed to leave its cage?

“I wanted to name it Carline,” Belladonna says in a soft voice. She pauses and then points at Nyle. “He said he wanted to name it something unpronounceable instead, so we named it Carlin.”

Nyle yells something, but the crowds’ laughing drowns him out.

“And why did you choose the name Carline?”

Belladonna leans close and, in a cold voice, says, “I vaguely recall having a friend by the name Carlin. For some reason, the creature reminds me of her.”

“Alright, then Carlin, wherever you may be, this one was named in your honor, and I suspect it’s going to be beautiful,” Dennis declares with a laugh.

Someone pulls a string, unlocking the cage door with a creak.

There’s a crunch as the creature steps out of the cage and into the snow.

I tilt my head.

The creature oddly has the appearance of a woman cloaked in sheets of pure white cloth that flutter in the wintertime breeze. If it was not for its disproportionately long arms, I would believe myself the victim of trickery.

Without sparing even a slight glance toward anyone else, the creature faces me, stops moving, and stares. A thick plume of hot air exudes from an opening near where a person’s head might be found.

‘Mayhaps this creature should be redesignated the ‘Extremely Rude Carlin.’’ I cross my arms. ‘Dost thou concur, Sir Mouser?’

Sir Mouser, of course, concurs.

“Yeah, so… Nyle or Belladonna, could one of you tell us more about this uhm… I-I guess what I want to ask is...” Dennis scrutinizes the creature’s arms for a moment and then questions, “This isn’t just some dudette you paid to hide under a bedsheet, is it? I mean, is it literally Carlin under there?”

As the crowd is about to laugh once more, the ‘bedsheet’ open as if they are wings, revealing a hideous creature underneath. A distorted pigeon-like figure, boils that resemble craters, black feathers along its body, a smashed bird beak, and the underside of its wings studded with feathery needles. It wails, sending shivers through the crowd before then closing its wings and returning to its blanket-like state.

“A-ah.” Dennis inspects the pale face of the crowd. When the cries of the children in the crowd start to build in strength, Dennis coughs and says, “Well, I think we’ve all seen more than enough of Carline… How do we get it to go back into its cage and never come out again?”

Nyle leans close to the speaking device. “Go in? We caught it by chance, using a smoked turkey as bait.” Rolling his eyes, he continues, “You should have asked me that before letting it out if you wanted it to go back in, tappad.”

There’s a whistle as darts shoot through the cage, piercing the sheets of the creature. It opens its blanket wings and wails. More darts pierce its body until it stumbles back and forth and collapses into the icy snowfall.

{Constance, tell them to move onto the next creature,} Terra says.

I nod and then write, “I thank thee, Nyle and Belladonna, for thy hard work and thy participation. The Carline is scary but crisp. I am very impressed.” Nyle and Belladonna straighten their backs. “Now, let us see if the two following creatures can match the Carline.”

“Alright, well, you all heard the Fairy. We’ll vote after we’ve seen all the submissions, but for now, let's move onto creature number two!” Dennis announces, hurrying toward the second wobbling enclosure. “Our next submission comes to us from… Ethan Green, Leader of the Towering Sword Camaraderie and Callum Sparrow, member of Kirk of the Robin’s Egg.”

Ethan, alongside a slim man, steps from the crowd. The slim man is presumably Callum, a gentleman I have never seen before. He dresses in bright colors, light blonde hair, and has a smirk that imparts a sense of contentment. I believe the bright colors are standard amongst Kirk of the Robin’s Egg.

Ethan waves cheerfully while Callum waves with a much lighter enthusiasm.

“So Callum, what’s the name of the creature you’ve brought us?” Dennis asks, holding the speaking device toward the calm man.

“Well, Ethan said he wanted to name it a Strummer Crab, and I thought it was a very tolerable name,” Callum answers with a warm kindness in his voice. “So we agreed to name it that after a short discussion.”

“Alright, well, let’s see this Strummer Crab then!” Dennis declares, pointing at the cage.

Someone yanks a string, unlocking the cage door.

The cage door bursts open, and out walks what resembles a silver crab with one gigantic claw and claw that seems to have broken off at the base.

“It’s just a big silver crab? It looks delicious but not very interesting,” Nyle scoffs with a laugh.

Raising its claw, the Strummer Crab slams it down into the snow. Its claw begins to creak and warp as its silvery shell melts, making a shape resembling a harp. A stream of silver liquid leaks from its broken right arm, forming a violin’s bow.

It rubs the harp and bow together, creating a high hum that vibrates through the snow. Snow around the fence’s base grows more compact, creating a gap that the Strummer Crab shuffles to squeeze beneath.

“Yo, Ethan! I think your Strummer Crab might be trying to escape,” Dennis says, taking a few steps back. “And I don’t believe darts are going to penetrate its shell, so please tell me, do you know how to get it to go back into its cage?”

Ethan leans in close to the speaking device with a nervous expression. “Uhhh, no. We left the cage on the beach near the ocean with a smoked ham inside. We didn’t actually expect to catch anything because we were honestly just testing our trap door.”

Clickers dash over and shock the Strummer Crab. The Strummer Crab retreats in pain while shoving its bow between the fence to strike at the clickers. With each subsequent lightning strike, the Strummer Crab backs further away until it squeezes back into its cage. A clicker floats above the cage, keeping the Strummer Crab confined.

“Alright! The Consortium from out of nowhere with their Cogs!” Dennis laughs and gestures toward the clickers. “Underpaid labor and vast amounts of money is a superpower in a way too, I guess.”

{Those two creatures don’t seem like something that could happen naturally,} Terra says.

{Nay, I too believe they have qualities that are far removed from their usual anatomy…}

Terra’s fingers tap against the table. {Do you think they may have been influenced by a KIln?}

A purple wall appears.

Earl Interface:

Notice: This one wishes to examine the ‘Strummer Crab’ fleshling’s silver material more closely. This one sees potential.

I read the wall and then respond to Terra, {I do not know, but Earl seems interested in the Strummer Crab’s silver material. Earl is not interested in most worldly materials, so that does lend some credence to thy theory.}

Lifting the Fairy’s voice quill, I write, “Ethan and Callum, the Strummer Crab is both impressive and crisp, much like the Carline. Though I must say, I never expected one of the creatures to attempt to swoon me with a melody.” Ethan, Callum, and the majority of people chuckle. “But now it’s time for us all to find out together if this creature can somehow be more impressive than both the Carline and Strummer Crab.”

“The Fairy has spoken!” Dennis shouts, hurrying to the third and by far largest cage. “It’s time for our third submission that comes to us from Colin Delisle, a junior Scribe of the Hex Church, and Arata Kang, a youthful monk of the Mount Hua Monastic Order.”

{The Hex Church and Mount Hua! Are the two not utterly different from one another!?}

{They are,} Terra says curtly. {And I’m sure that was the point of them working together.}

Colin in his black frock and a young foreign man, Arata, in a blueish-white frock. Arata is expressionless and unadorned. For the most part, he merely stares at me. On the other hand, Colin looks both flustered and frustrated about being here.

{I still do not understand.} Staring at the peaceful face of Arata, I shake my head and ask, {Was the Hex Church not working with the Church in Light? How did this happen?}

{Emily was operating alongside the Church in Light; Colin must have been with Mount Hua the whole time. Seeing as Mount Hua prefers to isolate themselves in the castle alongside some of the People’s Caravans, we’d never really notice since they rarely come down except to feed people.}

Dennis shakes Colin’s hand and gives a slight bow to Arata. “Welcome, welcome,” he says, holding the speaking device to Arata. “Now, I’ll ask the same question I asked everyone else, what do you call this creature?”

Arata pauses, thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Líng Nian, in honor of the New Year.” [1]

Raising his arms with a frown, Colin shakes his head. “What if I wanted to help name it?”

“I’m sorry, Colin, but they didn’t ask you, so it wasn’t meant to be,” Arata responds, returning his attention to me.

“Well, you all heard him! So let’s find out what the Líng Nian looks like together.”

Someone pulls a string, the door creaks open, and out slinks a green and white lizard as wide as a wheelbarrow and as long as two whole wagons! ‘It’s a second dinosaur, like the turtle in The Lake!’

“An alligator!?” the crowd whispers to one another in awe.

Dennis’s eyes grow wide. “What is it? How did you catch this thing?!” he asks, holding the speaking device toward Colin.

“It’s a Nile crocodile; see, its snout isn’t rounded like an alligator.” Colin hesitates to answer the following questions but inevitably sighs and says, “We caught it in its old enclosure in the Bronx Zoo—next to its half-eaten crocodile companions.”

“The Bronx Zoo!? How did you get so far North.” Dennis holds his hand up toward General Riddick and asks, “I-isn’t the north of Manhattan contaminated by a dangerous fungal infection and other creatures?”

“...We tagged along with some other people and decided it was a good place to look.”

It smashes its tail against its steel cage, sending the enclosure crashing into a snowbank. The ‘crocodile’s’ milky white tail shatters under the force, and pieces of its body scatter—fragments of its tail thump against the snow, producing a sizzle and pop.

Where there was once a mighty tail is now only a bubbling white stump.

“What is that thing made of?” Dennis says with a half-open mouth and furrowed brow. “It’s barely able to hold itself together.”

Arata points. “Watch.”

The bubbles upon the crocodile’s stump bundle together and rebuild the tail. Within a few seconds, it has been restored.

Watching the material with what little of my hoary eyes remain, I realize its color is a touch stronger than the white snow around it, meaning it has a spiritual source. {Wait, I recognize that material!} I glance at the Strummer Crab and pigeon. {And I am even more certain the others have some type of Kiln influence as well!}

{Forget the other two for now. The Líng Nian, is it made of Fey’s Kiln material?} Terra questions.

As Terra says, the crocodile, or Líng Nian, is made of the same material that Fey, the Kiln I contracted with, produces, Acerb and Acrid.

I nod. {I presume mutated with it, but aye, it certainly is! The Bishop might have mutated this Líng Nian creature himself. Perhaps he had some of Fey’s paste somewhere, or he could have merely added Acerb and Acrid while it was mutating!}

{I wouldn’t be surprised at all, and I suspect you’re right, but we have no idea where Fey was or what Fey did before being locked in the coffin.}

{Aye, it’s not impossible, but…} The Líng Nian hits its tail against the fence, causing the metal to sizzle. {But, it’s going to break out! Should we do something!?}

Terra does not respond as her focus is on something in the crowd. I turn my head forward, watching as the crowd parts to allow two shadows through. With what’s left of my hoary vision, I can see the figures of dozens of people standing in the far distance. ‘Spirits. We are being watched by many, many spirits.’

The Líng Nian smashes through the cage, causing Dennis to fall backward into the snow. The crowd gasps, several women scream, and everyone backs into one another.

Opening its massive jaws, the Líng Nian swings its head and aims to rip Dennis in two.

At the last moment, Arata throws Dennis from the creature's jaws.

Yet, oddly the Líng Nian seems to have frozen in place. Its pupils expand, consuming its eyes as black tears begin to drip and stain the white snow. The muscle that girdles the Líng Nian’s neck vibrates as a low growl rises from its gullet.

The people look at one another in confusion; no one appears to truly grasp what’s happening.

The two shadows step out and into the light. One is the usual Bishop, with his eyes covered by a golden circlet, and the other is someone I am unfamiliar with.

They are a tall man, wearing a frock that mirrors the Bishops, but all of their exposed skin is wound with glimmering, golden bandages while their eyes seem normal enough.

{The Bishop of Bronx has decided to make an appearance alongside our own Bishop of Manhattan.} Resting her hands atop the table, Terra says with evident seriousness, {It’s been several months since the Bishop’s of New York City have come together in a public venue. Be on your guard Con— ...Nightingale.}

My index finger rapidly spins the wheel of the trinket Owl gave to me. ‘Did she say the Bishop of Bronx; another Bishop!?’