Six weeks later, Fassar International Array Station

Euryphel stepped out of the array circle and into the cavernous terminal, flanked on either side by his entourage: Ian stood immediately to his left, while Guardian Lanhui took the position on his right. Behind strode the fifth prince, Shivin’i, and behind him princess Diana. Around them were a nebula of advisers, congressional representatives, unranked princes, and various nobles.

As they arrived, reporters bearing glosscams and microphones swarmed forth, eager to record the arrival of the SPU delegation to the summit. Euryphel observed that they seemed particularly interested in his new personal retainer.

Since they decided not to publish any official video showcasing the decemancer’s abilities, the Fassari Summit would be Ian’s first official public showing. Euryphel couldn’t suppress the small kernel of worry in his chest, hoping that the Fassari Summit would proceed smoothly.

Still, despite Ian’s mysterious allure, the majority of the spotlight naturally fell on the Crowned Prime himself. Euryphel recognized that to most viewers of the Fassari Summit, he was just the ruler of a small kingdom. The fact that he would be competing this year would undoubtedly rekindle the interest of many who recalled his aptitude when he last competed less than a year after his coronation.

The array station was as big as the prince remembered, with over one hundred different arrays on the first floor alone. It was classically architected, with a vaulted, muraled ceiling and towering white columns. Marble and granite floors swirled out in every direction, interrupted only by pearlescent array circles erected out of smooth, white stone. Most of them stretched five feet in diameter, through a few stretched up to even twenty feet. Each connected to at least one location, with some of the larger arrays likely configured for five or more.

For this trip, the entourage had fit snugly within a ten-foot array. After the last person left the circle, luminescent inscriptions flared once before dying down to an ambient, barely-perceptible glow.

Ignoring the reporters, Euryphel led his entourage to the main exit, directing his party to board a reserved hovergloss car. After everyone got inside, he let out a small sigh of relief, glad that they managed to get out of the station without incident. They were fortunate that none of the other states had arrived at the same time: There was always a chance of meeting the notoriously overbearing delegations from the East.

The hovergloss zipped along on a direct route to the summit grounds, located on a vast field just outside of Fassar’s capital city. From the array station, it was only a twenty-minute ride. As the official delegation of the SPU, the summit organizers provided them secure, on-site rooms in a building erected solely to house delegations.

They settled in without incident: Each member of the delegation received their own private room, complete with a northern-style bathroom and shower characterized by sleek glass and wave-like embossing. Upon arriving in his room, Euryphel leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. Moving to a new location like Fassar was disorienting, the familiar web of fate in Zukal’iss replaced with a skein of tangled threads. The fate arrows shone clearly even through his closed eyes, their jarring unfamiliarity making them much more difficult to tune out.

Even after coming to the Fassari Summit every year, he couldn’t get used to these confounding arrows, their connections as numerous as the fish in the sea and stretching in every direction. The people here are powerful enough to move the heavens, he thought wistfully. While any one person’s power might not exceed Ian’s, their personnel and resources could wildly differ. The states in the East had powerful foundations, their practitioners aided by only the best tools and weapons, their standing armies empowered by enchantments that turned even a regular into a threat.

The prince raised his head when a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

Shivin’i revealed himself at the threshold. “Euryphel, how are you faring?”

The young prince groaned. “As well as can be expected.” Euryphel knew that the man’s Beginning affinity surpassed 87%. Undoubtedly, the Fassari Summit’s crush of powerful individuals and preponderance of back-door politicking conspired to send Shivin’i’s mind into overdrive. Absorbing and processing new stimuli should keep him preoccupied for at least the first day following their arrival.

“Likewise, how are you doing?” Euryphel asked.

Shivin’i smiled. “About as well as can be expected,” the fifth prince echoed. “I worry for the decemancer.”

So do I, Euryphel thought inwardly. “Specifically with respect to what?”

Shivin’i frowned. “There’s a lot I’m still trying to process. But it seems like there’s no small amount of interest being paid to him from both our neighbors and the eastern delegations. It’s not every day that a peak decemancer appears out of thin air.”

The first prince stirred from the bed and walked over, taking a seat on the bureau at the corner of the room. “We guessed as much,” Euryphel muttered. “Unfortunately, it would arouse considerably more interest if we deigned not to bring him to the summit at all. Well, continue to keep an eye on him and let me know immediately if you detect anything amiss.”

“Of course,” Shivin’i replied. “I’ll be seeing you in two hours. Rest up well until then.”

Euryphel nodded. He’d be needing all the rest he could get.

—

Ian had never been to Fassar, though he found the state pleasantly familiar. As the hovergloss had darted out of the city, he’d noticed a few small details–such as the crisp, green street signs and abundance of noodle shops–that reminded him of Jupiter. Of home.

After settling in, Euryphel had essentially ordered him to stay inside, worried that Selejo or some other power would come and cause an incident. Ian knew that the Summit was a non-violent zone, so he personally didn’t understand the prince’s urgent concern, but he knew better than to argue. I’ll be able to go out tomorrow; there’s no rush.

Suddenly, he heard a knock on his door. He frowned, unsure of who it could be: the pattern of the person’s vital energy was unfamiliar.

He stood up, walked over, and cracked the door open. “Yes?”

It was a tall man with dark features, his eyes and lips narrow. His mouth curled into a soft, polite smile.

“Skai’aren?” He spoke Swellish with an accent that Ian couldn’t immediately place.

Ian cleared his throat. “That’s correct.” Over the past few weeks, Ian had studied the briefing of important practitioners that Euryphel gave him. There were over a hundred names and faces Euryphel included in the briefing, but after a moment, Ian thought he recognized the identity of the man before him: Suran Rindo, peak End practitioner of Iastra’s Citelle province.

Ian inclined his head respectfully. “It’s a pleasure to be graced by the Sublime.”

The visiting practitioner paused for a moment, his smile widening slightly. “No need to be so polite,” he murmured, peeking his head in slightly more. “You can call me Suran.”

Ian considered his next move. Suran Rindo was one of the East’s peak practitioners, placing him squarely into the category of person Euryphel wanted him to avoid. But wouldn’t it be a worse blunder not to invite the man in when he was standing right outside his door?

He sighed inwardly at the situation, though invited Rindo inside to talk.

“Your Prime was right to keep you hidden away,” Rindo observed, stepping gingerly through the threshold. He moved gracefully, his tall, sinuous stature giving off the impression of a predatory cat. “Are you aware of how fate tangles around you?”

“I’m not an End practitioner. But I can presume that it’s not necessarily more tangled for me than for other peak practitioners,” Ian replied curtly.

Rindo gave him a knowing look and shook his head slightly. “That’s not actually the case. Fate wraps you like a cocoon, as though for some reason, you’ve entangled yourself in the affairs of the entire world...” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, as though inviting Ian to offer an explanation.

Ian felt his mind grow numb, unsure of what to make of Rindo’s statement. He didn’t get the impression that Rindo was lying; rather, the man seemed genuinely interested, as though Ian was a rare oddity that had caught his attention.

“Is it limited to the West?” Ian asked.

“No.”

Ian blinked twice. It wasn’t? He would’ve found it easy to believe that he was tangled up in the fate of the Ho’ostar peninsula and Selejo.

“How are you so sure?” Ian wondered. Euryphel hadn’t mentioned anything regarding involvement with the East. Perhaps Euryphel didn’t yet know; he’d mentioned something about needing time to adjust to the new location.

Rindo hummed. “It’s difficult to read fate trajectories from far away,” he admitted. “Though with all the powers gathered here in one place, it becomes far easier. Even for someone like me, who doesn’t have the furthest...reach, shall we say.” He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “There’s a lot of noise, so it’s possible someone like your Prime hasn’t yet noticed what I’ve told you.”

What does Rindo want? Ian wondered, trying to discern what his goal was. Why even tell me any of this?

“If you’re willing to humor me,” Rindo finally said, pulling something from his pocket. “I’d like you to pick three.” He held out what seemed to be a deck of thick, ornately inscribed cards.

Ian’s eyes went between the cards and the easterner. Euryphel would probably say no, he thought. But Ian was curious: what exactly was Rindo trying to do? He hadn’t heard of any other End practitioners using cards before.

Steeling himself, Ian nodded, then fixed his attention on the cards. Each was slate gray, with violet, glowing inscriptions. They looked expensive, and Ian wondered if Rindo had crafted the inscriptions himself.

He tentatively raised his hand, moving it towards the cards, then paused, uncertain. How can Rindo tell anything from this? He wondered. I’m picking blind.

Frowning, Ian moved his hand forward, tapping three cards in rapid succession. Rindo placed them face-up on the table, his expression unreadable.

“Interesting. The cards say that you’re not long for this world, Skai’aren. I wonder at that.” Rindo glanced up at Ian, the trace of a smile still on his face. “First, the Cicada. Second, the Sunset. Third, the Star.” He folded his hands together. “The Cicada lies dormant for years, and only awakens every decade. It is rare, and also ephemeral. However, after it has gone, it leaves behind part of itself as a remnant.

“The Sunset, too, is short-lived. However, unlike the Cicada, it returns every day, a constant: living and dying in a cycle.

“And finally, the Star. Unlike the Cicada and the Sunset, the Star lives for longer than we can hope to comprehend. But more than that, the death of the Star is a final act: For the Star, there is no resurrection, only dust.

“Make of the cards what you will,” Rindo said cryptically. “There’s meaning in them, though even I often struggle to make sense of their message.”

“How did you come to the conclusion I’m not long for this world?” Ian asked, brow furrowed. “Something like the Star seems to indicate I’ll be around for quite a while.”

“There are three stages to each reading. I generally interpret them on the basis of the order in which the cards were chosen: First, the past, which is the Cicada. Second, the present, which is the Sunset. And third, the future, which is the Star.”

“As I said, I think you may not be long for this world, Skai’aren, a world of small cicadas and fleeting sunsets. Perhaps the world you’re bound for is one beyond our own, out among the stars.”

How did this go so wrong, so fast? Ian asked himself dejectedly.

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions,” he said, chuckling nervously. Yes, tell the peak End practitioner that he’s jumping to conclusions. Brilliant plan.

Rindo shrugged. “It was a pleasure to perform a prediction for you, Skai’aren. I’ll be interested in what happens in the coming days.”

Ian bowed his head. “I’m honored that you chose to pay me a visit.”

With a few final pleasantries, Ian escorted Suran Rindo out the door, feeling all the while as though a weight had permanently settled on his back.

At the very least, even though the Eldemari is attending the summit, she shouldn’t see anything suspicious, Ian thought, unsure of whether to laugh or cry. If I’m as tangled in fate as Rindo says, there shouldn’t be significantly more fate between Selejo and I than anywhere else.

As Ian stood by the door, mulling over Rindo’s words, he began to feel overcome by a sense of despair. He lay on the bed, pillow placed over his face, his thoughts at once racing and somehow sluggish, as though steeped in a muddy mire.

“How did it come to this?” he murmured, pressing down on the pillow so it wicked the moisture from his eyes. “I don’t want a war. I don’t want to fucking ascend.”

Mother’s words echoed in his mind: You spend all your time whining about what you don’t want, but never have you once told me what you wish to do. Grow up, Ignatius.

I want to be a glossprogger, he had hissed, expression unsightly.

Mother had replied with a disapproving shake of the head. You’re still so young; you don’t even know what I’d give to start over in your shoes. Don’t you have a dream? Didn’t I raise you to be independent, to fight for a piece of yourself on this earth?

I want to be a glossprogger, he’d repeated, voice quiet but intense. It’s what I’m good at.

Why can’t you be more like your sister! Mother had snarled, face alight with fiery frustration.

He’d heard the same question too many times before. Why can’t you just leave me alone, let me live my own life!? he’d snarled.

You’re wasting your life!

At that point he’d left the run-down dining room, entering his bedroom with a slam of the door.

“You’re wasting your life,” Ian murmured. “You don’t know what you want. You have no dreams to speak of.” He curled up on himself as he echoed Mother’s arguments.

“Nothing’s really changed,” he reflected, chuckling bitterly. “You’ve simply exchanged one thing you’re good at for another.” But how was he supposed to find a purpose? He wasn’t like Mother, embittered with grudges. Nor was he like Germaine, who had found passion and purpose in her virtuosic vision.

He suddenly felt that Suran Rindo’s prediction was highly accurate: He was just like a sunset, going through every day in fixed orbit without a will of his own. And before that, a pathetic cicada, living life as though asleep, literally unawakened in every sense of the word.

And even now, he was haunted by the shed shell of his cicada self: unpleasant memories and unfulfilled desires, full of feuding and futility.

Ian tried to imagine what Euryphel would say to console him. Something funny, perhaps. He’d probably test out tens of possible advice options in his Regret scenarios before settling on the best one to tell him in reality.

Before Ian knew it, sleep freed him from his regrets.