Camellia and Florian worked in their quarters. They sat on their couch and sorted through the videos and pictures, all of which painted a story of an entire species dedicated to magical research.

Camellia marveled at Volanter unity. They didn’t all agree how that research should be done or where it should be taken, but they agreed that the research itself was the driving factor of their people. Camellia could think of no other species like that.

Even Ul’thetos and Ah’nee’thit vied for territory, mother against child.

Florian’s map rested in the center of their table. He’d printed it from the tablet, and around that image, he’d arranged more printed images. Each image showed a place on the ship. Florian and Camellia created a kind of paper dig site.

Camellia fell into the work. She watched the video, made quick notes, and placed the locations in their faux site. She marked places and circles alike.

The gathering room, with the great Dipinta tree held the central space of the ship. Around the tree clustered living quarters and the sick bay. Two rings of research rooms came next, followed by the defense rooms, Engineering, the bridge, and cargo. All of it nested inside the other, center to outermost ring.

Another pattern took form, in regards to circle research. Different kinds of circles occupied the walls of the research sections. Certain types received much more space than others.

Camellia noted the small contribution of the Blath. She saw double ringed circles, circles with star patterns, and circles with triple and quadruple rings. All crammed into the section for the Iruedian Volanter.

Nearby the sick bay, Camellia saw representations of the single circle system. Perhaps, the hardest circles to cast needed to be near the sick bay. It suggested tiring work and risk. A head full of runes and circles, even those passed on by genetic memory, still made for a full catalog, almost too much to be made useful.

Indeed, one group had argued for specialization. They organized their research rooms by type of circle, suggesting that each Volanter should set him or herself on a path to become an expert in one form of magic. Camellia thought them the most likely writers of Pan’s grimoire. They may have been the predecessors of the Scaldin. Now, if Camellia could just decipher how to place the clan names, she would have some good information for the people of the Ischyros.

But, she was not an expert on Volanter. It occurred to her to just ask Cernunnos.

“Cernunnos…” Camellia trailed off as she looked up.

She’d thought for a moment, she was working in a group of three: Florian, Cernunnos, and she.

“What about him?” Florian stared at Camellia, with a hint of panic in his eyes.

Camellia shook her head. “I don’t know. I just thought, for a minute, I thought he was here.”

Florian straightened and frowned.

Camellia raised a hand. “I know. I know. It’s been a year. I think about him too much, and it’s not good for me.”

“It’s alright.” Florian studied Camellia, with eyes that looked deep. “Maybe, you should sleep. I’ll follow you in a bit. I just want to have one more look at the life cycle.”

Camellia nodded. She rose from her seat, leaving all the papers behind. They fluttered in the wind from her retreat. She scooped up the tablet and sent more papers across the table, like leaves in the wind.

“Why are you taking that?” Florian asked.

“I’m going to read for a while. Then, maybe sleep.”

“You put enjoyable reading on that thing?”

Camellia smiled. “No. Papers and stuff like that. But, I find that enjoyable in its way.”

“Fair enough.” Florian looked back to his work. “Just don’t overdo it.”

“Anything not about the Volanters will probably be a good break for me.” Camellia turned and padded across the sitting room. She found their bedroom in darkness.

A soft light clicked on as she entered. She let the light remain dim and sat on the bed.

Camellia began with a paper on migration across Ponk. It was old work. Camellia could not get new papers on the tablet, as the high-tech device belonged to Rooks’ crew, not the AAH of Groaza. It would take a long time for new work to move seamlessly from its creator to Iruedim’s rekindled technology.

Old work was only so diverting. Camellia snuck a look at their current Volanter studies. She did nothing more than flip through the pictures. She was too tired to set it all straight. Instead, she moved fast through images that belonged in nightmares.

Circles passed her eyes, etched onto the inner walls of the ship. Floor circles, ceiling circles, circles from every surface flew by.

Until, one circle, accessory to a console caught her eye.

Camellia moved beyond it, but she hurried back.

The image that fascinated her resembled a mirror. The ‘mirror’ was large and round, and if Camellia looked very close, it wasn’t obsidian at all. It was dark blue. Buttons and controls rested beneath it, and a single circle of runes framed the deep blue surface.

Camellia jotted down the runes, and then, she looked into her scans of the circles from Pan’s grimoire. She didn’t have every page yet. She had only what had been scanned in the year that Pan had the book, and Camellia had what she’d managed to make in the couple of weeks they’d voyaged together. Camellia doubted she would find the circle. But, on the second to last page, she did.

Circle of Long Distance Speaking.

Camellia felt her eyes widen with interest. It was not like an obsidian mirror. Instead, it was a com.

Camellia put her tablet to sleep, and then, she laid down. She tried to rest, but instead, she just thought about the com. The ship had been destroyed. They couldn’t go back and find it, even if they wanted to.

But, it would be a good thing to have. It could be a bridge if the wormhole ever failed them.

Camellia shifted to her side and saw, sticking out of the nightstand drawer, her secret envelope. Camellia sprang into a sitting position and eased the drawer open – quiet and careful.

She was about to push the envelope back inside the drawer when the to line caught her eye.

It was so strange. Just money. No note, nothing. Her father wanted her to leave him alone, yet he gave her money.

Camellia pulled the envelope out of the drawer and looked at it again. She stared at the writing and its familiar lines. It was then that she resolved to write the thank you note. She would never forgive herself for that loose end.

Camellia pushed herself off the edge of the bed and snuck to her writing box across the room. It rested on the floor, with its lid open against the wall. The wooden box sprawled, nearly two feet in length. She knelt before it and pushed some old papers aside.

It was an innocent lie. Camellia paused; then, corrected herself. It was an innocent lie she would have to tell Florian. She didn’t want their marriage to be built on lies. No more of that.

She could write the letter. Maybe, she wouldn’t send it. She wasn’t sure.

Camellia picked up the pen and slipped some new paper free. Old letters bulged from one side of the box, sent to her from her siblings and father. Camellia couldn’t close the box without tidying the letters. She gathered them up in both hands, tapped, and fluttered the pile, until she had a neater stack. Old folds became loose creases in some of the letters. Others had been folded so long, they maintained their curves and threatened to spring from the pile. Camellia pushed them down into their designated space and wondered whether she would have to cull the correspondence soon. She forced the top of the stack below the edge of the box. As she flattened the papers, she stared at the letter on top. It wasn’t from a sister, brother, mother, or even her father. The letter greeted her in Cernunnos’ hand.

With a sigh, Camellia paused and snatched it up. The pile puffed but stayed in place. Camellia had time to view his words and his pointed, hurried hand.

Dear Camellia,

You will be happy to know that I have negotiated a tour of the strange blue mask for a year in Groaza. It will spend time in all the major museums before we return it to the Stedt. I’m letting you know, so that you can plan your year long excursion away. Doesn’t matter to where. As long as you don’t have to chance a moment in the same room with the mask, correct? I know it terrifies you, but nothing strange has happened since that night…

Camellia smiled. She remembered the haunted mask and the whispers that came from its unmoving lips to her mind. It spent a year in Groaza, and she did not spend the year away. She spent half of it with Cernunnos, in their home country, and she saw the mask a lot more than she liked. Outside of its home in southern Ponk, it didn’t whisper. It did pour sand onto the floor of every museum it graced. Camellia even caught sight of the sand falling from its mouth. She thought Cernunnos should be responsible for cleaning up after it, but he got out of the duty, thanks to his careful ministrations to key museum workers.

Camellia laid the letter atop the others.

Again, she paused and viewed the familiar hand. Camellia felt her eyes narrow. The writing on Cernunnos’ letter was the writing. It was the writing on the envelope.

Camellia put a hand over her mouth. She picked up both envelope and letter. She held them side by side.

Then, she got up and strode out of the room.

“Thirty minutes,” Florian said. “That’s how long you sleep now?” He looked up and stopped when he saw Camellia’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“You know that present? The one my father sent?”

“Yes…” The trepidation in his voice was strong.

“The writing belongs to Cernunnos. My father didn’t send it. Cernunnos did. How does a dead man send us a gift?” Camellia stared at the envelope as she asked the question.

Florian hopped up from his seat and crossed the room. He took the envelope and letter from her and compared them himself. “I don’t know. I guess he set it up. He must have set it up before we even decided to get married. A year before…before we defeated Ul’thetos.” Florian still held the pieces of paper side by side. “It’s really his writing. I don’t know where he got all that money in cash. I don’t know why he’d give us that much. That was definitely the kind of gift I would more expect from family.”

“Except neither of us had family that we would want to receive a gift from,” Camellia said.

“He knew that,” Florian agreed.

Camellia exhaled. “How could we not recognize his writing?”

“I…I don’t know.” Florian held the papers out to Camellia.

She didn’t take them. “You said I think about him too much. I don’t think we thought about him enough.”