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r Akira Isuka stepped from her carriage onto grounds in summer-smitten bloom hemmed with bushes of gold roses.

“Goodness! What sweltering weather it is!” she exclaimed, enchanting her paddle fan and closing her eyes in pleasure to the cold zephyr provided. The conveniences provided by her air magic served her well here, for Soleterea had always been several degrees too hot for her northern blood. Odaka, the country from which she hailed, had a much milder climate suited to the studious minds it often spawned. “I feel as though I could be fried like an egg on the pavement. Don’t you agree, Emica?”

Dr. Hariken’s head wilted over the briefcase on her lap. Dark circles bruised beneath her eyes and her limbs slackened with ghoulish unrest.

“Emica?” Dr Isuka frowned as she leaned over to nudge the arm of her friend. “We’re here.”

Dr Hariken sprung to life with a splutter. “Hm, what? Oh yes! Of course. Just give me a moment!” She preened instantly at the sight of Rosâtre’s ivy-strangled columns, straightening her spectacles and the imperceptible wrinkles from her floral-patterned robes.

A summoning to an audience with the Soleterean princess was not something she’d ever dreamed to experience! Even after laying hands on the rose-scented stationery with its official gold wax seal Dr Hariken had needed pinching several times before she was able to comprehend its meaning.

“For the love of Asemani, stop fussing!” Dr Isuka scolded. “Your robes look perfectly suitable.”

Dr Hariken blushed before exiting the carriage and the two scholars found themselves approached by one of the sprite attendants.

“Well, hello there!” Dr Isuka said brightly. “I believe you’ll be escorting us to the princess?”

The sprite nodded and beckoned for them to follow.

Dr Isuka continued to harass the escort with endless queries to the nature of the meeting while Dr Hariken silently cringed beside her. This continued long into their journey towards the audience room, and it was only when met with the opening of those gilt-emblazoned double doors that Dr Isuka’s voice began to falter.

For there was Princess Laila Rose seated on a settee of green velvet. Under the encroaching sunlight from the windows, the diamond stars in her hair seemed to glitter nearly as much as she. Her ivory satin gown emphasised the warmth of her brown skin, the gold embroidery matching the intricate giltwork spanning from ceiling to wall. The gold was woven from the thread of sunlight, custom-made from a Soleterean boutique where seamstresses shot needles into the sky and used them to weave frocks from the fleece of clouds and the iridescent threads of celestial beams.

What followed was this—a pause, a swallow, a quick drawing of the breath—all the involuntary little impulses one does when faced with something too vast and unfathomable to be taken in at once. Mortals weren’t often exposed to the fleshly form of a star.

“Your Radiance,” called Antonin, “if I might present to you Dr Emica Hariken and Dr Akira Isuka of Azora Institute.”

Dr Hariken’s throat bobbled like a frog’s as she felt all saliva (and ability of speech) recede from her tongue. Only the incessant tugging from Dr Isuka at her sleeve initiated her to set her briefcase aside and kneel.

“Your Radiance,” they greeted in unison, prostrating themselves one after the other before Asemani’s holy agent.

Laila gestured for them to stand. “You may rise.”

Dr Isuka was the first to straighten up. “On behalf of myself and Dr Hariken, I would like to thank you for receiving our company, Your Radiance.”

“Please, the honour is mine, Dr Isuka.” An even brighter beam graced her voluptuous lips. “Thank you for coming to my call so swiftly.”

“Anything at all for such a beatific being!” Dr Isuka gushed.

“Do sit. Make yourselves comfortable. The impératrice sends her regrets that she couldn’t be present for such an occasion.”

The latter half was a lie that they need not know—a silk-spun web to keep the favour of academia ensnared.

The scholars approached the perpendicular settee, admiring the off-white studded latticework intertwined with gilded roses on the inner back. Soon after a sprite arrived with offerings of fragrant jasmine tea and Seraji coffee served with macarons on a porcelain étagère. However, for the princess a special request was delivered to her on a tray of frosted glass—almond milk and orange blossom honey.

“Now, as we’re all sitting comfortably. Shall we begin?” Laila took a sip from the glass and picked up a macaron.

“Oh, please do.” Dr Hariken flushed, looking briefly to Dr Isuka for the nod of approval. “We are most eager to know the reasoning behind your summons.”

“Well it’s of a rather delicate nature, you understand.” Laila’s eyes swept low in a show of demureness, as though she was about to gently broach a topic of vulgarity. “But I am aware that the pair of you are dedicated scholars of the chaotic arts?”

Dr Hariken choked violently on her tea.

Dr Isuka slapped her hard on the back before speaking on her behalf. “Forgive us, Your Radiance. Your interest has come as quite a shock. Indeed, Dr Hariken and I have dedicated our lives to the field.”

“Quite a controversial subject.” Laila dipped her macaron into her milk. “And while I’m certain there are enough scholars to study aeromagy, why on earth would you involve yourselves with something so malignant?”

“Well, for years now we have taken a specialised interest in Calante—”

“So it’s The Adversary you’re after,” Laila said, with a knowing smile. “I’d have thought you two would’ve known better than to give those poor religious folk in Odaka a fright by poking into the god of chaos himself.”

“It was our faith that led us right to him,” Dr Isuka said. “We were warned young to prepare for his eventual return and reclamation of the world. We wanted to do our part in stopping him.”

“You are doomsday believers?” Laila couldn’t help her tone of surprise. Not many would expect an academic to entertain religious doctrine.

“I know that it is an unpopular prophecy in solarite circles, but why else would Asemani deliver you to us if not to forestall Calante’s return?”

“To steward humanity in her stead, as we have always done,” Laila replied, munching her macaron. “But while we’re on the subject… there is something I must ask of you that relates to your expertise on the Adversary.”

“What is it?” Dr Hariken perked up in interest.

“Have either of you ever heard the term… occassi?”

The two scholars flinched in fear. The word clanked like a pin-drop echo through a sudden silence.

“I take it you have then,” Laila confirmed grimly. She set down her glass of milk. “That certainly makes things easier.”

“Why, of course.” Dr Isuka shuddered as though chilled. “Such creatures are considered to be Calante’s most heinous creation. As significant a spawn to him as the solarites are to Asemani.”

“Then I impart this knowledge not to alarm you, but because I require your aid. It appears that we have discovered a creature that bears a likeness to the occassi described in Calante’s grimoire. If possible, we would like to confirm if this is a lone case or if there are more we should expect.” Laila moistened her lips. “Would you be able to assist?”

Dr Hariken smothered a nervous whimper. She hadn’t bitten her fingernails in years but found herself sitting on her hands to resist the urge. “There is something we have that might be of use to you.”

“Oh?” Laila’s eyes brightened.

“I have put together a cryptograph in order to communicate with dark forces. Any question I ask of it the instrument answers. I could inquire the origins of this occassi but I suspect if there are more of them they will be found on Calante’s dwelling place.”

“The mountain concealed inside a land of ice and fire,” Laila recited, for cultural osmosis made the tale of his downfall well-known.

“Give us until tomorrow, Your Radiance,” Dr Isuka asserted with conviction. “We’ll have an answer for you then.”

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After they’d left the château Dr Isuka sat down to lunch with her assistant, Hana Oto, to inform her of their meeting in their modest lodgings. The two indulged in the famed Soleterean delicacy of hibiscus and sumac shrimp étouffée served with roasted plantains and yellow rice. This was followed by a rich helping of raspberry tart.

Dr Isuka was the first to put down her fork, belly full and heavy, when she noticed that Dr Hariken’s seat was still empty.

“Where on earth is she?” Dr Isuka huffed in annoyance. “She said she’d be down to join us half an hour ago.”

“Shall I go fetch her?” Hana offered.

“Yes, Hana, that would be very helpful,” Dr Isuka said, a touch gentler, before she launched into an aggravated mutter. “Honestly, what is wrong with that woman today? Had we waited any longer the food would’ve been stone cold…”

Hana took this moment to gradually slip out from her seat, knowing that Dr Isuka’s rant wasn’t meant for her ears. She approached the lift lobby and tapped the button eagerly, bouncing on one foot to the next until she heard the ding.

She gave a little titter at the noise, having never tired of it during her stay. So many oddities to be found in this sophisticated country. So much glamour and excess. This was a modern world for a modern woman; far and away from the Odakan village she’d left secluded in the mountains that her mother and her mother before her had never been brave enough to leave.

Hana rode to the second floor, retrieving the ornate iron key from her pocket that denoted their room number. Once she had it in sight she unlocked the door and entered the main sitting room. It was a quaint affair of fading floral wallpaper and sinuous wood panelling, the only splash of vibrancy in the room were the chairs upholstered in canary yellow.

“Dr Hariken?”

Hana glanced towards the bedroom door and tried there next. Behind it, the darkness was a still wall of gelatine; each window had the shutters drawn like lids over tired eyes. A cocoon ready for slumber.

Dr Hariken sat on the edge of the bed; her bleached blonde bob looked a mimicry of a solarite’s sun-kissed ringlets. She had her head bent over a bronze device that delivered a series of clicks and whirs, suggesting she was once more communing with her cryptograph.

The dial spun rapidly, needle scratching over a number of eldritch symbols in continuous sequence. Nobody knew how to interpret them besides Hariken herself and in order to do so she had to train her mind to take on a certain concentration. She’d called it dipping into the abyss, for the sensation had felt akin to descending into oceanic depths until her skull almost cracked from the pressure of it.

As Hana watched her she felt drenched in the shame of having intruded upon her naked. There was something inherently vulnerable in observing her mentor having stripped herself of all the little nuances that made one an individual—one with thoughts and opinions and feelings—to become a blank slate for chthonic forces to write upon.

“D-Dr Hariken?” Her voice was soft and uncertain, so frustratingly young to her ears that she swallowed and made herself speak firmer the next time. She stepped closer to the doctor and tapped her shoulder. “Dr Hariken?”

Dr Hariken’s head drew upwards with the lethargy of being pulled by strings. “Yes, Hana?”

“I—” Hana cleared her throat. “Apologies for the disturbance but Dr Isuka was wondering when you might join us for lunch.”

“I have much work to be done,” Dr Hariken responded. Her lips lifted into some crude imitation of a smile. “Tell Akira to allow me more time.”

“Perhaps you should come back to the cryptograph another time,” Hana continued onwards, unwilling to abandon her objective. “After all, I’m sure it would be much easier to concentrate on a full stomach.”

“He likes it better when I am empty.”

Hana looked bewildered. “He?”

“I think you’d better go now, Hana,” Dr Hariken said, smile stretching taut to snapping. “There is much work to be done.”

“Yes,” Hana replied with a gulp, retreating backwards into the wall. She winced when she met it, hand clasping for the doorknob. “Yes, I think it will be better if… Dr Isuka discusses this with you instead.”

With that she fled, leaving Dr Hariken as serenely seated as before.

Once she’d left, Dr Hariken rose up from the bed and closed the lid of the cryptograph, placing it on her desk. Then she withdrew one of the drawers to take out a pen, a pencil, absently letting them clatter onto the desk before she found what she sought.

The letter opener was a slash of silver in the darkness. Dr Hariken inspected it, dragging the cool metal lightly over her bird-boned wrist. She inclined the knife to a point just before her vein, pricking until it offered up a small blot of blood. A tribute. She drew a thin, hard line as her flesh split apart with a wet laceration. Her blood spilt forth, red and vibrant and vital.

She continued to illustrate herself as the symbols commanded, indifferent to the warm slither drizzling down her elbow as it trickled red rain onto the carpet.