Luke stepped out of the washroom wearing a cyan shirt with a large yellow spiral of three lines curling inward to meet in the middle. His woolen trousers were more or less the same as before, one shade of dark gray. It would do.

Not that I was asked, Luke thought in annoyance. Daniels had simply left Luke and Cyrus standing outside at a textile shop— grumbling all the while— and came out with four outfits, two each, and a pair of thick coats suitable for the coming winter. Immediately afterward, they were rushed across the city into a shabby-looking red-bricked building and forced into the washroom one after another with an outfit in hand.

The last throes of sunlight shone through a small window in the corridor. The walls of Daniels’s house were plastered a soft orange, almost white with no pattern to speak of. The wooden floor was a similarly light shade of brown and almost-orange. Dark spaces further down the lengthy corridor were somewhat lit by wall-mounted oil lamps. Not those harsh new things, thankfully.

Bathing, Luke had ample time to think about what he had seen, and he came to the understanding that while Ulciscor was a populous city, it was nothing like Aetas Origo. The exteriors were not elaborate, fanciful creations dreamt up by some highborn architect. The insides— so far as he had seen— were not vast high-ceilinged open spaces dotted with chandeliers and carpets each individually worth more than himself many times over, instead the interiors were practical places, and on the way to the washroom he could not recall passing a purposeless room or object. There were no broad boulevards carefully lined with rows of trees, no grand plan as if someone had drawn it from the sky. Ulciscor was a place of narrow walkways going one way, wide walkways going another with no regard for beauty, only function. In fact, the walled city seemed haphazardly thrown together, as if they started with the walls and realized there was nothing inside yet.

Luke said as much to bother his captor standing straight-backed in the corridor, but the South Wall captain simply nodded in agreement.

“Ulciscor was a small town,” Daniels said, arms folded. His spear was nowhere to be found, though it still felt as if he were on duty. Perhaps the man thought he was. “A few thousand people, a decade ago. Less, after the emperor ran it through. Now, two hundred thousand strong. The people grew faster than the mortar could keep up. We owe it to Vander Wolf, but even you should know that much.”

That annoying captain was right about that, at least. Luke was quite familiar with the story of General Wolf. The man who betrayed the emperor at the eleventh hour and drove the Empire’s forces out from the ashes of Lumina, and drove them further still, beyond this city. In a string of desperate battles, Vander Wolf rallied those from both sides and drove Terra Daeva beyond what would become the Walls of Ulciscor. Beyond Mirastelle, for without that man, there would be no border and no country.

“Where’s Cyrus?”

“The study,” Daniels said simply, stepping with a soldier’s grace down the corridor. It seemed he was a man who never relaxed, even in his own home. “This way.”

With a little luck, Luke would become a soldier himself soon. Very soon. Normally, people like him were turned away, too young or not, for a simple reason. Mirastelle did not recruit citizens of Terra Daeva. It was part of the Agreement, the bargain between the Cardinal— Mus Ranboc— and Emperor Amon Munitio. Of course, judging by yesterday, that bargain might not hold by the time Luke turns sixteen. But no one could have predicted a thing like that, and so Luke had another avenue, also simple. He was not a legal citizen of Terra Daeva. If all went well, they would discover he was actually a citizen of Mirastelle. Of the capital, Lumina, in fact. At least, until it burned.

Luke and Daniels passed by hanging paintings and scrolls of the Buteo and Cygnus Flocks and plainer pieces of scenery. Not a decade ago, this land was the country of Mintaka, and so the white Swan should have dominated homes, but instead it competed with the sandy brown Hawk, its presence clearly influenced by Vander Wolf. Once, that man was head of the Wolf family and, by birthright, the bishop of Buteo. He had forsaken both when he sided with Emperor Munitio. True, he had betrayed Amon at the eleventh hour, but this place was not a return to the old ways, else it would still be called Mintaka, and northeastern Mirastelle— Ganymede. No, the old ways were dead and gone. That didn’t stop people from trying, praying and hoping for times that simply could not return. The paintings and scrolls swayed in place, lifted by a draft. Luke shivered. Whether from the wind or thoughts of yesterday and days to come, he could not say. The wind, he hoped. He could not afford to lose his nerve.

“Your friend had the right idea with the sweater,” Daniels said idly.

“Spare me,” Luke muttered, rubbing his forearms for warmth. Daniels snorted in amusement. It would be an early winter this year, it seemed. At least from what he had seen at the textile shop before being rushed out, Cyrus had not managed to find a fresh pine green sweater, only dark green. Perhaps Luke would be able to stop thinking about colors, flitting across his mind like a songbird in the morning, green and blue and magenta. A very irritating songbird. Magenta? That was new.

The study they entered was much like the rooms he had been pushed through upon first arriving, walls painted to match the hallways and two oil lanterns in opposite corners. It was pleasantly warm and surprisingly spacious, though the feeling was somewhat spoiled by thick shelves along two walls packed to the brim with books in all sorts of sizes, spines sometimes matching and other times seemingly arranged haphazardly. Four chairs faced an open hearth in a semicircle, flames flickering, and three of them were occupied, though none appeared to be the captain’s wife. Cyrus was there, and two others he had been told about earlier.

Elinor Daniels was a handsome woman with an aged face and brown hair streaked white. Rolan Daniels, was similar, wrinkled and thinning hair long gone complete steel-gray. The captain’s uncle wore thick-framed spectacles and concentrated on his wooden pipe while his wife spoke with Cyrus.

“That’s a good recipe. Definitely.” Cyrus nodded. “I wouldn’t have thought to do it like that. One question though, if—” he paused at the sound of Luke’s throat clearing. “Oh, Luke. That took a while, didn’t it?”

“I’m thorough,” Luke said flatly. Opportunities to bathe were rare on the road, but it was only part of the reason. He had picked up a habit of staying as clean as he could. There was a certain drawback to living on the streets that Snare had not tolerated for long. Not long at all. That annoying old man had practically thrown him in a tub the day they met!

A distant knock drew Captain Daniels away, and Luke found a spot on the floor against the wall after exchanging greetings with the man’s aunt and uncle. He was never one for small talk. He let his mind wander as Cyrus and Elinor Daniels softly continued their conversation.

The hearth’s flames brought painful memories, but he shoved them aside and thought. Thunderflutes. Two Elites. Castitas. It felt like a dream, not one he’d particularly desired, yet not one he’d interrupt. Vassago Rixator did not strike him as a liar, which meant Asmari Capella likely did not have blue eyes. Neither did Gor Munitio, the emperor’s own brother.

Cifelle Sirius had blue eyes. The woman was the youngest Elite ruling over Aetas Origo and the surrounding region, Sirius itself. But other than the mismatch of his memories and the things he had seen in newspapers in Sirius about her, she was not even an original Elite. The first, and so far, only replacement. Some called her the Seventh Elite.

That left Levian Vega, Mammon Rigel, and Beelze Altair. Just three people, one of them the man whose throat he wanted to wrap his hands around, squeezing tighter, tighter, until his eyes burst, his breath came in squeals, his—

“Luke?” Cyrus asked.

“What is it?” he asked calmly, unclenching fists hidden beneath the silver and black winter coat he had draped over himself like a blanket. His nails had left marks on his palms.

“Captain Daniels wants us,” Cyrus said. “Something’s going on. I think he’s leaving somewhere.”

Luke stood. “Well, let’s see what’s happening,” he said, forcing himself to sound relaxed. Inside, he boiled with hatred for the blue-eyed man from his dreams.

———

Luke held one of the darkest expressions Cyrus had ever seen on a person. Those peculiar red eyes flashed with more intensity and anger than a boy that young— younger than Cyrus himself— had any right to. It was gone in a moment, flashing eyes replaced by deadpan, downturned mouth smoothing out into a neutral line. It seemed there was a bitterness to Luke, something he kept hidden, letting out only when you weren’t looking.

Cyrus started down the soft orange-walled hallways the way he came, feeling safer than he had felt in too long, short as it was. This time yesterday, he was speaking to the kindly Mrs. Delphy and fetching the water pack. How long would it be before he could go back? Weeks? Months? He ignored the tiny fearful voice in the back of his mind wondering if he could ever go back home. He would go back.

The two boys reached a sparsely furnished room, a few chairs, a low table with a radio sat atop, likely to receive communications from the Guard and perhaps for simple recreation. A single tapestry hung over the wall facing the house’s entrance, illustrating the Flock of Cygnus the Swan. Several smaller swans ringed Cygnus herself, a majestic bird with white-feathered wings spread wide as she sat in a pool painted with such vividness as to seem real. At the front door stood a familiar blonde-haired woman with a spear strapped to her back, which was adorned with a glittering golden mantle. She was speaking to the captain, and apparently it was not going well for one of them.

“…I don’t care, Daniels,” Major Alexis Cade was saying. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had to change your plans for the Guard.”

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose. “Straight there, understood.” He opened the door, allowing Cade to step outside, then paused and looked back. “You two. Mind your manners and don’t make trouble for Lyla. I’m going out.”

“When will you be back?” Cyrus asked.

“Tonight, I’d expect, if not before.” He glanced at Luke. “No, you two aren’t invited. In fact, you’re specifically disallowed.”

“You’re meeting with Vander Wolf to discuss Castitas, then?” Luke guessed. Daniels raised his eyebrows, prompting Cyrus to do the same. He was a fast thinker, sometimes.

“You talk too much, captain,” Cade said idly, folding her arms.

“Maybe so,” he muttered with a grimace, stepping outside and giving the boys a short wave before shutting the door.

“Well, that was something,” Cyrus said, turning to face Luke. His eyes met empty air and darted back to catch Luke walking away with a quickness in his step. “Oi, Luke— Luke, where are you going?”

“I’m going to follow him,” Luke said gruffly.

“But he said were—”

Luke stopped. “Specifically disallowed?” he said, flat-eyed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never snuck out when your dad said you couldn’t.”

“No, never,” he said seriously. For some reason, Luke smirked.

“Anyway,” Luke said, “That’s how it is. I’m going to make use of that back door we came in from and circle around the house, then check out whatever they’re doing. You should stay here. If I let you tag along, you’d stand out like Pelacanus in a library.”

“Pele…” He flushed. “I wouldn’t be that bad. Would I?”

“Afraid so,” Luke said, patting him on the shoulder. “This way, you can cover me when the family notices I’m missing. I’ll be back before the captain, so do what you can until then. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus agreed reluctantly. Cover him? How was he going to manage that? Hopefully Luke would not be gone too long.

With that, Luke walked off. Cyrus stood wonderingly. When had those scarlet eyes regained their spark?

———

Finally, something Luke was good at. Something to do.

He paced down the sparsely decorated hallways, eager to be outside again. Even before his travels northward through central Asundria, he had a preference for strolling about in broad daylight and pleasant breezes. Before the old man had given him a place to come back. Long before, when it had been a necessity to hunt for marks to snatch wallets and food from. Perhaps it was a fondness he was simply born with, or a welcome distraction from the rest of life’s mundanities. He did not care which; he simply accepted it as a part of himself.

His eagerness proved a bit too distracting as he crashed into another person turning a corner he had not seen. He heard a feminine yelp as he found himself on his back. Had she pushed him?

Yes. A woman stood over him, arms out in front. She was taller than him— even after he stood up— and wore her dark brown hair loose. Tan of skin and dressed in a pale-colored blouse and cardigan, Luke thought that this must be Lyla Daniels, the captain’s wife.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, proffering a hand. He rose without assistance, though he couldn’t quite explain why he didn’t simply take her hand.

“Not your fault, Mrs. Daniels,” he said quickly. “I was walking a bit fast, after all.”

“Ah, well, that’s all right. You’re Luke, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but…” His mind raced. There was no time for this. This city wasn’t as big as Aetas Origo, but he suspected the rule still applied. If a mark left your sight, they were as good as gone. He couldn’t fall too far behind Daniels and Cade. “Sorry, I’ve got use the washroom.” He nodded curtly. “Excuse me.”

She said something else, but it didn’t register. He returned to his brisk pace. He had lost a lot of time talking to Cyrus and falling down like a flightless fool.

He did not run into— literally or otherwise— anyone else on the way to the back door. Slipping out as quietly as he would if the old man were resting on his rocking chair nearby, he took in a breath of fresh outdoor air and rounded the house, coming upon a busy street, stretching wide to the left and right. Unexpectedly, it was so crowded he could not spot what he was looking for on either end. Something flashed green in his mind. Perhaps he saw a patch of grass somewhere in his peripheral vision. Just as he began to lose hope, a group of boys parted ways and a flash of glittering gold shone between them. Major Cade’s mantle.

Luke hurried down the street after it.