The Veiled Pinnacle was no longer a ruin, no longer just a forgotten relic of a magic that didn’t belong in this world. Under Krungus’s hands, it was becoming something else. Something livable. Something that made sense.

  Eugene followed behind him as the wizard shaped the space, his white robes drifting just above the dusty floor as he worked. The stone obeyed his will, reshaping itself with each flick of his fingers, rising, curving, settling into form. Walls smoothed, archways stretched, staircases curled upward into unseen heights. Krungus barely spoke, but his muttering was constant—thoughts pouring out in half-sentences as he adjusted each new corridor, each threshold, each transition from one space to another.

  Eugene had seen him like this before, but never at this scale. This wasn’t a quick trick, a flash of magic to get out of trouble. This was Krungus in his element, building something that mattered.

  “Alright,” Eugene said, stepping over a newly formed threshold. “I need to know how to get the Jennie of Potential to bond with me.”

  Krungus barely acknowledged him. He pressed his palm to the wall, whispering something Eugene couldn’t catch. The stone shifted, its texture refining itself until it looked smoother than polished marble. Only then did he glance over his shoulder.

  “You ever notice how people arrange kitchens all wrong?” he asked.

  Eugene blinked. “What?”

  “The stove’s always too far from the prep area. Sinks placed where they make no sense. It’s a tragedy, really.”

  “I don’t—” Eugene exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t care about kitchens. I’m talking about the Jennie. What do I need to do?”

  Krungus turned, finally giving Eugene a full look. His red-lensed glasses glinted in the dim light. “A home should not fight its own function.”

  Eugene stared at him. "I feel like you’re not answering my question."

  Krungus exhaled through his nose, then lifted his hands, gesturing as if framing an unseen doorway. He recited, his voice low and rhythmic:

  A house is not built in a day nor with force,

  It grows in the hands of the builder, of course.

  Each beam and each stone must be placed with intent,

  For walls without purpose will crack as they're bent.

  A door must not open where none seek to tread,

  A window’s no use where no light may be shed.

  A hearth without flame is but stone cold and bare,

  A stairway to nowhere leads only to air.

  So tell me, young builder, before you lay brick,

  Do you know what you build, or just wish it built quick?

  Krungus let the words settle, then turned back to shaping the next archway, leaving Eugene gaping after him.

  Eugene threw up his hands. "Where do you pull these poems from?!"

  Krungus smiled slightly and turned back to his work. The walls continued to rise. Eugene watched as the wizard sculpted a doorway in one smooth motion, as if peeling it from the stone rather than carving it. He waited for more, for some kind of answer buried in all the nonsense, but Krungus just kept working, muttering under his breath, "The City might not be in the shape its in if anyone remembered their Rhymes."

  Eugene exhaled, forcing himself to be patient. “Look, man, I just need you to tell me what I have to do. I know I can’t force it, okay? But there’s got to be a way. If I bond with her, if I get three Jennies, I’ll hit a whole new level. You know it. I know it. But she’s not budging. So tell me what I’m missing.”

  Krungus hummed thoughtfully as he shaped a staircase. “You’re trying to draft a blueprint before you even know what kind of house you want to live in.”

  Eugene groaned. “Oh my God.”

  Krungus ran his fingers along the archway he had just formed, tilting his head. “Tell me, Eugene, would you build a door before you know where it leads?”

  “What? No, obviously not.”

  “Yet, here you are, asking to install a doorway in a house you haven’t even designed yet.”

  Eugene threw up his hands. “I’m not building a house, I’m trying to get a Jennie to work with me!”

  Krungus nodded. “Ah. But tell me—what is a house?”

  Eugene opened his mouth, then closed it, suspicious. “A… place where people live?”

  Krungus grinned. “Yes. And what is a bond with a Jennie?”

  Eugene frowned. “A… connection?”

  “A place where something lives,” Krungus said, pointing at him with a knowing nod. “You don’t build a house by demanding bricks fall into place. You shape it, let it grow naturally. Every stone must have a purpose, every wall must know its function. If you rush, you end up with a collapsed mess.”

  Eugene crossed his arms. “So you’re saying I have to wait?”

  Krungus adjusted a corridor, stretching it wider. “No. I am saying you must create a space she wants to live in.”

  Eugene chewed his lip, watching the walls reshape themselves, the floors settling into place. “And how do I do that?”

  Krungus gestured at the hall ahead of them. “Tell me, does a hallway know where it leads?”

  Eugene rubbed his temples. “God, you are impossible.”

  Krungus chuckled. “A hallway does not choose its purpose. The flow of the house determines it. You are not a door, Eugene. You are the hallway.”

  Eugene groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I hate this conversation.”

  Krungus grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Then perhaps you should reconsider asking a wizard about architecture.”

  Eugene sighed and leaned against a newly formed railing, looking out at the half-built Pinnacle. He wanted power. He wanted answers. But as Krungus worked, shaping the space with care and precision, Eugene started to wonder if he had been thinking about this all wrong.

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  He didn’t get his answer. Not exactly. But maybe he wasn’t supposed to.

  Krungus moved on, already reshaping the next room, his mind lost in the details of its design. Eugene let him go, standing alone in the half-finished space, running a hand along the smooth stone. He exhaled, trying to push his impatience away.

  And then—he heard it.

  A giggle.

  Soft. Faint. Distant.

  Eugene’s breath caught. He turned, listening.

  Another giggle—clearer now. A light, joyful sound, unburdened by anything but pure delight.

  The baby. Laughing.

  He barely moved, barely breathed, straining to hear. A soft coo, the tiny sound of fingers grasping at something unseen. And then, just beneath it—a crystalline chime. The shifting, delicate sound of glass pieces realigning, forming, drifting apart and coming together again.

  The Jennie of Potential was with the baby.

  Eugene couldn’t see them, but he knew.

  He stood there, listening to the laughter, to the sound of shifting glass, to the space left unfinished around him.

  One day, he’d be ready.

  The room would be finished. The space would be filled.

  Krungus paced along the balcony of the Velvet Veil’s half-repaired tower, his golden spectacles slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them back up with a mutter before turning to Utopianna, who stood with her arms folded, peering over the city below.

  “You’re not seeing it clearly,” Krungus insisted, gesturing wildly. “The City of Cities should be in ruins by now! If Sharrzaman’s pulling the strings, we should be knee-deep in catastrophe.”

  Utopianna didn’t look at him. Instead, she traced slow circles on the railing with her fingertips, considering. “But we’re not. And that’s what troubles me.”

  Krungus scoffed. “You’re troubled by the absence of ruination? Utopianna, if you’re looking for destruction, I can introduce you to a few choice ruins—many of which Sharrzaman left behind.”

  She sighed. “He hasn’t done well, obviously. But if he’s as dangerous as you say, if he’s been orchestrating all of this… then why isn’t it worse?”

  Krungus’s mouth twitched. “Maybe he’s playing the long game. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”

  “Perhaps.” Utopianna tilted her head. “But what if he isn’t planning to destroy the city?”

  Krungus threw up his hands. “You think he’s planning to give it a grand parade instead?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But think about it. If he wanted to rule as a tyrant, why hasn’t he seized control outright? If he wanted to burn it down, why wait? Instead, things… continue.”

  Krungus’s brow furrowed. “This isn’t continuation—it’s stagnation. The city’s stuck, Utopianna. We’re tangled in bureaucracy, wrapped in unseen strings. That’s his doing.”

  “But why?” She finally turned to face him, her expression conflicted. “If he wanted to crush the city, stagnation isn’t the best way. If he wanted to rule, there are more effective means.”

  Krungus huffed. “You think there’s some grand benevolence in letting it rot instead of torching it?”

  She hesitated. “Not benevolence. But… purpose. What if he still believes in the city?”

  Krungus barked a laugh. “Sharrzaman believes in power. He believes in himself. Not in this city, and certainly not in the people.”

  “And yet, the city remains,” she murmured. “Not thriving. Not collapsing. Just… enduring.”

  Krungus narrowed his eyes. “You almost sound like you’re sympathizing with him.”

  She shook her head but hesitated. “No. But I do remember times when you thought he wasn’t completely evil.”

  Krungus groaned. “Oh, not this again. If you’re about to bring up the flood relief, I swear—”

  “He saved those people, Krungus. He could have left them to drown. Instead, he constructed a barrier that held back the waters until the evacuation was complete.”

  “And then, years later, he let the river redirect into a farmland collapse. Selective mercy, Utopianna. He does things when it suits him.”

  She frowned. “Or when he saw value in something. That’s what I’m saying—he may not want this city to fall.”

  Krungus crossed his arms. “And what about the war negotiations? He ended the fighting, sure, but you remember how he did it—he didn’t broker peace, he cut a deal that made him indispensable. It was always about power.”

  Utopianna nodded slowly. “I know. But the war did end. People stopped dying.”

  Krungus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Utopianna, he’s not some misunderstood architect. He’s a man who hoards time like a miser hoards gold. Whatever his plan is, it isn’t mercy.”

  Utopianna exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting back to the city. “Maybe not. But if we don’t understand his endgame, how can we stop it?”

  Krungus was silent for a long moment. Then, begrudgingly, he muttered, “Fine. We think. We figure out what he’s actually after.”

  She gave him a small, tired smile. "Then let’s start thinking. Who was the last one of The Number to have any contact with Sharrzaman?"

  Krungus frowned, thinking. "I wouldn't know. I was locked away for too long. But if I had to guess... Na’atasha, maybe?"

  Utopianna’s eyebrows lifted. "Then maybe we start there. Actually... there's something else. In a few days, if the rain stays away, there’s going to be a large bloom of Whispering Witchlips in the public park. They only bloom under just the right conditions, and this might be one of those rare moments. And those flowers—Na’atasha bred them herself for their introspective properties."

  Krungus’s brow furrowed. "And?"

  Utopianna leaned on the railing. "I can’t imagine she wouldn’t be there in some form to gather them. As far as I know, there’s no other place to get that specific cultivar."

  Krungus exhaled sharply, rubbing his chin. "You’re assuming she’d want to be found. That’s risky. Na’atasha was never the trusting type."

  Utopianna nodded. "I know. She was always... difficult. Even before she was cast out. Always keeping to herself, always convinced someone was out to get her."

  "Because most of the time, someone was," Krungus said. "And sometimes, she wasn’t wrong. But she never let go of grudges. That’s what makes this dangerous. If she thinks we’re looking for her, she might assume the worst."

  Utopianna sighed. "And she doesn’t forgive easily. You remember what she did to Bahumbus when he tried to apologize?"

  Krungus grimaced. "Turned his beard into venomous snakes for three weeks."

  "Exactly. And that was an apology. What do you think she’d do to someone she thinks is hunting her?"

  Krungus tapped his fingers on the railing. "We need to be careful. If she’s been in hiding, it’s for a reason. If she’s coming out for these flowers, that might be the only chance we get. But we can’t just walk up to her and expect a friendly chat."

  Utopianna frowned. "So how do we do it? How do we approach her without setting off all her alarms?"

  Krungus frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses. "Before we do anything, remind me... the Witchlips, they rely on bats for pollination, don’t they? I remember something about Na’atasha training them."

  Utopianna nodded. "Yes, she specifically bred a type of bat to pollinate them. They’re small, quick, and she claimed they had an innate sense of which blooms needed the most attention. They hover and push their snouts deep into the petals, gathering the pollen on their fur. Then they spread it as they move from flower to flower."

  Krungus scratched his beard. "Right, right. I remember her talking about it once. That means she’ll need to make sure the bats are active if she wants the flowers to bloom properly. If we’re going to find her, we should be watching for the bats as well."

  He paused, then smirked. "You know, I think a certain tinkering brother of mine might be able to help. Bahumbus could make a mechanical bat, one that could blend in and follow the real ones straight to her."

  Utopianna considered this, then sighed. "That’s clever, but it might also make her furious. If she realizes she’s being tracked, she could see it as an attack."

  Krungus shrugged. "She might. But it’s better than us walking straight into whatever paranoia-fueled traps she’s got waiting."

  Utopianna tapped a finger on the railing. "True. But if she finds out, it could burn any chance of speaking to her at all. She doesn’t trust easily, and she certainly wouldn’t take kindly to us using her own creations against her."

  Krungus nodded. "A risk, then. But so is everything with Na’atasha. The question is whether it’s worth it."

  They fell silent for a moment, both lost in thought.

  Then, out of nowhere, Krungus smirked. "Remember when Na’atasha tricked Rami into thinking he had eaten a whole gathering’s worth of psychedelic cactus fruit, but it was actually just an odd-looking watermelon?"

  Utopianna laughed softly. "Oh, I do. He spent an entire night ‘waiting’ for the visions to start, refusing to believe it was just fruit. He even started describing hallucinations just to save face."

  Krungus chuckled. "And Na’atasha just nodded along, completely straight-faced, encouraging him. She didn’t let him off the hook until morning."

  Utopianna shook her head, smiling. "That was her way, wasn’t it? Teaching lessons through sheer mischief."

  Krungus sighed, his amusement fading slightly. "Yeah. But I wonder—if we find her, will she still be that person?"

  Utopianna's expression grew thoughtful. "Only one way to find out."