Once Anemone hit the Shrub floor, she headed northwest through the Third District, towards the Fourth. Aron’s home was on the border between the southernmost part of the First District, right next to the Third District. The border between the Third and Fourth Districts is home to many of the kingdom’s farms. It’s also where some of the gallu attacks had occurred. Damage to the Fourth District spread to the northern region of the Third District. To add, the southern half of the Fifth District was also trampled. Thoughts of the damage made Anemone clutch her arms to her chest. As others walked by, she could see stitched patches on their coats. Most of what everyone had was thin and threadbare. Compared to her gambeson, many seemed colder despite their layers.

  Grimoire-Ars: 1st Tier: Acquire Overcoat- (Pg. 7)

  With a chant, purple light streamed from the grimoire strapped to her hip over her arms. An overcoat made of thick woolly Megaloceros hid solidified in her hands. Its reddish-brown fur was still flushed as the day Spriggan had given it to her. As Anemone raised its collar to her face, her eyes closed. The aroma of smoked leaves and imported spices tickled her nostrils. It was warm and peppery. There was also a hint of berries that wafted as an undernote. Anemone reached her hand into her right breast pocket and noticed a crumpling sound. Her fingers were numb, but not numb enough to mistake the sheet of paper stuffed in it. Faint purple light dripped into her overcoat. Like magic, her coat lost its luster. Random holes with stitched patches appeared all over.

  “You’re so overprotective, Spriggan,” she smiled. “But the Shrubs do have way too many aegis pickers.”

  As Anemone put it on, she admired the downgraded look. If it were not for the Phantasy-Ars Talisman in the cloak’s inner pocket, she might have looked out of place. Not everyone carried a grimoire. Much like her, some aos-si still had pouches or wallets to carry their aegis. Even Tir-noNog’s hire ranks did. Afterall, if you lost your grimoire with everything in it, you would be screwed. And Anemone was not above being cautious. Spriggan was overprotective, but sometimes it worked in her favor. She quickly stuffed the talisman back inside the pocket. With a mournful frown, she raised her hood.

  “Where are you?” she thought.

  Spriggan’s disappearing act was perfect for all the wrong reasons. After that night, she saw him in that carriage he had vanished. Aron was the only one left for her to confide in, but complaining to him was more stressful than Anemone needed. A sigh exhaled from deep within her gut, and her feet stopped. When the sound of wings flapping above caught her attention, she looked up to see a few fae above. Seeing them flying into the airborne intersection made her brows furrow. From below, all she could see was The Canopy.

  “Times like this… The Canopy makes me wish I had wings.” She groaned. “And those masks don’t help.”

  The Canopy was anywhere below or near the first set of branches from the largest tree in the area. It was the space that divided those who could fly and those who could not. Just looking up left a crick in her neck. Winged aos-si like succubus, fae, and sprites flew across the branches. Above as a skyward intersection, alongside feathered avian therianthropes. Their streets were airborne roads between the upper branches of the forest. They were free to move around the kingdom with ease. Only the green of envy filled her face. Despite the plain white masks worn by everyone above, their frowns peered at her.

  “Even without the Four Winds festival—I know you’re mocking all of us! Just like those Gallu.”

  A vengeful fist shot into the air, shaking at everyone above. The warmth of the festival had passed. That was honestly the last time she had any kind of fun. The kingdom seemed alive. Whether you were flying high or not, you were having a good time. Foods and fabrics from across the lands. Precious gems, jewelry, and lumenopal, spoils from all over Abhainn-Reatha, were allowed inside Tir-noNog despite the embargo. But only after being thoroughly searched. That night, even Hibernica and Baccata were in each other’s good graces. Yet that joy was short-lived. Only days later, the kingdom was attacked.

  “So much has happened…yet so little has changed. At least I don’t have to do the written exam again.”

  Anemone placed her hand on her grimoire. That same day they were attacked, she had completed her written exam, helped a lost child, gotten her first kill, and found the Lost Historia. But now? Just repair duty. The throbbing in her arms seldom stopped. After constantly lifting slabs of limestone and shoveling debris, they wanted to fall off. The next exciting part of her life was bug duty. But what did she expect from the kingdom of the eternal forest? Tir-noNog was a prison of emotionless aos-si. Few ever expressed anything but sneers and shivering before the winter winds. All other emotions were as mute as the sky.

  Shivering through the Shrub Level was worse than the Canopy’s branch bridges. There was not much sunlight or warmth below. People’s slumped posture showed sadness through their masks. It was as if the festival had never happened. The jubilant warmth of music and foreign smells that warmed your body were gone. Even the burning light of Cinnabar lumenopal lamps was damp. The frost-bitten bio luminescent fungi that light the streets also seem to drown in the gray air and light frost. It was as if the Gallu attack on the kingdom had taken what little life everyone had fought to maintain.

  To add, everything had become more congested. During reconstruction, those who could afford to move from the Third District rushed into the First District for the time being. And with the damage done in the Fourth as well, everyone pushed toward the northern part of the Fifth District. Soon, another wave of walkers flooded the path. Anemone’s eyes locked forward, wading through the townsfolk. The world around her narrowed. Every step made her feet almost step on themselves.

  Getting through the streets was like swimming against the current of a river. As someone brushed by her side, she caught their hand and glared at them. But when she looked, no one was there. Her eyes jumped toward her hands, and she gripped the air. As her hand collapsed into a fist, Anemone knew they had escaped.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Not this time a-hole. You’re in my sight.”

  After closing her eyes, she blinked two more times, staring into the distance. A cooling icy sensation flowed into her eyes. Soon, Anemone’s vision began to expand, allowing her to see much more clearly. The world became grid-like, and everyone turned transparent with only their outlines remaining. Peculiar lights glowing within them filled their pellucid silhouettes. Their lights swirled inside them like ice cubes spinning in a glass cup filled with water. It was a strange ability that had appeared after the barrier was attacked. She knew nothing of it, but sometimes it activated when she focused on her eyes. Anemone smirked as she stuck her finger out.

  “The Sight of Lights can’t be evaded.”

  Mimicking the whooshing of an arrow. Her finger followed a faint trail of golden light that twinkled in the air. Being almost robbed made her want to run after them. However, that would only distract her from her already long journey to the Agricultural District. Instead, she followed it for a moment before it dissipated into the crowd. Soon her Sight of Lights flashed back and forth between normal and grid-like. The constant switching almost forced her to stumble. At first, it was nauseating, but after a few days, she got used to the flashes.

  As her normal vision refocused, a lingering glow faded into the shadows of an alley. The lights near the alley made her eye land over bay a small bookshop. It was a dingy place that had a broken sign and broken glass near it. Only the snow that covered it added color to its doors.

  “And he’s gone… Sight of Lights sounds dumb… maybe The Sight sounds better?”

  Anemone stroked her chin. A chuckle left her lips, and Anemone shrugged her shoulders, walking off. After the gallu attacked the barrier, she noticed everyone’s cores varied. Aron always had red and purple lights that spun around a black and white core, like Hibernica. Meanwhile, Baccata had yellow and purple lights. Interested in knowing more about her strange new ability, she hoped the library would have information. Unfortunately, she found nothing.

  There were mentions of other abilities or Ars that aos-si had recorded. Ars that could cast: night vision, thermal vision, long-ranged vision, and even seeing through walls. But this was different. The Lost Historia was her only choice. At least Tir-noNog’s library had a copy of a ‘Fool’s guide to Pre-Aos-Si lexicon’. She wanted to pinch her brow at the name. The dammed thing was almost as tiresome as the Lost Historia.

  With Spriggan gone, Aron getting worse, and Florentina’s schedule, there was no one else for Anemone to talk to. Especially about her powers. During her free time, she trained to activate the ability almost instinctively. Although she did not have perfect control, she did what she could with this ability. Thinking about it kept a smile on her face. Now, she could even perceive someone coming from behind her. Thanks to its recent addition to her repertoire, any attempts from someone trying to steal her wallet were a failure. And that was more times than she would like to count.

  “HOLD IT!” a stern voice called.

  The sound of the voice made her jump out of her skin. She blinked so hard that The Sight turned on and off again. A chilly gust made her shiver, and her coat almost flew off. There was a Phloem Guard fae with large, round, black and purple wings. His gambeson was pressed clean without a single tear. It was green just like Anemone’s, only he had an emblem on his chest. There was a woven patch tree trunk stitched with the phrase “For safety and nourishment of our kingdom, we protect.” And standing next to him, there was another fae with sharper yellow and black wings.

  The guards stood tall with broadened shoulders and grimoires drawn. There was a certain haughtiness to their stride. Even with their mask, it was easy to spot them staring a therianthrope down. They cornered that horned therianthrope with his hands raised high. His body shrank as theirs grew. Like predators to prey, they close the distance.

  “I’m sorry, officer, my mask is cracked! I don’t have it on me,” the horned therian pleaded.

  “You know that doesn’t matter now—festival time is over!” the purple-winged guard commanded.

  “Rules say only up to three days after,” the yellow-winged guard spoke.

  “But my mask broke! The Mask Maker is still closed!”

  “We all know masks are mandatory,” said the purple-winged guard. “Hasn’t changed since the assassination of our befallen glorious monarchs.”

  “Yeah, Demi. How else are we supposed to keep track of who’s who?” continued the yellow-winged guard spoke

  “And just cause its closed-on holidays doesn’t mean you get a pass!” the purple-winged guard chastised.

  He wrote down a note and grabbed the therianthrope’s arm. The other stood ready, waiting for a reaction. The therianthrope looked left and right. His eyes were wide, and his body shook, while his lips trembled to speak. The fae guard summoned an ink pad and stamped the therianthrope’s thumb, and he pressed it onto the bill. A mark appeared on his neck, and the yellow-winged one hissed.

  “That Sclábhaí and Máistir Ars will be their till you get it,”

  “I’m just about to grab my payment for work! Come on!?” the horned therian cried.

  “Good luck. Hopefully, the pain isn’t too much.” The purple wing leered.

  “Dammed Demi scum.”

  The therianthrope fell to his knees and cried out in pain. Just as they walked off, so did she. Anemone chanted a spell to summon her mask from her grimoire. She stopped and turned back, gazing upon the horned therianthrope. He coughed and stood back up, leaning on the wall beside him. He held his neck and walked away as if nothing had happened. No one stopped to check on him, not even her. Everyone knew you had to wear your mask. If you did not have it on, there would be consequences, that mark. The mark of slave and master; Sclábhaí and Máistir. An unbearable pain followed that mark. A pain that lasted until you did what you were commanded. Anemone placed her mask on, shaking her head. As the cold of it touched her face, she took a deep breath, turning around. Every step she took echoed with the groans of his agony.

  “You’d think the Phloem Guards would be less rough, though.” Said Anemone.

  The festival was the only time you could be maskless. Other than that, you would have to be extremely hot during the summer or drunk. Being drunk got you a ticket, but if it was too hot, it got you a warning. With winter around the corner, the Phloem Guard won’t be so lenient. Her eyes scanned every face that passed by. Even if she could not see through their mask, she knew their faces. They would all look the same, devoid of life. The only difference between them is the symbols on their mask.

  Those with any kind of insecta wing were a fae of some kind. Woodland, arid, highland, or a nymph, it did not matter; you were fae. Those with a book and a sword were elves. Mushrooms were gnomes, and those with claws were therianthropes or demi-therian. There was one for every classification of aos-si and non-aos-si. Like hers, the two Phloem Guards Anemone’s mask was plain and white. There were no markings, only a Lumenopal shard that matched their Od. That was the way all Arbor Magna Knights’ masks resembled one another. Hers had a single Amethyst Lumenopal placed right in the center of the forehead. Being unable to help him made her place her hands in her pockets as she huffed to herself.

  “I should have helped….”