Returning to Sol and Yumi's meeting.

  Rea's climate was unique. The sky held a purplish hue whether it was day or night; only the intensity of the colour changed. The air felt thick and intoxicating, carrying lingering notes of frankincense and myrrh.

  "Why are you here?" Yumi demanded, cutting through all small talk and false pretence.

  "I thought you could figure that bit out," Sol replied, intending to poke fun.

  Yumi was not amused. She frankly despised him.

  "The Appellation of the Eye. Seriol's intended Appellation—before you fled with your tail between your legs."

  Sol's foresight had failed to warn him of this attack, and the one forthcoming.

  He hunched over, interlocking his fingers, and looked down.

  "Seriol's greenhorn—the Appellation of Intercession—has been… forced out of commission," Yumi continued. "They seem to have the worst luck with them. The council in Verez convenes in five weeks' time. Who is to represent them?"

  "I shall," Sol replied, still looking down, his posture unchanged.

  "Oh?" Yumi said, mock curiosity lacing her voice.

  "And why would that be? What do you have to do with this situation, Count?”

  Sol grabbed at his scalp as if nursing a throbbing headache.

  This was the second time he had been so defenceless. So helpless.

  "Did your thrashing all those years ago stay with you?" Yumi pressed. "You did well to hide your existence—and your power—from the world. You should have understood that would not work on me."

  Yumi said something else, but Sol no longer heard it. The room thinned, as it always did, when memory decided it would be obeyed.

  In a fine manor in the countryside of Seriol, three children sat before a fireplace, healthy and glowing with innocence.

  "Brother, brother—read me this story!" cried a young girl no older than four.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Of course," the boy said, bowing as if a servant to a queen as he took his place beside her.

  Their other brother, equally young, stopped colouring to listen.

  "Many moons ago, in the kingdom of Verez, a very special event took place. An alien—with a head as big as a castle—looked down from the clouds."

  The two younger children shrieked and shrank into a ball. The eldest smiled and slowly gestured for silence, fingers pressed to his lips, mindful of their father asleep in a chair in the corner.

  "Its head was shaped like an egg—its skin leathery and loose. It was covered in eyes and had a long mouth, smiling from corner to corner with metres-long rows of teeth. The people were terrified. What was this monster? So big. So fearsome. So strange. They feared the unknown more than anything. They did not know what the alien was, where it came from, or what it wanted with them."

  The boy lowered his voice.

  "But the monster in the sky spoke softly and gently. It told the people how beautiful their land was, how spectacular their culture, how kind their people. The monster wished to live there."

  The children giggled at the thought of such a creature sitting in a field with a blanket and pillow.

  "But the monster was far too big. So, it lowered its hand slowly and gently into the courtyard, leaving behind a baby alien—about the size of an elephant—sleeping peacefully.

  "It wished for its child to live there, however short a time it would be. It was excited to hear the stories the child would one day bring, after the hundreds of years it would take to grow old enough to maintain itself."

  The boy smiled.

  "So the people listened. They protected the child. They fed it when it cried and watched over it as it slept. And the alien in the sky departed, promising to return one day."

  "As long as the child remained, the kingdom of Verez would never know defeat."

  "Time passed. Verez flourished—becoming a superpower of the world, rich in technology, spices, education, and culture."

  "But new, modern thinkers came," the boy continued. "They said war was all bad. All wrong. They wished to preserve their kingdom in eternal peace, without the need for an omen."

  He faltered. He had read the next lines ahead—and chose not to speak them.

  "They"-

  "They what, brother?" the children cried.

  "They all lived happily ever after," the boy said, smiling ear to ear.

  The fire roared, as if in protest.

  The children cheered.

  "Let's go to Verez! Let's see the baby alien! I bet it's huge now—and its mama is coming back soon!"

  "Of course," the boy laughed, feigning ignorance. "Papa will take us once we're all grown up, I'm sure."

  "Of course I will," their father stirred awake, just in time.

  "Thank you, Papa!" the children cried, running to him for a hug.

  The Count of Seriol was a family man first.

  The eldest boy stood back, smiling softly.

  "Well?" the father said. "What do you think, Sol? How about it?"