Mercune snapped her fingers, and mists swirled about him. “Done. I’ve decided for you.” She conjured a mirror and held it toward Proto.

  He now was wearing a robe much like Somnus’, but velvety black and embroidered with creeping vines of green and purple. His hair was elegantly styled. His pointy black shoes shone, freshly polished and waxed. In short, he looked different from top to bottom—except his face, which was completely unchanged.

  Mercune thrust a fist in the air. “Team Wraith!”

  Warmth tingled through Proto’s breast, and his lips quirked up. He itched his face.

  She looked puzzled, then blushed. “What!”

  “Here, I’ve got you covered too.” With a wave of his hand, Mercune was immersed in swirling mists. When they cleared, they revealed her in a gown that matched his robe and glass slippers gilded with green and purple vines. Her hair was styled ornately into piles of flowing red locks. And there were no changes at all to her face.

  Mercune turned the mirror to her own face, then blushed again. She opened her mouth as though to say something, then closed it.

  “Team Wraith!” Proto thrust a fist into the air.

  She laughed quietly. “Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll love living underground! Maybe I’ll do it 24/7! Probably a good idea since, as a wraith, I’d melt into nothing in the sunlight. Maybe I’ll thrive in the subterranean nether realm!”

  “Right? Being a wraith has perks!” affirmed Proto.

  “Does it? I don’t know!” Mercune tilted her head thoughtfully. “I guess I can apparate in front of people and scare them. And I can disapparate if I ever want to get away quickly.

  Proto gestured toward her. “She’s multi-talented, folks.”

  “Yes!” she giggled. “That’s what Himari tells me!”

  “Can’t wraiths do other weird, mystic things?” he asked. “Like speak to people in dreams? Or see the future?”

  Mercune’s brow inclined. “Those are your examples of weird things? Proto, I’m doing one of those right now, and I do the other one all the time! Maybe your point is, I really am a wraith. Pale as one too! Thanks, Proto.”

  “No sweat,” he shrugged.

  She nodded. “Yep, we don’t sweat. Being bodiless and all. And since I’ll be cold anyway living underground.”

  Proto laughed helplessly. “Well, maybe in your lone, wraithly, underground wandering, you’ll cultivate your seer abilities to new heights.”

  “Yes,” she declared. “I’ll become as wispy and ethereal and half-there as the prospects of things that might be and might not be. I’ll know them, and I’ll see them clearly, for I’ll be one of them!”

  “A seer?” he asked.

  “A wraith! Have you not been listening!” she wailed in a ghostly voice. Or a wraithly voice, rather.

  “Mercune Wraithseer—a monster, maybe, but the monster every heroine yearns to be!” declaimed Proto.

  “Yes! Mercune Wraithseer,” she agreed. “The monster every hero longs to hold—but never will, because she’s incorporeal! No sweat. Much better than Mercune Mirin.”

  “Who needs a surname when you have an epithet?” said Proto.

  “Wraithseer!” she repeated. “But you need an epithet too then. Or at least a surname.”

  Proto frowned. “Technically, I do have a surname. Proto V—"

  “Proto Visionghost!” she interrupted. “He’s not on Team Wraith. He bats for the other team! The beefy, barechested one.”

  Proto eyed her flatly, and she giggled.

  “Team Ghost!” she wailed in a ghastly voice. Then, she waved a hand, and his robe sash loosened, baring his chest.

  Proto eyed his pale, not-so-beefy, barechested self. “Sorry for this ghastly sight.”

  “Ghooossstly sight!” cried Mercune. She eyed him up and down. “ . . . yeah, I take it back, you’re definitely on Team Wraith.”

  “Why does everyone feel the need . . . ?” grumbled Proto.

  Mercune giggled and patted his cheek. “It’s okay, you’re welcome on Team Nice Face!”

  That warm tingling welled again, and Proto felt better. “Takes two to have a team, right?” He held a fist out toward her.

  Mercune blinked, and her green eyes glimmered. “Are you offering me a fistbump? No boy’s ever offered me a fistbump before! Am I in the club now?”

  “We’re joining clubs and teams left and right here.” Proto absently began re-closing his open robe over his chest. No point displaying that longer than was necessary.

  “Wait!” Mercune, who had just balled up her fist, looked aghast at his withdrawn hands. “Shoot, my fistbump! I missed it!”

  “Eh, moment’s gone, we’ll have to do it later,” he shrugged.

  “Gonna hold you to that.” She eyed his torso as he covered it up. “By the way, you a runner?”

  “Yeah, why?” answered the bronze medalist coolly, brushing some hair off his forehead. “How’d you guess?

  “Oh, just a feeling.” Mercune paused. “You ever see what those marathon winners look like, the ones who herd goats and eat once a week and—?”

  “Sheesh!” he cried, closing his robe a little more.

  She tittered. “Kidding! Team Nice Face.” She patted his cheek again. “And your big robe will hide the rest.”

  Smiling away a sigh, he glanced at Mercune, who was looking at the stars. She really wasn’t like anyone else he knew. She certainly had things in common with them—a bit of Astrid’s feyness, Lilac’s charm, Dahlia’s wit, Red’s vivaciousness, and Black’s authenticity. And her red hair, for that matter. She was a bit of an all-in-all. Yet none of that quite seemed to capture her.

  Stop thinking about “which one” and focus on saving the future! chided Flua-Sahng. Also, stop using me as a voice in your head.

  Proto suppressed a chuckle and returned his gaze to the yellow brick road that lay before him. He studied where they were—and blinked at how far along they’d walked. Time had flown. They were getting close to Flua-Sahng.

  He had to get going. Good banter was good and all. But he had to get Mercune to the point of a real emotional impact, a point of inflection in how she thought about things. Or else all the laughter and chatter and gibing would be for nothing.

  As soon as I have an opening, he resolved.

  “So, Team Wraith teammate, what do you dream visitors do when you’re not haunting the dreams of innocents?” asked Mercune.

  “Well.” Proto thought back. “Yesterday, I played cards and had an apple thrown at me.” It felt like both yesterday and a long time ago.

  “Good apple?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t eat it. But I had some good caviar and mozzarella sticks,” he noted.

  “Mm, tasty.” Mercune didn’t sound the least bit surprised at the pairing. “What card game?”

  “Euchre. You might not have heard of it,” he said.

  Mercune regarded him patiently. “Proto, where I’m from, nine in ten social outings involve Euchre at some point. Makes me wonder what you think of me. I may be quirky, but I’m not that bad, am I? I’ll have you know, I go to lots of parties! . . . Which might or might not involve ice cream and Disney movies. And Euchre!”

  That made sense, now that Proto thought about it. When he’d bumped into Fyrir on the day of his accident, the old man had mentioned he’d spent decades at the Atlean University campus. Mercune must’ve lived with him nearby. So it was no surprise that she, like everyone who lived near Proto, played Euchre. He wondered if he’d ever seen her near campus.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I don’t think it’s possible for an oddball Euchre player to be bad,” he replied.

  “Well.” Her lips pressed together and curved up. “I’m glad we managed to reason that one out, ten minutes into the conversation! Reminds me of that scene with Treebeard and the Ents: ‘Mercune, after much careful deliberation, we’ve decided you’re not an ork. And you’re not bad.’”

  “Did you hear the one about the Ent who met the owl?” asked Proto.

  Mercune tapped her chin in thought, then spoke excitedly: “‘Don’t be hasty,’ said the Ent. ‘Hoo?’ said the owl. ‘You,’ said the Ent. ‘Hoo?’ said the owl. ‘You!’ said the Ent. ‘Hoo?’ said the owl. ‘You’re trying my patience!’ said the Ent. ‘Don’t be hasty,’ said the owl.”

  Proto found himself laughing helplessly.

  “That was it, right? That was the joke?” said Mercune excitedly.

  “You are quick,” he marveled.

  “But not hasty!” she replied, raising a finger. “Sheesh, are you really laughing at your own joke like that? That was gonna be your joke, right? Hmph! You should come to more parties. We’re not very cool, but we do eat ice cream, watch Frozen, and try not to laugh at our own jokes.”

  “‘The only value in this valueless world is what you share with someone when you’re laughing at your own jokes,’” he said.

  Mercune wrinkled her nose and laughed at him. “Well, Proto, I’m glad we’ve shared so much in so little time.”

  Oh, you don’t know the half of it, he mused wistfully.

  “And now, he’s making his ‘I know something you don’t’ face!” observed Mercune. “Welp, I’ll have you know, there’s also something I know you don’t know!”

  He shrugged. “You are the greatest living seer, right?”

  “Ain’t it the truth!” she cried, flipping back her red hair. “But this is different. This is special,” she spoke, her voice softening and her eyes glimmering enigmatically.

  “Back to Mysterious Mercune, are we?” He shook his head grimly. “Well, I’ll be Play-Along-With-It Proto. I’ll bite, hook, line, and sinker. What’s your secret? What do you know that I don’t know? What’s your unknown unknown?”

  “Something about you!” she hinted. “All sorts of things. All sorts of . . . Possibilities.”

  Proto blinked. From the way her green gaze had widened and sparkled at that last word, Possibilities, he knew she was capitalizing it. But she can’t possibly mean that she sees what I . . . what they and I . . . ?

  He almost made a big mistake right then. He almost asked her if that’s what she saw.

  Then, Proto realized something: At this point at Somnus’ Palace, he should have no idea that the word “Possibilities” had any special meaning for him. He hadn’t had his Saturn Return yet. Mercune might know all about his upcoming choice. But he wasn’t supposed to. Indeed, he only knew about it right now because, here in the Mists, his lost memories of his first time at Somnus’ Palace had been restored.

  Searching for an appropriate reaction, he managed to look intrigued rather than gaping. “Mysterious Mercune!” he repeated.

  She smiled. “Yeah, I think I will leave that a mystery. I’ll tell you what, though, a lot of people like you, Proto! A black-haired girl. A red-haired girl. Several literal dream girls. Sheesh! Maybe you should star in the next Twilight!”

  “Wait, what?” His mind was racing. “Those are all separate people?”

  It seemed like Mercune was listing the people she’d foreseen as Possibilities for him. And it sounded like those first two in the list were Red and Black, based on their hair. But he didn’t remember them as Possibilities. He was sure of it. So how . . . ?

  “Well, those are all separates, yes,” she replied. “But, on that subject, Mister, I have to say, I’m flabbergasted—”

  “Don’t tell me anything else,” Proto broke in. “This is one part of my life that I want to be mysterious.”

  Mercune tilted her head at him, then smiled slightly. “Okay. Fair.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke on. “Anyway, I can barely even see you and all those girls before it gets all shadowy. Sometimes it gets like that when I try to see how key turning points in the future turn out. But when I look at you, your whole future’s like that. It’s like you are the future’s turning point.”

  So, she couldn’t see exactly what had played out between him and Astrid, and Lilac, and Dahlia, and Anima, and—whew. That was a relief.

  But he still wondered how, apparently, she’d seen Red and Black. They hadn’t been among the potential futures he’d seen originally. He was sure of it. Was it possible that Flua-Sahng hadn’t shared all his Possibilities with him? That there were more?

  He thought back to what she’d told him: “I deliberately shared those futures with you. That is, everyone you might have chosen during your Saturn Return at Somnus’ Palace.”

  “Everyone you might have chosen.” Could it be that the Possibilities he now remembered were only those he’d had access to in the original timeline? And, since then, his Possibilities had expanded?

  Huh. He found himself smiling.

  “But yeah, no. I can’t see your future very well,” Mercune went on. “All I know is, you meet all sorts of weird people, and it’s weird how many of them know each other, and you do all sorts of weird things together. PG-13 things, I mean.” She tittered. “I guess it’s like Flua-Sahng says: ‘The weird of Fate winds back upon itself.’ Or, like I say, ‘Fate’s weird.’”

  Proto opened his mouth to reply—then, feeling suddenly overcome by déjà vu, just chuckled at the fey girl instead.

  “In short, you’re weird!” she concluded. “A weirdo, if you will.”

  Proto shrugged agreeably. “Takes one to know one.”

  “No, I’m an oddball. Did you forget?” she chided lightly. “We’re different, but we have lots in common.”

  Proto inclined his head. “Good taste in cards, food, and . . . ?”

  “And . . . number three’s a mystery!” she declared.

  “Thank you, Mysterious Mercune,” he said.

  “No, thank you, Play-Along-With-It Proto!” she rejoined. “You are, without a doubt, the funnest visitor I’ve had here. And I’ve had a few lately!”

  “I beat all those dream visitors from Somnus?” His lips curved up wryly. “I’m best of the cabal of creepsters?”

  Mercune peered at him. “Are you a mind reader? I feel like you always say what I’d say before I can say it. ‘Cabal of creepsters.’ Yeah, that’s what I used to call them. I stole it from Flua-Sahng. Shamelessly.”

  “Used to?” said Proto.

  “Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “Then this weird guy in a three-piece suit and a lady with a nice-fitting sweater started coming by last year, and they’re so sweet to me. He’s all daffy and eccentric, like the guys in London in the first Chronicles of Narnia book.”

  “We all have our reference points,” said Proto.

  “Yes,” giggled Mercune. “But yeah, they pretend so hard to be part of my dream. And it couldn’t be more obvious they’re visitors from Somnus. Like, I may see a thousand futures, but I’d never dream up that guy on my own. Real screwball!”

  Proto’s lips quirked up. Yeah, that was one way to summarize Wentsworth. “Screwball, huh? Is that the same or different from an oddball?”

  “Different, of course! As different as nerd and geek,” explained Mercune. “Like, one time I was hungry here in my dreams, so I started eating. That guy in the suit asked me what it was, and I told him it was squid sushi. And the look on his face! Like I’d told him it was . . . I don’t know.”

  “My Little Pony sushi?” suggested Proto.

  Mercune looked puzzled. “My Little . . . oh yeah, those colorful horses! They had reruns of that when I was like seven. That old station, what was it . . . ? Cartoon Network! Sorry, Gen Z here.”

  Proto sighed sadly. Maybe not quite an all-in-all, huh.

  “Bottom line is, I feel bad saying he’s in a cabal of creepsters,” she said. “A little too on the nose, if you know what I mean. Hits a little too close to home! Especially since he’s so nice; even if he does call me Ginger.”

  “They’re both nice, really,” she added. “Almost like they’re trying to be nice to me! Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like My Little Pony! Which is nice because, believe it or not, sometimes I get pretty sad. For various reasons. So, yeah, no ‘cabal of creepsters’ for them.”

  The irony, thought Proto, is that Wentsworth, Uberta, and their cult to the squid-Element Aitvaras are the only true “cabal of creepsters” I know of at Somnus’ Palace. Albeit a friendly, goodhearted cabal.

  “You, though? Yeah. Cabal,” Mercune spoke on, slowing to a stop beside the mists. “Definitely cabal, definitely creepster.”

  Proto patted her shoulder. “Welp, we’re on the same Team, so I’m afraid you’re creepin’ right there with me.”

  Mercune nodded grimly. “Yes, some would call us wraiths creepy!”

  “‘The only value in this valueless world is what you share with someone when you’re creepy,’” he said.

  Mercune looked at him, then laughed uncontrollably.

  Proto tilted his head in bemusement.

  She threw her arms around him in a hug, as little laughs continued escaping. “Oh, how do I not know you already? Why does it feel this way?” she murmured.

  He blinked and might’ve shifted slightly.

  “Oh.” She withdrew, wide-eyed. “I . . . think I just said something out loud. Sorry, I get loopy in dreams! Ignore me, I think I just said some nonsense!”

  “No, not at all.” He looked at her. “Well, I sure hope it’s not nonsense.”

  Mercune blinked twice, cheeks pinkening. She regarded him with lips pressed and rolled inward, like she was on the verge of saying something.

  Proto felt many warm and vague things at that moment. But, at the same time, they all were tempered by an icy-clear realization.

  He now realized why Mercune had stopped walking a minute ago. He eyed the mists beside them. A hint of red could be seen through the swirling vapors.

  They’d reached Flua-Sahng. They’d reached the end of the dream. He’d run out of time. He’d spent it bantering—playfully and happily, but just bantering.

  There had been no poignant moment that made Mercune rethink her course in life. They’d reached no point of inflection where she might choose to go in some new direction. She hadn’t even committed to being a seer rather than a doer this time!

  What have I been doing? What have I done?

  “I hope so too,” Mercune finally murmured in reply. She turned toward the mist wall, but held his gaze a moment, her lips curved upward faintly. She seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  Why did life’s highest and lowest moments so often come together? Rapture and dread mingled and tingled in his breast. He felt sure that he hadn’t done enough. Yet never had he felt so sure he had enough and more. He’d never felt more full of life; and, maybe, she felt that way too. Yet she would die, unless he brought this moment to its proper end right now.

  But how?

  They’d talked about the right things—even staying underground and seeing the future there!—but it all had been a joke. How could he convey to her that it was more than that? How could he get her to read more into this talk than any sane person ever would? How could he get her to live her life based on this fun little chat? What could he say, short of telling her the truth outright?

  Then, he paused, staring at Mercune and the mists, and he wondered: Should I just tell her outright? He could just say it in plain English: “Mercune, be a seer, not a doer. Stay underground, and you’ll stay safe. The world’s future depends on it.”

  One thing was for sure: That would push her to a point of inflection. That would end the banter and force the moment to its crisis. One way or another, the future would be changed.

  And why not? Mercune constantly had divulged the future to him. So why couldn’t he do the same? Technically, Flua-Sahng had made him a seer, after all. And for what? Maybe this was the reason she’d done so—to let him make this revelation right now.

  Sure, Flua-Sahng hadn’t told him to do this. But so what? She never told him specifically what to do. Why not? Who knew? Probably to comply with some weird rule of Fate.

  The bottom line was, this choice was up to him. And, at that instant, with the world’s future on a knife’s edge between near-certain Doom and the Unknown, Proto had to choose. The choice sucked, but it seemed clear which was better.

  He opened his mouth to tell her the truth of everything.