I discreetly listen to the young Bravos strut like a rooster in front of his buddies. His hood is pulled over the top of his head, covering his close-cropped hair—likely as an attempt to look cool, though I can’t quite tell what kind of vibe he’s going for. Threatening? Mysterious, maybe? But the way he keeps fiddling with his sword makes it clear he’s not used to wearing it yet. I pretend to read the Suspicionis Liber by Calfuray, but the battered old book just rests on my lap, its pages untouched. I had grabbed it to ward off boredom, but the chatter of the squires proves far more effective at passing the time than a dusty philosophical treatise on the nature of ideas and mortals’ relationship with them.

The three aspirants sit in a loose circle—one cross-legged on the grass, another perched on the steps of the inner courtyard, adjusting her cast-wrapped leg now and again. The third, the show-off puffing out his chest, remains standing, as if asserting dominance over the other two. But judging by their unimpressed expressions, his grandiose displays are falling flat.

‘I’ve been selected to venture into the Katkera and trek across the Silg toward the Spindle’’, he announces, chest swelling with pride. ‘My master said I’m ready.’

From the corner of my eye, I see his friends’ faces crumble, only for them to burst into laughter.

‘What? He said it’s a great honor, reserved for the toughest!’

His two companions roll on the ground, howling with laughter, while a flicker of worry crosses the braggart’s face.

I stifle my grin, trying not to laugh aloud. From what I’ve overheard, the trek is far from a walk in the park. Only the most unruly Bravos are sent to the Muna for a “refinement” process involving meditation and other discipline-building exercises—a tightening of screws, as the Axiom would say.

An irritated medic shushes them from across the courtyard before returning to her post. I exhale, watching the plume of breath drift in the cold air. A shiver runs through me. Winter is here, without a doubt.

You really didn’t notice?

I tap the lump Taru makes as he curls under my sweater, partly to reprimand him for his snarky comment and partly to tease him for his theatrical aversion to the cold.

Around me, Yzmir auxiliaries stroll through the Cloister’s pathways, their uniforms bearing the red four-pointed star of their order. Bundled in my duffle coat, I wave to them from my perch on the balustrade, but they’re too engrossed in conversation to notice. That’s fair—I’ve been here so often, I’m practically part of the scenery. Or maybe I’ve turned invisible again, though I don’t recall casting that kind of spell recently.

‘Kesh?’

I look up, smiling at the sound of Kumari’s voice. Unsurprisingly, Taru is the first to greet her, launching himself at her for a series of sticky, affectionate hugs. Kumari laughs as she tries to peel off his many suction cups. He finally wriggles under her coat, curling up smugly—his way of letting me know he’s mad at me.

I step forward to hug my sister, then nod a silent thank-you to the nurse who had been looking after her. She gives me a formal nod and steps away, granting us some privacy while staying close enough to intervene if necessary.

Kumari takes my hand and presses a kiss on it.

‘Not too disappointed?’

‘Always a little. But isn’t everyone supposed to say it’s the taking part that counts?’

She nods emphatically. ‘Exactly. No doubt about it.’

Realizing she’s teasing, I flick her forehead, making her laugh—though her affection is clear beneath the jest. I step behind her wheelchair and grab the handles.

‘One more comment like that, and I’ll toss you down the stairs!’

She wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘Sorry, sorry, but it was too tempting.’

I begin pushing her chair along the path.

‘And you? How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine. It was so nice to get out of the Cloister for a few days to watch you compete.’

‘Even though my performance was mediocre at best?’

‘I got to see parts of the trials, but also stilt walkers, parades… I couldn’t have been happier.’

‘Well, I’m glad.’

A comfortable silence falls between us as we reach the gardens of Kadigir.

‘I’ve been thinking a lot’, Kumari says. ‘If I joined the Ordis, I could get one of their Rhombuses. Then I could pester some random trooper to send you updates about me.’

‘You mean through their Gestalt?’

‘Yeah, exactly!’

I make a doubtful face.

‘If that’s your main motivation for joining the Faction, I’m not sure they’ll let you through the recruitment process.’

Kumari gasps dramatically. ‘Are you doubting my powers of persuasion?’

I laugh, recalling all the times she tried convincing Mom or Dad to let me summon the Bifröst—or even a Leviathan—to take her on a ride through Caer Eidos. Naturally, she failed every time.

I lean down to kiss her forehead. She instinctively touches her stomach, where Taru, a bundle of tentacles, is repositioning himself beneath her tunic.

‘Look, I’m pregnant’, she says with mock seriousness.

I take off my wide-brimmed hat and plop it onto her head.

‘You should be ashamed of saying such nonsense!’

She bursts into laughter again, only to be wracked by a coughing fit. I stop the wheelchair and rush to her side. Her eyes take on a strange sheen, like iridescent oil spreading across her corneas. With each cough, tiny immaterial ideas spill from her mouth, floating like ephemeral motes in the air.

She blinks, and the episode subsides.

‘It’s fine. I’ve got this’, she says, trying to reassure me.

I signal to the nurse, who had been ready to assist, that everything’s under control. She hesitates but eventually nods, a little less tense.

‘What was it this time?’, I ask.

‘Hmm. I think I saw the idea of a butterfly, a snowman… and maybe a cutting board’, she says, sounding disappointed. ‘You know, the other residents and I have a little game?’

‘Oh? What kind?’

‘We pretend the Remanence is like divination. We try to interpret what comes out of us when it happens.’

‘And this time? What’s your interpretation?’

‘Hmm. The butterfly means things are fleeting, the snowman means it’ll snow soon… and the cutting board? Probably just means I’m hungry! Oh, you know what I’d love? One of those pastries we used to get on Phaedonstraße, with the cream inside!’

I scratch my head.

‘I think that place closed years ago.’

She sighs in disappointment.

‘But maybe I can recreate one. If I can remember the taste and texture, I might be able to make something close. Though it won’t fill you up if you’re truly starving.’

Her eyes light up, clearly thrilled by the idea. I sigh and concentrate, recalling those carefree days when we wandered the capital together, indulging in little joys and wild adventures. I focus on the memories—the flavors, textures, the giddy laughter of simpler times.

Finally, I hand her a small cardboard box. She opens it with reverent care, her expression alight with wonder.

‘I think their logo was a duck, not a goose.’

‘Oops, my bad.’

She shakes her head, inspecting the pastry like it’s a precious artifact.

‘It looks just like the real thing.’

She takes a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. Then her face breaks into a smile.

‘It’s close, but there’s something different about it.’

‘Maybe my memory’s off…’

‘Or maybe mine is’, she muses. ‘It tastes a little saltier than I remember.’

Or maybe it’s because remembering brings tears to my eyes.

‘I’m going to miss you, you know?’

She turns to me, startled by my trembling voice. Her smile falters, betraying her own melancholy. She lowers her head, hiding her tear-filled eyes.

‘I’ll miss you too.’

She wipes her tears and shakes her head.

‘But I know you’ll come back. I’ll write to you as much as I can. And you’ll find a cure for me—I know you will.’

She takes my hand in hers.

‘I believe in you.’

‘I promise.’

‘And I’ll hold on to that hope with all my strength. I will hold on to you and won’t let go, you hear me? I’ll be strong, just like you’ll need to be. I promise.’

Another coughing fit shakes her frail frame, and I pull her into my arms.

Inhibition, echo, parachute, kit, hunger… a new chain of ideas drifts into the air. I catch them in bubbles to prevent them from imprinting on the world. The nurse steps closer, her bag bearing the red star insignia. She kneels, setting down vials and compresses.

All the while, I hold Kumari’s trembling hand as tightly as she clings to mine.

I close my eyes, imprinting the feel of her skin, the sound of her laughter, the way light shifts in her eyes into my memory.

I hold her close, feeling her fragile ideas brush against my own essence. She trembles, and so do I. She cries, and so do I.

No matter the distance, I know we will resonate on the same frequency, in harmony.

Her arms wrap around me, a silent promise never to let go. And I won’t either.

I feel Taru’s sticky tentacles coil around our joined hands, offering comfort.

Around us, snow begins to fall.