“Um—may I ask something too?”

  Arkzen inclined his head slightly,

  a quiet sign of permission.

  “Well… like I said before,

  I came all this way because I want to go home.

  If it were you, would you speak to Tsitsi—the Grand Order—for me?”

  Arkzen lowered himself

  to match Crys’s eye level.

  The air softened.

  He smiled—

  the kind of smile

  people found themselves drawn to.

  “Why do you call Sedergador ‘Tsitsi’?”

  “That’s—”

  Crys was about to answer honestly,

  but TT cut in.

  “Because Sedergador resembles someone

  named Tsitsi.

  A game character.”

  “That is unexpected.

  Even the name is similar.”

  Despite the words,

  Arkzen’s expression never shifted.

  The smile stayed.

  “Sedergador’s true name is quite long.

  Tsirtzurhagalim Mekashefa–Levanah

  Ki–Imahem–Ani.

  ‘Tsitsi’ almost sounds

  like an affectionate nickname.”

  “How could we meet her?”

  When Crys called the Grand Order “her,” Arkzen’s well-shaped brow knit just slightly.

  “You sound rather familiar.”

  “That’s—”

  Crys glanced at TT for help.

  TT blinked once,

  quick and deliberate,

  and answered in his place.

  “Forgive the presumption.

  She appeared younger than us,

  and I spoke without due caution.”

  Arkzen burst into laughter,

  genuinely amused.

  “That being is older than I am, older than you—older than anything here.

  She is the system of this world itself.

  And yet you speak so freely,

  not knowing.”

  He chuckled,

  then cleared his throat,

  as if putting dignity back in place.

  “It is true—

  if anyone could send you back to Chuts,

  it would be her.

  But as I said,

  she is the system itself.

  She does not grant

  the wishes of individuals.

  And above all,

  I am a Sedel of Keshef Sheket.

  I will not permit

  a private audience with Sedergador.”

  “So… that means

  I can’t go home?”

  Seeing the clear disappointment on Crys’s face,

  Arkzen continued slowly.

  “Sedergador cannot. But I… might.”

  “Really?!”

  Crys leaned toward him without thinking.

  Taking it as disrespect,

  Lufel stepped forward—

  but Arkzen stopped him

  with a raised hand.

  “Before that,

  there is something I wish to ask.”

  Crys nodded quickly,

  again and again,

  as if he’d answer anything.

  Arkzen’s white-lashed eyes

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  closed once,

  then opened.

  “Why does Soliorbis concern himself with you?”

  “What?”

  The name,

  so unrelated to returning home,

  caught Crys completely off guard.

  —Soliorbis?

  Worried about me?

  That can’t be right.

  The man who dodged real answers,

  who left him behind

  in a strange world before dawn.

  Crys couldn’t understand

  why Arkzen would phrase it that way.

  “Isn’t that…

  a misunderstanding?

  There’s no way

  he cares about me.”

  Arkzen studied Crys closely,

  searching his eyes

  for any sign of deceit.

  “You are the Talmid

  who shouted that this world was a dream.”

  The memory made Crys’s face burn,

  but he nodded.

  Arkzen spoke on,

  as if arranging his thoughts aloud.

  “When Soliorbis addressed you

  in the great hall,

  you seemed to know him.

  Not as a corporate leader of Chuts,

  but as one of Emet Echad Olam.

  Which means

  you had met him before.

  And I hear

  there was a Talmid

  who arrived late to the ceremony.

  The one Soliorbis brought himself.

  It follows

  that it was you.

  Am I wrong?”

  Crys nodded,

  silent.

  “Even after the hall emptied,

  you were still speaking with him.

  I won’t deny

  he can be personable—

  but he is not known

  for attentiveness.”

  Only after a beat did Crys realize this was a question,

  not a monologue.

  He nodded again.

  “Are you related to Soliorbis?

  Or acquainted with him in Chuts?”

  Crys shook his head—

  then reconsidered,

  and spoke.

  “Not me.

  But I think

  he knew my mother.”

  Interest flickered

  in Arkzen’s eyes.

  “Her name?”

  “Amelia.

  Amelia Reed.”

  The moment Crys spoke Amelia’s name,

  Arkzen’s eyes flew open—

  as if struck by lightning.

  Shock. Disbelief. Disarray.

  Expressions utterly unsuited

  to someone of his bearing

  flickered across his face.

  Behind him,

  even Lufel looked unsettled,

  his eyes fixed on Arkzen.

  TT went rigid.

  And Tsekh, mirroring TT’s inner unrest,

  spread its wings restlessly.

  “You are Amelia Reed’s son.”

  “If you mean the woman

  who served as the previous Secretary Arkzen—

  then yes.”

  Crys answered flatly.

  Arkzen narrowed his eyes slightly.

  “That can’t be all.

  Did Soliorbis tell you nothing?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Arkzen’s face darkened at once,

  as if he’d said too much.

  That reaction alone told Crys

  there was something about his mother

  he didn’t know.

  His voice rose despite himself.

  “Arkzen—

  what do you know about my mother?”

  Arkzen let out a troubled breath,

  lowered his eyes,

  and spoke as if choosing each word with care.

  “Until her death,

  Amelia served as a Sedel

  under the former Argamantemler.

  Anyone—American or not—who has been in Emet Echad Olam for five years would know her name.”

  This time, it was Crys’s turn

  to stare.

  “I never heard any of that!”

  My mom was here?

  That’s impossible.

  His thoughts went white.

  She’d never said a word.

  Not once.

  If she’d truly been

  in a world overflowing with magic—

  she would have told us.

  She would have said it to Dad.

  To me.

  “Crys, magic is real.

  Because—”

  But she never told stories like that.

  Not of floating islands.

  Not of Initiations.

  Not even as a bedtime fantasy.

  And yet—

  a council member?

  Impossible.

  And still—

  fragments clicked into place.

  Her mastery of herbs,

  how she wove them into tea and food.

  Her knowledge of charms across cultures.

  Her faith in the power of words.

  How she took children’s make-believe seriously—

  crafting wands, teaching spells,

  searching for fairies together.

  She once said

  a Guide is always at your side.

  Because she was a Rifar…?

  The thought repulsed him.

  Crys shook his head violently, shouting,

  “This is a dream!

  There were no secrets between my mom and me!

  She never told me anything like that!”

  “She never spoke to you

  about Emet Echad Olam?”

  “Of course not!

  Because Emet Echad Olam doesn’t exist!

  You don’t either!

  The council, the Orders—

  you’re all just part of my dream!”

  Crys sprang to his feet,

  pointing at Arkzen.

  At last, Lufel moved—

  raising his gun again,

  his voice sharp.

  “Mind your tongue!

  This person is—”

  “Safias.”

  Arkzen cut him off with a single word.

  He stood as well.

  Though slightly shorter than Crys, Arkzen gave the impression of looking down from far above.

  “What did Soliorbis tell you

  about Amelia?”

  “Nothing.”

  The word came out bitter.

  “He said he knew her through work.

  And… other things.”

  Now Crys could guess

  what those “other things” meant—

  Emet Echad Olam,

  the council—

  But he refused to believe it.

  “They were probably hobbies.

  Or parties.”

  “And those ‘other things’?”

  Crys studied Arkzen closely.

  Even when pushed away,

  why did he keep asking?

  The strangeness of Arkzen’s insistence steadied Crys.

  “Why are you so interested

  in my mother—

  and in Soliorbis?”

  For an instant,

  Arkzen’s eyes wavered.

  Before Crys could press further,

  Arkzen recovered himself,

  smiling only with his lips.

  “Is it not natural

  to want to hear

  about an old friend?”

  “You’re still hiding something.”

  Crys meant it for himself—

  a quiet confirmation.

  But the words rang out,

  clear through the room.

  He clenched his fist, bracing for rebuke—

  from Arkzen,

  or from the fiercely loyal Lufel.

  Arkzen lifted a snow-white finger

  to his lips.

  Violet eyes narrowed,

  measuring Crys’s defiance.

  After a long moment,

  he seemed to relent.

  A white breath left him, like one on a freezing day.

  “I will correct one thing first.

  I was not hiding anything.

  I hesitated.

  As Soliorbis did.

  Whether it was right

  to tell you the truth.

  But you seek it—

  even now.

  Then it is the duty

  of those who know

  to speak.”

  He leaned closer,

  brows drawn with quiet sorrow,

  and smiled faintly.

  Slowly—

  painstakingly—

  he whispered.

  “This is known only to me,

  to those closest to me,

  and to Soliorbis.

  Your mother,

  Amelia Reed—”

  “Arkzen.”

  The corridor door burst open.

  Soliorbis strode in,

  golden mantle flaring,

  his expression severe.

  He crossed the room in long strides,

  placing himself between Arkzen and Crys,

  and spoke sharply to Lufel,

  who still had his gun raised.

  “Safias.

  Lower your Pirit.”

  “You are not the one

  who may command me.”

  Lufel didn’t even look at him.

  “Do as he says.”

  The gun vanished from Lufel’s hand.

  Arkzen, unfazed by the abrupt intrusion,

  smiled as if welcoming an old friend.

  “You knew Amelia’s son was here.

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  We had no time to reminisce.”

  Soliorbis glanced back at Crys.

  Crys was reeling.

  Why is he here?

  My mom—what?

  What was Arkzen about to say?

  Soliorbis turned back, voice firm.

  “He must be given time

  to accept it.

  We know better than anyone

  that truth is not always right

  when spoken too soon.”

  He took Crys’s hand, as if the matter were settled.

  Crys looked drained of strength,

  yet his feet wouldn’t move—

  as if rooted to the floor.

  Soliorbis tugged gently.

  “Come.

  You too.”

  TT nodded and moved to his side,

  casting a worried glance at Crys.

  “What is this?

  My mom—what about her?

  What do you know?”

  Crys’s voice was hoarse, breathless.

  From the looks exchanged,

  he knew this was serious.

  Soliorbis didn’t answer.

  He began to walk.

  Crys meant to stay put

  until he heard the truth—

  but it felt as if unseen hands

  were pushing him forward.

  “Reed.”

  Just before they exited,

  Arkzen called his name.

  Crys turned slowly.

  Arkzen smiled, elegant as ever.

  “If you wish to ask about Amelia,

  come again.

  You will always be welcome.”

  “There will be no need.”

  Before Crys could respond,

  Soliorbis tightened his grip.

  The door slammed shut behind them.

  Looking up,

  Crys saw Soliorbis staring at the door—

  as if it were Arkzen himself.

  A look of resolve.

  That much,

  at least,

  he understood.